«Have I ever been happy?» said Albert.
«Go on,» said Pinckney.
«And what about her?» said Albert. «But you are laughing. You're ribbing me.» His voice rose dangerously.
«What would you do with her?» said Pinckney.
«I'd look after her,» said Albert. «But not to be ribbed. No. I'll get out.»
«Listen you,» said Pinckney. «If you want to look after her, don't leave her propped against the table there. Set her in the armchair comfortably.»
«Yes, sir, I will,» said Albert. «I didn't like to ask.»
«Take off those stuffy wrappings,» said Mr. Pinckney harshly. Albert smiled at Mr. Pinckney.
«So, you're in love with her,» said Mr. Pinckney, «and you want to be happy. What's your name, by the way?»
«Albert Baker. Hers is Eva.»
«Well, Baker,» said Pinckney, in a tone of command. «I'm not making you any promises; you're just here in peace and quiet for the present. How long, depends on a lot of things. Most of all, on how you behave. You're mad. Don't forget it. It doesn't matter a bit, but you've got to be sensible about it. Listen to this. If ever you feel an overpowering impulse — if ever you feel you simply must do something — whatever it is, you're to tell me first. Do you hear?»
«Yes, sir,» cried Albert. «If you please, I must — I must go to the lavatory. I'm so happy.»
«Excellent!» said Pinckney. «Then go and sit under the tree over there. Eva will be perfectly all right. She's resting.»
«She's all right,» said Albert. «She trusts you.»
When he had gone, Pinckney went to the telephone, and he called his lawyer.
«I'm going to keep him here,» said he, in conclusion. «Well, I'm going to, that's all — Yes, but you tell them their damned model's going to be paid for. That's all they care about — Yes. I'm responsible for him — That's it, our respected client — As long as you fix it — Oh, hideous, absolutely hideous — Might do to paint for a lark — Well, you'll let me know? Good man! That's fine.»
Pinckney hung up. «He'll fix it,» said he to himself. «But I'll keep that bit of news, in case he needs calling to order. If he seems depressed, I'll tell him.»
Albert, however, did not seem depressed. The journey through the London streets had left him with some comfortable blanks in his mind. He wore a slightly dazed look; his mouth hung open, and his eyes filled with tears now and then, when a thought came to a happy end, transforming itself into a feeling, like a flower opening inside his mind. To the outward view there was nothing very odd about him. «He's a bit queer, isn't he?» said Mabel the housemaid.
«Nervous breakdown,» said the housekeeper. «That's what Mr. Pinckney says. My sister's boy had one. They put him in a home.»
«He's no trouble,» said Mabel. «Does his own room, anyway. Funny, he locks that door as if he had the Crown Jewels to look after.»
«He's very willing and obliging,» said the housekeeper. «And he's got to be let alone.»
Albert had an old chauffeur's room, away over the end of the stables. He shone the shoes, he fetched and carried for the housekeeper, who was told never to send him down to the village. Most of the time he helped the gardeners in the green gardens that were almost all lawn and trees. From the dusty window Eva watched him working for her in the yellow shade of the limes, in the black shade of the mulberries, and in the green shade of the mighty beech.
In the evening Albert had his supper in the housekeeper's room. At the end of it, «Thank you, ma'am,» said he, and, «Thank you, miss,» to Mabel. He was very polite; to him they were lesser angels, instruments of the great power that kept the world at bay. Then he hurried away to his room, to tell Eva all about it.
«He came up to me today,» he would say, «Oh he's so nice, Eva. I can't tell you how nice he is. Always speaks rough, only it's in a joking way. But when he mentions you — it's most respectful. He knows what you are. I ought to have told you: it was his idea about bringing up the roses. Only I thought you'd like it to be me.»
This was only the beginning of their evening, which stretched far into the light summer night, for Albert slept very little, and when he did Eva came to life in his dreams. «Are you miserable?» he asked her. «Are you still longing for the Riveera?»
«Not me,» she replied softly.
«It's better than the shop, isn't it?» said he, anxiously.
«It's nice being with you,» said Eva.
«Do you mean it ?» cried Albert eagerly. «With me?»
These tender passages passed between them in dreams so mingled with his summer wakefulness that he passed from one to another as easily and unnoticingly as he passed from one shade of beech to shade of lime on the lawn. Sometimes Albert and Eva never lay down at all, but passed the night at the window, watching the glow fade from the red roofs of the village at the foot of the slope, and not moving till the dawn brought them into sight again.
One evening, under one of these friendly red roofs, a meeting was in progress. The proceedings were concerned with the organization of the village flower-show and fete. Officials were appointed to the charge of the show-tent, the gate, the sideshows, and the collection of subscriptions. «I propose Mr. Ely be asked to go round for subscriptions,» said the vicar's gardener. «I beg to second that,» said the blacksmith. «If Mr. Ely will be so kind,» said the secretary, cocking an inquiring eye at the village constable, whose official position marked him out for this responsible office. Mr. Ely nodded formidable assent, the proposal was unanimously accepted, entered in the minutes, and the meeting was adjourned.
Next morning Mr. Ely mounted his bicycle, and pedaled slowly in the direction of the Hall.
«Oh, God!» cried Albert, peering from behind a hedge. «They've tracked us down.»
Bending double, he ran to his little stable-room. «Come on, Eva,» he said. «It's no good. It couldn't last. He can't save us this time. It's the police.»
He took Eva in his arms and ran down under the field hedges to a wood in the bottom, and there across country, along the edges of dusty summer fallows, crawling through standing corn, taking to the woods whenever possible, scuttling across the roads when he came to them, shouted at by one or two men in the fields, flown at by a dog when he blundered on a keeper's hut in a clearing, stared at by an awful eye from above. All around he could sense a network of cars and men, policemen, shopwalkers, the Secretary himself, searching for him and Eva.
Night came. He could now creep only a hundred yards at a time, and then must lie still a long time, feeling the earth turn over and over, and the network of pursuit close in. «Eva,» said he, «we've got to go on all night. Can you stand it?»
Eva made no response. «You're weak,» said he. «Your head's going round. You can feel your heart giving way. But we've got to go on. I've let you down again, Eva. We've got to go on.»
The last part of that night journey was a blank to Albert. They must have come to a common. He found himself sprawled in a deep bay in a clump of furze. Eva lay tumbled beside him, in a horrible attitude, as she had lain that fatal morning in the shop. «Stretch yourself out,» he said. «I'll come to in a minute. I'll look after you.»
But the sun was already high when he sat up, and Eva was still sprawled as she had been before. A yellow fly crawled on her cheek: before he could move, it had crawled right over her unwinking blue eye. «Eva!» he cried. «What's up? Wake up. Has it been too much for you? Say something, do.»
«She's dead!» he cried to the world at large. «Carrying her about like that — I've killed her.»
He flung himself upon the sprawling figure. He opened her dress, he listened for her heart. He lay like that for a long time. The sun poured down, glimmering on the worn blue suit, parching the flossy hair, devouring the waxen cheeks, fading the staring blue eyes.
