Frank Crosse was a methodical young man - his enemies might sometimes have called him pedantic, - and he loved to reduce his life to rule and order.  It was one of his peculiarities.  But how about this new life into which he was entering?  It took two to draw up the rules for that.  The little two-oared craft who put out upon that voyage have to lay their own course, each for itself; and all round them, as they go, they see the floating timbers and broken keels of other little boats, which had once started out full of hope and confidence.  There are currents and eddies, low sand-banks and sunken reefs, and happy the crews who see them ahead, and trim their course to avoid them.  Frank brooded over it all.  He had seen something of life, for his years.  He was observant and reflective.  He had watched his friends who were happy, and he had watched his friends who were not.  And now, as a result of all this wise cogitation, he sat down at a table one evening, with a solemn face, and a sheet of foolscap.

‘Now, Maude,’ said he, ‘I want to have a serious talk.’

Maude looked up in surprise from the linen which she was marking.

‘Oh dear!’ she cried.

‘Why “oh dear”?’

‘There’s something wrong?’

‘Nothing in the world.’

‘You looked so solemn, Frank.  I thought you had been looking at the tradesman’s books.  What is it, dear?’

‘Well, Maude, I have been thinking of married life in general.  Don’t you think it would be a good thing if we were to make some resolutions as to how it should be conducted - some fundamental principles, as it were?’

‘Oh do, dear, do!  What fun it will be!’

‘But it’s serious, Maude.’

‘Yes, dear, I am quite serious.’

‘It seemed to me, that if we could reduce it to certain rules, then, whatever came upon us in the future, we should always know exactly how to act.’

‘What are the rules, dear?’

‘Well, we can only arrive at them by talking it over between ourselves.  I could not draw up a set of rules, and ask you to submit to them.  That is not my idea of a partnership.  But if we found that we were agreed upon certain points, then we could both adopt them by mutual consent.’

‘How charming, Frank!  Do please tell me some of the points.’

‘I have a few in my mind, and I should like to hear any which you may have - any ideas, you know, how to get the very highest and best out of our life.  Now, first of all, there is the subject of quarrelling.’

‘O Frank, how horrid!’

‘Dear girl, we must look into the future.  We are going to live all our lives together.  We must foresee and prepare for all the chances of life.’

‘But that is absurd.’

‘You can’t live all your life and never be in a bad temper!’

‘But not with you, Frank.’

‘Oh, I can be very aggravating sometimes.  Now, my idea is this.  Ill-humour passes and hurts nobody.  But if two people are ill-humoured, then each excites the other, and they say ever so much more than they mean.  Let us make a compact never both to be ill-humoured at the same time.  If you are cross, then it is your turn, and I stand clear.  If I am cross, you let me work it off.  When either hoists the danger-signal, the other is on guard.  What do you think of that?’

‘I think you are the funniest old boy - ’

‘Do you agree?’

‘Yes, dear, of course I agree.’

‘Article number one,’ said Frank, and scribbled upon his paper.

‘Your turn, now.’

‘No, dear, I have not thought of anything.’

‘Well, then, here is another point.  Never take each other for granted.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Never relax those attentions which one lover shows to another.  Some husbands seem to forget that their wives are ladies.  Some wives speak to their husbands with less courtesy and consideration than to any casual male visitor.  They mean no harm, but they get into a slack way.  We must not do that.’

‘I don’t think we are likely to.’

‘People get into it unconsciously.  Pull me up sharply at the first sign.’

‘Yes, sir, I will.’

‘The next point that I have noted is an extension of the last.  Let each strive to be worthy of the love of the other.  People get slovenly and slipshoddy, as if it didn’t matter now that they were married.  If each were very keen to please the other, that would not be so.  How many women neglect their music after marriage.’

‘My goodness, I haven’t practised for a week!’ cried Maude.

‘And their dress and their hair’ - Maude’s hand flew up to her curls.  ‘My darling, yours is just perfect.  But you know how often a woman grows careless.  “He will love me anyhow,” she says to herself, and perhaps she is right, but still it is not as it should be.’

‘Why, Frank, I had no idea you knew so much.’

‘I have heard my friends’ experiences. - And the man too: he should consider his wife’s feelings as much as he did his sweetheart’s.  If she dislikes smoke, he should not smoke.  He should not yawn in her presence.  He should keep himself well-groomed and attractive.  Look at that dirty cuff!  I have no business to have it.’

‘As if it could make any difference to me.’

‘There now!  That is what is so demoralising.  You should stand out for the highest.  When I came to you at St Albans, I had not dirty cuffs.’

‘You forgive me the music, Frank, and I’ll forgive you the cuff.  But I agree to all you say.  I think it is so wise and good.  Now I’ve got something to add.’

‘Good.  What is it?’

‘Each should take an interest in the other’s department.’

‘Why, of course they should.’

‘But it is not done.’

‘Why naturally, dear, you take an interest in my City work.’

‘Yes, sir, but do you take as keen an interest in my housekeeping?’

‘Perhaps I have been a little thoughtless.’

‘No, no, dear, you haven’t.  You are always full of consideration.  But I have noticed it with mother, and with others also.  The husband pulls out his cheque-book at the end of the week or month, and he says, “Well, this is rather more than we can afford,” or “This is less than I expected,” but he never really takes any interest in his wife’s efforts to keep things nice on a little.  He does not see it with her eyes and try to realise her difficulties.  Oh, I wish I could express myself better, but I know that the interest is one-sided.’

‘I think what you say is quite right.  I’ll try to remember that.  How shall we enter it upon our list?’

‘That Interests should be mutual.’

‘Quite right.  I have it down.  Well, any more points?’

‘It is your turn.’

‘Well, there is this, and I feel that it is just the holiest thing in matrimony, and its greatest justification - that love should never degenerate into softness, that each should consciously stimulate the better part of the other and discourage the worse, that there should be a discipline in our life, and that we should brace each other up to a higher ideal.  The love that says, “I know it is wrong, but I love him or her so much that I can’t refuse,” is a poor sort of love for the permanent use of married life.  The self-respect which refuses to let the most lofty ideal of love down by an inch is a far nobler thing, and it wears better too.’

‘How will you express all that?’

‘Mutual respect is necessary for mutual love.’

‘Yes, I am sure that that is right.’

‘It sounds obvious, but the very intensity of love makes love soft and blind.  Now I have another, which I am convinced that you will not agree with.’

‘Let me hear it.’

‘I have put it in this way, “The tight cord is the easiest to snap.”’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I mean that married couples should give each other a certain latitude and freedom.  If they don’t, one or other will sooner or later chafe at the restriction.  It is only human nature, which is an older and more venerable thing than marriage.’

‘I don’t like that at all, Frank.’

‘I feared you wouldn’t, dear, but I believe you’ll see it with me when I explain what I mean.  If you don’t, then I must try to see it with you.  When one talks of freedom in married life, it means, as a rule, freedom only for the man.  He does what he likes, but still claims to be a strict critic of his wife.  That, I am sure, is wrong.  To take an obvious example of what I mean, has a husband a right to read his wife’s letters?  Certainly not, any more than she has a right to read his without his permission.  To read them as a matter of course would be stretching the chain too tight.’

‘Chain is a horrid word, Frank.’

‘Well, it is only a metaphor.  Or take the subject of friendships.  Is a married man to be debarred from all friendship and intimacy with another woman?’

Maude looked doubtful.

‘I should like to see the woman first,’ she said.

‘Or is a married woman to form no friendship with another man who might interest or improve her?  There is such a want of mutual confidence in such a view.  People who are sure of each other should give each other every freedom in that.  If they don’t, they are again stretching it tight.’

‘If they do, it may become so slack that it might as well not be there at all.’

‘I felt sure that we should have an argument over this.  But I have seen examples.  Look at the Wardrops. There were a couple who were never apart.  It was their boast that everything was in common with them.  If he was not in, she opened his letters, and he hers.  And then there came a most almighty smash.  The tight cord had snapped.  Now, I believe that for some people, it is a most excellent thing that they should take their holidays at different times.’

‘O Frank!’

‘Yes, I do.  No, not for us, by Jove!  I am generalising now.  But for some couples, I am sure that it is right.  They reconsider each other from a distance, and they like each other the better.’

‘Yes, but these rules are for our guidance, not for that of other people.’

‘Quite right, dear.  I was off the rails.  “As you were,” as your brother Jack would say.  But I am afraid that I am not going to convince you over this point.’

Maude looked charmingly mutinous.

‘No, Frank, you are not.  I don’t think marriage can be too close.  I believe that every hope, and thought, and aspiration should be in common.  I could never get as near to your heart and soul as I should wish to do.  I want every year to draw me closer and closer, until we really are as nearly the same person as it is possible to be upon earth.’

When you have to surrender, it is well to do so gracefully.  Frank stooped down and kissed his wife’s hand, and apologised.  ‘The wisdom of the heart is greater than the wisdom of the brain,’ said he.  But the love of man comes from the brain, far more than the love of woman, and so it is that there will always be some points upon which they will never quite see alike.

‘Then we scratch out that item.’

‘No, dear.  ‘Put “The cord which is held tight is the easiest to snap.”  That will be all right.  The cord of which I speak is never held at all.  The moment it is necessary to hold it, it is of no value.  It must be voluntary, natural, unavoidable.’

So Frank amended his aphorism.

‘Anything more, dear?’

‘Yes, I have thought of one other,’ said she.  ‘It is that if ever you had to find fault with me about anything, it should be when we are alone.’

‘And the same in your case with me.  That is excellent.  What can be more vulgar and degrading than a public difference of opinion?  People do it half in fun sometimes, but it is wrong all the same.  Duly entered upon the minutes.  Anything else?’

‘Only material things.’

‘Yes, but they count also.  Now, in the matter of money, I feel that every husband should allow his wife a yearly sum of her own, to be paid over to her, and kept by her, so that she may make her own arrangements for herself.  It is degrading to a woman to have to apply to her husband every time she wants a sovereign.  On the other hand, if the wife has any money, she should have the spending of it.  If she chooses to spend part of it in helping the establishment, that is all right, but I am sure that she should have her own separate account, and her own control of it.’

‘If a woman really loves a man, Frank, how can she grudge him everything she has?  If my little income would take one worry from your mind, what a joy it would be to me to feel that you were using it!’

‘Yes, but the man has his self-respect to think of.  In a great crisis one might fall back upon one’s wife - since our interests are the same, but only that could justify it.  So much for the wife’s money.  Now for the question of housekeeping.’

‘That terrible question!’

‘It is only hard because people try to do so much upon a little.  Why should they try to do so much?  The best pleasures of life are absolutely inexpensive.  Books, music, pleasant intimate evenings, the walk among the heather, the delightful routine of domestic life, my cricket and my golf - these things cost very little.’

‘But you must eat and drink, Frank.  And as to Jemima and the cook, it is really extraordinary the amount which they consume.’

‘But the tendency is for meals to become much too elaborate.  Why that second vegetable?’

‘There now!  I knew that you were going to say something against that poor vegetable.  It costs so little.’

‘On an average, I have no doubt that it costs threepence a day.  Come now, confess that it does.  Do you know what threepence a day comes to in a year?  There is no use in having an accountant for a husband, if you can’t get at figures easily.  It is four pounds eleven shillings and threepence.’

‘It does not seem very much.’

‘But for that money, and less, one could become a member of the London Library, with the right to take out fifteen books at a time, and all the world’s literature to draw from.  Now just picture it: on one side, all the books in the world, all the words of the wise, and great, and witty; on the other side, a lot of cauliflowers and vegetable-marrows and French beans.  Which is the better bargain?’

‘Good gracious, we shall never have a second vegetable again!’

‘And pudding?’

‘My dear, you always eat the pudding.’

‘I know I do.  It seems an obvious thing to do when the pudding is there in front of me.  But if it were not there, I should neither eat it nor miss it, and I know that you care nothing about it.  There would be another five or six pounds a year.’

‘We’ll have a compromise, dear.  Second vegetable one day, pudding the next.’

‘Very good.’

‘I notice that it is always after you have had a substantial meal that you discuss economy in food.  I wonder if you will feel the same when you come back starving from the City to-morrow?  Now, sir, any other economy?’

‘I don’t think money causes happiness.  But debt causes unhappiness.  And so we must cut down every expense until we have a reserve fund to meet any unexpected call.  If you see any way in which I could save, or any money I spend which you think is unjustifiable, I do wish that you would tell me.  I got into careless ways in my bachelor days.’

‘That red golfing-coat.’

‘I know.  It was idiotic of me.’

‘Never mind, dear.  You look very nice in it.  After all, it was only thirty shillings.  Can you show me any extravagance of mine?’

‘Well, dear, I looked at that dressmaker’s bill yesterday.’

‘O Frank, it is such a pretty dress, and you said you liked it, and you have to pay for a good cut, and you said yourself that a wife must not become dowdy after marriage, and it would have cost double as much in Regent Street.’

‘I didn’t think the dress dear.’

‘What was it, then?’

‘The silk lining of the skirt.’

‘You funny boy!’

‘It cost thirty shillings extra.  Now, what can it matter if it is lined with silk or not?’

‘Oh, doesn’t it?  Just you try one and see.’

‘But no one can know that it is lined with silk.’

‘When I rustle into a room, dear, every woman in it knows that my skirt is lined with silk.’

Frank felt that he had ventured out of his depth, so he struck out for land again.

‘There’s only one economy which I don’t think is justifiable,’ said he, ‘and that is, to cut down your subscriptions to charities.  It is such a very cheap way of doing things.  Not that I do much in that line - too little, perhaps.  But to say that because we want to economise, therefore some poor people are to suffer, is a very poor argument.  We must save at our own expense.’

So now Frank, in his methodical fashion, had all his results tabulated upon his sheet of foolscap.  It was not a very brilliant production, but it might serve as a chart for the little two-oared boats until a better one is forthcoming.  It ran in this way -
Maxims for the Married

1.  Since you are married, you may as well make the best of it.

2.  So make some maxims and try to live up to them.

3.  And don’t be discouraged if you fail.  You will fail, but perhaps you won’t always fail.

4.  Never both be cross at the same time.  Wait your turn.

5.  Never cease to be lovers.  If you cease, some one else may begin.

6.  You were gentleman and lady before you were husband and wife.  Don’t forget it.

7.  Keep yourself at your best.  It is a compliment to your partner.

8.  Keep your ideal high.  You may miss it, but it is better to miss a high one than to hit a low one.

9.  A blind love is a foolish love.  Encourage the best in each other’s nature.

10.  Permanent mutual respect is necessary for a permanent mutual love.  A woman can love without respect, but a man cannot.

11.  The tight cord is the easiest to snap.

12.  Let there be one law for both.

13.  There is only one thing worse than quarrels in public.  That is caresses.

14.  Money is not essential to happiness, but happy people usually have enough.

15.  So save some.

16.  The easiest way of saving is to do without things.

17.  If you can’t, then you had better do without a wife.

18.  The man who respects his wife does not turn her into a mendicant.  Give her a purse of her own.

19.  If you save, save at your own expense.

20.  In all matters of money, prepare always for the worst and hope for the best.
Such was their course as far as this ambitious young couple could lay it.  They may correct it by experience, and improve it by use, but it is good enough to guide them safely out to sea.
CHAPTER X - CONFESSIONS
‘Tell me, Frank, did you ever love any one before me?’

‘How badly trimmed the lamp is to-night!’ said he.  It was so bad that he went off instantly into the dining-room to get another.  It was some time before he returned.

She waited inexorably until he had settled down again.

‘Did you, Frank?’ she asked.

‘Did I what?’

‘Ever love any one else?’

‘My dear Maude, what is the use of asking questions like that?’

‘You said that there were no secrets between us.’

‘No, but there are some things better left alone.’

‘That is what I should call a secret.’

‘Of course, if you make a point of it - ’

‘I do.’

‘Well, then, I am ready to answer anything that you ask.  But you must not blame me if you do not like my answers.’

‘Who was she, Frank?’

‘Which?’

‘O Frank, more than one!’

‘I told you that you would not like it.’

‘Oh, I wish I had not asked you!’

‘Then do let us drop it.’

‘No, I can’t drop it now, Frank.  You have gone too far.  You must tell me everything.’

‘Everything?’

‘Yes, everything, Frank.’

‘I am not sure that I can.’

‘Is it so dreadful as that?’

‘No, there is another reason.’

‘Do tell me, Frank.’

‘There is a good deal of it.  You know how a modern poet excused himself to his wife for all his pre-matrimonial experiences.  He said that he was looking for her.’

‘Well, I do like that!’ she cried indignantly.

‘I was looking for you.’

‘You seem to have looked a good deal.’

‘But I found you at last.’

‘I had rather you had found me at first, Frank.’  He said something about supper, but she was not to be turned.

‘How many did you really love?’ she asked.  ‘Please don’t joke about it, Frank.  I really want to know.’

‘If I choose to tell you a lie - ’

‘But you won’t!’

‘No, I won’t.  I could never feel the same again.’

‘Well, then, how many did you love?’

‘Don’t exaggerate what I say, Maude, or take it to heart.  You see it depends upon what you mean by love.  There are all sorts and degrees of love, some just the whim of a moment, and others the passion of a lifetime; some are founded on mere physical passion, and some on intellectual sympathy, and some on spiritual affinity.’

‘Which do you love me with?’

‘All three.’

‘Sure?’

‘Perfectly sure.’

She came over and the cross-examination was interrupted.  But in a few minutes she had settled down to it again.

‘Well, now - the first?’ said she.

‘Oh, I can’t, Maude - don’t.’

‘Come, sir - her name?’

‘No, no, Maude, that is going a little too far.  Even to you, I should never mention another woman’s name.’

‘Who was she, then?’

‘Please don’t let us go into details.  It is perfectly horrible .  Let me tell things in my own way.’

She made a little grimace.

‘You are wriggling, sir.  But I won’t be hard upon you.  Tell it your own way.’

‘Well, in a word, Maude, I was always in love with some one.’

Her face clouded over.

‘Your love must be very cheap,’ said she.

‘It’s almost a necessity of existence for a healthy young man who has imagination and a warm heart.  It was all - or nearly all - quite superficial.’

‘I should think all your love was superficial, if it can come so easily.’

‘Don’t be cross, Maude.  I had never seen you at the time.  I owed no duty to you.’

‘You owed a duty to your own self-respect.’

‘There, I knew we should have trouble over it.  What do you want to ask such questions for?  I dare say I am a fool to be so frank.’

She sat for a little with her face quite cold and set.  In his inmost heart Frank was glad that she should be jealous, and he watched her out of the corner of his eye.

‘Well!’ said she at last.

‘Must I go on?’

‘Yes, I may as well hear it.’

‘You’ll only be cross.’

‘We’ve gone too far to stop.  And I’m not cross, Frank.  Only pained a little.  But I do appreciate your frankness.  I had no idea you were such a - such a Mormon.’  She began to laugh.

‘I used to take an interest in every woman.’

‘“Take an interest” is good.’

‘That was how it began.  And then if circumstances were favourable the interest deepened, until at last, naturally - well, you can understand.’

‘How many did you take an interest in?’

‘Well, in pretty nearly all of them.’

‘And how many deepened?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’

‘Twenty?’

‘Well - rather more than that, I think.’

‘Thirty?’

‘Quite thirty.’

‘Forty?’

‘Not more than forty, I think.’

Maude sat aghast at the depths of his depravity.

‘Let me see: you are twenty-seven now, so you have loved four women a year since you were seventeen.’

‘If you reckon it that way,’ said Frank, ‘I am afraid that it must have been more than forty.’

‘It’s dreadful,’ said Maude, and began to cry.

Frank knelt down in front of her and kissed her hands.  She had sweet little plump hands, very soft and velvety.

‘You make me feel such a brute,’ said he.  ‘Anyhow, I love you now with all my heart and mind and soul.’

‘Forty-firstly and lastly,’ she sobbed, half laughing and half crying.  Then she pulled his hair to reassure him.

‘I can’t be angry with you,’ said she.  ‘Besides, it would be ungenerous to be angry when you tell me things of your own free will.  You are not forced to tell me.  It is very honourable of you.  But I do wish you had taken an interest in me first.’

‘Well, it was not so fated.  I suppose there are some men who are quite good when they are bachelors.  But I don’t believe they are the best men.  They are either archangels upon earth - young Gladstones and Newmans - or else they are cold, calculating, timid, un-virile creatures, who will never do any good.  The first class must be splendid.  I never met one except in memoirs.  The others I don’t want to meet.’

Women are not interested in generalities.

‘Were they nicer than me?’ she asked.

‘Who?’

‘Those forty women.’

‘No, dear, of course not.  Why are you laughing?’

‘Well, it came into my head how funny it would be, if the forty were all gathered into one room, and you were turned loose in the middle of them.’

‘Funny!’ Frank ejaculated.  Women have such extraordinary ideas of humour.  Maude laughed until she was quite tired.

‘It doesn’t strike you as comic?’ she cried at last.

‘No, it doesn’t,’ he answered coldly.

‘Of course it wouldn’t,’ said she, and went off into another ripple of pretty contralto laughter.  There is a soft, deep, rich laugh, which some women have, that is the sweetest sound in Nature.

‘When you have quite finished,’ said he huffily.  Her jealousy was much more complimentary than her ridicule.

‘All right now.  Don’t be cross.  If I didn’t laugh I should cry.  I’m so sorry if I have annoyed you.’  He had gone back to his chair, so she paid him a flying visit.  ‘Satisfied?’

‘Not quite.’

‘Now?’

‘All right.  I forgive you.’

‘That’s funny too.  Fancy you forgiving me after all these confessions.  But you never loved one of them all as you love me.’

‘Never.’

‘Swear it.’

‘I do swear it.’

‘Morally, and what do you call it, and the other?’

‘Not one of them.’

‘And never will again?’

‘Never.’

‘Good boy for ever and ever?’

‘For ever and ever.’

‘And the forty were horrid?’

‘No, hang it, Maude, I can’t say that.’

She pouted and hung her head.

‘You do like them better, then?’

‘How absurd you are, Maude!  If I had liked one better, I should have married her.’

‘Well, yes, I suppose you would.  You must have taken a deeper interest in me than in the others, since you married me.  I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘Silly old girl!  Of course I liked you best.  Let us drop the thing, and never talk about it any more.’

‘Have you their photographs?’

‘No.’

‘None of them?’

‘No.’

‘What did you do with them?’

‘I never had most of them.’

‘And the others?’

‘I destroyed some when I married.’

‘That was nice of you.  Aren’t you sorry?’

‘No, I thought it was only right.’

‘Were you fondest of dark women or fair?’

‘Oh, I don’t know .  I was never pernickety in my tastes.  You know those lines I read you from Henley: “Handsome, ugly - all are women.”  That’s a bachelor’s sentiment.’

‘But do you mean to say, sir - now, you are speaking on your honour, that out of all these forty, there was not one who was prettier than I am?’

‘Do let us talk of something else.’

‘And not one as clever?’

‘How absurd you are to-night, Maude!’

‘Come, answer me.’

‘I’ve answered you already.’

‘I did not hear you.’

‘Oh yes, you did.  I said that I had married you, and that shows that I liked you best.  I don’t compare you quality for quality against every one in the world.  That would be absurd.  What I say is that your combination of qualities is the one which is most dear to me.’

‘Oh, I see,’ said Maude dubiously.  ‘How nice and frank you are!’

‘Now I’ve hurt you!’

‘Oh no, not in the least.  I like you to be frank.  I should hate to think that there was anything you did not dare to tell me.’

‘And you, Maude - would you be equally frank with me?’

‘Yes, dear, I will.  I feel that I owe it to you after your confidence in me.  I have had my little experiences too.’

‘You!’

‘Perhaps you would rather that I said nothing about them.  What good can there be in raking up these old stories?’

‘No, I had rather you told me.’

‘You won’t be hurt?’

‘No, no - certainly not.’

‘You may take it from me, Frank, that if any married woman ever tells her husband that until she saw him she never felt any emotion at the sight of another man, it is simple nonsense.  There may be women of that sort about, but I never met them.  I don’t think I should like them, for they must be dry, cold, unsympathetic, unemotional, unwomanly creatures.’

‘Maude, you have loved some one else!’

‘I won’t deny that I have been interested deeply interested in several men.’

‘Several!’

‘It was before I had met you, dear.  I owed you no duty.’

‘You have loved several men.’

‘The feeling was for the most part quite superficial.  There are many different sorts and degrees of love.’

‘Good God, Maude!  How many men inspired this feeling in you?’

‘The truth is, Frank, that a healthy young woman who has imagination and a warm heart is attracted by every young man.  I know that you wish me to be frank and to return your confidence.  But there is a certain kind of young man with whom I always felt my interest deepen.’

‘Oh, you did discriminate?’

‘Now you are getting bitter.  I will say no more.’

‘You have said too much.  You must go on now.’

‘Well, I was only going to say that dark men always had a peculiar fascination for me.  I don’t know what it is, but the feeling is quite overpowering.’

‘Is that why you married a man with flaxen hair?’

‘Well, I couldn’t expect to find every quality in my husband, could I?  It would not be reasonable.  I assure you, dear, that taking your tout ensemble , I like you far the best of all.  You may not be the handsomest, and you may not be the cleverest - one cannot expect one’s absolute ideal, - but I love you far, far the best of any.  I do hope I haven’t hurt you by anything I have said.’

‘I am sorry I am not your ideal, Maude.  It would be absurd to suppose myself anybody’s ideal, but I hoped always that the eyes of love transfigured an object and made it seem all right.  My hair is past praying for, but if you can point out anything that I can mend - ’

‘No, no, I want you just as you are.  If I hadn’t liked you best, I shouldn’t have married you, Frank, should I?’

‘But those other experiences?’

‘Oh, we had better drop them.  What good can it possibly do to discuss my old experiences?  It will only annoy you.’

‘Not at all.  I honour you for your frankness in speaking out, although I acknowledge that it is a little unexpected.  Go on.’

‘I forget where I was.’

‘You had just remarked that before your marriage you had love-affairs with a number of men.’

‘How horrid it sounds, doesn’t it?’

‘Well, it did strike me in that way.’

‘But that’s because you exaggerate what I said.  I said that I had been attracted by several men.’

‘And that dark men thrilled you.’

‘Exactly.’

‘I had hoped that I was the first.’

‘It was not fated to be so.  I could easily tell you a lie, Frank, and say that you were, but I should never forgive myself if I were to do such a thing.  You see I left school at seventeen, and I was twenty-three when I became engaged to you.  There are six years.  Imagine all the dances, picnics, parties, visitings of six years.  I could not help meeting young men continually.  A good many were interested in me, and I - ’

‘You were interested in them.’

‘It was natural, Frank.’

‘Oh yes, perfectly natural.  And then I understand that the interest deepened.’

‘Sometimes.  When you met a young man who was interested several times running, at a dance, then in the street, then in the garden, then a walk home at night - of course your interest began to deepen.’

‘Yes.’

‘And then - ’

‘Well, what was the next stage?’

‘Sure you’re not angry?’

‘No, no, not at all.  Why don’t you keep the key in the spirit-stand?’

‘It might tempt Jemima.  Shall I get it?’

‘No, no, go on!  The next stage was?’

‘Well, when you have been deeply interested some time, then you begin to have experiences.’

‘Ah!’

‘Don’t shout, Frank.’

‘Did I shout?  Never mind.  Go on!  You had experiences.’

‘Why go into details?’

‘You must go on.  You have said too much to stop.  I insist upon hearing the experiences.’

‘Not if you ask for them in that way, Frank.’  Maude had a fine dignity of her own when she liked.

‘Well, I don’t insist.  I beg you to have confidence in me, and tell me some of your experiences.’

She leaned back in her armchair with her eyes half closed, and a quiet retrospective smile upon her face.

‘Well, if you would really like to hear, Frank, as a proof of my confidence and trust, I will tell you.  You will remember that I had not seen you at the time.’

‘I will make every excuse.’

‘I will tell you a single experience.  It was my first of the sort, and stands out very clearly in my memory.  It all came through my being left alone with a gentleman who was visiting my mother.’

‘Yes!’

‘Well, we were alone in the room, you understand.’

‘Yes, yes, go on!’

‘And he paid me many little compliments: kept saying how pretty I was, and that he had never seen a sweeter girl, and so on.  You know what gentlemen would say?’

‘And you?’

‘Oh, I hardly answered him, but of course I was young and inexperienced, and I could not help being flattered and pleased at his words.  I may have shown him what I felt, for he suddenly - ’

‘Kissed you!’

‘Exactly.  He kissed me.  Don’t walk up and down the room, dear.  It fidgets me.’

‘All right.  Go on.  Don’t stop.  After this outrage what happened next?’

‘You really want to know?’

‘I must know.  What did you do?’

‘I am so sorry that I ever began, for I can see that it is exciting you.  Light your pipe, dear, and let us talk of something else.  It will only make you cross if I tell you the truth.’

‘I won’t be cross.  Go on.  What did you do?’

‘Well, Frank, since you insist - I kissed him back.’

‘You - you kissed him back!’

‘You’ll have Jemima up if you go on like that.’

‘You kissed him back!’

‘Yes, dear; it may be wrong, but I did.’

‘Good God! why did you do that?’

‘Well, I liked him.’

‘A dark man?’

‘Yes, he was dark.’

‘O Maude!  Maude!  Well, don’t stop.  What then?’

‘Then he kissed me several times.’

‘Of course he would, if you kissed him.  What else could you expect?  And then?’

‘O Frank, I can’t.’

‘Go on.  I am ready for anything!’

‘Well, do sit down, and don’t run about the room.  I am only agitating you.’

‘There, I am sitting.  You can see that I am not agitated.  For Heaven’s sake, go on!’

‘He asked me if I would sit upon his knee.’

‘Yek!’

Maude began to laugh.

‘Why, Frank, you are croaking like a frog.’

‘I am glad you think it a laughing matter.  Go on!  Go on!  You yielded to his very moderate and natural request.  You sat upon his knee.’

‘Well, Frank, I did.’

‘Good heavens!’

‘Don’t be so excitable, dear.  It was long before I ever saw you.’

‘You mean to sit there and tell me in cold blood that you sat upon this ruffian’s knee!’

‘What else could I do?’

‘What could you do?  You could have screamed, you could have rung the bell, you could have struck him - you could have risen in the dignity of your insulted womanhood and walked out of the room.’

‘It was not so easy for me to walk out of the room.’

‘He held you?’

‘Yes, he held me.’

‘Oh, if I had been there!’

‘And there was another reason.’

‘What was that?’

‘Well, I wasn’t very good at walking at that time.  You see, I was only three years old.’

Frank sat for a few minutes absorbing it.

‘You little wretch!’ he said at last.

‘Oh you dear old goose!  I feel so much better.’

‘You horror!’

‘I had to get level with you over my forty predecessors.  You old Bluebeard!  But I did harrow you a little - didn’t I?’

‘Harrow me!  I’m raw all over.  It’s a nightmare.  O Maude, how could you have the heart?’

‘Oh, it was lovely - beautiful!’

‘It was dreadful.’

‘And how jealous you were!  Oh, I am so glad!’

‘I don’t think,’ said Frank, as he put his arms round her, ‘that I ever quite realised before - ’

And just then Jemima came in with the tray.
CHAPTER XI - CONCERNING MRS. BEETON
Frank Crosse had only been married some months when he first had occasion to suspect that his wife had some secret sorrow.  There was a sadness and depression about her at times, for which he was unable to account.  One Saturday afternoon he happened to come home earlier than he was expected, and entering her bedroom suddenly, he found her seated in the basket-chair in the window, with a large book upon her knees.  Her face, as she looked up at him with a mixed expression of joy and of confusion, was stained by recent tears.  She put the book hastily down upon the dressing-stand.

‘Maude, you’ve been crying.’

‘No, Frank, no!’

‘O Maude, you fibber!  Remove those tears instantly.’  He knelt down beside her and helped.  ‘Better now?’

‘Yes, dearest, I am quite happy.’

‘Tears all gone?’

‘Quite gone.’

‘Well, then, explain!’

‘I didn’t mean to tell you, Frank!’  She gave the prettiest, most provocative little wriggles as her secret was drawn from her.  ‘I wanted to do it without your knowing.  I thought it would be a surprise for you.  But I begin to understand now that my ambition was much too high.  I am not clever enough for it.  But it is disappointing all the same.’

Frank took the bulky book off the table.  It was Mrs. Beeton’s Book of Household Management .  The open page was headed, ‘General Observations on the Common Hog,’ and underneath was a single large tear-drop.  It had fallen upon a woodcut of the Common Hog, in spite of which Frank solemnly kissed it, and turned Maude’s trouble into laughter.

‘Now you are all right again.  I do hate to see you crying, though you never look more pretty.  But tell me, dear, what was your ambition?’

‘To know as much as any woman in England about housekeeping.  To know as much as Mrs. Beeton.  I wanted to master every page of it, from the first to the last.’

‘There are 1641 of them,’ said Frank, turning them over.

‘I know.  I felt that I should be quite old before I had finished.  But the last part, you see, is all about wills, and bequests, and homeopathy, and things of that kind.  We could do it later.  It is the early part that I want to learn now - but it is so hard.’

‘But why do you wish to do it, Maude?’

‘Because I want you to be as happy as Mr. Beeton.’

‘I’ll bet I am.’

‘No, no, you can’t be, Frank.  It says somewhere here that the happiness and comfort of the husband depend upon the housekeeping of the wife.  Mrs. Beeton must have been the finest housekeeper in the world.  Therefore, Mr. Beeton must have been the happiest and most comfortable man.  But why should Mr. Beeton be happier and more comfortable than my Frank?  From the hour I read that I determined that he shouldn’t be - and he won’t be.’

‘And he isn’t.’

‘Oh, you think so.  But then you know nothing about it.  You think it right because I do it.  But if you were visiting Mrs. Beeton, you would soon see the difference.’

‘What an awkward trick you have of always sitting in a window,’ said Frank, after an interval.  ‘I’ll swear that the wise Mrs. Beeton never advocates that - with half a dozen other windows within point-blank range.’

‘Well, then, you shouldn’t do it.’

‘Well, then, you shouldn’t be so nice.’

‘You really still think that I am nice?’

‘Fishing!’

‘After all these months?’

‘Nicer and nicer every day.’

‘Not a bit tired?’

‘You blessing!  When I am tired of you, I shall be tired of life.’

‘How wonderful it all seems!’

‘Does it not?’

‘To think of that first day at the tennis-party.  “I hope you are not a very good player, Mr. Crosse!” - “No, Miss Selby, but I shall be happy to make one in a set.”  That’s how we began.  And now!’

‘Yes, it is wonderful.’

‘And at dinner afterwards.  “Do you like Irving’s acting?” - “Yes, I think that he is a great genius.”  How formal and precise we were!  And now I sit curling your hair in a bedroom window.’

‘It does seem funny.  But I suppose, if you come to think of it, something of the same kind must have happened to one or two people before.’

‘But never quite like us.’

‘Oh no, never quite like us.  But with a kind of family resemblance, you know.  Married people do usually end by knowing each other a little better than on the first day they met.’

‘What did you think of me, Frank?’

‘I’ve told you often.’

‘Well, tell me again.’

‘What’s the use when you know?’

‘But I like to hear.’

‘Well, it’s just spoiling you.’

‘I love to be spoiled.’

‘Well, then, I thought to myself - If I can only have that woman for my own, I believe I will do something in life yet.  And I also thought - If I don’t get that woman for my own, I will never, never be the same man again.’

‘Really, Frank, the very first day you saw me?’

‘Yes, the very first day.’

‘And then?’

‘And then, day by day, and week by week, that feeling grew deeper and stronger, until at last you swallowed up all my other hopes, and ambitions, and interests.  I hardly dare think, Maude, what would have happened to me if you had refused me.’

She laughed aloud with delight.

‘How sweet it is to hear you say so!  And the wonderful thing is that you have never seemed disappointed.  I always expected that some day after marriage - not immediately, perhaps, but at the end of a week or so - you would suddenly give a start, like those poor people who are hypnotised, and you would say, “Why, I used to think that she was pretty!  I used to think that she was sweet!  How could I be so infatuated over a little, insignificant, ignorant, selfish, uninteresting - ”  O Frank, the neighbours will see you?’

‘Well, then, you mustn’t provoke me.’

‘What will Mrs. Potter think?’

‘You should pull down the blinds before you make speeches of that sort.’

‘Now do sit quiet and be a good boy.’

‘Well, then, tell me what you thought.’

‘I thought you were a very good tennis-player.’

‘Anything else?’

‘And you talked nicely.’

‘Did I?  I never felt such a stick in my life.  I was as nervous as a cat.’

‘That was so delightful.  I do hate people who are very cool and assured.  I saw that you were disturbed, and I even thought - ’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, I thought that perhaps it was I who disturbed you.’

‘And you liked me?’

‘I was very interested in you.’

‘Well, that is the blessed miracle which I can never get over.  You, with your beauty, and your grace, and your rich father, and every young man at your feet, and I, a fellow with neither good looks, nor learning, nor prospects, nor - ’

‘Be quiet, sir!  Yes, you shall!  Now?’

‘By Jove, there is old Mrs. Potter at the window!  We’ve done it this time.  Let us get back to serious conversation again.’

‘How did we leave it?’

‘It was that hog, I believe.  And then Mr. Beeton.  But where does the hog come in?  Why should you weep over him?  And what are the Lady’s Observations on the Common Hog?’

‘Read them for yourself.’

Frank read out aloud: ‘“The hog belongs to the order Mammalia, the genus sus scrofa, and the species pachydermata, or thick-skinned.  Its generic characters are a long, flexible snout, forty-two teeth, cloven feet, furnished with four toes, and a tail, which is small, short, and twisted, while, in some varieties, this appendage is altogether wanting.”  - But what on earth has all this to do with housekeeping?’

‘That’s what I want to know.  It is so disheartening to have to remember such things.  What does it matter if the hog has forty-two toes.  And yet, if Mrs. Beeton knew it, one feels that one ought to know it also.  If once I began to skip, there would be no end to it.  But it really is such a splendid book in other ways.  It doesn’t matter what you want, you will find it here.  Take the index anywhere.  Cream.  If you want cream, it’s all there.  Croup.  If you want - I mean, if you don’t want croup, it will teach you how not to get it.  Crumpets - all about them.  Crullers - I’m sure you don’t know what a cruller is, Frank.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Neither do I.  But I could look it up and learn.  Here it is - paragraph 2847.  It is a sort of pancake, you see.  That’s how you learn things.’

Frank Crosse took the book and dropped it.  It fell with a sulky thud upon the floor.

‘Nothing that it can teach you, dear, can ever make up to me if it makes you cry, and bothers you. - You bloated, pedantic thing!’ he cried, in sudden fury, aiming a kick at the squat volume.  ‘It is to you I owe all those sad, tired looks which I have seen upon my wife’s face.  I know my enemy now.  You pompous, fussy old humbug, I’ll kick the red cover off you!’

But Maude snatched it up, and gathered it to her bosom.  ‘No, no, Frank, I don’t know what I should do without it.  You have no idea what a wise old book it is.  Now, sit there on the footstool at my feet, and I will read to you.’

‘Do, dear; it’s delightful.’

‘Sit quiet, then, and be good.  Now listen to this pearl of wisdom: “As with the commander of an army, so it is with the mistress of a house.  Her spirit will be seen through the whole establishment, and, just in proportion as she performs her duties thoroughly, so will her domestics follow in her path.”’

‘From which it follows,’ said her husband, ‘that Jemima must be a perfect paragon.’

‘On the contrary, it explains all Jemima’s shortcomings.  Listen to this: “Early rising is one of the most essential qualities.  When a mistress is an early riser, it is almost certain that her house will be orderly and well managed.”’

‘Well, you are down at nine - what more do you want?’

‘At nine!  I am sure that Mrs. Beeton was always up at six.’

‘I have my doubts about Mrs. B.  Methinks the lady doth protest too much.  I should not be very much surprised to learn that she had breakfast in bed every morning.’

‘O Frank!  You have no reverence for anything.’

‘Let us have some more wisdom.’

‘“Frugality and Economy are home virtues without which no household can prosper.  Dr. Johnson says, ‘Frugality may be termed - ’”

‘Oh, bother Dr. Johnson!  Who cares for a man’s opinion.  Now, if it had been Mrs. Johnson - !’

‘Johnson kept house for himself for years - and a queer job he made of it.’

‘So I should think.’  Maude tossed her pretty curls.  ‘Mrs. Beeton is all right, but I will not be lectured by Dr. Johnson.  Where was I?  Oh yes - “‘We must always remember that to manage a little well, is a great merit in housekeeping.”’

‘Hurrah!  Down with the second vegetable!  No pudding on fish days. Vive la bière de Pilsen !’

‘What a noisy boy you are!’

‘This book excites me.  Anything more?’

“Friendships should not be hastily formed, nor the heart given at once to every newcomer - ”’

‘Well, I should hope not!  Don’t let me catch you at it!  You don’t mind my cigarette?  Has Mrs. Beeton a paragraph about smoking in bedrooms?’

‘Such an enormity never occurred to her as a remote possibility.  If she had known you, dear, she would have had to write an appendix to her book to meet all the new problems which you would suggest.  Shall I go on?’

‘Please do!’

‘She next treats conversation.  “In conversation, trifling occurrences such as small disappointments, petty annoyances, and other everyday incidents, should never be mentioned to friends.  If the mistress be a wife, never let a word in connection with her husband’s failings pass her lips - ”’

‘By Jove, this book has more wisdom to the square inch than any work of man,’ cried Frank, in enthusiasm.

‘I thought that would please you.  “Good temper should be cultivated by every mistress, as upon it the welfare of the household may be said to turn.”’

‘Excellent!’

‘“In starting a household, it is always best in the long-run to get the very best articles of their kind.”’

‘That is why I got you, Maude.’

‘Thank you, sir.  We have a dissertation then upon dress and fashion, another upon engaging domestics, another about daily duties, another about visiting, another about fresh air and exercise - ’

‘The most essential of any,’ cried Frank, jumping up, and pulling his wife by the arms out of her low wicker-chair.  ‘There is just time for nine holes at golf before it is dark, if you wilt come exactly as you are.  But listen to this, young lady.  If ever again I see you fretting or troubling yourself about your household affairs - ’

‘No, no, Frank, I won’t!’

‘Well, if you do, Mrs. Beeton goes into the kitchen-fire.  Now remember?’

‘You are sure you don’t envy Mr. Beeton?’

‘I don’t envy a man upon earth.’

‘Then why should I try to be Mrs. Beeton?’

‘Why indeed?’

‘O Frank, what a load off my mind!  Those sixteen hundred pages have just lain upon it for months.  Dear old boy! come on!’

And they clattered downstairs for their golf-clubs.
CHAPTER XII - MR. SAMUEL PEPYS
There were few things which Maude liked so much as a long winter evening when Frank and she dined together, and then sat beside the fire and made good cheer.  It would be an exaggeration to say that she preferred it to a dance, but next to that supreme joy, and higher even than the theatre in her scale of pleasures, were those serene and intimate evenings when they talked at their will, and were silent at their will, within their home brightened by those little jokes and endearments and allusions which make up that inner domestic masonry which is close-tiled for ever to the outsider.  Five or six evenings a week, she with her sewing and Frank with his book, settled down to such enjoyment as men go to the ends of the earth to seek, while it awaits them, if they will but atune their souls to sympathy, beside their own hearthstones.  Now and again their sweet calm would be broken by a ring at the bell, when some friend of Frank’s would come round to pay them an evening visit.  At the sound Maude would say ‘bother,’ and Frank something shorter and stronger, but, as the intruder appeared, they would both break into, ‘Well, really now it was good of you to drop in upon us in this homely way.’  Without such hypocrisy, the world would be a hard place to live in.

I may have mentioned somewhere that Frank had a catholic taste in literature.  Upon a shelf in their bedroom - a relic of his bachelor days - there stood a small line of his intimate books, the books which filled all the chinks of his life when no new books were forthcoming.  They were all volumes which he had read in his youth, and many times since, until they had become the very tie-beams of his mind.  His tastes were healthy and obvious without being fine.  Macaulay’s Essays, Holmes’ Autocrat, Gibbons’ History, Jefferies’ Story of my Heart, Carlyle’s Life, Pepys’ Diary, and Borrow’s Lavengro were among his inner circle of literary friends.  The sturdy East Anglian, half prize-fighter, half missionary, was a particular favourite of his, and so was the garrulous Secretary of the Navy.  One day it struck him that it would be a pleasant thing to induce his wife to share his enthusiasms, and he suggested that the evenings should be spent in reading selections from these old friends of his.  Maude was delighted.  If he had proposed to read the rig-vedas in the original Sanskrit, Maude would have listened with a smiling face.  It is in such trifles that a woman’s love is more than a man’s.

That night Frank came downstairs with a thick well-thumbed volume in his hand.

‘This is Mr. Pepys,’ said he solemnly.

‘What a funny name!’ cried Maude.  ‘It makes me think of indigestion.  Why?  Oh yes, pepsine, of course.’

‘We shall take a dose of him every night after dinner to complete the resemblance.  But seriously, dear, I think that now that we have taken up a course of reading, we should try to approach it in a grave spirit, and endeavour to realise - Oh, I say, don’t!’

‘I am so sorry, dear!  I do hope I didn’t hurt, you!’

‘You did - considerably.’

‘It all came from my having the needle in my hand at the time - and you looked so solemn - and - well, I couldn’t help it.’

‘Little wretch - !’

‘No, dear; Jemima may come in any moment with the coffee.  Now, do sit down and read about Mr Pepys to me.  And first of all, would you mind explaining all about the gentleman, from the beginning, and taking nothing for granted, just as if I had never heard of him before.’

‘I don’t believe - ’

‘Never mind, sir!  Be a good boy and do exactly what you are told.  Now begin!’

‘Well, Maude, Mr. Pepys was born - ’

‘What was his first name?’

‘Samuel.’

‘Oh dear, I’m sure I should not have liked him.’

‘Well, it’s too late to change that.  He was born - I could see by looking, but it really doesn’t matter, does it?  He was born somewhere in sixteen hundred and something or other, and I forget what his father was.’

‘I must try to remember what you tell me.’

‘Well, it all amounts to this, that he got on very well in the world, that he became at last a high official of the navy in the time of Charles the Second, and that he died in fairly good circumstances, and left his library, which was a fine one, to one of the universities, I can’t remember which.’

‘There is an accuracy about your information, Frank - ’

‘I know, dear, but it really does not matter.  All this has nothing to do with the main question.’

‘Go on, then!’

‘Well, this library was left as a kind of dust-catcher, as such libraries are, until one day, more than a hundred years after the old boy’s death, some enterprising person seems to have examined his books, and he found a number of volumes of writing which were all in cipher, so that no one could make head or tail of them.’

‘Dear me, how very interesting!’

‘Yes, it naturally excited curiosity.  Why should a man write volumes of cipher?  Imagine the labour of it!  So some one set to work to solve the cipher.  This was about the year 1820.  After three years they succeeded.’

‘How in the world did they do it?’

‘Well, they say that human ingenuity never yet invented a cipher which human ingenuity could not also solve.  Anyhow, they did succeed.  And when they had done so, and copied it all out clean, they found they had got hold of such a book as was never heard of before in the whole history of literature.’

Maude laid her sewing on her lap, and looked across with her lips parted and her eyebrows raised.

‘They found that it was an inner Diary of the life of this man, with all his impressions, and all his doings, and all his thoughts - not his ought-to-be thoughts, but his real, real thoughts, just as he thought then at the back of his soul.  You see this man, and you know him very much better than his own wife knew him.  It is not only that he tells of his daily doings, and gives us such an intimate picture of life in those days, as could by no other means have been conveyed, but it is as a piece of psychology that the thing is so valuable.  Remember the dignity of the man, a high government official, an orator, a writer, a patron of learning, and here you have the other side, the little thoughts, the mean ideas which may lurk under a bewigged head, and behind a solemn countenance.  Not that he is worse than any of us.  Not a bit.  But he is frank.  And that is why the book is really a consoling one, for every sinner who reads it can say to himself, “Well, if this man who did so well, and was so esteemed, felt like this, it is no very great wonder that I do.”’

Maude looked at the fat brown book with curiosity.  ‘Is it really all there?’ she asked.
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