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They talked about the Eliotts, for the Canon's catholicity bridged the gulf between Thurston Square and vociferous, high-living, fashionable Scale. Eliott from St. Saviour's to All Souls. He hoped also to win over Mrs. Eliott's distinguished friend. For the Canon was mortal. He had yielded to the unspiritual seduction of filling All Souls by emptying other men's churches.
Pooley sat up in her corner and revived the conversation interrupted by Miss Proctor. Mrs. Pooley had felt that to talk about Mrs. Majendie was to waste Mrs. Eliott. Mrs. Majendie apart, Mrs. Pooley had many ideas in common with her friend; but, whereas Mrs. Eliott would spend superbly on one idea at a time, Mrs. Pooley's intellect entertained promiscuously and beyond its means.
Eliott's hand, and laid her head back upon the cushion and cried. "Dear," whispered Mrs. Eliott, with her inspiration full upon her, "you will always have her." Then Anne sat up in her corner, and put away her tears, and controlled herself to speak. "Fanny," she said, "Dr. Gardner has seen her. He says I shall not have her very long. Perhaps a few years if we take the very greatest care "
The Ransomes came, and she dined with Mrs. Eliott. Mr. Eliott. She began to wonder whether the Eliotts' hospitality would stand the strain. She also wondered whether her other friends in Thurston Square were wondering; and what Canon Wharton must think of it. It had not occurred to her to wonder what Mr. Gorst would think. At first he thought nothing of it.
She swept down to a seat beside her hostess. "My dear Fanny," she said, "why didn't you tell me?" "Tell you " "That he was that sort. I didn't know there was such a delightful man in Scale. What have you all been dreaming of?" Mrs. Eliott tried to look both amiable and intelligent. In the presence of Mr. Majendie's robust reality it was indeed as if they had all been dreaming.
They were all, she could see, possessed, crushed down by their consciousness of Majendie and his monstrous past. Into this circle, thus stupefied by his presence, Majendie burst with the courage of unconsciousness. Mr. Eliott had started a topic, the conduct of Sir Rigley Barker, the ex-member for Scale. A heavy ball of conversation began to roll slowly up and down the table, between Mr.
Majendie had had a family that family would have had to call on Anne. But Mr. Majendie hadn't a family, he had only Edith, which was worse than having nobody at all. And then, besides, there was his history. Mrs. Eliott looked distressed. Mr. Majendie's history could not be explained away as too ancient to be interesting. In Scale a seven-year-old event is still startlingly, unforgetably modern.
He wondered if he too had changed to the same extent; and it seemed to him that the voice of his old chum had not changed so very much that the man was the same. Not a bad fellow the pleasant, jolly Ned Eliott, friendly, well up to his business and always a bit of a humbug. He remembered how he used to amuse his poor wife. She could read him like an open book.
She looked round with eyes widened by their angelic candour. Even more beautiful than Mrs. Gardner's intellect were Mrs. Gardner's eyes, and the love of them that brought the doctor's home from their wanderings in philosophic dream. Nobody but Dr. Gardner knew that Mrs. Gardner's intellect had cause to be jealous of her eyes. "There's one thing," said Mrs. Eliott, suddenly enlightened.
"Nickname, I guess, that," responded the eating-house man. "Fellows here, shady characters, especially, have all kinds of flash names among their friends. No, don't know Staggers." Frank was disappointed and wearied. He had the idea of saying something to the police about the bracelet. Then he made up his mind that he would get back to Bellwood and take Professor Eliott into his confidence.
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