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The children of Alice call Bartrum father. We are nothing, less than nothing, and dreams.
I tell you it's not what you think about him, it's what I think." "Yes," said Alice Bartrum. Then Gwinnie Denning and John Conway came in and she left them. John carried himself very straight, and again Charlotte saw about him that odd look of accomplishment and satisfaction. "So you got through?" he said. "Yes. I got through." They kept their eyes from each other as they spoke.
After she had drunk the hot black coffee that Alice Bartrum gave her she was all right. The men had gone out of the messroom, leaving them alone. "I'm all right, Trixie, only a bit tired." "Tired? I should think you were tired. That Conway man's a perfect devil. Fancy scooting back himself on a safe trip and sending you out to Zele. Zele!" "McClane doesn't care much where he sends you."
You forgot that I helped Alice Bartrum to pack Gurney's things. You forget that Billy knows." "Do I? I shan't forget your going back on me; your betraying me," he said. And for the first time she realised how alone he was; how horribly alone. He had nobody but her. "Who have I betrayed you to?" "To Sutton. To McClane. To everybody you talked to." "No. No." "Yes.
Rankin nodded insolently and turned away. "Miss Bartrum " Miss Bartrum, the rather charming one, bowed, drawing the shadow of grave eyebrows over sweet eyes. "Dr. Donald McClane " As he bowed the Commandant's stare arched up at them, then dropped, suddenly innocent, suddenly indifferent. They looked around. Madame and her graciousness had gone.
"Yes, I know, dear, but I told her you weren't quite so well, and that she could come to-morrow. You see, she really can't afford to miss the Bartrums' tea; it's the first entertainment this fall and everybody will be there. I know you think Mrs. Bartrum a little gay, but you can't deny she runs that younger set."
"We are not of Alice nor of thee, nor are we children at all. The children of Alice call Bartrum father. We are nothing, less than nothing, and dreams. We are only what might have been." Godwin! Hazlitt! Coleridge! Where now are their 'novel philosophies and systems'? Bottled moonshine, which does not improve by keeping. 'Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.
John standing on the hospital steps, watching Trixie Rankin and Alice Bartrum as they started with the ambulances; the fierce fling of his body, turning away. His voice saying, "I loathe those women. There's Alice Bartrum I saw her making eyes at Sutton over a spouting artery. As for Mrs. Rankin they ought to intern her. She oughtn't to be allowed within ten miles of any army.
They were all listening, and Alice Bartrum had made fresh tea for her; McClane was setting down her cup. She was thirsty; she longed for the fresh, fragrant tea; she was soothed by the kind, listening faces. Suddenly they drew away; they weren't listening any more. John had come into the room.
Bartrum, or Bartram, mentioned by Lamb in this essay as being the father of Alice's real children. Bartrum was a pawnbroker in Princes Street, Coventry Street. Mr. W.C. Hazlitt says that Hazlitt had seen Lamb wandering up and down before the shop trying to get a glimpse of his old friend. London Magazine, March, 1822.
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