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Updated: June 4, 2025
It sent him in flight back to Inkston, thence to London, thence into the unknown, to some spot chosen for its remoteness from Beaumaroy, from Captain Naylor, from Mike and from Neddy. He recognized his unpopularity, thereby achieving a triumph in a difficult little branch of wisdom.
Alec Naylor knit his brows, and once gave a little shiver, as he listened. Beaumaroy sat quite still, the expression in his eyes unaltered, or, if altered at all, it grew softer, as though with pity or affection. "Good God, Beaumaroy, are you keeping a lunatic in this house?" He might raise his voice as loud as he pleased now, it was drowned by that other. "I'm not keeping him, he's keeping me.
By the time of his meeting with Beaumaroy the delusion was complete; through all the second half of 1918 he followed so far as his mind could now follow anything rationally in his own person and fortunes the fate of the man whom he believed himself to be, appropriating the hopes, the fears, the imagined ambitions, the physical infirmity, of that self-created other self.
It fell from his hand back into the grave again; under its impact the gold coins in the grave again jangled. Beaumaroy had, by this time, been standing close outside the door for about two minutes; he had lighted a cigarette from the candle on the parlor table.
And in still one thing more the Tower was different from what it had been, Beaumaroy contented himself with pasting brown paper over the pane on which Mike had operated. He did not replace the matchboarding over the window, but stowed it away in the coal-shed. The place was horribly in need of sunshine and fresh air and the old gentleman was no longer alive to fear the draught!
"Half a minute!" answered Mike, as he in his turn set out to grope his way to the window. But he was not so cautious as his friend had been. In his progress he kicked the tall footstool sharply with one of his feet. Neddy leant back from the window, asking quickly, and again very nervously, "What the devil's that?" Beaumaroy could not resist the opportunity thus offered to him.
What they call the educational ladder! That explains it. By the way, I'm thinking of changing our doctor." "Good job, too. I 'ate that Irechester. Stares at you, that chap does." "Does he stare at your eyes?" asked Beaumaroy thoughtfully. "I don't know that he does at my eyes particularly. Nothing wrong with 'em, is there?" The Sergeant sounded rather truculent.
They were the words which her ears had caught. "What in the world has Mr. Beaumaroy to do with " But she broke off, as she saw the couple by the fire. "But what are you two doing?" Cynthia broke away from her lover, and ran to her friend with joyous avowals. "I must have been sound asleep," cried Mary, kissing her. Alec had followed across the room and now stood close by her. She looked up at him.
We can negotiate that without any noise to speak of, and it oughtn't to take us more than a few minutes. Just deal boards, I expect! Perhaps the old gentleman and your pal Beaumaroy the Sergeant spat will sleep right through it!" "If they ain't in the Tower itself," suggested the Sergeant gloomily.
The honorable limp that at present marked his movements would, it was hoped, pass away. Even his own family were often surprised into a new admiration of his physical perfections, remarking, one to the other, how Alec took the shine out of every other man in the room. There was no shine, no external obvious shine, to take out of Mr. Beaumaroy, Miss Wall's puzzling, unaccounted-for Mr. Beaumaroy.
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