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Updated: June 15, 2025
There also was a light of triumph in Zora's eyes when she entered a few moments afterwards with the tea-tray, which caused Sypher to smile and a wicked feeling of content to enter Septimus's mild bosom. "I think it was high time I came home," she remarked, pouring out the tea. The two men supported the proposition.
"Let us have a look at the field-gun," said Sypher encouragingly. Remembering the naval man's language, he had little hope that Septimus would be more successful by land than by sea; but his love and pity for the inventor compelled interest. Septimus's face brightened. "This," said he, "is quite a different thing. You see I know more about it."
He missed Emmy, who had treated him very tenderly since their talk in the moonlight at Hottetôt-sur-Mer; and he missed the boy who, in the later days in Paris, after her return, had conceived an infantile infatuation for him, and would cease crying or go to sleep peacefully if only he could gather a clump of Septimus's hair in his tiny fingers.
Another amenity in Septimus's peaceful existence was Emmy. Being at this time out of an engagement, she paid various flying visits to Nunsmere, bringing with her an echo of comic opera and an odor of Peau d'Espagne.
From his father, Sir Erasmus Dix, a well-known engineer, to whose early repression much of Septimus's timidity was due, he had inherited a modest fortune. After leaving Cambridge he had wandered aimlessly about Europe. Now he lived in a little house in Shepherd's Bush, with a studio or shed at the end of the garden which he used as a laboratory. "Why Shepherd's Bush?" asked Zora.
To no other mind but Septimus's could such a suggestion present itself. "Then what's to be done?" "I don't know," said Emmy. They looked at each other blankly, two children face to face with one of the most terrible of modern social problems, aghast at their powerlessness to grapple with it. It is a situation which wrings the souls of the strong with an agony worse than death.
This he had found no easy matter, diplomacy being the art of speaking the truth with intent to deceive, and so finely separated from sheer lying as to cause grave distress to Septimus's candid soul. At last, after much wasting of telegraph forms, he decided on the following: To Zora: "Emmy safe in London. So am I. Don't worry. Devotedly, Septimus."
Obviously again she had caught the eight-fifteen train from Ripstead, as she had done once or twice before when rehearsals or other theatrical business had required an early arrival in London. Septimus's telegram had not only allayed no apprehension, but it had aroused a mild curiosity. Septimus was master of his own actions. His going up to London was no one's concern.
"Do anything, except go to sleep," said Sypher. "Look here. I'm sorry if I disturbed you, but I couldn't wait. I'm off to the office and heaven knows when I shall be back. I want to talk to you about this." He sat on the foot of the bed and threw the proofs of the gun book on to Septimus's body, vaguely outlined beneath the clothes. He seemed as eager as Septimus was supine.
As the aperture was two feet square, all of Clem Sypher that could respond to the invitation was his head and shoulders. "Is it good morning, good afternoon, or good night?" he asked, surveying Septimus's attire. "Morning," said Septimus. "I've just got up. Have some breakfast." He moved to a bell-pull by the fireplace, and the tug was immediately followed by a loud report.
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