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You fool you who are so wise sometimes! You want me to begin again with Rudyard: and you do not want me to begin again with you?" He was silent, and he looked her in the eyes steadily. "You do not want me to begin again with you, because you believe me because you believed the worst from that letter, from Adrian Fellowes' letter.... You believed, yet you hypnotized Rudyard into not believing.
The light in them blinded him. Had he not always loved her before any one came, before Rudyard came, before the world knew her? All that he had ever felt in the vanished days rushed upon him with intolerable force. Through his life-work, through his ambition, through helping him as no one else could have done at the time of crisis, she had reached the farthest confines of his nature.
All these things were given to you poetical. It is only by a long and elaborate process of literary effort that you have made them prosaic. Now, the first and fairest thing to say about Rudyard Kipling is that he has borne a brilliant part in thus recovering the lost provinces of poetry.
If any man choose to maintain that there is more poetry in Tess than in the entire Barsetshire series, that Dickens could not have bettered the Two Drummer Boys of Rudyard Kipling, that Treasure Island has a realism as vivid as Robinson Crusoe, that Mrs. Wood's Village Tragedy may rank with Silas Marner, that Howells and Besant, Ouida and Rhoda Broughton, Henry James and Mrs.
To one who is interested to study the possible results of misdirected nervous power, nothing could illustrate it with more painful force than the story by Rudyard Kipling, "In the Matter of a Private."
Kipling has wrought a miracle of transformation with Tommy Atkins. General Sir George Younghusband, in a recent book, A Soldier's Memories, says, "I had never heard the words or expressions that Rudyard Kipling's soldiers used. Many a time did I ask my brother officers whether they had ever heard them. No, never.
It is simply to be white-hot in purpose and stone-cold in self-criticism at the same instant of time. Bar Meredith, who is quite sui generis, and Rudyard Kipling, whose characteristics will be dealt with later on, Hall Caine has less of the mark of his predecessors upon him than any of his contemporaries. His work has grown out of himself.
In a far dark corner he had waited till he saw Lablanche enter her mistress' room hurriedly, without observing the letter. Then he caught it up and stole away to the library, where he read it with malevolent eyes. He had left this fateful letter where Rudyard would see it when he rose in the morning.
She had courage and simplicity and a downright mind; that was clear. And she was capable. She had a love for big things, for the things that mattered. Every word she had ever said to him had understanding, not of the world alone, and of life, but of himself, Rudyard Byng. She grasped exactly what he would say, and made him say things he would never have thought of saying to any one else.
When the evening came he dressed with his usual care, verified the hour of his engagement, and went out to dine with the Loftuses. What the Bandar-log think now the jungle will think later. Maxim of the Bandar-log, RUDYARD KIPLING. It was Sybell Loftus's first season in London since her second marriage with Mr. Doll Loftus.
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