Changing Winds Part 94

Things were clearer now. In a little while, Mary and he would be married. Then he could go with Roger. He would have to see his lawyers in Dublin ... there would be a marriage settlement to make and business connected with the estate to settle ... and that done, and his book ready for the printers, he would be free.

"I wish the next two months were over," he said to himself.

He had to change at Salisbury, and while he was waiting for the slow train to Exeter, he met Mullally. He had looked at him, vaguely wondering who he was and why his face should seem familiar, until recollection had come to him, and then, with a return of the old aversion, he had turned away, hoping that Mullally had not seen or recognised him. But Mullally had recognised him, and, unable as ever to understand that his acquaintance was not wanted, he came to Henry and held out his hand.

"I thought it was you," he said. "I wasn't sure at first, but when you turned away ... there was something about your back that was familiar ... I knew it was you. _How_ are you? I haven't seen you since you left Rumpell's, though I've heard of you, of course, and read of you, too!

You've become quite well-known, haven't you?"

Henry smiled feebly, an unfriendly, unresponsive, mirthless smile, as was his wont when he was in the presence of people whom he disliked.

"I've often wondered about you," Mullally went on, unembarra.s.sed by Henry's obvious wish to get away from him.

"Oh, yes," Henry replied, saying to himself, "I wish to G.o.d my train would come in!"

"Yes, I've often wondered about you," Mullally went on. "And about Farlow and Graham and Carey. You were great friends, you four, weren't you? I'd have called you 'The Heavenly Twins' only there were four of you, and 'quadruplets' is a difficult word for a nickname, don't you think? I mean to say 'The Heavenly Quadruplets' doesn't sound nearly so neat as 'The Heavenly Twins.' It's funnier, of course! What's become of them all? I saw somewhere that Farlow'd written a play, but I didn't see it. I've read one or two of your books, by the way. Quite good, I thought! What did you say'd become of them?"

"Carey's in London ... at the Bar," Henry answered. "I've just been staying with him. He's married!..."

"Dear me! And has he any ... little ones?"

Oh, that was like Mullally! He would be sure to say "little ones" when he meant "children."

"He has a daughter!"

"Oh, indeed! He must be very gratified. And Farlow and Graham, how are they, and what are they doing?"

"Farlow's in Gallipoli and Graham's in France!..."

"Oh, this dreadful war," Mullally exclaimed, wrinkling his features.

"I'm greatly opposed to it. I've been addressing meetings on the subject!"

"Have you?" Henry asked with more interest than he had previously shown.

"Yes, I'm totally opposed to it. All this secret diplomacy and race for armaments ... that's at the bottom of it all. My dear Quinn, some members of the Cabinet have shares in armament works. It's easy enough to see why we're at war!..."

Henry could not prevent himself from laughing.

"Do you mean to say you think they got up the war on purpose so's to get bigger dividends on their armament shares?"

Mullally shrugged his shoulders. "I don't wish to impute motives," he said. "No, I should not care to do that. I believe in the good intentions of my fellow man, but all the same, it's very peculiar. It looks bad!..."

"You always were a b.l.o.o.d.y fool, Mullally, and you're a bloodier one now.

Good afternoon!" said Henry, turning to look at the train which was now entering the station.

He hurried to secure a carriage, and while he was settling his bag on the rack, he heard the voice of Mullally bleating in his ear.

"I'm going to Exeter, too," he said. "I'll just get in with you. I have a third cla.s.s ticket, but if they ask for the excess, I can pay it!"

"Oh, d.a.m.n!" said Henry to himself.

5

"I can understand the difficulty you have in believing that people could behave so ... so basely," Mullally said, as the train carried them out of Salisbury.

"I don't believe it at all," Henry answered, "and I think that any one who does believe it is a malicious-minded a.s.s!"

"But they hold the shares ... you can see the list of shareholders at Somerset House for yourself ... and they'll take the profits. I'm quite willing to believe in the goodness of the average man ... in fact, I've denounced the doctrine of Original Sin very forcibly before now ... but I must say that there's something very suspicious about this business.

Very suspicious. And you know some of the soldiers are really rather!..."

"Rather what?" said Henry.

"Well, I don't like saying anything about anybody, but some of them are not all that they should be. They should set an example, and they don't.

I've heard some very startling things about the behaviour of the soldiers. Very startling things. I don't want to say anything that may sound unpleasant, but I suggest that you should read the Report of the Registrar-General when it comes out. It will cause some consternation, I can promise you. Young women, Quinn, simply can't be kept away from the soldiers, and I've been told ... well!..."

Again he shrugged his shoulders, and turned his palms upwards and raised his eyebrows. A Member of Parliament had written to the _Morning Post_ about it ... a Conservative member of Parliament, not a Liberal or a Socialist, mark you, but a Conservative....

"Two thousand cases expected in one town," Mullally whispered. "Knows it for a fact. Seen the girls!..."

Mullally proposed a calculation. They were to work out the number of unmarried girls who would shortly become mothers, using the Conservative M.P.'s letter as a basis of calculation.

"Thousands and thousands," he prophesied. "Hundreds of thousands. _All_ illegitimate. I believe, of course, that we make too much fuss about the marriage laws, Quinn, but still ... there are limits, don't you think? I mean, we must make changes slowly, not in this ... this drastic fas.h.i.+on.

But what are you to expect? When the very Cabinet Ministers are proved to have shares in munition works, is it any wonder that the common soldier runs riot?..."

"I get out at the next station," said Henry.

"Do you?" said Mullally. "But I thought you didn't change until you got to Whitcombe Junction?"

"I don't" said Henry, "but I get out at the next station!"

"I see," said Mullally.

"About time," Henry thought.

6

After dinner, he asked Mary to walk to the village with him.

"Isn't it late?" Mrs. Graham objected.

"Oh, no," he answered. "It's a beautiful moonlight night, and I feel I want to stretch my legs. I've been cooped up in the train best part of the day. Come along, Mary!"

"I'll just get my coat," she said.

When they were ready, he put his arm in hers, and they walked down the long lane, past the copse and through the pine trees, to the village.

"It's very quiet to-night," Mary said.