No man is strong enough to carry even a single one of his fellows upon his shoulders. Charity is the most illogical and pernicious of all weaknesses.""Now you are laughing at me," she declared. "I mean men like that Mr. Wingrave, the American who has come to England to spend all his millions. Ihave just been reading about him," she added, pointing to an illustrated paper on the table. "They say that his income is too vast to be put into figures which would sound reasonable; that he has estates and shooting properties, and a yacht which he has never yet even seen. And yet he will not give one penny away. He gives nothing to the hospitals, nothing to the poor. He spends his money on himself, and himself alone!"Wingrave smiled grimly.
"I am not prepared to defend my namesake," he said; "but every man has a right to do what he likes with his own, hasn't he? And as for hospitals, Mr. Wingrave probably thinks, like a good many more, that they should be state endowed. People could make use of them, then, without loss of self respect."She shook her head a little doubtfully.
"I can't argue about it yet," she said, "because I haven't thought about it long enough. But I know if I had all the money this man has, I couldn't be happy to spend thousands and thousands upon myself while there were people almost starving in the same city.""You are a sentimentalist, you see," he remarked, "and you have not studied the laws on which society is based. Tell me, how does Mrs. Tresfarwin like London?"Juliet laughed merrily.
"Isn't it amusing?" she declared. "She loves it! She grumbles at the milk, and we have the butter from Tredowen. Everything else she finds perfection. She doesn't even mind the five flights of stone steps.""Social problems," Wingrave remarked, "do not trouble her.""Not in the least," Juliet declared. "She spends all her pennies on beggars and omnibus rides, and she is perfectly happy."Wingrave rose to go in a few minutes. Juliet walked with him to the door.
"I am going to be really hospitable," she declared. "I am going to walk with you to the street.""All down those five flights?" he exclaimed.
"Every one of them!"
They commenced the descent.
"There is something about a flat," she declared, "which makes one horribly curious about one's neighbors--especially if one has never had any. All these closed doors may hide no end of interesting people, and I have never seen a soul go in or out. How did you like all this climbing?""I'm afraid I didn't appreciate it," he admitted.
"Perhaps you won't come to see me again, then?" she asked. "I hope you will.""I will come," he said a little stiffly, "with pleasure!"They were on the ground floor, and Juliet opened the door. Wingrave's motor was outside, and the man touched his hat. She gave a little breathless cry.
"It isn't yours?" she exclaimed.
"Certainly," he answered. "Do you want to come and look at it?""Rather!" she exclaimed. "I have never seen one close to in my life."He hesitated.
"I'll take you a little way, if you like," he said.
Her cheeks were pink with excitement.
"If I like! And I've never been in one before! I'll fly up for my hat. Isha'n't be a moment."
She was already halfway up the first flight of stairs, with a whirl of skirts and flying feet. Wingrave lit a cigarette and stood for a moment thoughtfully upon the pavement. Then he shrugged his shoulders. His face had grown a little harder.
"She must take her chances," he muttered. "No one knows her. Nobody is likely to find out who she is."She was down again in less time than seemed possible. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright with excitement. Wingrave took the wheel himself, and she sat up by his side. They glided off almost noiselessly.
"We will go up to the Park," he said. "It is just the time to see the people.""Anywhere!" she exclaimed. "This is too lovely!"They passed from Battersea northwards into Piccadilly, and down into the Park.
Juliet was too excited to talk; Wingrave had enough to do to drive the car.
They passed plenty of people who bowed, and many who glanced with wondering admiration at the beautiful girl who sat by Wingrave's side. Lady Ruth, who drive by quickly in a barouche, almost rose from her seat; the Marchioness, whose victoria they passed, had time to wave her hand and flash a quick, searching glance at Juliet, who returned it with her dark eyes filled with admiration. The Marchioness smiled to herself a little sadly as the car shot away ahead.
"If one asked," she murmured to herself, "he would try to persuade one that it was another victim."
