It was about five years after this that I decided to live in Paris for a while. —
I was growing stale in London. I was tired of doing much the same thing every day. —
My friends pursued their course with uneventfulness; —
they had no longer any surprises for me, and when I met them I knew pretty well what they would say; even their love-affairs had a tedious banality. —
We were like tram-cars running on their lines from terminus to terminus, and it was possible to calculate within small limits the number of passengers they would carry. —
Life was ordered too pleasantly. I was seized with panic. —
I gave up my small apartment, sold my few belongings, and resolved to start afresh.
I called on Mrs. Strickland before I left. —
I had not seen her for some time, and I noticed changes in her; —
it was not only that she was older, thinner, and more lined; I think her character had altered. —
She had made a success of her business, and now had an office in Chancery Lane; —
she did little typing herself, but spent her time correcting the work of the four girls she employed. —
She had had the idea of giving it a certain daintiness, and she made much use of blue and red inks; —
she bound the copy in coarse paper, that looked vaguely like watered silk, in various pale colours; —
and she had acquired a reputation for neatness and accuracy. She was making money. —
But she could not get over the idea that to earn her living was somewhat undignified, and she was inclined to remind you that she was a lady by birth. —
She could not help bringing into her conversation the names of people she knew which would satisfy you that she had not sunk in the social scale. —
She was a little ashamed of her courage and business capacity, but delighted that she was going to dine the next night with a K. C. who lived in South Kensington. —
She was pleased to be able to tell you that her son was at Cambridge, and it was with a little laugh that she spoke of the rush of dances to which her daughter, just out, was invited. —
I suppose I said a very stupid thing.
“Is she going into your business?” I asked.
“Oh no; I wouldn’t let her do that, ” Mrs. Strickland answered. —
“She’s so pretty. I’m sure she’ll marry well. “
“I should have thought it would be a help to you. “
“Several people have suggested that she should go on the stage, but of course I couldn’t consent to that, I know all the chief dramatists, and I could get her a part to-morrow, but I shouldn’t like her to mix with all sorts of people. “
I was a little chilled by Mrs. Strickland’s exclusiveness.
“Do you ever hear of your husband?”
“No; I haven’t heard a word. He may be dead for all I know. “
“I may run across him in Paris. Would you like me to let you know about him?”
She hesitated a minute.
“If he’s in any real want I’m prepared to help him a little. —
I’d send you a certain sum of money, and you could give it him gradually, as he needed it. “
“That’s very good of you, ” I said.
But I knew it was not kindness that prompted the offer. —
It is not true that suffering ennobles the character; —
happiness does that sometimes, but suffering, for the most part, makes men petty and vindictive.