Neith Boyce

“ If you please, Anne.”
Mallock drew a deep breath and sat down near her, looking a little more cheerful.
“Are you sure he’s going?” he inquired.
“Oh, yes. Why? I thought you liked him.”
“I do. That’s one reason I want him to go. And you like him—that’s another. I have enough to fight against without increasing the odds.”
“You have? What, for instance?”
“Myself,” said Mallock gloomily. “I feel that I’ve wasted my life.”
“How so?”
“I wish I had gone in for adventure, like Allison. To live life, rather than write about it—that’s the thing! And he seemed to think it all so matter-of-fact. ”

“ Anne Armitage.
Paris, October 6. My dear Harold: I am sure you would not knowingly do anything you did not think right. I am sure you would not knowingly do anything to hurt me. Therefore this action of yours means some essential difference in your and my way of looking at things, or of feeling. Perhaps we can find out what it is when we meet. Writing is so useless now. Anne.
Paris, October 7. Harold, I have just read that story of yours again. It is very, very well done—it’s brilliant. ”

“ All my life I have seen so much of the other sort of thing. I have lived always among people who cared only for people, for the social game the values of different people, their opinions, what they could be made to count for, how one could count with them ”

“ Mallock said hastily and in some embarrassment. “Just a note or two—those stories Allison told were such ripping material. Sorry! I’ll go back and dress before dinner.”
“Oh, Harold! And in the same breath you turn your back on art!” Anne laughed.
“Yes, hang it; but I’m serious, all the same. Sometimes I feel we’re all idiots—people like me. We only write because we aren't able to live, I suppose. As some artist chap says, all art is the product of weakened vitality——”
“Well,” said Anne softly, “perhaps the pearl is a sign of the weakened vitality of the oyster. ”

“ If a thing is wrong for one person it is wrong for another. And it is certainly wrong to betray the confidence of a friend!”
Another pause.
“People are so horribly personal about it,” said Mallock. “It seems to me the intelligent ones ought to be able to look at themselves objectively—or, at least, to allow the artist that privilege, even if he happens to be their friend. ”

“ I was taught that one must think about people, study them—that one must consider their feelings and not hurt them, at least without a reason. One lived in the midst of people, and one must be always awake—not go round with one’s head in the clouds and one’s feet trampling on conventions or other people’s toes. ”

“ People were the real thing, the serious thing. It was like a game of chess, and if you were clever you moved the pieces and played your game. If you weren’t clever you were played with, or swept off the board. ”

“ Of course, Charlotte wasn’t in love with Goethe; but, if she had been, it seems to me she ought to have been glad to contribute to his career, his fame, by offering her insignificant individuality as a model, if he wanted it.”
Anne’s black eyes opened wide, and her gaze fastened intently on Mallock’s face.
“The question is not new,” he went on somberly. “I imagine every artist who tries to picture life has had to meet it at some time. The great trouble is that the artist has nothing but life to get his material from ”

“ I saw from the first that you were not a social person. With a higher intelligence than most people, with all your personal distinction, you were not socially at ease. You did not get on with people. You were cold, difficult. ”

“ Sunday, 6 p.m.⁠ My dear Anne: Did you telephone me to-day? I received no message, though I’ve been waiting here all day. Please reply by messenger, who will wait. Yours, ⁠ H. M.
Sunday, seven o’clock. Dear Harold: Coming in, I find your messenger. No, I did not telephone you. I rather thought you would come here. Gerald Allison came to see me to-day. I did not receive him. I am sure he must have read that story, otherwise I can’t imagine his coming. And you haven’t even said you’re sorry! Mother sends you her love. A.
Club 7.20. ”

“ I couldn’t blame you even now for preferring Allison. ⁠
H.
City Club, Monday. Dear Anne: Just lunched with Mallock—talked about you. All right. Awfully glad that chap in the story wasn’t meant for me. Awfully nice of Mallock to come out straight about it. Fine fellow—splendid character. No end of brains, too—bound to be famous. Of course it’s plain enough why he gets you—you always went in for intellect. No use for fellows like me, just muddling along, doing nothing much. Like Mallock immensely, and do honestly wish you joy. ”

“ Dear Anne Armitage: Kind friend has called my attention to clever story by Mallock in highbrow magazine. Kind of thing friends will do. Friend was on the yacht and is cross about it, you know. Says man in story is meant for me—girl obviously you. Girl very charming, man all kinds of a cad. Suppose you told Mallock all about it—quite all right. ”

“ And he is almost sure to see that story—because of knowing about you—and he is in New York now. And there’s no mistaking it—why, you have put in that incident on the yacht literally. Of course he will believe that I told the story to you that way, and that I was willing you should print it. I don’t understand how you could do it. Why—not to be able to tell you things, even secrets, without seeing them in print! Forgive me, but I am very unhappy.
Paris, October 9. I went and looked my farewell to the Sainte Chapelle to-day—my first and best love in Paris. ”

“ It was like looking at a wonderful sunset—gold islands in a green sea—and dreaming of sailing into that sea of light. Life could be so beautiful. Anne.
Paris, October 11. Dear Harold: Just a line to tell you not to try to meet the boat. You would have hours on the dock, and I shall have to wrestle through the customs. I’ll telephone you as soon as we reach the house. I don’t want to see you first where I can’t talk to you. In haste, Anne.
II. Mallock’s Side of It The telephone call came as Mallock was finishing a frugal and nervous dinner at his club. ”