: History of the Fifty-Seventh Regiment Pennsylvania Veteran Volunteer Infantry First Brigade First Division Third Corps and Second Brigade Third Division Second Corps Army of the Potomac by Various - United States History Civil War 1861-1865 Regimental his

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I AN EXPERIMENT IN EMOTION 11

II LADY BARBARA NEAVE 52

V MORTMAIN 149

VI DAME'S SCHOOL EDUCATION 184

THE EDUCATION OF ERIC LANE

THE EDUCATION OF ERIC LANE

AN EXPERIMENT IN EMOTION

". . . A genial . . . bachelor, whom the outside world called selfish because it derived no particular benefit from him. . . ." OSCAR WILDE: "THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY."

Eric Lane, visible only from ear to chin above the water-line, peered through the steam of the bathroom at a travelling-clock on his dressing-table. The bath would have been improved by another half handful of verbena salts; but, even lacking this, the water was still too hot to be lightly dismissed with an aggrieved gurgle down the waste-pipe. It was an added self-indulgence to know that, if he lay gently boiling himself for more than another minute, he would be late for dinner with Lady Poynter; but, if any one had to suffer, let it be Lady Poynter. It was not his fault that the rehearsal of "The Bomb-Shell" had dragged on until after seven; something had to be sacrificed--the letters which his secretary had left for him to sign, or the hot bath, or the cigarette and glass of sherry as he dressed, or Lady Poynter. He had already foregone a cocktail, which would have made him two minutes later.

As the water began to cool, Eric threw a towel over his shoulders, wiped the steam from the face of the clock and began to dry himself slowly, looking round with ever-fresh delight at the calculated ingenuity of comfort in his new flat. It was his reward for the successful play. For ten years after coming down from Oxford he had lived in the Temple, first with Jack Waring and afterwards by himself; lonely, hard-working years, when he had painfully learned the value of money and time. With one play running indefatigably, another rehearsing and a third in sight of completion, he had decided to construct a frame better suited to his new position. Ten years ago he had dreamed at Oxford of a day when he would burst upon London as a new young Byron; and, when the dream was almost forgotten, he found himself living in its midst. He was courted and quoted, photographed and "paragraphed"; Lady Poynter and the rich, malcontent world which aspired to intelligence humbly invited him to dine, and it did not matter whether she wanted to pay him homage or to exhibit him as her latest celebrity. It was time to leave the Temple and to burst, fully equipped, upon London. A friend in the artillery made over the remainder of his lease, and Eric gave himself a fortnight's holiday to order the furnishing and decoration of the six tiny rooms. When he surveyed telephone and dictaphone, switches and presses, files and cases, tables and lights, he felt that the ease and beauty of which he had dreamed were dulled and stunted by the reality.

It was time to order a taxi, and a tall Scotch parlour-maid, of whom he lived in secret dread, came in answer to his ring. He would have preferred a man, but men were unprocurable in war-time. He let fall a word of instruction on the correct way of laying out dress-clothes and was beginning to get ready in earnest, when the telephone-bell rang simultaneously in bedroom, bathroom, dining-room and smoking-room. As he finished his sherry, he tried to remember where he had left the instrument.

"Hul-lo," he cried, exploring to see whether the bathroom chair was dry.

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