Book: The Works of Rudyard Kipling One Volume Edition

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"Lu-cy !'~

"Well-I'll withdraw the tongue,
though I'm sure if she didn't do it when
I was in the room, she did the minute
I was outside. At any rate, she l~y in
a lump and grunted. Ask the Hawley
Boy, dear. I bel~evc the grunts were
m~ant for sentences. but she spoke so
indistinctly that I can't swear to it."

"You are incorrigible, simply."

"I am not! Treat me civilly, give me peace with honor, don't put
the only available seat facing
the window, and a child may eat jam in my lap before Church. But
I resent being grunted at.
Wouldn't you? Do you suppose that she communicates her views
on life and love to The
Dancing Master in a set of modulated 'Grmphs'?"

"You attach too much importance to The Dancing Master."

"He came as we went, and The Dowd grew almost cordial at the
sight of him. He smiled
greasily, and moved about that darkened dog-kennel in a
suspiciously familiar way."

"Don't be uncharitable. Any sin but that I'll forgive."

"Listen to the voice of History. I am only describing what I saw.
He entered, the heap on the
sofa revived slightly, and the Hawley Boy and I came away
together. He is disillusionea, but I
felt it my duty to lecture him severely for going there. And that's
all."

"Now for Pity's sake leave the wretched creature and The
Dancing Master alone. They never
did you any harm."

"No harm? To dress as an example and a stumbling-block for half
Simla, and then to find this
Person who is dressed by the hand of God-not that I wish to
disparage Him for a moment, but
you know the tikka dhurzie way He attires those lilies of the
field-this Person draws the eyes of
men-and some of them nice men? It's almost enough ~o make one
di~card clothing. I told the
Hawley Boy so."

212
WORKS OF RUDYARD KIPLING


"I want to speak to Ted," moaned Mrs. Boulte, but the dog-cart
rattled on, and Kurrell was left
on the road, shamed, and boiling with wrath against Mrs. Boulte.

He waited till Mrs. Vansuythen was driving back to her own
house, and, she being freed from
the embarrassment of Mrs. Boulte's presence, learned for the
second time her opinion of himself
and his actions.

In the evenings, it was the wont of all Kashima to meet at the
platform on the Narkarra Road, to
drink tea, and discuss the trivialities of the day. Major Vansuythen
and his wife found
themselves alone at the gathering-place for almost the first time in
their remembrance; and the
cheery Major, in the teeth of his wife's remarkably reasonable
suggestion that the rest of the
Station might be sick, insisted upon driving round to the two
bungalows and unearthing the
population.

"Sitting in the twilight!" said he, with great indignation to the
Boultes. That'll never do! Hang it
all, we're one family here! You must come out, and so must
Kurrell. I'll make him bring his
banjo." So great is the power of honest simplicity and a good
digestion over guilty consciences
that all Kashima did turn out, even down to the banjo; and the
Major embraced the company in
one expansive grin. As he grinned, Mrs. Vansuythen raised her
eyes for an instant and looked at
all Kashima. Her meaning was clear. Major Vansuythen would
never know anything. He was
to be the outsider in that happy family whose cage was the Dosehri
hills.

"You're singing villainously out of
tune, Kurrell," said the Major, truthfully. "Pass me that banjo."

And he sang in excruciating-wise till the stars came out and all
Kashima went to dinner.

*
*
*
*
*


That was the beginning of the New Life of Kashima-the life that
Mrs. Boulte made when her
tongue was loosened in the twilight.

Mrs. Vansuythen has never told the Major; and since be insists
upon keeping up a burdensome
geniality, she has been compelled to break her vow of not speaking
to Kurrell. This speech,
which must of necessity preserve the semblance of politeness and
interest, serves admirably to
keep alive the flame of jealousy and dull hatred in Boulte's bosom,
as it awakens the same
passions in his wife's heart. Mrs. Boulte hates Mrs. Vansuythen
because she has taken Ted from
her, and, in some curious fashion, hates her because Mrs.
Vansuythen-and here the wife's eyes
see far more clearly than the husband's-detests Ted. And Ted
-that gallant captain and honorable man-knows now that it is
possible to hate a woman once
loved, to the verge of wishing to silence her forever with blows.
Above all, is he shocked that
Mrs. Boulte cannot see the error of her ways.

Boulte and he go out tiger-shooting together in all friendship.
Boulte has put their relationship
on a most satisfactory footing.

"You're a blackguard," he says to Kurrell, "and I've lost any
self-respect I may ever have had; but
when you're

A SECOND-RATE WOMAN
223

liter you saw her walking with The Dancing Master-an hour later
you met her here at the
Library."

"Still with The Dancing Master, remember."

"Still with The Dancing Master, I admit, but why on the strength of
that should you imagine"-"I
imagine nothing. I have no imagination. I am only convinced that
The Dancing Master is
attracted to The Dowd because he is objectionable in every way
and she in every other. If I know
the man as you have described him, he holds his wife in slavery at
present."

"She is twenty years younger than he."

"Poor wretch! And, in the end, after ke has posed and swaggered
and lied-he has a mouth under
that ragged moustache simply made for lies-he will be rewarded
according to his merits."

"I wonder what those really are," said Mrs. Mallowe.

But Mrs. Hauksbee, her face close to he shelf of the new books,
was humming softly: "What
shall he have who killed the Deer!" She was a lady of unfettered
speech.

One month later, she announced her otention of calling upon Mrs.
Delville. Both Mrs. Hauksbee
and Mrs. Mallowe were in morning wrappers, and there was a
great peace in the land.

"I should go as I was," said Mrs. Mallowe. "It would be a delicate
compliment to her style."

Mrs. Hauksbee studied herself in the glass.

"Assuming for a moment that she ever darkened these doors, I
should put on this robe, after all
the others, to show
her what a morning wrapper ought to be. It might enliven her. As
it is, I shall go in the
dove-colored-sweet emblem of youth and innocenc~and shall put
on my new gloves."

"If you really are going, dirty tan would be too good; and you know
that dove-color spots with
the rain."

"I care not. I may make her envious. At least I shall try, though one
cannot expect very much
from a woman who puts a lace tucker into her habit."

"Just Heavens! When did she do that?"

"Yesterday-riding with The Dancing Master. I met them at the
back of Jakko, and the rain had
made the lace lie down. To complete the effect, she was wearing
an unclean terai with the
elastic under her chin. I felt almost too well content to take the
trouble to despise her."

"The Hawley Boy was riding with you. What did he think?"

"Does a boy ever notice these things? Should I like him if he did?
He stared in the rudest way,
and just when I thought he had seen the elastic, he said, 'There's
something very taking about that
face.' I rebuked him on the spot. I don't approve of boys being
taken by faces."

"Other than your own. I shouldn't be in the least surprised if the
Hawley Boy immediately went
to call."

"I forbade him. Let her be satisfied with The Dancing Master, and
his wife when she comes up.
I'm rather curious to see Mrs. Bent and the Delville woman
together."

Mrs. Haukshee departed and, at the end of an hour, returned
slightly flushed.

"There is no limit to the treachery of

THE HILL OF ILLUSION
213

with me, I can feel certain that you are not with Mrs. Vansuythen,
or making Emma miserable."

Kurrell endures anything that Boulte may say to him. Sometimes
they are away for three days
together, and then the Major insists upon his wife going over to sit
with Mrs, Boulte; although
Mrs. Vansuythen has repeatedly de. dared that she prefers her
husband's company to any in the
world. From the way in which she clings to him, she would
certainly seem to be speaking the
truth.

But of course, as the Major says, "in a little Station we must all be
friendly."



The Hill of Illusion
What rendered vain their deep desire?
A God, a God their severance ruled,
And bade between their shores to be
The unplumbed, salt, estranging sea.

-Matthew Arnold.


HE. Tell your 'hampanis not to hurry so, dear. They forget I'm
fresh from the Plains.

SHE. Sure proof that I have not been going out with any one. Yes,
they are an untrained crew.
Where do we go?

HE. As usual-to the world's end. No, Jakko.

SHE. Have your pony led after you, then. It's a long ound.

HE. And for the last time, thank Heaven!

SHE. Do you mean that still? I didn't dare to write to you about
it-all these months.

HE. Mean it! I've been shaping my affairs to that end since
Autumn. What makes you speak as
though it had occurred to you for the first time?

SHE. I! Oh! I don't know. I've had long enough to think, too.

HE. And you've changed your mind?

SHE. No. You ought to know that I
am a miracle of constancy. What are your-arrangements?

HE. Ours, Sweetheart, please.

SHE. Ours, be it then. My poor boy, how the prickly heat has
marked your forehead! Have you
ever tried sulphate of copper in water?

HE. It'll go away in a day or twa up here. The arrangements are
simple enough. Tonga in the
early morning-reach Kalka at twelve-Umballa at seven-down,
straight by night train, to Bombay,
and then the steamer of the 21st for Rome. That's my idea. The
Continent and Sweden-a
ten-week honeymoon.

SHE. Ssh! Don't talk of it in that way. It makes me afraid. Guy,
how long have we two been
insane?

HE. Seve~ months and fourteen days, I forget the odd hours
exactly, but I'll think.

SHE. I only wanted to see if you remembered. Who are those two
on the Blessington Road?

HE. Eabrey and the Penner woman. What do they matter to us?
Tell me everything that you've
been doing and saying and thinking

222
WORKS OF RUDYARD KIPLING

said Mrs. Mallowe. "He will be a sufficient punishment for her.
What a common voice she has!"

Mrs. Delville's voice was not pretty, her carriage was even less
lovely, and her raiment was
strikingly neglected. All these things Mrs. Mallowe noticed over
the top of a magazine.

"Now what is there in her?" said Mrs. Hauksbee. "Do you see
what I meant about the clothes
falling off? If I were a man I would perish sooner than be seen
with that rag-bag. And yet, she
has good eyes, but~h!"

"What is it?"

"She doesn't know how to use them! On my Honor, she does not.
Look! Oh look! Untidiness I
can endure, but ignorance never! The woman's a fool."

"Hsh! She'll hear you."

"All the women in Simla are fools. She'll think I mean some one
else. Now she's going out. What
a thoroughly objectionable couple she and The Dancing Master
make! Which reminds me. Do
you suppose they'll ever dance together?"

"Wait and see. I don't envy her the conversation of The Dancing
Master-loathly man! His wife
ought to be up here before long."

"Do you know anything about him?"

"Only what he told me. It may be a11 a fiction. He married a girl
bred in the country, I think,
and, being an honorable, chivalrous soul, told me that he repented
his bargain and sent her to her
mother as often as possibl~a person who has lived in the Doon
since the memory of man and
goes to Mussoorie when other people go Home. The wife is with
her at present. So he says."

'~Babies?'~

"One only, but he talks of his wife in a revolting way. I hated him
for it. He thought he was being
epigrammatic and brilliant."

"That is a vice peculiar to men. I dislike him because he is
generally in the wake of some girl,
disappointing the Eligibles. He will persecute May Holt no more,
unless I am much mistaken."

"No. I think Mrs. Delville may oc cupy his attention for a while."

"Do you suppose she knows that he is the head of a family?"

"Not from his lips. He swore me to eternal secrecy. Wherefore I
tell you. Don't you know that
type of man?"

"Not intimately, thank goodness! As
a general rule, when a man begins to
abuse his wife to me, I find that the
Lord gives me wherewith to answer him
according to his folly; and we part with
a coolness between us. I laugh."

"I'm different. I've no sense of humor."

"Cultivate it, then. It has been my mainstay for more years than I
care to think about. A
well-educated sense of Humor will save a woman when Religion,
Training, and Home
influences fail; and we may all need salvation sometimes."

"Do you suppose that the Delville woman has humor?"

"Her dress bewrays her. How can a Thing who wears a supplement
under her left arm have any
notion of the fitness of things-much less their folly? If she discards
The Dancing Maste! after
having once seen him dance, I may respect her. Otherwise"

"But are we not both assuming a great deal too much, dear? You
saw the woman at Peliti's-half
an hour

214
WORKS OF RUDYARD KIPLING


SHE. Doing little, saying less, and thinking a great deal. I've
hardly been out at all.

Ha. That was wrong of you. You haven't been moping?

SHE. Not very much. Can you wonder that I'm disinclined for
amuse-ment?

HE. Frankly, I do. Where was the difficulty?

SHE. In this only. The more people 1 know and the more I'm
known here, the wider spread will
be the news of the crash when it comes. I don't like that.

HE. Nonsense. We shall be out of it.

SHE. You think so?

HE. I'm sure of it, if there is any power in steam or horse-flesh to
carry us away. Ha! ha!

Sira. And the fun of the situation comes in-where, my Larcelot?

lia. Nowhere, Guinevere. I was only thinking of something.

SHE. They say men have a keener sense of humor than women.
Now I was thinking of the
scandal.

HE. Don't think of anything so ugly. We shall be beyond it.

SHE. It will be there all the same-~ the mouths of
Simla-telegraphed over India, and talked of at
the dinners

-and when He goes out they will stare at Him and see how He
takes it. And we shall be dead,
Guy dear-dead and cast into the outer darkness where there is-HE.
Love at least. Isn't that

enough?

SHE. I have said so.

HE. And you think so still?

SHE. What do you think?

Ha. What have I done? It means qua] ruin to me, as the world
reckons
it~outcasting, the loss of my appointment, the breaking of my life's
work. I pay my price.

SHE. And are you so much above the world that you can afford to
pay it? Am I?

Ha. My Divinity-what else?

SHE. A very ordinary woman I'ni afraid, but, so far, respectable.
How'd you do, Mrs.
Middleditch? Your husband? I think he's riding down to
Annandale with Colonel Statters. Yes,
isn't it divine after the rain?-Guy, how long am I to be allowed to
how to Mrs. Middleditch? Till
the 17th?

HE. Frowsy Scotchwoman? What is the use of bringing her into
the discussion? You were
saying?

SHE. Nothing. Have you ever seen a man hanged?

HE. Yes. Once.

SHE. What was it for?

HE. Murder, of course.

SHE. Murder. Is that so great a sin after all? I wonder how he felt
before the drop fell.

HE. I don't think he felt much. What a gruesome little woman it is
this evening! You're
shivering. Put on youi cape, dear.

SHE. I think I will. Oh! Look at the mist coming over Saniaoli;
and I thought we should have
sunshine on the Ladies' Mile! Let's turn back.

HE. What's the good? There's a cloud on Elysium Hill, and that
means it's foggy all down the
Mall. We'll go
on.
It'll blow away before we get to the Convent, perhaps. 'Jove! It is
chilly.

SHE. You feel it, fresh from below. Put on your ulster. What do
you think of my ca~e?
A SECOND-RATE WOMAN

221
took more exercise and a more intelligent interest in your
neighbors you would"-"Be as much
loved as Mrs. Hauksbee. You're a darling in many ways and I like
you-you are not a woman's
woman-but why do you trouble your-self about mere human
beings?"

"Because in the absence of angels, who I am sure would be
horribly dull, men and women are
the most fascinating things in the whole wide world, lazy one. I
am interested in The Dowd-I am
interested in The Dancing Master
-I am interested in the Hawley Boy-and I am interested in you."

"Why couple me with the Hawley Boy? He is your property."

"Yes, and in his own guileless speech, I'm making a good thing out
of him. When he is slightly
more reformed, and has passed his Higher Standard, or whatever
the authorities think fit to exact
from him, I shall select a pretty little girl, the Holt girl, I think,
and"-here she waved her hands
airily-" 'whom Mrs. Hauksbee hath joined together let no man put
asunder.' That's all."

"And when you have yoked May Holt with the most notorious
detrimental in Simla, and earned
the undying hatred of Mamma Holt, what will you do with me,
Dispenser of the Destinies of the
Universe?"

Mrs. Hauksbee dropped into a low chair in front of the fire, and,
chin in hand, gazed long and
steadfastly at Mrs. Mallowe.

"I do not know," she said, shaking her head, "what I shall do with
you, dear. It's obviously
impossible to marry you to some one else-your husband would
object and the experiment might
not be
successful after all. I think I shall be gin by preventing you
from-what is it?
-'sleeping on ale-house benches and snoring in the sun.'"

"Don't! I don't like your quotations. They are so rude. Go to the
Library and bring me new
books."

"While you sleep? Nol If you don't come with me, I shall spread
your newest frock on my
'rickshaw-bow, and when any one asks me what I am doing, I shall
say that I am going to
Phelps's to get it let out. I shall take care that Mrs. MacNamara
sees me. Put your things on,
there's a good girl."

Mrs. Mallowe groaned and obeyed, and the two went off to the
Library, where they found Mrs.
Delville and the man who went by the nickname of The Dancing
Master. By that time Mrs
Mallowe was awake and eloquent.

"That is the Creature!" said Mrs. Hauksbee, with the air of one
pointing out a slug in the road.

"No," said Mrs. Mallowe. "The man is the Creature. Ugh!
Good-evening, Mr. Bent. I thought
you were coming to tea this evening."

"Surely it was for to-morrow, was it not?" answered The Dancing
Master. "I understood . . . I
fancied .
I'm so sorry . . . How very unfortunate!" -

But Mrs. Mallowe had passad on.

"For the practiced equivocator you said he was," murmured Mrs.
Hauksbee, "he strikes me as a
failure. Now wherefore should he have preferred a walk with The
Dowd to tea with us? Elective
affinities, I suppose-both grubby. Polly, I'd never forgive that
woman as long as the world rolls."

"I forgive every woman eve'-ything,"

THE HILL OF ILLUSION
215


HE. Never ask a man his opinion of a woman's dress when he is
desperately and abjectly in love
with the wearer. Let me ~ook. Like everything else of yours it's
perfect. Where did you get it
from?

SHE. He gave it me, on Wednesday
-our wedding-day, you know.

HE. The Deuce He did! He's growing generous in his old age.
D'you like all that frilly, bunchy
stuff at the throat? I don't.

SHE. Don't you?


Kind Sir, 0' your courtesy,


As you go by the town, Sir, 'Pray you 0' your love for me,


Buy me a russet gown, Sir.


HE. I won't say: "Keek into the draw-well, Janet, Janet." Only
wait a little, darling, and you
shall be stocked with russet gowns and everything else.

SHE. And when the frocks wear out, you'll get me new ones-and
everything else?

HE. Assuredly.

SHE. I wonder!

HE. Look here, Sweetheart, I didn't spend two days and two nights
in the train to hear you
wonder. I thought we'd settled all that at Shaifazebat.

SHE (dreamily). At Shaifazehat? Does the Station go on still?
That was ages and ages ago. It
must be crumbling to pieces. All except the Amirtollah kutcha
road. I don't believe tha~ could
crumble till the Day of Judgment.

Ha. You think so? What is the mood now?

SHE. I can't tell. How cold it is! Tœt us get on ~uickly.

Ha. Better walk a little. Stop your
jkampa"is and get out. What's the matter with you this evening,
dear?

SHE. Nothing. You must grow accustomed to my ways. If I'm
boring you I can go home. Here's
Ca~ tam Congleton coming, I dare say he'll be willing to escort
me.

Ha. Goose! Between us, too! Damn Captain Congleton!

SHE. Chivalrous Knight. Is it your habit to swear much in talking?
It jars a little, and you might
swear at me.

Ha. My angel! I didn't know what I was saying; and you changed
so quickly that I couldn't
follow. I'll apologize in dust and ashes.

SHE. There'll be enough of those later on-Good-night, Captain
Congleton. Going to the
singing-quadrilles already? What dances am I giving you next
week? No! You must have written
them down wrong. Five and Seven, I said. If you've made a
mistake, I certainly don't intend to
suffer for it. You must alter your programme.

Ha. I thought you told me that you bad not been going out much
this season?

SHE. Quite true, but when I do I dance with Captain Congleton.
He dances very nicely.

HE. And sit out with him, I suppose?

SHE. Yes. Have you any objection? Shall I stand under the
chandelier in future?

HE. What does he talk to you about? SHE. What do men talk about
when they sit out?

Ha. Ugh! Don't! Well now I'm up, you must dispense with the
fascinating Congleton for a while.
I don't like laim.
~2O
WORKS OF RUDYARD KIPLING

the attraction that a dowd has for a certain type of man. I expected
to see her walk out of her
clothes-until I looked at her eyes."

"Hooks and eyes, surely," drawled Mrs. Mallowe.

"Don't be clever, Polly. You make my head ache. And round this
hayrick stood a crowd of
men-a positive crowd!"

"Perhaps they also expected"-"Polly, don't be Rabelaisian!" Mrs.
Mallowe curled herself up
comfortably on the sofa, and turned her attention to the sweets.
She and Mrs. Hauksbee shared
the same house at Simla; and these things befell two seasons after
the matter of Otis Yeere,
which has been already recorded.

Mrs. Hauksbee stepped into the veranda and looked down upon
the Mall, her forehead
puckered with thought.

"Hab!" said Mrs. Hauksbee, shortly. "Indeed!"

"What is it?" said Mrs. Mallowe, sleepily.

"That dowd and The Dancing Master
-to whom I object."

"Why to The Dancing Master? He is a middle-aged gentleman, of
reprobate and romantic
tendencies, and tries to be a friend of mine."

"Then make up your mind to lose him. Dowds cling by nature, and
I should imagine that this
animal-how terrible her bonnet looks from above is specially
clingsome."

"She is welcome to The Dancing
Master so far as I am concerned. I
never could take an interest in a
monotonous liar. The frustrated aim
of his life is to persuade people that he is a bachelor."

"0-oh! I think I've met that sort of man before. And isn't he?"

"No. He confided that to me a few days ago. Ugh! Some men
ought to he killed."

"What happened then?"

"He posed as the horror of horrors-a misunderstood man. Heaven
knows the femme incomprise
is sad enough and bad enough-but the other thing!"

"And so fat too! I should have laughed in his face. Men seldom
confide in me. How is it they
come to you?"

"For the sake of impressing me with their careers in the past.
Protect me from men with
confidences!"

"And yet you encourage them?"

"What can I do? They talk. I listen, and they vow that I am
sympathetic. I know I always profess
astonishment even when the plot is-of the most old possible."

"Yes. Men are so unblushingly explicit if they are once allowed to
talk, whereas women's
confidences are full of reservations and fibs, except"-"When they
go mad and babble of the
Unutterabilities after a week's ac quaintance. Really, if you come
to consider, we know a great
deal more men than of our own sex."

"And the extraordinary thing is that men will never believe it.
They say we are trying to hide
something."

"They are generally doing that on their own account. Alas! These
chocolates pall upon me, and I
haven't eaten more than a dozen. I think I shall go to sleep."

"Then you'll get fat. dear. If you

216
WORKS Of RUDYARD KIPLING


SHE. (a!ter a pause). Do you know what you have said?

HE. 'Can't say that I do exactly. I'm not in the best of tempers.

Sitin. So I see,-and feel. My true and faithful lover, where is your
"eternal constancy,"
"unalterable trust," and "reverent devotion"? I remember those
phrases; you seem to have
forgotten them. I mention a man's name-HE. A good deal more
than that.

SHE. Well, speak to him about a dance-perhaps the last dance that
I shall ever dance in my life
before I,-before I go away; and you at once distrust and insult me.

HE. I never said a word.

SHE. How much did you imply? Guy, '5 this amount of confidence
to be our stock to start the
new life on?

HE. No, of course not. I didn't mean that. On my word of honor,
I didn't. Let it pass, dear.
Please let it pass.

SHE. This onc~yes-and a second time, and again and again, all
through the years when I shall be
unable to resent it. You want too much, my Lancelot, and,-you
know too much.

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