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At
Hyde
Park
Corner
on
a
tub
she
stands
preaching
;
shrouds
herself
in
white
and
walks
penitentially
disguised
as
brotherly
love
through
factories
and
parliaments
;
offers
help
,
but
desires
power
;
smites
out
of
her
way
roughly
the
dissentient
,
or
dissatisfied
;
bestows
her
blessing
on
those
who
,
looking
upward
,
catch
submissively
from
her
eyes
the
light
of
their
own
.
This
lady
too
(
Rezia
Warren
Smith
divined
it
)
had
her
dwelling
in
Sir
William
's
heart
,
though
concealed
,
as
she
mostly
is
,
under
some
plausible
disguise
;
some
venerable
name
;
love
,
duty
,
self
sacrifice
.
How
he
would
work
--
how
toil
to
raise
funds
,
propagate
reforms
,
initiate
institutions
!
But
conversion
,
fastidious
Goddess
,
loves
blood
better
than
brick
,
and
feasts
most
subtly
on
the
human
will
.
For
example
,
Lady
Bradshaw
.
Fifteen
years
ago
she
had
gone
under
.
It
was
nothing
you
could
put
your
finger
on
;
there
had
been
no
scene
,
no
snap
;
only
the
slow
sinking
,
water-logged
,
of
her
will
into
his
.
Sweet
was
her
smile
,
swift
her
submission
;
dinner
in
Harley
Street
,
numbering
eight
or
nine
courses
,
feeding
ten
or
fifteen
guests
of
the
professional
classes
,
was
smooth
and
urbane
.
Only
as
the
evening
wore
on
a
very
slight
dulness
,
or
uneasiness
perhaps
,
a
nervous
twitch
,
fumble
,
stumble
and
confusion
indicated
,
what
it
was
really
painful
to
believe
--
that
the
poor
lady
lied
.
Once
,
long
ago
,
she
had
caught
salmon
freely
:
now
,
quick
to
minister
to
the
craving
which
lit
her
husband
's
eye
so
oilily
for
dominion
,
for
power
,
she
cramped
,
squeezed
,
pared
,
pruned
,
drew
back
,
peeped
through
;
so
that
without
knowing
precisely
what
made
the
evening
disagreeable
,
and
caused
this
pressure
on
the
top
of
the
head
(
which
might
well
be
imputed
to
the
professional
conversation
,
or
the
fatigue
of
a
great
doctor
whose
life
,
Lady
Bradshaw
said
,
"
is
not
his
own
but
his
patients
"'
)
disagreeable
it
was
:
so
that
guests
,
when
the
clock
struck
ten
,
breathed
in
the
air
of
Harley
Street
even
with
rapture
;
which
relief
,
however
,
was
denied
to
his
patients
.
There
in
the
grey
room
,
with
the
pictures
on
the
wall
,
and
the
valuable
furniture
,
under
the
ground
glass
skylight
,
they
learnt
the
extent
of
their
transgressions
;
huddled
up
in
arm-chairs
,
they
watched
him
go
through
,
for
their
benefit
,
a
curious
exercise
with
the
arms
,
which
he
shot
out
,
brought
sharply
back
to
his
hip
,
to
prove
(
if
the
patient
was
obstinate
)
that
Sir
William
was
master
of
his
own
actions
,
which
the
patient
was
not
.
There
some
weakly
broke
down
;
sobbed
,
submitted
;
others
,
inspired
by
Heaven
knows
what
intemperate
madness
,
called
Sir
William
to
his
face
a
damnable
humbug
;
questioned
,
even
more
impiously
,
life
itself
.
Why
live
?
they
demanded
.
Sir
William
replied
that
life
was
good
.
Certainly
Lady
Bradshaw
in
ostrich
feathers
hung
over
the
mantelpiece
,
and
as
for
his
income
it
was
quite
twelve
thousand
a
year
.
But
to
us
,
they
protested
,
life
has
given
no
such
bounty
.
He
acquiesced
.
They
lacked
a
sense
of
proportion
.
And
perhaps
,
after
all
,
there
is
no
God
?
He
shrugged
his
shoulders
.
In
short
,
this
living
or
not
living
is
an
affair
of
our
own
?
But
there
they
were
mistaken
.
Sir
William
had
a
friend
in
Surrey
where
they
taught
,
what
Sir
William
frankly
admitted
was
a
difficult
art
--
a
sense
of
proportion
.
There
were
,
moreover
,
family
affection
;
honour
;
courage
;
and
a
brilliant
career
.
All
of
these
had
in
Sir
William
a
resolute
champion
.
If
they
failed
him
,
he
had
to
support
police
and
the
good
of
society
,
which
,
he
remarked
very
quietly
,
would
take
care
,
down
in
Surrey
,
that
these
unsocial
impulses
,
bred
more
than
anything
by
the
lack
of
good
blood
,
were
held
in
control
.
And
then
stole
out
from
her
hiding-place
and
mounted
her
throne
that
Goddess
whose
lust
is
to
override
opposition
,
to
stamp
indelibly
in
the
sanctuaries
of
others
the
image
of
herself
.
Naked
,
defenceless
,
the
exhausted
,
the
friendless
received
the
impress
of
Sir
William
's
will
.
He
swooped
;
he
devoured
.
He
shut
people
up
.
It
was
this
combination
of
decision
and
humanity
that
endeared
Sir
William
so
greatly
to
the
relations
of
his
victims
.
But
Rezia
Warren
Smith
cried
,
walking
down
Harley
Street
,
that
she
did
not
like
that
man
.
Shredding
and
slicing
,
dividing
and
subdividing
,
the
clocks
of
Harley
Street
nibbled
at
the
June
day
,
counselled
submission
,
upheld
authority
,
and
pointed
out
in
chorus
the
supreme
advantages
of
a
sense
of
proportion
,
until
the
mound
of
time
was
so
far
diminished
that
a
commercial
clock
,
suspended
above
a
shop
in
Oxford
Street
,
announced
,
genially
and
fraternally
,
as
if
it
were
a
pleasure
to
Messrs.
Rigby
and
Lowndes
to
give
the
information
gratis
,
that
it
was
half-past
one
.
Looking
up
,
it
appeared
that
each
letter
of
their
names
stood
for
one
of
the
hours
;
subconsciously
one
was
grateful
to
Rigby
and
Lowndes
for
giving
one
time
ratified
by
Greenwich
;
and
this
gratitude
(
so
Hugh
Whitbread
ruminated
,
dallying
there
in
front
of
the
shop
window
)
,
naturally
took
the
form
later
of
buying
off
Rigby
and
Lowndes
socks
or
shoes
.
So
he
ruminated
.
It
was
his
habit
.
He
did
not
go
deeply
.
He
brushed
surfaces
;
the
dead
languages
,
the
living
,
life
in
Constantinople
,
Paris
,
Rome
;
riding
,
shooting
,
tennis
,
it
had
been
once
.
The
malicious
asserted
that
he
now
kept
guard
at
Buckingham
Palace
,
dressed
in
silk
stockings
and
knee-breeches
,
over
what
nobody
knew
.
But
he
did
it
extremely
efficiently
.
He
had
been
afloat
on
the
cream
of
English
society
for
fifty-five
years
.
He
had
known
Prime
Ministers
.
His
affections
were
understood
to
be
deep
.
And
if
it
were
true
that
he
had
not
taken
part
in
any
of
the
great
movements
of
the
time
or
held
important
office
,
one
or
two
humble
reforms
stood
to
his
credit
;
an
improvement
in
public
shelters
was
one
;
the
protection
of
owls
in
Norfolk
another
;
servant
girls
had
reason
to
be
grateful
to
him
;
and
his
name
at
the
end
of
letters
to
the
Times
,
asking
for
funds
,
appealing
to
the
public
to
protect
,
to
preserve
,
to
clear
up
litter
,
to
abate
smoke
,
and
stamp
out
immorality
in
parks
,
commanded
respect
.
A
magnificent
figure
he
cut
too
,
pausing
for
a
moment
(
as
the
sound
of
the
half
hour
died
away
)
to
look
critically
,
magisterially
,
at
socks
and
shoes
;
impeccable
,
substantial
,
as
if
he
beheld
the
world
from
a
certain
eminence
,
and
dressed
to
match
;
but
realised
the
obligations
which
size
,
wealth
,
health
,
entail
,
and
observed
punctiliously
even
when
not
absolutely
necessary
,
little
courtesies
,
old-fashioned
ceremonies
which
gave
a
quality
to
his
manner
,
something
to
imitate
,
something
to
remember
him
by
,
for
he
would
never
lunch
,
for
example
,
with
Lady
Bruton
,
whom
he
had
known
these
twenty
years
,
without
bringing
her
in
his
outstretched
hand
a
bunch
of
carnations
and
asking
Miss
Brush
,
Lady
Bruton
's
secretary
,
after
her
brother
in
South
Africa
,
which
,
for
some
reason
,
Miss
Brush
,
deficient
though
she
was
in
every
attribute
of
female
charm
,
so
much
resented
that
she
said
"
Thank
you
,
he
's
doing
very
well
in
South
Africa
,
"
when
,
for
half
a
dozen
years
,
he
had
been
doing
badly
in
Portsmouth
.
Lady
Bruton
herself
preferred
Richard
Dalloway
,
who
arrived
at
the
next
moment
.
Indeed
they
met
on
the
doorstep
.
