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HOW TO DESIGN PROGRAMS
AN INTRODUCTION TO PROGRAMMING AND COMPUTING
SECOND EDITION

Matthias Felleisen
Robert Bruce Findler
Matthew Flatt
Shriram Krishnamurthi

The MIT Press

Cambridge, Massachusetts
London, England
©2018 Massachusetts Institute of Technology
Illustrations ©2000 Torrey Butzer

This work is licensed to the public under a Creative Commons Attribution-

NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 license (international):
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/

All rights reserved except as licensed pursuant to the Creative Commons license
identified above. Any reproduction or other use not licensed as above, by any
electronic or mechanical means (including but not limited to photocopying,
public distribution, online display, and digital information storage and retrieval)
requires permission in writing from the publisher.

This book was set in Scribble and LaTeX by the authors.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Felleisen, Matthias.

Title: How to design programs: an introduction to programming and computing /

Matthias Felleisen, Robert Bruce Findler, Matthew Flatt, and Shriram
Krishnamurthi.
Description: Second edition. | Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, [2017] | Revised
edition of: How to design programs / Matthias Felleisen … [et al.]. 2001. |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017018384 | ISBN 9780262534802 (pbk.: alk. paper)
Subjects: LCSH: Computer programming. | Electronic data processing.
Classification: LCC QA76.6.H697 2017 | DDC 005.1/2–dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017018384
Contents

Preface
Systematic Program Design
DrRacket and the Teaching Languages
Skills that Transfer
This Book and Its Parts
The Differences

Prologue: How to Program

Arithmetic and Arithmetic
Inputs and Output
Many Ways to Compute
One Program, Many Definitions
One More Definition
You Are a Programmer Now
Not!

I Fixed-Size Data
1 Arithmetic
1.1 The Arithmetic of Numbers
1.2 The Arithmetic of Strings
1.3 Mixing It Up
1.4 The Arithmetic of Images
1.5 The Arithmetic of Booleans
1.6 Mixing It Up with Booleans
1.7 Predicates: Know Thy Data
2 Functions and Programs
2.1 Functions
2.2 Computing
2.3 Composing Functions
2.4 Global Constants
2.5 Programs

3 How to Design Programs

3.1 Designing Functions
3.2 Finger Exercises: Functions
3.3 Domain Knowledge
3.4 From Functions to Programs
3.5 On Testing
3.6 Designing World Programs
3.7 Virtual Pet Worlds

4 Intervals, Enumerations, and Itemizations

4.1 Programming with Conditionals
4.2 Computing Conditionally
4.3 Enumerations
4.4 Intervals
4.5 Itemizations
4.6 Designing with Itemizations
4.7 Finite State Worlds

5 Adding Structure
5.1 From Positions to posn Structures
5.2 Computing with posns
5.3 Programming with posn
5.4 Defining Structure Types
5.5 Computing with Structures
5.6 Programming with Structures
5.7 The Universe of Data
5.8 Designing with Structures
5.9 Structure in the World
5.10 A Graphical Editor
5.11 More Virtual Pets
6 Itemizations and Structures
6.1 Designing with Itemizations, Again
6.2 Mixing Up Worlds
6.3 Input Errors
6.4 Checking the World
6.5 Equality Predicates

7 Summary

Intermezzo 1: Beginning Student Language

II Arbitrarily Large Data

8 Lists
8.1 Creating Lists
8.2 What Is '(), What Is cons
8.3 Programming with Lists
8.4 Computing with Lists
9 Designing with Self-Referential Data Definitions
9.1 Finger Exercises: Lists
9.2 Non-empty Lists
9.3 Natural Numbers
9.4 Russian Dolls
9.5 Lists and World
9.6 A Note on Lists and Sets

10 More on Lists
10.1 Functions that Produce Lists
10.2 Structures in Lists
10.3 Lists in Lists, Files
10.4 A Graphical Editor, Revisited
11 Design by Composition
11.1 The list Function
11.2 Composing Functions
11.3 Auxiliary Functions that Recur
 11.4 Auxiliary Functions that Generalize

12 Projects: Lists
12.1 Real-World Data: Dictionaries
12.2 Real-World Data: iTunes
12.3 Word Games, Composition Illustrated
12.4 Word Games, the Heart of the Problem
12.5 Feeding Worms
12.6 Simple Tetris
12.7 Full Space War
12.8 Finite State Machines

13 Summary

Intermezzo 2: Quote, Unquote

III Abstraction
14 Similarities Everywhere
14.1 Similarities in Functions
14.2 Different Similarities
14.3 Similarities in Data Definitions
14.4 Functions Are Values
14.5 Computing with Functions

15 Designing Abstractions
15.1 Abstractions from Examples
15.2 Similarities in Signatures
15.3 Single Point of Control
15.4 Abstractions from Templates
16 Using Abstractions
16.1 Existing Abstractions
16.2 Local Definitions
16.3 Local Definitions Add Expressive Power
16.4 Computing with local
16.5 Using Abstractions, by Example
 16.6 Designing with Abstractions
16.7 Finger Exercises: Abstraction
16.8 Projects: Abstraction
17 Nameless Functions
17.1 Functions from lambda
17.2 Computing with lambda
17.3 Abstracting with lambda
17.4 Specifying with lambda
17.5 Representing with lambda

18 Summary

Intermezzo 3: Scope and Abstraction

IV Intertwined Data
19 The Poetry of S-expressions
19.1 Trees
19.2 Forests
19.3 S-expressions
19.4 Designing with Intertwined Data
19.5 Project: BSTs
19.6 Simplifying Functions

20 Iterative Refinement
20.1 Data Analysis
20.2 Refining Data Definitions
20.3 Refining Functions
21 Refining Interpreters
21.1 Interpreting Expressions
21.2 Interpreting Variables
21.3 Interpreting Functions
21.4 Interpreting Everything

22 Project: The Commerce of XML

 22.1 XML as S-expressions
22.2 Rendering XML Enumerations
22.3 Domain-Specific Languages
22.4 Reading XML

23 Simultaneous Processing
23.1 Processing Two Lists Simultaneously: Case 1
23.2 Processing Two Lists Simultaneously: Case 2
23.3 Processing Two Lists Simultaneously: Case 3
23.4 Function Simplification
23.5 Designing Functions that Consume Two Complex Inputs
23.6 Finger Exercises: Two Inputs
23.7 Project: Database

24 Summary

Intermezzo 4: The Nature of Numbers

V Generative Recursion
25 Non-standard Recursion
25.1 Recursion without Structure
25.2 Recursion that Ignores Structure
26 Designing Algorithms
26.1 Adapting the Design Recipe
26.2 Termination
26.3 Structural versus Generative Recursion
26.4 Making Choices
27 Variations on the Theme
27.1 Fractals, a First Taste
27.2 Binary Search
27.3 A Glimpse at Parsing

28 Mathematical Examples
28.1 Newton’s Method
 28.2 Numeric Integration
28.3 Project: Gaussian Elimination

29 Algorithms that Backtrack

29.1 Traversing Graphs
29.2 Project: Backtracking

30 Summary

Intermezzo 5: The Cost of Computation

VI Accumulators
31 The Loss of Knowledge
31.1 A Problem with Structural Processing
31.2 A Problem with Generative Recursion

32 Designing Accumulator-Style Functions

32.1 Recognizing the Need for an Accumulator
32.2 Adding Accumulators
32.3 Transforming Functions into Accumulator Style
32.4 A Graphical Editor, with Mouse

33 More Uses of Accumulation

33.1 Accumulators and Trees
33.2 Data Representations with Accumulators
33.3 Accumulators as Results

34 Summary

Epilogue: Moving On
Computing
Program Design
Onward, Developers and Computer Scientists
Onward, Accountants, Journalists, Surgeons, and Everyone Else

Index
List of Figures
Figure 1: The basic steps of a function design recipe Figure 2: The dependencies
among parts and intermezzos Figure 3: Meet DrRacket
Figure 4: Landing a rocket (version 1) Figure 5: Landing a rocket (version 2)
Figure 6: Landing a rocket (version 3) Figure 7: Landing a rocket (version 4)
Figure 8: Landing a rocket (version 5) Figure 9: Landing a rocket (version 6)
Figure 10: Laws of image creation Figure 11: The DrRacket stepper
Figure 12: A batch program
Figure 13: How big-bang works Figure 14: A first interactive program Figure
15: From information to data, and back Figure 16: The completion of design step
5
Figure 17: Testing in BSL
Figure 18: The wish list for designing world programs Figure 19: Examples for a
moving car program Figure 20: Recall from “One Program, Many Definitions”
Figure 21: Conditional functions and special enumerations Figure 22: UFO,
descending
Figure 23: Rendering with a status line Figure 24: Rendering with a status line,
revised Figure 25: Launching a countdown and a liftoff Figure 26: How a traffic
light functions Figure 27: A symbolic traffic light Figure 28: A transition
diagram for a door with an automatic closer Figure 29: A Cartesian point
Figure 30: The universe of data
Figure 31: Adding structure to a universe Figure 32: Rendering space invader
game states, by example Figure 33: The complete rendering function Figure 34:
Rendering game states again Figure 35: Rendering the space invader games,
with tanks Figure 36: Two ways of writing a data definition for FSMs Figure 37:
A finite state machine as a diagram Figure 38: The universe of BSL data Figure
39: BSL core vocabulary
Figure 40: BSL core grammar
Figure 41: Syntactic naming conventions Figure 42: Replacing equals by equals
Figure 43: BSL, full grammar
Figure 44: Building a list
Figure 45: Drawing a list
Figure 46: List primitives
Figure 47: Searching a list
Figure 48: Computing with lists, step 1
Figure 49: Computing with lists, step 2
Figure 50: Computing with lists, step 3
Figure 51: Arrows for self-references in data definitions and templates Figure
52: How to translate a data definition into a template Figure 53: How to turn a
template into a function definition Figure 54: Turning a template into a function,
the table method Figure 55: Tabulating arguments, intermediate values, and
results Figure 56: Designing a function for self-referential data Figure 57: A
table for cat
Figure 58: A table for sorted>?
Figure 59: Creating a list of copies Figure 60: Random attacks
Figure 61: A list-based world program Figure 62: Two data representations for
sets Figure 63: Functions for the two data representations of sets Figure 64:
Computing the wages of all employees Figure 65: Computing the wages from
work records Figure 66: Things take time
Figure 67: Reading files
Figure 68: Counting the words on a line Figure 69: Encoding strings
Figure 70: Transpose a matrix
Figure 71: Tabulating for rev
Figure 72: Sorting lists of numbers Figure 73: Drawing a polygon
Figure 74: Reading a dictionary
Figure 75: Representing iTunes tracks as structures (the structures) Figure 76:
Representing iTunes tracks as structures (the functions) Figure 77: Representing
iTunes tracks as lists Figure 78: Finding alternative words Figure 79: Playing
Worm
Figure 80: Random placement of food Figure 81: Simple Tetris
Figure 82: Representing and interpreting finite state machines in general Figure
83: A simplistic HTML generator Figure 84: A data representation based on
nested lists Figure 85: A web page generated with BSL+
Figure 86: Two similar functions Figure 87: Two similar functions, revisited
Figure 88: Two more similar functions Figure 89: Finding the inf and sup in a
list of numbers Figure 90: A pair of similar functions Figure 91: The same two
similar functions, abstracted Figure 92: The similar functions for exercise 250
Figure 93: The similar functions for exercise 251
Figure 94: The similar functions for exercise 252
Figure 95: ISL’s abstract functions for list processing (1) Figure 96: ISL’s
abstract functions for list processing (2) Figure 97: Creating a program with
abstractions Figure 98: Organizing a function with local
Figure 99: Organizing interconnected function definitions with local
Figure 100: Using local may improve performance Figure 101: A function on
inventories, see exercise 261
Figure 102: Power from local function definitions Figure 103: A general sorting
function Figure 104: A curried predicate for checking the ordering of a list
Figure 105: Drawing lexical scope contours for exercise 301
Figure 106: Drawing lexical scope contours for exercise 301 (version 2) Figure
107: ISL+ extended with for loops Figure 108: A compact definition of
arrangements with for*/list
Figure 109: Constructing sequences of natural numbers Figure 110: ISL+ match
expressions Figure 111: A family tree
Figure 112: A data representation of the sample family tree Figure 113: Finding
a blue-eyed child in an ancestor tree Figure 114: Calculating with trees Figure
115: Finding a blue-eyed child in a family forest Figure 116: A template for S-
expressions Figure 117: A program for S-expressions Figure 118: Arrows for
nests of data definitions and templates Figure 119: A binary search tree and a
binary tree Figure 120: A program to be simplified Figure 121: Program
simplification, step 1
Figure 122: Program simplification, steps 2 and 3
Figure 123: A sample directory tree Figure 124: Representing BSL expressions
in BSL
Figure 125: From S-expr to BSL-expr Figure 126: The complete definition of
xexpr-attr
Figure 127: A realistic data representation of XML enumerations Figure 128:
Refining functions to match refinements of data definitions Figure 129: Finite
state machines, revisited Figure 130: Interpreting a DSL program Figure 131: A
file with a machine configuration Figure 132: Reading X-expressions Figure
133: Web data as an event Figure 134: Indexing into a list Figure 135: Indexing
into a list, simplified Figure 136: A simple hangman game Figure 137:
Databases as tables Figure 138: Databases as ISL+ data Figure 139: The result of
systematic expression hoisting Figure 140: A template for project
Figure 141: Database projection Figure 142: Database projection Figure 143:
Functions for inexact representations Figure 144: A Janus-faced series of inexact
numbers Figure 145: The graph of oscillate
Figure 146: Useless templates for breaking up strings into chunks Figure 147:
Generative recursion Figure 148: A graphical illustration of the quick-sort
algorithm Figure 149: The quick-sort algorithm Figure 150: The table-based
guessing approach for combining solutions Figure 151: Designing algorithms
(part 1) Figure 152: Designing algorithms (part 2) Figure 153: From generative
to structural recursion Figure 154: Finding the greatest common divisor via
structural recursion Figure 155: Finding the greatest common divisor via
generative recursion Figure 156: The Sierpinski triangle Figure 157: The
Sierpinski algorithm Figure 158: A numeric function f with root in interval [a,b]
(stage) Figure 159: The find-root algorithm Figure 160: Translating a file into a
list of lines Figure 161: The Newton process
Figure 162: The graph of poly on the interval [-1,5]
Figure 163: Distance traveled with constant vs accelerating speed Figure 164:
Integrating a function f between a and b Figure 165: A generic integration
function Figure 166: A candidate for adaptive integration Figure 167: A data
representation for systems of equations Figure 168: A directed graph
Figure 169: Finding a path in a graph Figure 170: A directed graph with cycle
Figure 171: A definition of arrangements using generative recursion Figure
172: A chess board with a single queen and the positions it threatens Figure 173:
Three queen configurations for a 3 by 3 chess board Figure 174: Solutions for
the n queens puzzle for 4 by 4 and 5 by 5 boards Figure 175: Solutions for the 4
queens puzzle Figure 176: A comparison of two running time expressions Figure
177: Converting relative distances to absolute distances Figure 178: Converting
relative distances with an accumulator Figure 179: A simple graph
Figure 180: Finding a path in a simple graph Figure 181: Finding a path in a
simple graph with an accumulator Figure 182: Design with accumulators, a
structural example Figure 183: Calculating with accumulator-style templates
Figure 184: Some stripped-down binary trees Figure 185: The accumulator-style
version of height Figure 186: Lam terms as trees
Figure 187: Finding undeclared variables Figure 188: Static distances
Figure 189: An implementation of lists in BSL
Figure 190: Creating a game tree Figure 191: Accumulators as results of
generative recursions, a skeleton Figure 192: Accumulators as results of
generative recursion, the function
Other documents randomly have
different content
 Margaret glanced at Stukeley, who seemed to be asleep. “I
suppose, captain,” he said, “I suppose, then, that you would
recommend one of these keys in the Samballoes, as you call them?”
“Yes, sir,” said Cammock. “I’ll tell you why. You’re handy for the
Indians, that’s one great point. You’re hidden from to seaward, in
case the Spanish fleet should come near, going to Portobello fair.
You’re within a week’s march of all the big gold mines. You’ve good
wood and water handy. And you could careen a treat, if your ship got
foul. Beside being nice and central.”
“Which of these two keys do you recommend?”
“La Sound’s Key is the most frequented,” answered Cammock.
“You often have a dozen sloops in at La Sound’s. They careen there
a lot. You see there’s mud to lay your ship ashore on. And very good
brushwood if you wish to give her a breaming.”
“I see. And the Indians come there, you say?”
“Oh yes, sir. There’s an Indian village on the Main just opposite.
Full of Indians always. La Sound’s is an exchange, as you might
say.”
“If I went there, in this big ship, should I be likely to get into touch
with the privateer captains? I mean, to make friends with them.”
“You’d meet them all there, from time to time, sir—Coxon, Tristian,
Yanky Dutch, Mackett; oh, all of them.”
“All friends of yours?”
“No, sir. Some of them is French and Dutch. They come from
Tortuga and away east by Curaçoa. That’s a point I can tell you
about. Don’t you make too free with the French and Dutch, sir. You
stick by your own countrymen. I’ll tell you why, sir. If you let them
ducks in to share, the first you’ll know is they’ve put in a claim for
their own country. They’ll say that the settlement is theirs; that we’re
intruding on them. Oh, they will. I know ’em. And they’ll trick you, too.
They’ll get their own men-of-war to come and kick you out, like they
done at St. Kitts, and at Tortuga.”
“That would hardly suit. But is La Sound’s more of a French and
Dutch resort than Springer’s?”
“Yes, sir. Since Captain Sharp’s raid. Ever since that, we’ve been
as it were more separated. And then there was trouble at the isle of
Ash; they done us out of a sloop; so we done them in return.
Springer’s is the place the Englishmen goes to, now. Oh, and
Golden Island, this easterly island here. But Springer’s Key is the
best of them. Though we goes to La Sound’s Key, mind you,
whenever we’re planning a raid.”
“Then—— By the way. Who is Springer?”
“He was a privateer, sir. He got lost on the Main one time. He was
in Alleston’s ship at that time. He got lost, out hunting for warree. He
wandered around in the woods there, living on sapadilloes, till one
day he come to a river, and floated down it on a log. He’d sense
enough for that. Generally men go mad in the woods at the end of
the first day.”
“Mad,” said Olivia. “But why do they do that?”
“It’s the loneliness, Mrs. Stukeley. You seem shut in, in those
woods. Shut in. A great green wall. It seems to laugh at you. And
you get afraid, and then you get thirsty. Oh, I’ve felt it. You go mad.
Lucky for you, you do, Mrs. Stukeley.”
“How horrible. Isn’t that awful, Charles?”
“Yes. Awful. But Springer kept his head, you say?”
“No, sir. I’m inclined to think Springer got a turn. The sun’ll give it
you. Or that green wall laughing; or just thirst. When I talked with
Springer, he told me as he come to a little stone city on a hill, all
grown over with green. An old ruined city. About a hundred houses.
Quite small. And what d’you think was in it, Mrs. Stukeley?”
“I don’t know at all. Nothing very horrible, I hope. No. Not if it’s
going to be horrible.”
“Well. It was horrible. But there was gold on every one of them.
Gold plates. Gold masks. And gold all over the rooms. Now if that’s
true, it’s mighty queer. But I think he’d got a turn, ma’am. I don’t think
things was right with Springer. Living all alone in the woods, and then
living all alone on the key. It very likely put him off. I was to have
gone with him, searching for it, one time; but I never did.”
Stukeley seemed to wake up suddenly.
“You must have been a fool,” he said.
“Why? Acos I thought of going?” said Cammock.
“No. Because you didn’t go. I suppose you know which river he
came down. And whereabouts he got on the log?”
“Oh yes,” said Cammock; “better than I know you, Mr. Stukeley.”
 “What d’you mean?” said Stukeley.
“Nothing,” said Cammock. “The very last time I saw Ed Springer,
we talked it all out. And he told me all he remembered, and we
worked it out together, whereabouts he must have got to. You see,
Mrs. Stukeley, Springer went a long way. He was lost—— And we
were going to look for it together.”
“Why didn’t you?” said Stukeley. “Were you afraid?”
“Yes,” replied Cammock curtly; “I was.”
Thinking that there would be an open quarrel, Captain Margaret
interrupted. “And you think Springer’s Key would be the best for us?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Here is Springer’s Key on the map. Come here, Stukeley, and just
cast your eye over it.”
Stukeley advanced, and put his hand on Olivia’s shoulder, drawing
her against him, as he leaned over to see the map. She stroked the
caressing hand, only conscious of the pleasure of her husband’s
caress. She had no thought of what the sight meant to Margaret.
Perrin felt for his friend. “Put it to the vote, Charles,” he said
hastily.
“Very well then,” said Margaret. “Shall we decide then? To go to
Springer’s Key?”
“Is it a pleasant place?” said Olivia. “Don’t, Tom.” She gave the
hand a little slap.
“Very pleasant, Mrs. Stukeley. A island with huge big cedars on it
—aromatic cedars—as red as blood; and all green parrots. Wells.
Good drinking wells. Wonderful flowers. If you’re fond of flowers,
ma’am.”
“What sorts are they?”
“Arnotto roses, and yellow violet trees. Oh, lots of them.”
“Oh, then, Springer’s Key, certainly.”
“Springer’s Key,” said Stukeley and Perrin.
“The ayes have it.”
“Very well, then,” said Margaret. “We’ll decide for Springer’s Key.”
“One other thing, sir,” said Cammock. “There’s the difficulty about
men. We’ve forty-five men in the ship here, mustering boys and
idlers. And that’s not enough. It’s not enough to attract allies. Of
course, I quite see, if you’d shipped more in London, in a ship of this
size, it would have looked odd. It might have attracted notice. The
Spaniards watch the Pool a sight more’n you think. But you want
more. And you want choice weapons for them.” He paused for a
second to watch Captain Margaret’s face, then, seeing no change
upon it, continued, “I know you got twenty long brass eighteens
among the ballast.”
“How did you know that?” said Margaret.
“Well, you have, sir,” said Cammock, grinning, “and small-arms in
proportion. You can fortify Springer’s with a third of that lot. Now you
want another forty or fifty men, at least, and then you’ll be boss dog.
Every privateer captain will come saying, ‘Oh, Massa’ to you.”
“Yes,” said Perrin. “It seems to me that there’ll be a difficulty in
getting men. You see we want really a drill force.”
“No difficulty about men in Virginia, sir. Lots of good men, regular
old standards, tough as hickory, at Accomac, and along the James
River.”
“What do they do there?” said Perrin.
“Lots of ’em come there,” said Cammock evasively. “They tobacco
plants, and they trap them things with fur on, and some on ’em
fishes. Lots of ’em come there.”
“Where from?” asked Captain Margaret pointedly.
“Most everywhere,” said Cammock, looking on the deck.
“Campeachy?” said the captain.
“Most everywhere, sir,” repeated Cammock.
“Writs hard to serve there?”
“Every one has his misfortunes,” said Cammock hotly. “But they’re
a better lot there than you’d get anywhere in the islands, let me tell
you that. I’ve known a power of men among them, fine men. They
might be a bit rough and that; but they do stand by a fellow.”
“Yes,” said Captain Margaret, “I dare say. But I don’t want them to
stand by a fellow. I want them to stand by an idea.”
“They’ll stand by anything so long as you’ve a commission,” said
Captain Cammock.
“And obey orders?”
“Now, sir. In England, everybody knuckles down to squires and
lords. But among the privateers there aren’t any squires and lords.
Nor in Virginia, where the old privateers tobacco plants. A man
stands by what he is in himself. If you can persuade the privateers
that you’re a better man than their captains; and some of them are
clever generals, mind. They’ve been fighting Spaniards all their lives.
Well. You persuade ’em that you’re a better man. You show ’em that.
And they’ll be your partners. As for hands in the ship here, and ship’s
discipline. They aren’t particularly good at being ordered about.
They’re accustomed to being free, and having their share in the
councils. But you give them some little success on the Main, and
you’ll find they’ll follow you anywhere. You give out that you’re going
against Tolu, say. You take Tolu, say, and give ’em ten pound a
man.”
“Then they’ll want to go ashore to spend it.”
“Not if you give ’em a dice-box or two. You won’t be able to wage
them, like you wage hands, at sixteen shillen a month.”
Olivia, who seemed disconcerted at the thought of sitting down at
a council with a crowd of ragged sailors, now asked if it would not be
possible to wage them, if they explained the circumstances.
“You say they are tobacco-planting in Virginia. Why should they
not plant on the Main and supply all the ships which come to us,
besides fighting the Spaniards when the crops are growing?”
“That’s what you must do,” said Cammock. “Get the steadiest men
you can. Plant your crops, when you’ve cleared a patch of ground.
Hit the Spaniards hard at the first try. That’ll bring all the privateers to
you. Hit ’em again hard at a bigger port; and I do believe, sir, you’ll
have two or three thousand skilled troops flocking to you. Old
Mansvelt, the old Dutchman. You know who I mean. He tried to do
what you are trying. That was at Santa Katalina. But he died, and
Morgan had to do it all over again. Then Morgan had his chance.
He’d fifteen hundred men and a lot of ships. He’d taken Chagres and
Porto Bello. He had the whole thing in his hands. With all the spoil of
Panama to back him up. The Isthmus was ours, sir. The whole of
Spanish America was in that man’s hands. But no. Come-day-go-
day. He went off and got drunk in Port Royal; got a chill the first
week; got laid up for a time; then, when he did get better, he entered
Jamaica politics. The new governor kept him squared. The new
governor was afraid of him. But what he done you can do. You have
a little success, and make a name for yourself, and you’ll have a
thousand men in no time. That’s enough to drive the Spaniards off
the North Sea. When you’ve driven ’em all off, the King’ll step in. The
King of England, I mean. He’ll knight you, and give you a bottle-
washing job alongside his kitchen sink. Your settlement’ll be given to
one of these Sirs in Jamaica. There, sir. I wish you luck.”
The meeting was now broken up. Perrin brought from his cabin a
box of West Indian conserves and a packet of the famous Peruvian
sweetmeats. He offered them to Olivia, then to all the company. The
steward brought round wine and strong waters. Mrs. Inigo, passing
through the cabin with a curtsey, left hot water in Olivia’s state-room.
She wore a black gown and white cap. She looked very handsome.
She walked with the grace of the Cornish women. She reminded
Captain Cammock of the Peruvian ladies whom he had captured
before Arica battle. They, too, had worn black, and had walked like
queens. He remembered how frightened they had been, when they
were first brought aboard from the prize. Olivia followed Mrs. Inigo
into the state-room. “I must just see if she’s got everything she
wants,” she murmured. She remained in the state-room for a few
minutes talking with Mrs. Inigo. Perrin noticed that Stukeley looked
very hard at Mrs. Inigo as she passed through with the jug. He
decided that Stukeley would need watching.
“Where are you putting her?” said Stukeley.
“Who? Mrs. Inigo?” said Margaret. “Along the alleyway, to the
starboard, in the big cabin which was once the sail-room.”
“I see,” said Stukeley.
“By the way, Stukeley,” said Margaret. “Now that you’ve got over
your sickness, would you like to be one of us? And will you stand a
watch? I’m going to stand two watches a day with the mate’s watch,
and Edward here will do the same with the starboard watch.”
“I’ll think it over,” said Stukeley, evidently not much pleased. “I’ll
think it over. I think I’ve listened to enough jaw for one night. I’m
going to turn in.”
Margaret, quick to save Olivia from something which he thought
might annoy her, made a neat parry. “Oh, don’t say that, Stukeley.
Come on deck for a blow; then we’ll have a glass of punch apiece.”
“Come on,” said Perrin, attempting, with an ill grace, the manner of
a jovial schoolboy. “Come on, my son. Catch hold of his other arm,
Charles.”
As he seized Stukeley’s arm to give him a heave, Stukeley poked
him in the wind, and tripped him as he stepped backward. “What’re
you sitting down for?” he said, with a rough laugh.
Perrin was up in a second. He seized a heavy decanter, and hove
it into Stukeley’s face. Stukeley in guarding the blow received a
sharp crack upon the elbow. Margaret and Cammock pulled Perrin
aside, under a heavy fire of curses.
“What d’ye mean by losing your temper? Hey?” said Stukeley.
Margaret drew Perrin out of the cabin. “Good night, Stukeley,” he
said as he passed the door.
He left Cammock standing by his chair, looking into Stukeley’s
face. There was a pause for a moment.
Then Stukeley began with, “That damned old woman nearly broke
my elbow. If he’s a friend of yours——”
“He is,” said Cammock.
“Oh, so you’re another of them. Well. Lord. You make a queer
crew. Do you know that?”
Cammock did not answer, but remained standing, like a figure of
bronze, staring into Stukeley’s face. For fully a minute he stood there
silently. Then he spun round swiftly, in his usual way, giving a little
whistle. He paused at the door to stare at Stukeley again.
“I’m glad you admire my beauty,” said Stukeley. “You’re not much
used to seeing gentlemen, are you?”
Still Cammock did not answer. At last he spat through the half-
opened gun-port. “My God,” he said. Then he walked out on deck,
leaving Stukeley rubbing his elbow; but softly chuckling, thinking he
had won the field.
 V.
STUKELEY

“Thus can my love excuse the slow offence.”

Sonnet li.

“I can endure
All this. Good Gods a blow I can endure.
But stay not, lest thou draw a timeless death
Upon thyself.”
The Maid’s Tragedy.

One morning, about six weeks later, when the Broken Heart was
near her port of call, Captain Margaret sat at the cabin table, with a
book of logarithms beside him, a chart before him, and a form for a
ship’s day’s work neatly ruled, lying upon the chart. He made a faint
pencil-line upon the chart, to show the ship’s position by dead-
reckoning. Then, with a pair of compasses, he made a rough
measurement of the distance still to run. Stukeley, lying at length
upon the locker-top, watched him with contempt.
The Broken Heart had had a fair summer passage, with no severe
weather. She had spoken with no ships since leaving Falmouth. Her
little company of souls had been thrown upon themselves, and the
six weeks of close association had tried their nerves. There were
tense nerves among the afterguard, on that sunny morning, just off
Soundings.
“Where are we?” Stukeley asked.
“Just off Soundings,” said Margaret.
“Where the blazes is that?”
“About four hundred miles to the east of Accomac.”
“How soon shall we get to Accomac?”
“A week, perhaps. It depends on the wind.”
“And then we’ll get ashore?”
“Yes. If you think it safe.”
 “What the devil d’you mean?”
Captain Margaret sat back in his chair and looked at Stukeley as
an artist looks at his model. Many small, inconsidered, personal acts
are revelations of the entire character; the walk, the smile, the
sudden lifting of the head or hand, are enough, to the imaginative
person. So, now, was Captain Margaret’s look a revelation. One had
but to see him, to know the truth of Perrin’s epigram. Perrin had
called him “a Quixote turned critic.” He looked at Stukeley as though
he were above human anger; his look was almost wistful, but
intense. He summed up the man’s character to himself, weighing
each point with a shrewd, bitter clearness. His thought was of
himself as a boy, pinning the newly killed moth upon the setting-
board.
“Look here,” said Stukeley.
“Do you think it safe?”
Stukeley rose from the locker and advanced across the cabin.
“So little Maggy’s going to preach, is he?” he said lightly. “Let me
recommend little Maggy to keep on his own side of the fence.”
Margaret shrugged his shoulders. It seemed to him to be the most
offensive thing he could do, in the circumstances.
“Supposing that it’s not safe?”
Stukeley laughed, and returned to the locker. He pulled out a pipe
and began to fill it.
“Maggy,” he said, “why don’t you get married?”
“My destiny.”
“Marriage goes by destiny. Eh?”
“Marriage. And hanging, Stukeley.”
That brought him from the locker again. “What the hell d’you mean
by that?”
“Oh,” said Margaret. “It’s safe in Accomac, I should think.”
“What is?”
“The evil-doer, Stukeley. The cheat, the ravisher, the—— But I
don’t think you ever committed a murder. Not what is called murder
by a jury.”
“Ah. You cast that at me,” said Stukeley. “Recollect now, Maggy.
That’s enough. I’d be sorry to hit you.”
 “Would you?” said Margaret. “Well. Perhaps. But if it’s not safe,
Stukeley, what are you going to do?”
“Stay here, little Maggy. Oh, ducky, you are so charming. I shall
stay on board with my own little Maggy.”
“You’d better remember my name when you speak again,
Stukeley. I take no liberties from a forger.”
“Have you been reading my papers? In my cabin?”
“It was forgery, wasn’t it?”
“Is it any business of yours?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Because, Stukeley, I may have to see the Governor about you. I
may be asked about you when you land. I may even have to hand
you over to—well, disgrace.”
“Rot. How the hell will the Governor know? Don’t talk nonsense.”
“Then it was forgery?”
“Certainly no damn maggot like you’ll call it anything. No man
alive.”
“But supposing they try you, my friend. Eh? Suppose, when we
land, when we anchor, you are taken and sent home. What would a
jury call it?”
“We’re not in Falmouth harbour now. Nor in Salcombe.”
Just at this moment Captain Cammock entered, whistling a tune
through his teeth. He glanced at both men, with some suspicion of
their occupation. “Come for the deep-sea lead-line,” he explained.
“We’ll be in soundings by to-night. Getting on nice, ain’t we?” He
opened one of the lockers and took out the lead-line. “You’d ought to
come on deck, sir, to-night, to see how this is done. It’s a queer
sight,” he said. “I’m off to the cook now, to get a bit of tallow for the
arming.”
“Stop just a moment, captain,” said Margaret. “I want to ask you
something. How often do letters go to Virginia, from London?”
“I suppose about twice a week, now there’s no war. Almost every
day, in the summer, you might say. Yes. They’re always going.”
“Have we made a good passage?”
“Nothing extra. It’s been done in five weeks by the baccalao
schooners. Less.”
 “The baccalao schooners. They’re the cod-boats? Are they very
fast?”
“Oh, beauties. But ain’t they wet.”
“Then we might find letters waiting when we arrive?”
“Very likely, sir. I was going to speak to you about that.” He looked
with meaning at Stukeley.
“What are you looking at me like that for?” said Stukeley.
“You might have letters waiting, too,” said Cammock. “Society
invitations and that.” He glanced up at the skylight as he spoke, and
then watched Stukeley’s face to note the effect of his words.
Stukeley turned pale.
“Stukeley,” said Margaret, “don’t you think you ought to tell your
wife?”
“Will you please mind your own business, Maggy. She’s my wife,
not yours.”
“Then I shall tell her. Shall I?”
“Tell her what?”
“I’m going on deck,” said Cammock. “You come on deck, sir, too.”
He passed out of the cabin, carrying his heavy lead. He paused at
the door for a moment to ask his friend again. “Come and see how
it’s done, sir,” he said. He got no instant answer, so he passed out,
wondering how it would end. “It’s none of my job,” he said sadly. “But
I’d give a deal just to hit him once. Once. He’d have a thick ear to
show.”
“Tell her what?” repeated Stukeley, as the door closed.
“That you may be arrested as soon as we arrive. That the case
may go against you.”
“You would tell her, would you?”
“She ought to know. Surely you can see that. Shall I tell her?”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve go—— You lowsy. You’d like to, wouldn’t you?”
“I should very much like to, Stukeley.”
“I don’t doubt. And you’re the one—— That’s like you poets. You’re
a mangy lot, Maggy. I see you so plainly, Maggy, telling my wife. Like
a cat making love. In the twilight. Oh, I’ve seen you.”
“Go on, Stukeley.”
 “You come crawling round my wife. I’ve seen you look at her. I’ve
seen you shake hands with her. I’ve seen your eyes. Doesn’t she
make your mouth water? Wouldn’t you like that hair all over your
face? Eh? Eh? And her arms round you. Eh?”
“Stukeley,” said Margaret, “I’d advise you to stop. Stop now.”
“Wouldn’t you like to——?”
“Stop.”
“I know you would. Poems, eh? I’ve read a lot of your poems to
her, Maggy.”
“Were you looking for my purse?”
“No, Maggy. But I thought you needed watching. I don’t want any
mangy poet crawling round my wife. So I just watched you, Maggy.”
“Yes?”
“Oh yes. I don’t think you’ve succeeded yet, Maggy. Even in spite
of your poems.”
“Stukeley,” said Margaret, rising from his chair, “when we get to
Accomac you will come ashore with me. I’ll do my best, when we’re
ashore, to put my sword”—he advanced to Stukeley, bent swiftly
over him, and touched him sharply on the Adam’s apple—“just there,
Stukeley. Right through. To save the hangman the trouble.”
Stukeley watched him with amused contempt; he laughed.
“Maggy’s in a paddy,” he said. “No, Maggy. I’m a married man, now,
ducky. What would my wife do if she woke up one fine morning and
found me gone? Eh?”
“Are you afraid to fight?”
“Afraid of a little crawling maggot who comes whining out some
measly poems?”
Margaret took a quick step forward, and shot out a hand to seize
Stukeley by the throat. Stukeley caught him by the wrist.
“Look here, Maggy,” he said.
“Drop my wrist. Drop it.”
“Take your dirty wrist.”
“Take back what you said.”
“You do amuse me, Maggy.”
“Take it back.”
“You ought to have been a woman. Then you could have married
that damned fool Perrin. And you could have——”
 “You——”
“Ah no, ah no. No blows, Maggy.”
“Take back what you said.”
“That I was afraid?”
“You’d better, Stukeley.”
“Did I say that I was afraid? I’m not, you know. It’s you who are
afraid.”
“You’ll see.”
“I shall see. You are afraid. You’re in love with Olivia, ducky. D’ye
think you’re going to fight me? Not Maggy. You’d like me away,
wouldn’t you, Maggy. Then perhaps she’d. She’s an awful fool when
you come to know her, Maggy. To know her as I know her. She might
be fool enough to. And then. Oh. Bliss, eh? Bliss. Morning, noon,
and night. Eh?”
“Stukeley, I’ve stood a good deal——”
“Yes, ducky. But don’t be so excited. You won’t fight me. You’ll be
afraid. You’ll lick my boots, like you’ve done all the time, so as to get
a sweet smile from her. Doesn’t she smile sweetly, my little Maggy?
You’ll lick my boots, Maggy. And hers. Lick, lick, lick, like a little
crawling cat. Wouldn’t you like to lick her hand, Maggy? Her fingers?
Don’t go, Maggy. I’m just beginning to love you.”
“We’ll go on with this at Accomac, Stukeley.”
“We shan’t fight, Maggy. If you killed me, she’d never marry you.
Besides, it would kill her, Maggy. She loves me. She wants a man,
not a little licking cat. You’re content to spend your days licking. My
God; you’d die, I believe, if you couldn’t come crawling round her,
sighing, and longing to kiss her. That’s your life. Well. Kill me. You’ll
never see her again. Then what would the little crawler do? Go and
put his arms round Perrin? But d’you know what I should tell Olivia
before going out with you?”
“What would you tell her?”
“I’d tell her that I suspected you of making love to her. Eh? That
you admitted it, and that I gave you this chance of satisfaction out of
consideration, instead of thrashing you. So any way I’ve the whip
hand, Maggy. She’d never look at you again, and you can’t live
without her. Can you?”
“Anything else?”
 “Just this. You’ll never see her again if—if anything happens at
Accomac. Through the Governor, you know. We should go home
together. And the shock, eh? Loving husband hanged, eh? So take it
from one who loves little Maggy, that you aren’t going to fight me,
and that for all your gush you’ll help me in Accomac in case there’s
trouble. And Olivia shall let you kiss her hand, shall she. Or no, you
shall have a shoe of hers to slobber over, or a glove. Now go on
deck, Maggy, and cool your angry little brow. A little of you goes a
long way, Maggy. That’s what Olivia told me one night.”
He stopped speaking; for Margaret had left the cabin. “I wonder
where he’s gone,” Stukeley muttered, smiling. Through the half-shut
door he could see Margaret entering the cabin which he shared with
Perrin. “What a rotter he is,” he thought. “I suppose now he’ll have a
good cry. Or tell it all to that dead frog, Perrin.” For a moment, he
thought that he would go on deck to walk with Perrin, not because he
wanted to see the man, but because, by going on deck, he would
keep both Perrin and the captain from talking to Olivia, who was mat-
making on the poop, amid a litter of coloured silks. He thought with
some disgust of Olivia. So that he might not be reminded of her, he
drew the sun-screen across the skylight, shutting out the day. “Oh
Lord,” he said, yawning, “I wish I was back in the inn with that girl,
Jessie. She was some fun. Olivia gets on my nerves. Why the devil
doesn’t she get some blood in her? These pious women are only
good to ravish. Why the devil don’t they enter nunneries? I wish that
one of these three sprightly lads would have a try at Olivia. One
never knows, though. Even Olivia might take it as a compliment.” For
a moment he wondered if there were any chance of trouble at
Accomac. Very little, he concluded. He laughed to think of the
strength of his position. It was a pleasure to him to think that three
men hated him, perhaps longed to kill him, and that one refrained
because of Olivia, while the other two refrained because of the first.
“Lord, Lord,” he murmured, with a smile. “And they’ll all three die to
save me. I’d go to Accomac if there were a dozen governors. I
wonder if the Indian girls are any fun.” He was hardly built for
marriage, he thought. Those old days had been sweet in the mouth.
There was that sleepy-looking girl—Dick Sadler’s wife. She was
some fun. How wild she used to get when she—— He wished that
Perrin would come below as a butt for some of his ill-temper.
It was only four bells; there were at least two hours to wait till
dinner-time. He was sick of sleeping; he was sick of most of his
shipmates; he could not dice “one hand against the other.” Reading
bored him, writing worried him, sketch he could not. He stretched
himself down on the locker-top, and lit his pipe. Tobacco was
forbidden in the cabin for Olivia’s sake; but he argued that he was
the real commander of the ship, the practical owner, since he ruled
her material destiny by ruling Olivia. As he smoked, it occurred to
him that perhaps he had done wrong to anger Captain Margaret.
That Maggy was a sullen devil. He might turn sullen, and give him up
in spite of Olivia. He smoked quietly for a little time, till a scheme
came to him, a scheme which gave him pleasure, so good it
seemed.
He lay lazily on the locker-top, looking out over the sea, through
the stern-windows. The sun was shining, making the track of the ship
gleam. Just below Stukeley, sometimes almost within a sword’s
thrust, when the counter squattered down, slapping the sea, were
the rudder eddies, the little twirling threads, the twisted water which
spun in the pale clear green, shot through with bubbles. They rose
and whirled continually, creaming up and bursting, streaking aft in
whiteness. Over them wavered some mewing sea-birds, dipping
down with greedy plunges, anon rising, hovering, swaying up.
Stukeley watched them with the vacant stare of one bored. For a few
minutes he amused himself by spitting at those which came within
range; then, proving a poor marksman, he rummaged for a biscuit,
thinking that he would fish for them. He found a hank of white-line,
and tied a bit of biscuit to the end. He was about to make his first
cast when Mrs. Inigo entered, bearing a buck-basket containing her
week’s washing, now ready to be dried.
When the Broken Heart left Falmouth, Captain Margaret made
certain orders to ensure Olivia’s comfort. He had tried to put himself
in her place, to see with her eyes, to feel with her nerves, knowing
that her position on board, without another lady to bear her company,
would not be a pleasant one. The whole of the ship abaft the forward
cabin bulkhead had been given up to her. The three members of the
afterguard took their meals in the cabin, but seldom entered it at
other times, unless they wished to use the table for chess, cards, or
chart-work. The negro steward, who had once ruled in the cabin,
was now little more than a cabin-cook. Mrs. Inigo did much of his
work. She cleaned the cabin, laid the breakfast, served Olivia’s early
chocolate, letting the negro cook wash up. Cammock and Perrin
agreed with Captain Margaret that the after part of the ship should
be left as much as possible to the two Stukeleys, so that Olivia might
feel that she was living in a private house. After the cabin supper, at
the end of the first dog-watch, no man of the three entered the cabin
unless Olivia invited him. Margaret felt that Olivia was touched by
this thought for her. She was very gracious to him during her first
evening party. It was sweet to hear her thanks, sweet to see her,
flushed and laughing, radiant from the sea air, sitting there at the
table, as Cammock dealt the cards for Pope Joan. That evening had
been very dear to him, even though, across the cabin, on the heaped
green cushions, lay Stukeley, greedy for his wife’s beauty, whetting
his swine’s tusk as the colour came upon her cheek. It would all be
for him, he thought, and the thought, now and then, was almost
joyful, that she should be happy. It was not in his nature to be
jealous. The greatest bitterness for him was to see the desired prize
neglected, unappreciated, never really known; and to apprehend, in
a gesture, in a few words, the thought implied, which the accepted
lover failed to catch, or else ignored. He had tested Stukeley’s
imaginative sympathy by the framing of another rule. In a small ship
like the Broken Heart there is little privacy. To prevent a possible
shock to her, he arranged that on washing-days the clothes of the
women should be hung to dry from the cabin windows (from lines
rigged up below the port-sills, where they were out of view of the
crew). Olivia was pleased by this arrangement, without quite
knowing why. Stukeley saw no sense in it. On this particular morning
the arrangement bore peculiar fruit, very grateful to Stukeley, who
had long hungered for a change.
Mrs. Inigo entered with the buck-basket, closing the door behind
her. She dropped the basket on the deck below the window-seat,
seized the clothes-line, and began to stop the linen to it, in the sea-
fashion, with rope-yarns. She was a little flushed with the exertion of
washing, and she was a comely woman at all times.
“I’m going to help you,” said Stukeley.
She smiled, and looked down, as he helped her to tie some
clothes to the line. She blushed and smiled; he took her hand.
“Let go my hand,” she whispered.
He pressed the hand, and though she drew back, a little
frightened, he managed to catch the other. He kissed the hands.
They were rough but warm.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t, Mr. Stukeley.”
“Ah, Bess,” he said, taking her into his arms and kissing her, “why
didn’t you give me a chance before?”
Half an hour later Bessy Inigo went forward to peel potatoes for
dinner, while Stukeley slept upon the locker-top till the steward
roused him at one bell.
He went on deck, when he was called, to get a breath of air before
dinner. He found Olivia at work with her little balls of silk, while
Perrin, on the lee side of the skylight, was drawing for her a ship
upon canvas. Perrin was talking to Olivia, asking her questions about
her work. At the break of the poop Captain Cammock stood, waiting
with his quadrant to take the height of the sun.
Olivia looked up with a smile as Stukeley stepped on deck. She
was still in that rapturous first stage of marriage in which all men,
save the husband, are regarded as hardly living, as being, at best,
but necessary cumberers of the earth, mere lifeless interruptions. In
the early days of the voyage she had learned, from one of Captain
Cammock’s stories, that people shut up in ships together cannot
always bear the strain, but become irritable, quarrelsome, apt to
suspect and slander. She had determined that her married love
should not decay thus, and so, for some weeks past, she had
contrived to avoid her husband for several hours each day, greatly to
the delight of Perrin. On this particular day she felt that Providence
had rewarded her but meanly for her loving self-sacrifice. All men,
save Tom, were nothing to her, but Perrin, in the morning, in one of
his dull moods, when unrelieved by Margaret, was less than nothing.
She had always been a little shy of Perrin, perhaps because Perrin’s
shyness was a bar to equal intercourse. Her own nature was full of
shy refinements. She could give nothing of herself to one who could
not win upon her by some grace or gallantry. Perrin meant well; he
was even her devoted slave; but he was heavy in the hand with
ladies, until their sympathy had raised his spirit. Olivia was not in the
mood to give him even that simulated sympathy by which women
extract their knowledge of men. Her own fine instincts told her, or
rather suggested to her, all that could be known of Perrin. In a vague
way she had the idea of Perrin in her mind, the true idea; but vague,
without detail, an instinctive comprehension. He was a blunted soul
to her, broken somehow. She felt that he had been through
something, some vice perhaps, or sickness, with the result that he
was blunted. He was quite harmless, she thought, even sometimes
pleasant, always well-meaning, and yet dwarfed, made blunt, like his
shapeless hands. She never could bring herself to treat him as a
human being. Yet he interested her; he had the fascination of all
mysterious persons; she could never accept her husband’s
contemptuous estimate. Possibly she felt the need for the society of
another lady, and hesitated to condemn Perrin, as being the nearest
thing to a lady in the ship. Thus Robinson Crusoe on his island
unduly valued a parrot.
About half an hour before her husband came on deck, Olivia had
seen Perrin coming down from aloft, where he had been engaged
with a seaman in fitting new spunyarn gaskets to all the yards on the
mainmast, so that the furls might look neat when they made Virginia.
He enjoyed his work aloft until he grew hot, when he soon found a
pretext for leaving it. On reaching the deck, he went aft to Olivia
(who smiled her recognition), and sat down at her side, content to
stay still, to cool. The sight of Olivia’s beauty so near to him filled him
with a kind of awe. Like a schoolboy impressed by some beautiful
woman who is gracious to him, perhaps merely from that love of
youth which all women have, so did Perrin imagine heroisms,
rescuing that dear head, now bent with a shy sweetness over her
mat.
“Olivia,” he said at length, about a minute after the proper time for
the request, “will you show me what you have done?”
She looked up from her work with a smile that was half
amusement at his serious tone.
 “I’ve not done very much,” she said, showing her canvas, with its
roses, surrounded by a garland of verbena leaves, still little more
than outlined. “Did you ever try to make mats?” she added.
“I can make daisy-mats with wool, on a frame with pins,” he
answered. “Can you make those? You cut them, and they show like
a lot of daisies.”
“I used to make them,” she said, “when I went to stay with my aunt
Pile, at Eltons. You were at Eltons, too, were you not? I think you
stayed there?”
 “Yes. I stayed there. What a beautiful old place it is. Have you
been there lately?”
“No. Not for two or three years now. I was very gay the last time I
was there. I think I went to a dance every night. My poor brothers
were alive then. We used to drive off together. I’ve never been there
since.”
“Ah,” said Perrin. He paused for a moment, so that his brain might
make the picture of the woman before him sitting in the gloom of the
carriage, with all her delicate beauty warmly wrapped by the two
young men now dead. “Furs,” he muttered to himself. “Furs, and the
lamps shining on the snow.” Then he looked at Olivia, noting the
grey and black dress, the one gold bracelet round her wrist, and the
old pearl ear-rings against the mass of hair.
“What jolly clothes women wear,” he said, meaning (like most men
who use such phrases) “How beautiful you look there.”
“This?” she asked. “This is my oldest frock.”
“Is it? I didn’t remember it. How do you get your clothes?”
“I tell my dressmaker.”
“I wish you’d let me design you a dress.”
“I should be very pleased. What sort of dress would you design for
me?”
“I would have you in a sort of white satin bodice, all embroidered
with tiny scarlet roses. And then a little black velvet coat over it, with
very full sleeves, slashed, to show an inner sleeve of dark blue silk.
And the lining of the velvet would be dark green; so you would have
green, blue, white, and red all contrasted against the black of the
velvet.”
“That would be costly. And what skirt? A black skirt, I suppose?”
“A very full black skirt. What do you think about a belt? Would you
wear that belt of yours? The one with the Venetian silver-work?”
“I don’t know about a belt. I thought you were going to design
everything?”
“Not a belt, then. And black shoes, with small, oval, cut-steel
buckles.”
“I should think that would be very pretty.” Her thoughts were
wandering in England, down a lane of beech trees within sound of