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1
Copyright © 2014 Pearson Education, Inc.
Database Processing, 13e (Kroenke/Auer)
Chapter 7: SQL for Database Construction and Application Processing
1) The SQL CREATE TABLE statement is used to name a new table and describe the table's
columns.
Answer: TRUE
Diff: 1 Page Ref: 281
2) The SQL keyword CONSTRAINT is used to define one of five types of constraints.
Answer: TRUE
3) The SQL keyword PRIMARY KEY is used to designate the column(s) that are the primary
key for the table.
Answer: TRUE
Diff: 1 Page Ref: 283, 289
4) The SQL keyword CONSTRAINT is used to limit column values to specific values.
Answer: TRUE
5) The SQL keyword CONSTRAINT is used in conjunction with the SQL keywords PRIMARY
KEY and FOREIGN KEY.
Answer: TRUE
Diff: 1 Page Ref: 289-290
6) One advantage of using the CONSTRAINT command to define a primary key is that the
database designer controls the name of the constraint.
Answer: TRUE
7) The SQL keyword UNIQUE is used to define alternative keys.
Answer: TRUE
8) If the table PRODUCT has a column PRICE, and PRICE has the data type Numeric (8,2), the
value 98765 stored in that field will be displayed by the DBMS as 98765.00.
Answer: FALSE
Diff: 3 Page Ref: 289 Fig 7-4
9) If the table ITEM has a column WEIGHT, and WEIGHT has the data type Numeric (7,2), the
value 4321 with be displayed by the DBMS as 43.21.
Answer: TRUE

2
10) The SQL keyword CHECK is used to limit column values to specific values.
Answer: TRUE
11) The SQL keyword MODIFY is used to change the structure, properties or constraints of a
table.
Answer: FALSE
12) Data values to be added to a table are specified by using the SQL VALUES clause.
Answer: TRUE
13) The SQL keyword DELETE is used to delete a table's structure.
Answer: FALSE
14) When the correct SQL command is used to delete a table's structure, the command can only
be used with a table that has already had its data removed.
Answer: FALSE
15) One or more rows can be added to a table by using the SQL INSERT statement.
Answer: TRUE
16) Unless it is being used to copy data from one table to another, the SQL INSERT statement
can be used to insert only a single row into a table.
Answer: TRUE
17) Rows in a table can be changed by using the SQL UPDATE statement.
Answer: TRUE
18) The SQL SET keyword is used to specify a new value when changing a column value.
Answer: TRUE
19) The SQL keyword MODIFY is used to change a column value.
Answer: FALSE
20) Rows can be removed from a table by using the SQL DELETE statement.
Answer: TRUE

3
21) An SQL virtual table is called a view.
Answer: TRUE
22) The SQL command CREATE USER VIEW is used to create a virtual table.
Answer: FALSE
23) SQL views are constructed from SELECT statements.
Answer: TRUE
24) According to the SQL-92, statements used to construct views cannot contain the WHERE
clause.
Answer: FALSE
25) The SQL command SELECT is used to retrieve view instances.
Answer: TRUE
26) The values in an SQL view are not always changeable through the view itself.
Answer: TRUE
Diff: 2 Page Ref: 318-319 Fig 7-19
27) SQL views can be used to hide columns.
Answer: TRUE
28) SQL views can be used to provide a level of insulation between data processed by
applications and the data actually stored in the database tables.
Answer: TRUE
29) If the values in an SQL view are changeable through the view itself, the SQL command
UPDATE is used to change the values.
Answer: TRUE
30) The values in an SQL view are always changeable through the view itself.
Answer: FALSE
Diff: 2 Page Ref: 318-319Fig 7-19
31) SQL views are updatable when the view is based on a single table with no computed
columns, and all non-null columns are present in the view.
Answer: TRUE

4
32) Because SQL statements are table-oriented, whereas programs are variable-oriented, the
results of SQL statements used in programs are treated as pseudofiles.
Answer: TRUE
33) A set of SQL statements stored in an application written in a standard programming language
is called embedded SQL.
Answer: TRUE
34) Because SQL statements are table-oriented, whereas programs are variable-oriented, the
results of SQL statements used in programs are accessed using an SQL cursor.
Answer: TRUE
35) A stored program that is attached to a table or view is called a stored procedure.
Answer: FALSE
36) SQL triggers use the ANSI SQL keywords BEFORE, INSTEAD OF, and AFTER.
Answer: TRUE
37) SQL triggers can be used with SQL operations INSERT, UPDATE, and DELETE.
Answer: TRUE
38) SQL triggers can be used when the DBMS receives an INSERT request.
Answer: TRUE
39) SQL triggers are used for providing default values, validity checking, updating views, and
performing referential integrity actions.
Answer: TRUE
40) The Oracle DBMS supports the SQL BEFORE trigger.
Answer: TRUE
41) The SQL Server DBMS supports the SQL BEFORE trigger.
Answer: FALSE

5
42) SQL triggers can be used when the DBMS receives an insert request.
Answer: TRUE
43) To set a column value to an initial value that is selected according to some business logic,
you would use the SQL DEFAULT constraint with the CREATE TABLE command.
Answer: FALSE
44) SQL triggers are created using the SQL ADD TRIGGER statement.
Answer: FALSE
Diff: 3 Page Ref: 326 in Fig 7-25
45) If the values in an SQL view are not changeable through the view itself, you may still be able
to update the view by using unique application logic. In this case, the specific logic is placed in
an INSTEAD OF trigger.
Answer: TRUE
46) If a trigger is being written to enforce referential integrity actions, you cannot use an
INSTEAD OF trigger.
Answer: FALSE
47) When a trigger is fired, the DBMS makes the appropriate data available to the trigger code.
Answer: TRUE
48) A stored program that is stored within the database and compiled when used is called a
trigger.
Answer: FALSE
49) Stored procedures have the advantage of greater security, decreased network traffic, SQL
optimized by the DBMS compiler, and code sharing.
Answer: TRUE
50) Unlike application code, stored procedures are never distributed to the client computers.
Answer: TRUE
51) Because SQL stored procedures allow and encourage code sharing among developers, stored
procedures give database application developers the advantages of less work, standardized
processing, and specialization among developers.
Answer: TRUE

6
52) Which SQL keyword is used to name a new table and describe the table's columns?
A) SET
B) CREATE
C) SELECT
D) ALTER
E) CONSTRAINT
Answer: B
53) If the table PRODUCT has a column PRICE that has the data type Numeric (8,2), the value
12345 will be displayed by the DBMS as ________.
A) 123.45
B) 12345
C) 12345.00
D) 123450.00
E) 00012345
Answer: A
Diff: 2 Page Ref: 289 Table 7-4
54) Which SQL keyword is used to impose restrictions on a table, data or relationship?
A) SET
B) CREATE
C) SELECT
D) ALTER
E) CONSTRAINT
Answer: E
55) One advantage of using the CONSTRAINT phrase to define a primary key is that the
database designer controls the ________.
A) name of the primary key
B) name of the foreign key
C) name of the constraint
D) A and B
E) A, B, and C
Answer: C

7
56) Which of the following illustrates the authors' preferred style of defining a primary key?
A) CREATE TABLE CUSTOMER (
CustomerID Integer Primary Key
LastName Char(35) Not Null
First Name Char(25) Null
);
B) CREATE TABLE CUSTOMER (
CustomerID Integer Not Null
CONSTRAINT CustomerPK PRIMARY KEY (CustomerID)
);
C) CREATE TABLE CUSTOMER (
CustomerID Integer Not Null
);
ALTER TABLE CUSTOMER
ADD CONSTRAINT CustomerPK PRIMARY KEY (CustomerID);
D) either B or C
E) The authors do not demonstrate a preference for how to define a primary key.
Answer: B
57) Given the SQL statement
CREATE TABLE SALESREP (
SalesRepNo int NOT NULL,
RepName char(35) NOT NULL,
HireDate date NOT NULL,
CONSTRAINT SalesRepPK PRIMARY KEY (SalesRepNo),
CONSTRAINT SalesRepAK1 UNIQUE (RepName)
);
we know that ________.
A) RepName is the primary key
B) RepName is a foreign key
C) RepName is a candidate key
D) RepName is a surrogate key
E) None of the above is true
Answer: C

8
58) The SQL keyword used to limit column values to specific values is ________.
A) CONSTRAINT
B) CHECK
C) NOT NULL
D) UNIQUE
E) UPDATE
Answer: B
Diff: 2 Page Ref: 289,292 Fig 7-13
59) Which SQL keyword is used to change the structure, properties or constraints of a table?
A) SET
B) CREATE
C) SELECT
D) ALTER
E) CONSTRAINT
Answer: D
60) Which SQL keyword is used to delete a table's structure?
A) DELETE
B) DROP
C) DISPOSE
D) ALTER
E) MODIFY
Answer: B
61) When the correct SQL command is used to delete a table's structure, what happens to the
data in the table?
A) If the deleted table was a parent table, the data is added to the appropriate rows of the child
table.
B) If the deleted table was a child table, the data is added to the appropriate rows of the parent
table.
C) The data in the table is also deleted.
D) Nothing because there was no data in the table since only an empty table can be deleted.
E) A and B
Answer: C
62) Which SQL keyword is used to add one or more rows of data to a table?
A) DELETE
B) INSERT
C) SELECT
D) SET
E) UPDATE
Answer: B

9
63) Which SQL keyword is used to change one or more rows in a table?
A) MODIFY
B) INSERT
C) SELECT
D) CHANGE
E) UPDATE
Answer: E
64) Which SQL keyword is used to change the values of an entire column?
A) CHANGE
B) INSERT
C) SELECT
D) SET
E) MODIFY
Answer: D
65) Which keyword is used to remove one or more rows from a table?
A) DELETE
B) INSERT
C) ERASE
D) SET
E) UPDATE
Answer: A

10
66) Based on the tables below, which of the following SQL statements would increase the
balance of the Gonzales account by $100 to a total of $450?
GENERAL SALES DATABASE:
SALESREP
SalesRepNo RepName HireDate
654 Jones 01/02/2005
734 Smith 02/03/2007
345 Chen 01/25/2004
434 Johnson 11/23/2004
CUSTOMER
CustNo CustName Balance SalesRepNo
9870 Winston 500 345
8590 Gonzales 350 434
7840 Harris 800 654
4870 Miles 100 345
A) SELECT Gonzales
FROM CUSTOMER
INSERT VALUES PLUS (100) INTO Balance;
B) SELECT Gonzales
FROM CUSTOMER
INSERT VALUES (450) INTO Balance;
C) INSERT INTO CUSTOMER VALUES PLUS (100)
SELECT Balance
WHERE CustName = 'Gonzales';
D) INSERT INTO CUSTOMER VALUES (450)
SELECT Balance
E) UPDATE CUSTOMER
SET Balance = 450
Answer: E
67) An SQL virtual table is called ________.
A) a CHECK constraint
B) a view
C) embedded SQL
D) a trigger
E) a stored procedure
Answer: B

11
68) The SQL command used to create a virtual table is ________.
A) CREATE VTABLE
B) CREATE VIEW
C) VTABLE
D) VIEW
E) NEWLOOK
Answer: B
69) SQL views are constructed from ________.
A) CREATE statements
B) INSERT statements
C) UPDATE statements
D) SELECT statements
E) VIEW statements
Answer: D
70) According to the SQL-92, statements used to construct views cannot contain ________.
A) the SELECT clause
B) the FROM clause
C) the WHERE clause
D) the ORDER BY clause
E) SQL view statements can use all of the listed clauses.
Answer: D
71) Which SQL statement is used to retrieve view instances?
A) CREATE
B) DELETE
C) INSERT
D) SELECT
E) UPDATE
Answer: D
72) SQL views are used ________.
A) to hide columns
B) to show results of computed columns
C) to hide complicated SQL statements
D) to provide a level of indirection between data processed by applications and the data actually
stored in the database tables
E) SQL views are used for all of the above.
Answer: E

12
73) If the values in an SQL view are changeable through the view itself, which SQL statement is
used to change the values?
A) CREATE
B) DELETE
C) INSERT
D) SELECT
E) UPDATE
Answer: E
74) SQL views are always updatable when ________.
A) the view is based on a single table with no computed columns, and all non-null columns are
present in the view
B) the view is based on any number of tables, with or without computed columns, and the
INSTEAD OF trigger is defined for the view
C) the view is based on multiple tables, the update is being done on the most subordinate table,
and the rows of that table can be uniquely identified
D) A and B
E) A, B, and C
Answer: D
75) A set of SQL statements stored in an application written in a standard programming language
is called ________.
B) a view
C) embedded SQL
D) a trigger
Answer: C
76) Because SQL statements are set-oriented, whereas programs are element-oriented, the results
of SQL statements used in programs are treated as ________.
A) tables
B) columns
C) rows
D) files
E) pseudofiles
Answer: E

13
77) Because SQL statements are table-oriented, whereas programs are element-oriented, the
results of SQL statements used in programs are accessed using ________.
A) standard programming tools
B) custom written programming tools
C) an SQL cursor
D) an SQL trigger
E) an SQL stored procedure
Answer: C
78) A stored program that is attached to a table or view is called ________.
B) a view
C) embedded SQL
D) a trigger
Answer: D
79) Which of the following is not an ANSI SQL trigger?
A) BEFORE UPDATE
B) INSTEAD OF UPDATE
C) BEFORE INSERT
D) INSTEAD OF CONSTRAINT
E) AFTER DELETE
Answer: D
80) Which of the following is an SQL trigger Oracle supports?
A) BEFORE
B) INSTEAD OF
C) AFTER
D) B and C only
E) A, B, and C
Answer: E
81) Which of the following is an SQL trigger Microsoft SQL Server supports?
A) BEFORE
B) INSTEAD OF
C) AFTER
D) B and C only
E) A, B, and C
Answer: D

14
82) SQL triggers can be used when the DBMS receives a(n) ________ request.
A) INSERT
B) UPDATE
C) DELETE
D) A and B
E) A, B, and C
Answer: E
83) SQL triggers are used for ________.
A) validity checking
B) providing default values
C) updating views
D) A and B
E) A, B, and C
Answer: E
84) When a trigger is fired, the DBMS makes the appropriate data available to ________.
A) the SQL interpreter
B) the application code
C) the embedded SQL code
D) the trigger code
E) the stored procedure code
Answer: D
85) SQL triggers are created using ________.
A) the SQL CREATE TRIGGER statement
B) the SQL ADD TRIGGER statement
C) the SQL TRIGGER statement
D) the SQL ADD CONSTRAINT TRIGGER statement
E) the SQL CONSTRAINT TRIGGER statement
Answer: A
Diff: 3 Page Ref: 326 in Fig 7-25
86) To set a column value to an initial value that is selected according to some business logic,
you would use:
A) the SQL DEFAULT constraint with the CREATE TABLE command.
B) an SQL view.
C) embedded SQL.
D) an SQL trigger.
E) an SQL stored procedure.
Answer: D

15
87) If the values in an SQL view are not changeable through the view itself, you may still be able
to update the view by using unique application logic. In this case, the specific logic is placed in
________.
A) a BEFORE trigger
B) an INSTEAD OF trigger
C) an AFTER trigger
D) Depending on the specific logic, either A or B can be used.
E) Depending on the specific logic, any of A, B, or C can be used.
Answer: B
88) A stored program that is attached to the database is called ________.
B) a view
C) embedded SQL
D) a trigger
Answer: E
89) Stored procedures have the advantage of ________.
A) greater security
B) decreased network traffic
C) SQL optimized by the DBMS compiler
D) code sharing
E) All of the above
Answer: E
90) Because SQL stored procedures allow and encourage code sharing among developers, stored
procedures give database application developers the advantages of ________.
A) less work
B) standardized processing
C) specialization among developers
D) A and B
E) A, B, and C
Answer: E

16
91) Explain the essential format of the CREATE TABLE statement.
Answer: The essential format for the CREATE TABLE statement is:
CREATE TABLE tablename (
column-description,
column-description,
column-description,
. . .
optional table constraints
);
"Tablename" is the name that will be given to the newly created table. "Column-description" is a
three-part description of each column to appear in the table. This description includes the name
of the column, the column's data type, and an optional column constraint (either Primary Key,
Null, or Not Null), in that order. The CONSTRAINT phrase can be used to set optional primary
key, foreign key and referential integrity constraints for the table. All SQL statements must end
with a semi-colon (;).
92) Explain how relationships are created using SQL.
Answer: In SQL, relationships are created using a FOREIGN KEY constraint. This has the
format:
CONSTRAINT ConstraintNameFK FOREIGN KEY({ForeignKeyColumnInCurrentTable}
REFERENCES {ReferencedTableName}(PrimaryKeyColumnInReferencedTable})
The constraint thus names the foreign key column in the current table and its corresponding
primary key in a referenced table.
93) Discuss SQL data types.
Answer: Common examples of standard SQL data types are Char, VarChar, Integer, and
Numeric. The Char data type is for fixed-length character data. VarChar is for variable-length
character data. Integer is for numeric data that are whole numbers only. Numeric is for numeric
data that may include decimals. Char, VarChar, and Numeric must be qualified by a length
specification to indicate the amount of storage space to be allocated for each data item. For
example, Char(10) indicates fixed-length character data that is always stored as 10 characters.
94) Discuss what is meant by a data type of "Numeric (10,3)."
Answer: Numeric indicates a non-integer, decimal number in SQL Server. Oracle Database uses
Number, and MySQL uses Decimal or Fixed. The (10,3) is in (n,d) format, where n is the total
number of digits allowed, and d is the number of digits to the right of the decimal place. Thus,
"10, 3" allows a maximum of ten digits, and the last three are considered to be to the right of the
decimal place. For example, "1234567" would be read as "1234.567."
Diff: 1 Page Ref: 283, 289 Fig 7-4

17
95) Distinguish between Char and VarChar data types.
Answer: Char data type is fixed-length, so that no matter the actual length of the data entered it
will always take exactly the same storage space. For example, Char(10) indicates that 10
characters will always be stored for each value of that column. If the actual data entered is less
than the specified fixed- length, the data will be padded with blanks. VarChar data type is
variable length so that only the amount of space actually needed to store the data is used.
Although VarChar may be more efficient in its use of space, it is not always preferred. VarChar
requires the storage of some extra data to indicate the length of the data values, plus it requires
some extra processing by the DBMS to arrange the variable length data.

18
96) The following database will be used in this question:
SALESREP
654 Jones 01/02/2005
734 Smith 02/03/2007
345 Chen 01/25/2004
434 Johnson 11/23/2004
CUSTOMER
9870 Winston 500 345
8590 Gonzales 350 434
7840 Harris 800 654
4870 Miles 100 345
Explain the use of the SQL statement CREATE TABLE. Do NOT discuss the ALTER statement
in your answer, but DO include an example based on the SALESREP table in the General Sales
database.
Answer: The SQL statement CREATE TABLE forms that basis for all SQL table construction.
CREATE TABLE is used to name tables and specify their structure, including column names
and their associated data types. In addition, CREATE TABLE can be used to define primary
keys, foreign keys, and to specify constraints on tables, columns and column values. There are
five SQL keywords that specify these constraints: PRIMARY KEY, FOREIGN KEY,
NULL/NOT NULL, UNIQUE and CHECK. PRIMARY KEY and FOREIGN KEY are used to
specify keys. NULL and NOT NULL specify whether nulls are allowed as values in a column.
UNIQUE specifies whether the column values have to be unique. CHECK is not discussed in
this chapter. The SQL keyword CONSTRAINT may be used to specify some of the table
constraints. For example, to create the SALESREP table for the General Sales database, the
following SQL statement may be use:
CREATE TABLE SALESREP (
SalesRepNo Integer Not Null,
RepName Char(25) Not Null,
HireDate Date Not Null,
CONSTRAINT SalesRepPK PRIMARY KEY (SalesRepNo)
);
Note to the instructor: The data type of HireDate is shown as Date, which is the ORACLE data
type shown in Figure 7-4(b) on page 240, and a MySQL data type shown in Figure 7-4(c) on
page 241. Students may also use Datetime, which is the SQL Server data type, which is shown in
Figure 7-4(a) on page 240.

19
97) The following database will be used in this question:
SALESREP
654 Jones 01/02/2005
734 Smith 02/03/2007
345 Chen 01/25/2004
434 Johnson 11/23/2004
CUSTOMER
9870 Winston 500 345
8590 Gonzales 350 434
7840 Harris 800 654
4870 Miles 100 345
What is an SQL view, and what is it used for? Include an example based on the CUSTOMER
table of the General Sales Database.
Answer: An SQL view is a virtual table constructed from database tables or other views. It is
based on the SQL CREATE VIEW command and uses the SQL SELECT statement to construct
the view. However, the ORDER BY clause cannot be used when creating a view. For example:
CREATE VIEW CustomerNameOnly AS
SELECT CustName
FROM CUSTOMER;
A view may be used to (1) hide columns or rows, (2) show the results of computed columns, (3)
hide complicated SQL statements such as joins, (4) layer built-in functions, (5) provide a level of
indirection between the data processed by applications and the actual table data,(6) assign
different processing permissions to different views of the same table, and (7) assign different
triggers to different views of the same table.
98) What is embedded SQL, and what considerations are necessary when using it in an
application?
Answer: Embedded SQL are SQL statements used, or embedded, in program code, triggers or
stored procedures. Applications are typically written in program code, using a programming
language. There are two problems that arise. First, the results of SQL statements must be
assigned to programming language variables. DBMS products typically provide the means of
doing this. Second, SQL is table or set-oriented and SQL results use tables or sets of rows,
whereas application programming languages are variable or row-oriented. This is resolved by
treating SQL results as pseudofiles. A cursor is then used to move through the pseudofile one
row at a time.

20
99) What are SQL triggers and how are they used?
Answer: An SQL trigger is a stored program that is attached to a table or view. The trigger is
invoked by the DBMS whenever an insert, update or delete request is made on the table or view
with the trigger. There are three commonly used triggers: BEFORE, INSTEAD OF, and AFTER
(MS SQL server does not support BEFORE). This creates a set of nine possible trigger types:
BEFORE + [INSERT or UPDATE or DELETE], INSTEAD OF + [INSERT or UPDATE or
DELETE], and AFTER + [INSERT or UPDATE or DELETE]. Triggers are used (among other
things) for (1) providing default values, (2) validity checking, (3) updating views, and (4)
enforcing referential integrity actions.
100) What are SQL stored procedures and how are they used?
Answer: An SQL stored procedure is a stored program that is attached to a database instead of
just a table or view. Stored procedures can receive input parameters and return results. They can
be executed by any process that has permission with the database to use stored procedures. They
can issue INSERT, UPDATE and DELETE commands. They are typically used by (1) database
administrators to do common administrative tasks, and (2) database applications.

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"I'll be very gentle to you," he said shakily. "I—for God's sake, don't
judge my love for you by the way I put it! I haven't had much
practice in love-making; it's a pity, perhaps. There's a word that says
it all—I 'worship' you. My darling, what have you to look forward to?
You've seen, you've tried, you know what an uphill life it will be. It's
not as if I begged you to waive your hopes while you had
encouragement to hope—you've made the attempt, and you know
the difficulties now. Come to me instead. You shall live where you
like—you can choose your own quarter. You can have everything you
care for—books, pictures, theatres too. Oh, my sweet, come to me,
and I'll fulfil every wish! Will you, Mamie?"
"I can't," she said tremulously, "it wouldn't be fair." Her eyes shone
at him, and she leant forward with parted lips. "I like you, I like you
very much, but I don't—I'm not—— I've never been in love with
anyone."
"I'll be grateful for small mercies," said Heriot, with an unhappy
laugh.
"And I could not do what you ask. If I fail, I fail; but I must
persevere. I can't accept failure voluntarily—I can't stretch out my
arms to it. I should despise myself if I gave in to-day. Even you——"
"You know better than that!" he said.
"Well, yes," she owned, "perhaps I'm wrong there; to you it would
seem a sensible step. But I believe in myself. All my life I've had the
thought, and I should be miserable, I should hate myself! I should
be like my father—I should be always thinking of the 'might have
been.' You'd be good to me, but you'd know you had been a fool.
I'm not a bit the sort of woman you should marry, and you'd repent
it."
Heriot took her hand and held it tightly.
"I love you," he said. "Consider your own happiness only. I love
you."

"I am quite selfish—I know it wouldn't content me; I'm not
pretending to any nobility. But I'm sorry; I may say that? I didn't
dream you liked me in this way. I'm not hard, I'm not a horror, and I
can see—I can see that I'm a lot to you."
"I'm glad of that," he said simply. "Yes, you're 'a lot to me,' Mamie.
If you know it, and you can't care for me enough, there's no more
for me to say. Don't worry yourself. It's not unusual for a man to be
fond of a woman who doesn't want to marry him."
CHAPTER V
She betook herself to the Queen's next morning less buoyantly than
she had anticipated. Her meeting with Heriot had depressed her. She
retained much of the nature of a child, and laughed or cried very
easily. She had met Heriot laughing, and he had been serious and
sad. With some petulance she felt that it was very unfortunate for
her that he had fallen in love with her, and chosen that particular
day to tell her so.
She entered the stage-door with no presentiment of conquest, and
inquired of the man in the little recess if Mr. Casey was in the
theatre. Stage-door keepers are probably the surliest class in
existence. They have much to try them, and they spend their official
lives in a violent draught; but if there is a stage-door keeper sweet
and sunny in his home, he provides an interesting study for the
dramatic authors.
The man took her measure in an instant, saving in one particular—
she was prepared to give him a shilling and he did not guess it.
"Mr. Casey's on the stage," he said; "he won't be disturbed now."
"If I waited, do you think I might see him?"
"I couldn't tell you, I'm sure."

He resumed his perusal of a newspaper, and Mamie looked at him
through the aperture helplessly. There was the usual knot of loafers
about the step—a scene-hand or two in their shirt-sleeves; a girl in
her pathetic best dress, also hoping for miracles; a member of the
company, who had slipped out from rehearsal to smoke a cigarette.
Cerberus was shown where his estimate had been at fault. He said
"Miss" now: "If you write your business on one of these forms, Miss,
I'll send it in to Mr. Casey."
He gave her a stump of pencil, and a printed slip, specially designed
to scare intruders. She wrote her name, and Mr. Casey's name, and
could find no scope for euphemisms regarding the nature of the
interview she sought. She added, "To obtain engagement as extra
lady," and returned the paper with embarrassment; she was
sufficiently unsophisticated in such matters to assume that her
object had not been divined.
"'Ere, Bill!" One of the scene-hands turned. "Take it in to Mr. Casey
for this lady."
The man addressed as Bill departed through a second door with a
grunt and a bang, and she waited expectantly. The girl in her best
frock sneered; she could not afford to dispense shillings, herself, and
already her feet ached. The door swung back constantly. At intervals
of a few seconds a stream of nondescripts issued from the unknown
interior, and Mamie stood watching for the features of her
messenger. It was nearly a quarter of an hour before he reappeared.
"Mr. Casey can't see you," he announced.
The stage-door keeper heard the intelligence with absolute
indifference; but the girl on the step looked gratified.
"What shall I do?" asked Mamie.
"I can't do no more than send in for you, Miss. It ain't much good
your waiting—the call won't be over till three o'clock."
"Could I see him then?"

"He'll come out. If you like to take your chance——"
"I'll come back at three o'clock," she said. It was then eleven.
She turned into the Strand—the Strand that has broken more hearts
than Fleet Street. Here a young actor passed her, who was also
pacing the inhospitable pavements until the hour in which he hoped
to see patience and importunity bear fruit. He wore a fashionable
overcoat, and swung his cane with a gloved hand. Presently he
would seek a public-house and lunch on a scone, and a glass of
"mild-and-bitter." If he had "bitter," he would be a halfpenny short in
his homeward fare to Bow. There a musical comedy actress went by,
who had "married a swell." His family had been deeply wounded,
and showed their mortification by allowing her to support him. She
had had three children; and when he was drunk, which was
frequently, he said, "God forbid that they should ever become
damned mummers like their mother!" A manager had just told her
that "she had lost her figure, and wouldn't look the part!" and she
was walking back to Islington, where the brokers were in the house.
A popular comedian, who had been compelled to listen to three
separate tales of distress between Charing Cross and Bedford Street,
and had already lent unfortunate acquaintances thirty shillings,
paused, and hailed a hansom from motives of economy. It was the
typical crowd of the Strand, a crowd of the footlights. The men
whose positions had been won were little noticeable, but the gait
and costume of the majority—affected Youth, and disheartened Age
—indicated their profession to the least experienced eyes. Because
she grew very tired, and not that she had any expectation of hearing
good news, Mamie went into Mr. Passmore's office, and sat down.
And she did not hear any. After an hour she went away, and rested
next in the anteroom of another of the agents, who repeated that
"things were very quiet," and that "he wouldn't forget her." Seven or
eight other girls were waiting their turn to be told the same thing. At
a quarter to three she went back to the Queen's.
"Is he coming out now?" she said. "Am I too soon?"

"Eh?" said the stage-door keeper.
"You told me he'd be out about three. I was asking for Mr. Casey this
morning."
"Oh, were you?" he said. "There's been a good many asking for him
since then." He gradually recalled her. "Mr. Casey's gone," he added;
"they finished early. He won't be here till to-night."
There was a week in which she went to the stage-door of the
Queen's Theatre every day, at all hours, and at last she learnt
casually that as many extra ladies as were required for the
production had been engaged. There were months during which she
persisted in her applications at other stage-doors and hope flickered
within her still. But when September came, and a year had passed
since her arrival, the expiring spark had faded into lassitude. She
tried no longer. Only sometimes, out of the sickness of her soul, the
impulse to write was born, and she picked up a pen.
Then it was definitely decided that she should return to America. It
was characteristic of her that she had no sooner dried her eyes after
the decision than she was restless to return at once; Duluth was no
drearier than Wandsworth. Externally it was even picturesque, with
the blue water and the sunshine, and the streets of white houses
rising in tiers like a theatre; in Duluth the residents "looked down on
one another" literally. The life was appalling, but when all was said,
was it more limited than Aunt Lydia? And if, in lieu of acting, she
dared aspire to dramatic authorship—the thought stirred her
occasionally—she could work as well in Minnesota as in Middlesex.
Cheriton had remitted the amount of her passage, and suggested
that she should sail in a week or two. She had not received the draft
two hours when she went up to town and booked a berth in the next
steamer.
When it was done, she posted a note to Heriot, acquainting him with
her intention. His visits had not been discontinued, but he came at
much longer intervals latterly, and she could not go without bidding
him good-bye.

She sat in the Lavender Street parlour the next evening, wondering
if he would come. Almost she hoped that he would not. She had
written, and therefore done her duty. To see him would, in the
circumstances, humiliate her cruelly, she felt. She remembered how
she had talked to him twelve months before—recalled her
confidence, her pictures of a future that she was never to know, and
her eyes smarted afresh. She had even failed to obtain a hearing.
"What a fool, what an idiot I look!" she thought passionately.
Tea was over, but the maid-of-all-work had not removed the things;
and when Heriot entered, the large loaf and the numerous knives,
which are held indispensable to afternoon tea in Lavender Street,
were still on the big round table. The aspect of the room did not
strike him any more. He was familiar with it, like the view of the
kitchen when the front door had been opened, and the glimpse of
clothes-line in the yard beyond.
"May I come in?" he said. "Did you expect me?"
"Lor, it's Mr. Heriot!" said Mrs. Baines. "Fancy!"
She told the servant to take away the teapot, and to bring in another
knife. He wondered vaguely what he was supposed to do with it.
"I thought it likely you'd be here," said Mamie; "won't you sit down?"
"I only had your letter this morning. So you are going away?"
"I am going away. I bow, more or less gracefully, to the inevitable."
"To bow gracefully to the inevitable is strong evidence of the
histrionic gift," he said.
"I came, I saw, I was conquered; please don't talk about it.... It was
only settled yesterday. I sail on Saturday, you know."
"Yes, you wrote me," murmured Heriot. "It's very sudden."
"I'm crazy to do something, if only to confess myself beaten."
"May I offer you a cup o' tea, Mr. Heriot?" asked Mrs. Baines.

She always "offered" cups of tea, and was indebted to neighbours
for their "hospitality."
He thanked her.
"You will miss your niece?" he said, declining a place at the table, to
which she had moved a chair.
"Yes, I'm sure!" she answered. "I say now it's a pity she didn't go
with her father last October. Going in a vessel by herself, oh, dear! I
say I wouldn't have got accustomed to having her with me if she'd
gone with her father. Though that's neither here nor there!"
"Yes, I think you may believe you'll be missed, Miss Cheriton," he
said.
"I say it's very odd she couldn't be an actress as she wanted,"
continued Mrs. Baines. "Seems so unfortunate with all the trouble
that she took. But lor, my dear, we can't see what lies ahead of us,
and perhaps it's all for the best! I say perhaps it's all for the best, Mr.
Heriot, eh? Dear Mamie may be meant to do something different—
writing, or such like; it's not for us to say."
"Have you been writing again?" asked Heriot, turning to the girl.
"A little," she said bitterly. "My vanity dies hard—and Aunt Lydia has
encouraged me."
Heriot looked a reproach; her tone hurt him, though he understood
of what it was the outcome.
"I should be glad if you had encouragement," he replied; "I think
you need it now."
But it hurt him, also, to discuss her pain in the presence of the
intolerable third. He knew that if he remained to supper there would
be a preparatory quarter of an hour in which he was alone with her;
and it was for this quarter of an hour that he hungered, conscious
that during the opening of the lobster-tin two destinies would be
determined.

"That's right, Mr. Heriot," said Mrs. Baines placidly. "I'm glad to hear
you say so. That's what I've been telling her. I say she mustn't be
disheartened. Why, it's surprising, I'm sure, how much seems to be
thought of people who write stories and things nowadays; they
seem to make quite a fuss of them, don't they? And I'm certain dear
Mamie could write if she put her mind to it. I was reading in the
paper, Tit-Bits, only last week, that there was a book called Robert
Ellis, or some such name, that made the author quite talked about.
Now, I read the piece out to you, dear, didn't I? A book about
religion, it was, by a lady; and I'm sure dear Mamie knows as much
about religion as anyone."
"My aunt means Robert Elsmere," said Mamie, in a laboured voice.
"You may have heard it mentioned?"
"You mustn't expect Mr. Heriot to know much about it," said Mrs.
Baines; "Mr. Heriot is so busy a gentleman that very likely he doesn't
hear of these things. But I assure you, Mr. Heriot, the story seems to
have been read a great deal; and what I say is, if dear Mamie can't
be an actress, why shouldn't she write books, if she wants to do
something of the sort? I wonder my brother didn't teach her to
paint, with her notions and that—but, not having learnt, I say she
ought to write books. That's the thing for her—a nice pen and ink,
and her own home."
"I agree with you, Mrs. Baines. If she wants to write, she can do
that in her own home."
"Not to compare it with such a profession as yours, Mr. Heriot," she
said, "which, of course, is sensible and grave. But girls can't be
barristers, and——"
"Will you open the window for me?" exclaimed Mamie; "it's
frightfully warm, don't you think so?"
She stood there with her head thrown back, and closed eyes, her
foot tapping the floor restlessly.
"Are you wishing you hadn't come?" she asked under her breath.

"Why?"
"One must suffer to be polite here."
"Aren't you a little unjust?" said Heriot deprecatingly.
"You have it for an hour," she muttered; "I have had it for twelve
months. Have you ever wanted to shriek? I wanted to shriek just
now, violently!"
"I know you did," he said. "Well, it's nearly over.... Are you glad?"
"Yes, and no—I can't say. If——"
"Won't you go on?"
"If I dared hope to do anything else.... But I'm not going to talk like
that any more! I'm ridiculous enough already."
"To whom are you ridiculous?"
"To my own perception—you!"
"Not to me," he said.
"'Pathetic'? Yes, to you I'm 'pathetic.' You pity me as you might pity
a lunatic who imagined she was the Queen of England."
"I think you know," said Heriot diffidently, "that neither the Queen
nor a lunatic inspires in me quite the feeling that I have for you."
She changed her position, and spoke at random.
"This street is awfully stupid, isn't it?" she said. "Look at that man
going up the steps!"
"Yes, he is very stupid, I daresay. What of it?"
"He is a clerk," she said; "and wheels his babies out on Sunday."
"Mamie!"
"Come and talk to Aunt Lydia again. How rude we are!"
"I want to talk to you," he demurred. "Aren't you going to ask me to
stay to supper?"

The suggestion came from the widow almost at the same moment.
"I think we had better have the lamp," she went on. "The days are
drawing in fast, Mr. Heriot, aren't they? We shall soon have winter
again. Do you like the long evenings, or the long afternoons best?
Just about now I always say that I can't bear to think of having to
begin lighting up at five or six o'clock—it seems so unnatural; and
then, next summer, somehow I feel quite lost, not being able to let
down the blinds and light the lamp for tea. Mamie, dear, shut the
window, and let down the blinds before I light the lamp—somebody
might see in!" She suggested the danger in the same tone in which
she might have apprehended a burglary.
Under a glass shade a laggard clock ticked drearily towards the
crisis, and Heriot provoked its history by the eagerness with which
he looked to see the time. It had been a wedding-present from
"poor dear Edward's brother," and only one clockmaker had really
understood it. The man had died, and since then——
He listened, praying for the kitchen to engulf her.
When she withdrew at last, with an apology for leaving him, he rose,
and went to the girl's side.
"Do you know why I came this afternoon?" he said.
She did know—had known it in the moment that he opened the
window for her:
"To say 'good-bye,'" she murmured.
"I came to beg you not to go! Dearest, what do you relinquish by
marrying me now? Not the stage—your hope of the stage is over;
not your ambition in itself—you can be ambitious as my wife. You
lose nothing, and you give—a heaven. Mamie, won't you stay?"
She leant on the mantelpiece without speaking. In the pause, Mrs.
Baines' voice reached them distinctly, as she said, "Put the brawn on
a smaller dish."
"You are forgetting. There was ... a reason besides the stage."

"It is you who've forgotten. I told you I would be content.... It
wouldn't be repugnant to you?"
"To refuse while I thought I had a future, and to say 'yes,' now that
——How can you ask me? It would be an insult to your love."
"I do ask you," he urged; "I implore."
"You implore me to be contemptible. You would have a disappointed
woman for your wife. You deserve something better than that."
"Oh, my God," said Heriot, in a low voice, "if I could only tell you
how I ache to take you in my arms—as softly as if you were a child!
If I could tell you what it is to me to know that you are passing out
of my life and that in two days' time I shall never see you again!...
Mamie?"
The heavy shuffle of the servant was heard in the passage.
"Mamie?" he repeated desperately. "It will be worse over there."
Her eyes were big with perplexity and doubt.
"Mamie?"
"Are you sure you—sure——"
"I love you; I want you. Only trust me!... Mamie?"
"If you're quite sure you wish it," she faltered,—"yes!"
CHAPTER VI
When Heriot informed his brother of his approaching marriage, Sir
Francis said, "I never offer advice to a man on matters of this sort";
and proceeded to advise. He considered the union undesirable, and
used the word.
Heriot replied, "On the contrary, I desire it extremely."

"You're of course the best judge of your own affairs. I'll only say that
it is hardly the attachment I should have expected you to form. It
appears to me—if I may employ the term—romantic."
"I should say," said Heriot, in his most impassive manner, "that that
is what it might be called. Admitting the element of romance, what
of it?"
"We are not boys, George," said Sir Francis. He added, "And the lady
is twenty-two! The father is an hotel-keeper in the United States,
you tell me, and the aunt lives in Wandsworth. Socially, Wandsworth
is farther than the United States, but geographically it is close. This
Mrs. Payne—or Baynes—is not a connection you will be proud of, I
take it?"
"I shall be very proud of my wife," said Heriot, with some stiffness.
"There are more pedigrees than happy marriages."
The Baronet looked at his watch. "As I have said, it's not a matter
that I would venture to advise you upon. Of course I congratulate
you. We shall see Miss Cheriton at Sandhills, I hope? and—er—
Catherine will be delighted to make her acquaintance. I have to
meet Phil at the Club. He's got some absurd idea of exchanging—
wants to go out to India, and see active service. And I got him into
the Guards! Boys are damned ungrateful.... When do you marry?"
"Very shortly—during the vacation. There'll be no fuss."
Sir Francis told his wife that it was very "lamentable," and Lady
Heriot preferred to describe it as "disgusting." But in spite of
adjectives the ceremony took place.
The honeymoon was brief, and when the bride and bridegroom
came back to town, they stayed in an hotel in Victoria Street while
they sought a flat. Ultimately they decided upon one in South
Kensington, and it was the man's delight to render this as exquisite
as taste and money made possible. The furniture for his study had
simply to be transferred from his bachelor quarters, but the other
rooms gave scope for a hundred consultations and caprices; and like

a lad he enjoyed the moments in which he and Mamie bent their
heads together over patterns and designs.
She would have been more than human, and less than lovable, if in
those early weeks her disappointment had not been lost sight of;
more than a girl if the atmosphere of devotion in which she moved
had not persuaded her primarily that she was content. Only after the
instatement was effected and the long days while her husband was
away were no longer occupied by upholsterers' plans, did the earliest
returning stir of recollection come; only as she wandered from the
drawing-room to the dining-room and could find no further touches
to make, did she first sigh.
A gift of Heriot's—he had chosen it without her knowledge, and it
had been delivered as a surprise—was a writing-table; a writing-
table that was not meant merely to be a costly ornament. And one
morning she sat down to it and began another attempt at a play.
The occupation served to interest her, and now the days were not so
empty. In the evening, as often as he was able, Heriot took her out
to a theatre, or a concert, or to houses from which invitations came.
The evenings were enchantingly new to her; less so, perhaps, when
they dined at the solemn houses than when a hansom deposited
them at the doors of a restaurant, and her husband's pocket
contained the tickets for a couple of stalls. She was conscious that
she owed him more than she could ever repay; and though she had
casually informed him that she had begun a drama, she did not
discuss the subject with him at any length. To dwell upon those
eternal ambitions of hers was to remind him that she had said she
would be dissatisfied, and he deserved something different from
that; he deserved to forget it, to be told that she had not an
ungratified wish! She felt ungrateful to realise that such a statement
would be an exaggeration.
In the November following the wedding it was seen that "Her
Majesty had been pleased, on the recommendation of the Lord
Chancellor, to approve the name of George Langdale Heriot to the
rank of Queen's Counsel," and Heriot soon found reason to

congratulate himself on his step. A man may earn a large income as
a Junior, and find himself in receipt of a very poor one as a Leader.
There is an instance cited in the Inns of Court of a stuff-gownsman,
making eight thousand a year, whose income fell, when he took silk,
to three hundred. But Heriot's practice did not decline. Few men at
the Bar could handle a jury better, or showed greater address in
their dealings with the Bench. He knew instinctively the moment
when that small concession was advisable, when the attitude of
uncompromising rigour would be fatal to his case. He had his tricks
in court: the least affected of men out of it, in court he had his
tricks. Counsel acquire them inevitably, and one of Heriot's had been
a favourite device of Ballantyne's: in cross-examination he looked at
the witness scarcely at all, but kept his face turned to the jury-box.
Why this should be persuasive is a mystery that no barrister can
explain, but its effectiveness is undeniable. Nevertheless, he was
essentially "sound." As he had been known as "a safe man" while a
Junior, so, now that he had taken silk, he was believed in as a
Leader. The figures on the briefs swelled enormously; his services
were more and more in demand. Then by-and-by there came a
criminal case that was discussed day by day throughout the length
and breadth of the kingdom—in drawing-rooms and back parlours, in
clubs and suburban trains, and Heriot was for the Defence. The
Kensington study had held him until dawn during weeks, for he had
to break down medical evidence. And on the last day he spoke for
five hours, while the reporters' pens flew, and the prisoner swayed
in the dock; and the verdict returned was "Not Guilty."
When he unrobed and left the court, George Heriot walked into the
street the man of the hour; and he drove home to Mamie, who
kissed him as she might have kissed her father.
He adored his wife, and his wife felt affection for him. But the claims
of his profession left her to her own resources; and she had no child.

CHAPTER VII
When they had been married three years she knew many hours of
boredom. She could not disguise from herself that she found the life
she led more and more unsatisfying—that luxury and a devoted
husband, who was in court during the day, and often in his study
half the night, were not all that she had craved for; that her
environment was philistine, depressing, dull!
And she lectured herself and said the fault was her own, and that it
was a very much better environment than her abilities entitled her
to. She recited all the moral precepts that a third person might have
uttered; and the dissatisfaction remained.
To write plays ceases to be an attractive occupation when they are
never produced. She had written several plays by this time, and
submitted them, more or less judiciously, to several West End
theatres. There had even been an instance of a manager returning a
manuscript in response to her fourth application for it. But she was
no nearer to success, or to an artistic circle.
A career at the Bar is not all causes célèbres, and the details of
Heriot's briefs were rarely enthralling to her mind, even when he
discussed them with her; and when he came into the drawing-room
he did not want to discuss his briefs. He wanted to talk trifles, just
as he preferred to see a musical comedy or a farce when they went
out. Nor did he press her for particulars of her own pursuits during
his absence. She never sighed over him, and as she appeared to be
cheerful, he thought she was contented. That such allusions to her
literary work as she made were careless, he took to mean that she
had gradually acquired staider views. Once he perceived that it was
perhaps quieter for her than for most women, for she had no
intimate acquaintances; but then she had never been used to any!
There were her books, and her music, and her shopping—no, he did
not think she could be bored. Besides, her manner at dinner was
always direct evidence to the contrary!

She was now twenty-five years old, and the Kensington flat, and
abundant means had lost their novelty. She was never moved by a
clever novel without detesting her own obscurity; never looked at
the window of the Stereoscopic Company without a passion of envy
for the successful artists; never accompanied Heriot to the solemn
houses without yearning for a passport to Upper Bohemia instead.
She was twenty-five years old, and marriage, without having fulfilled
the demands of her temperament, had developed her sensibilities. It
was at this period that she met Lucas Field.
If her existence had been a story, nothing could have surprised her
less than such a meeting. It would have been at this juncture
precisely that she looked for the arrival of an artist, and Lucas Field
would probably have been a brilliant young man who wore his hair
long and wrote decadent verse. The trite in fiction is often very
astonishing in one's own life, however, and, as a matter of fact, she
found their introduction an event, and foresaw nothing at all.
Lucas Field was naturally well known to her by reputation—so well
known that when the hostess brought "Mr. Field" across to her,
Mamie never dreamed of identifying him with the dramatist. She had
long since ceased to expect to meet anybody congenial at these
parties, and the fish had been reached before she discovered who it
really was who had taken her down.
Field was finding it a trifle dreary himself. He had not been bred in
the vicinity of the footlights—-his father had been a physician, and
his mother the daughter of a Lincolnshire parson—but he had drifted
into dramatic literature when he came down from Oxford, and the
atmosphere of the artistic world had become essential to him by
now. Portman Square, though he admitted its desirability, and would
have been mortified if it had been denied to him, invariably
oppressed him a shade when he entered it. He was at the present
time foretasting hell in the fruitless endeavour to devise a scenario
for his next play, and he had looked at Mamie with a little interest as
he was conducted across the drawing-room. A beautiful woman has
always an air of suggestion; she is a beginning, a "heroine" without

a plot. Regarded from the easel she is all-sufficing—contemplated
from the desk, she is illusive. After you have admired the tendrils of
hair at the nape of her neck, you realise with despondence that she
takes you no farther than if she had been plain.
Field had realised that she left him in the lurch before his soup plate
had been removed. Presently he inquired if she was fond of the
theatre.
"Please don't say 'yes' from politeness," he added.
"Why should I?"
She had gathered the reason in the next moment, and her eyes lit
with eagerness. He had a momentary terror that she was going to
be commonplace.
"I couldn't dream that it was you—here!" she said apologetically.
"Isn't a poor playwright respectable?" he asked.
There was an instant in which she felt that on her answer depended
the justification of her soul. She said afterwards that she could have
"fallen round an epigram's neck."
"I should think the poor playwright must be very dull," she replied.
This was adequate, however, and better than his own response,
which was of necessity conventional.
"I have seen your new comedy," she continued.
"I hope it pleased you?"
"I admired it immensely—like every one else. It is a great success,
isn't it?"
"The theatre is very full every night," he said deprecatingly.
"Then it is a success!"
"Does that follow?"
"You are not satisfied with it—it falls short of what you meant? I
shouldn't have supposed that; it seemed to me entirely clear!"

"That I had a theory? Really? Perhaps I have not failed so badly as I
thought." He did not think he had failed at all, but this sort of thing
was his innocent weakness.
"Miss Millington is almost perfect as 'Daisy,' isn't she?"
"'Almost'? Where do you find her weak?"
She blushed.
"She struck me—of course I am no authority—as not quite fulfilling
your idea in the first act—when she accepted the Captain. I thought
perhaps she was too responsible there—too grown up."
"There isn't a woman in London who could play 'Daisy,'" said Field
savagely. "In other words, you think she wrecked the piece?"
"Oh no, indeed!"
"If 'Daisy' isn't a child when she marries, the play has no meaning,
no sense. That is why the character was so difficult to cast—in the
first act she must be a school-girl, and in the others an emotional
woman."
"Perhaps I said too much."
"You are a critic, Mrs. Heriot."
"Oh, merely——"
"Merely?"
"Merely very interested in the stage."
"To be interested in the stage is very ordinary; to be a judge of it is
rather rare. No, you didn't say too much: Miss Millington doesn't fulfil
my idea when she accepts 'Captain Arminger.' And to be frank, I
haven't fulfilled Miss Millington's idea of a consistent part."
"I can understand," said Mamie, "that the great drawback to writing
for the stage is that one depends so largely on one's interpreters. A
novelist succeeds or fails by himself, but a dramatist——"

"A dramatist is the most miserable of created beings," said Field, "if
he happens to be an artist."
"I can hardly credit that. I can't credit anybody being miserable who
is an artist." (He laughed. It was not polite, but he couldn't help it.)
"Though I can understand his having moods of the most frightful
depression!" she added.
"Oh, you can understand that?"
"Quite. Would he be an artist if he didn't have them!"
"May I ask if you write yourself?"
"N—no," she murmured.
"Does that mean 'yes'?"
"It means 'only for my own amusement.'"
"The writer who only writes for his own amusement is mythical, I'm
afraid," said Field. "One often hears of him, but he doesn't bear
investigation. You don't write plays?"
"No—I try to!"
He regarded her a little cynically.
"I thought ladies generally wrote novels?"
"I wish to be original, you see."
"Do you send them anywhere?"
"Oh, yes; I send them; I suppose I always shall!"
"You're really in earnest then? You're not discouraged?"
"I'm earnest, and discouraged, too.... Is it impertinent to ask if you
had experiences like mine when you were younger?"
"I wrote plays for ten years before I ever passed through a stage-
door—one must expect to work for years before one is produced....
Of course, one may work all one's life, and not be produced then!"
"It depends how clever one is, or whether one is clever at all?"

"It depends on a good many things. It depends sometimes on
advice."
If she had been less lovely, he would not have said this, and he
knew it; if she had not been Mrs. Heriot, he would not have said it
either. The average woman who "wants a literary man's advice" is
the bane of his existence, and Field was, not only without sympathy
for the tyro as a rule—he was inclined to disparage the majority of
his colleagues. He was clever, and was aware of it; he occupied a
prominent position. He had arrived at the point when he could dare
to be psychological. "It depends sometimes on advice," he said. And
the wife of George Heriot, Q.C., murmured: "Unfortunately, I have
nobody to advise me!"
Even as it was, he regretted it when he took his leave; and the
manuscript that he had offered to read lay in his study for three
weeks before he opened it. He picked it up one night, remembering
that the writer had been very beautiful. The reading inspired him
with a desire to see her again. That the play was full of faults goes
without saying, but it was unconventional, and there was character
in it. He recollected that she had interested him while they talked
after dinner on a couch by the piano; and, as her work was
promising, he wrote, volunteering to point out in an interview, if she
liked, those errors in technique which it would take too long to
explain by letter. It cannot be made too clear that if she had sent
him a work of genius and had been plain Miss Smith in a home-
made blouse, he would have done nothing of the sort. He called
upon her with no idea that his hints would make a dramatist of her,
nor did he care in the slightest degree whether they did, or did not.
She was a singularly lovely woman, and as her drama had not been
stupid—stupidity would have repelled him—he thought a tête-à-tête
with her would be agreeable.
To Mamie, however, the afternoon when he sat sipping tea in her
drawing-room, like an ordinary mortal, was the day of her life. She
told him that she had once hoped to be an actress, and believed
that the avowal would advance her in his esteem. He answered that

he should not be astonished if she had the histrionic gift; and was
secretly disenchanted a shade by what he felt to be banal. Then
they discussed his own work, and he found her appreciation
remarkably intelligent. To talk about himself to a woman, who
listened with exquisite eyes fixed upon his face, was very gratifying
to him. Field had rarely spent a pleasanter hour. It is not intimated
that he was a vain puppy—he was not a puppy at all. He had half
unconsciously felt the want of a sympathetic confidant for a long
while, though, and albeit he did not instantaneously realise that Mrs.
Heriot supplied the void, he walked back to his chambers with
exhilaration.
He realised it by degrees. He had never married. He had avoided
matrimony till he was thirty because he could not afford it; and
during the last decade he had escaped it because he had not met a
woman whom he desired sufficiently to pay such a price. When he
had seen Mamie several times—and in the circumstances it was not
difficult to invent reasons for seeing her—he wondered whether he
would have proposed to her if she had been single.
Heriot was very pleased to have him dine with them; and he was not
ignorant that during the next few months Field often dropped in
about five o'clock. Mamie concealed nothing—knowingly—and the
subject of her writing was revived now. She told George that Mr.
Field thought she had ability. She repeated his criticisms; frankly
admired his talent; confessed that she was proud to have him on her
visiting list—and fell in love with him without either analysing her
feelings, or perceiving her risk.
And while Mrs. Heriot fell in love with him, Lucas Field was not blind.
He saw a great deal more than she saw herself—he saw, not only
the influence he exercised over her, but that she had moped before
he appeared. He did not misread her; he was conscious that she
would never take a lover from caprice—that she was the last woman
in the world to sin lightly, or under the rose. He saw that, if he
yielded to the temptation that had begun to assail him, he must be
prepared to ask her to live with him openly. But he asked himself

whether it was impossible that he could prevail on her to do that,
had he the mind to do so—whether she was so impregnable as she
believed.
He was by this time fascinated by her. His happiest afternoons were
spent in South Kensington, advancing his theories, and talking of his
latest scenes; nor was it a lie when he averred that she assisted him.
To be an artist it is not necessary to be able to produce, and if her
own attempts had been infinitely more futile than they were, she
might still have expressed opinions that were of service to another.
Many of her views were impracticable, naturally. Psychological as his
tendencies were, he was a dramatist, and he could not snap his
fingers at the laws imposed by the footlights, though he might affect
to deride them in his confidences. The only dramatist alive was
Ibsen, he said; yet he did not model himself on Ibsen, albeit he was
delighted when she exclaimed, "How Ibsenish that is!" Many of her
views were impracticable, because she was ignorant about the
stage; but many were intensely stimulating. The more he was with
her, the less he doubted her worthiness of sinning for his sake. He
was so different from the ordinary dramatic author! On the ordinary
dramatic author, with no ideas beyond "curtains" and "fees," she
would have been thrown away. He did not wish to be associated
with a scandal—it would certainly be unpleasant—but she dominated
him, there was no disguising the fact. And he would be very good to
her; he would marry her. She was adorable!
His meditations had not progressed so far without the girl's eyes
being opened to her weakness; and now she hated herself more
bitterly than she had hated the tedium of her life. She knew that she
loved him. She was wretched when he was not with her, and
ashamed when he was there. She wandered about the flat in her
solitude, frightened as she realised what an awful thing had come to
her. But she was drunk—intoxicated by the force of the guilty love,
and by the thought that such a man as Lucas Field could be in love
with her. She revered him for not having told her of the feelings that
she inspired. Her courage was sustained by the belief that he did not
divine her own—that she would succeed in stamping them out

without his dreaming of the danger she had run. Yet she was
"drunk"; and one afternoon the climax was reached—he implored
her to go away with him.
CHAPTER VIII
If a woman sins, and the chronicler of her sin desires to excuse the
woman, her throes and her struggles, her pangs and her prayers
always occupy at least three chapters. If one does not seek to
excuse her, the fact of her fall may as well be stated in the fewest
possible words. Mamie did struggle—she struggled for a long time—
but in the end she was just as guilty as if she hadn't shed a tear.
Field's pertinacity and passion wore her resistance out at last. Theirs
was to be the ideal union, and of course he cited famous cases
where the man and woman designed for each other by Heaven had
met only after one of them had blundered. He did not explain why
Heaven had permitted the blunders, after being at the pains to
design kindred souls for each other's ecstasy; but there are things
that even the youngest curate cannot explain. He insisted that she
would never regret her step; he declared that, with himself for her
husband, she would become celebrated. Art, love, joy, all might be
hers at a word. And she spoke it.
When Heriot came in one evening, Mamie was not there, and he
wondered what had become of her, for at this hour she was always
at home. But he had not a suspicion of evil—he was as far from
being prepared for the blow that was in store as if Field had never
crossed their path. He had let himself in with his latch-key, and after
a quarter of an hour it occurred to him that she might be already in
the dining-room. When he entered it, he noted with surprise that the
table was laid only for one.
"Where is Mrs. Heriot?" he said to the servant who appeared in
response to his ring.

"Mrs. Heriot has gone out of town, sir."
"Out of town!" he exclaimed. "What do you mean?"
"Mrs. Heriot left a note for you, sir, to explain. There it is, sir."
Heriot took it from the mantelpiece quickly; but still he had no
suspicion—not an inkling of the truth. He tore the envelope open
and read, while the maid waited respectfully by the door.
"Your mistress has been called away," he said when he had finished;
"illness! She will be gone some time."
His back was to her; he could command his voice, but his face was
beyond his control. He felt that if he moved he would reel, perhaps
fall. He stood motionless, with the letter open in his hand.
"Shall I serve dinner, sir?"
"Yes, serve dinner, Odell; I'm quite ready."
When the door closed, it was his opportunity to gain the chair; he
walked towards it slowly, like a blind man. The letter that he held
had left but one hope possible—the last hope of despair—to keep
the matter for awhile from the servants' knowledge. As yet he was
not suffering acutely; indeed, in these early moments, the effect of
the shock was more physical than mental. There was a trembling
through his body, and his head felt queerly light—empty, not his
own.
The maid came back, and he forced himself to dine. The first
spoonfuls of the soup he took were but heat, entirely tasteless, to
his mouth, and at the pit of his stomach a sensation of sickness rose
and writhed like something living. When she retired once more, his
head fell forward on his arms; it was a relief to rest it so. He did not
know how he could support the long strain of her vigilance.
By degrees his stupor began to pass, as he stared at the vacant
place where his wife should have sat; the dazed brain rallied to
comprehension. His wife was not there because she was with her
lover! Oh, God! with her "lover"—Mamie had given herself to

another man! Mamie! Mamie had gone to another man. His face was
grey and distorted now, and the glass that he was lifting snapped at
the stem. She had gone. She was no longer his wife. She was guilty,
shameless, defiled—Mamie!
He rose, an older, a less vigorous, figure.
"I shall be busy to-night," he muttered; "don't let me be disturbed."
He went to his study, and dropped upon the seat before his desk.
Her photograph confronted him, and he took it down and held it
shakenly. How young she looked! was there ever a face more pure?
And Heaven knew that he had loved her as dearly only an hour ago
as on the day that they were married! Not a whim of hers had been
refused; not a request could he recollect that he had failed to obey.
Yet now she was with a lover! She smiled in the likeness; the eyes
that met his own were clear and tender; truth was stamped upon
her features. He recalled incidents of the past three years, incidents
that had been rich in the intimacy of their life. Surely in those hours
she had loved him? That had not been gratitude—a sense of duty
merely?—had she not loved him then? He remembered their
wedding-day. How pale she had been, how innocent—a child. Yet
now she was with a lover! A sob convulsed him, and he nodded
slowly at the likeness through his tears. Presently he put it back; he
was angered at his weakness. He had deserved something better at
her hands! Pride forbade that he should mourn for her. He had
married wildly, yes, he should have listened to advice; Francis had
warned him. Perhaps while he wept, they were laughing at him
together, she and Field! How did he know that it was Field—had she
mentioned his name in the letter? He knew that it was Field
instinctively; he marvelled that he had not foreseen the danger, and
averted it. How stupid had the petitioners in divorce suits often
appeared to him in his time!—he had wondered that men could be
so purblind—and he himself had been as dense as any!... But she
would not laugh. Ah, guilty as she was, she would not laugh—she
was not so vile as that! The clock in the room struck one. He heard
it half unconsciously—then started, and threw out his arms with a

hoarse cry. He sprang to his feet, fired with the tortures of the
damned. The sweat burst out on him, and the veins in his forehead
swelled like cords. He was a temperate man, at once by taste and by
necessity, but now he walked to where the brandy was kept and
drank a wineglassful in gulps. "Mamie!" he groaned again; "Mamie!"
The brandy did not blot the picture from his brain; and he refilled
the glass.... Nothing would efface the picture.
He knew that it was hopeless to attempt to sleep, yet he went to the
bedroom. The ivory brushes were gone from the toilet-table—she
had been able to think of brushes! In the wardrobe the frocks were
fewer, and the linen was less; the jewellery that he had given to her
had been left behind. All was orderly. There were no traces of a
hurried departure; the room had its usual aspect. He looked at the
pillows. Against the one that had been hers lay the bag of silk and
lace that contained her night-dress. Had she forgotten it; or was it
that she had been incapable of transferring that? He picked it up,
and dropped it out of sight in one of the drawers.
He did not go to bed; he spent the night in an armchair, re-reading
the letter, and thinking. When the servant knocked at the door, he
went to his dressing-room, and shaved. He had a bath, and
breakfasted, and strolled to the station. Outwardly he had recovered
from the blow, and his clerk who gave him his list of appointments
remarked nothing abnormal about him. In court, Heriot remembered
that Mamie and he were to have dined in Holland Park that evening,
and during the luncheon adjournment he sent a telegram of excuse.
If any one had known what had happened to him, he would have
been thought devoid of feeling.
He had scarcely re-entered the flat when Mrs. Baines called. His first
impulse was to decline to see her; but he told the maid to show her
in.
A glance assured him that she was ignorant of what had occurred.
"Dear Mamie is away, the servant tells me," she said, simpering. "I
hadn't seen her for such a long time that I thought I'd look in to-day.

Not that I should have been so late, but I missed my train! I meant
to come in and have a cup of tea with her at five o'clock. Well, I am
unfortunate! And how have you been keeping, Mr. Heriot?"
"I'm glad to see you. I hope you are well, Mrs. Baines."
"Where has dear Mamie gone?" she asked. "Pleasuring?"
"She is on the Continent, I believe. May I tell them to bring you
some tea now?"
"On the Continent alone?" exclaimed Mrs. Baines. "Fancy!"
"No, she is not alone," said Heriot. "You must prepare yourself for a
shock, Mrs. Baines. Your niece has left me."
She looked at him puzzled. His tone was so composed that it
seemed to destroy the significance of his words.
"Left you? How do you mean?"
"She has gone with her lover."
"Oh, my Gawd!" said Mrs. Baines.... "Whatever are you saying, Mr.
Heriot? Don't!"
"Your niece is living with another man. She left me yesterday," he
continued quietly. "I am sorry to have to tell you such news."
He was sorrier as he observed the effect of it, but he could not
soften the shock for her by any outward participation in her grief.
Since he must speak at all, he must speak as he did.
"Oh, to hear of such a thing!" she gasped. "Oh, to think that—well
—— Oh, Mr. Heriot, I can't ... it can't be true. Isn't it some mistake?
Dear Mamie would never be so wicked, I'm sure she wouldn't! It's
some awful mistake, you may depend."
"There's no mistake, Mrs. Baines. My authority is your niece herself.
She left a letter to tell me she was going, and why."
The widow moaned feebly.
"With another man?"

He bowed.
"Oh, Heaven will punish her, Mr. Heriot! Oh, what will her father say
—how could she do it! And you—how gentle and kind to her you
were I could see."
"I did my best to make her happy," he said; "evidently I didn't
succeed. Is it necessary for us to talk about it much? Believe me,
you have my sympathy, but talking won't improve matters."
"Oh, but I can't look at it so—so calmly, Mr. Heriot! The disgrace!
and so sudden. And it isn't for me to have your sympathy, I'm sure. I
say it isn't for you to sympathise with me. My heart bleeds for you,
Mr. Heriot."
"You're very good," he answered; "but I don't know that a faithless
wife is much to grieve for after all."
"Ah, but you don't mean that! you were too fond of her to mean it.
She'll live to repent it, you may be certain—the Lord will bring it
home to her. Oh, how could she do it! You don't—you don't intend to
have a divorce?"
"Naturally I intend it. What else do you propose?"
"Oh, I don't know," she quavered, rocking herself to and fro, and
smearing the tears down her cheeks with a forefinger in a black silk
glove; "but the disgrace! And all Lavender Street to read about it!
Ah, you won't divorce her, Mr. Heriot? It would be so dreadful!"
"Don't you want to see the man marry her?"
"How 'marry her'?" she asked vaguely. "Oh, I understand! Yes, I
suppose he could marry her then, couldn't he? I'm not a lawyer like
you—I didn't look so far ahead. But I don't want a divorce."
"Ah, well, I want it," he said; "for my own sake."
"Then you don't love her any more, Mr. Heriot?"
He laughed drearily.

"Your niece has ended her life with me of her own accord. I've
nothing more to do with her."
"Those are cruel words," said Mrs. Baines; "those are cruel words
about a girl who was your lawful wife—the flesh of your bone in the
sight of Gawd and man. You're harder than I thought, Mr. Heriot;
you don't take it quite as I'd have supposed you'd take it.... So quiet
and stern like! I think if you'd loved her tenderly, you'd have talked
more heart-broken, though it's not for me to judge."
Heriot rose.
"I can't discuss my sentiments with you, Mrs. Baines. Think, if you
like, that I didn't care for her at all. At least my duty to her is over;
and I have a duty to myself to-day."
"To cast her off?" The semi-educated classes use the phrases of
novelettes habitually. Whether this is the reason the novelettes trade
in the phrases, or whether the semi-educated acquire the phrases
from the novelettes, is not clear.
"To——" He paused. He could not trust himself to speak at that
moment.
"To cast her off?" repeated Mrs. Baines. "Oh, I don't make excuses
for her—I don't pity her. Though she is my brother's child, I say she
is deserving of whatever befalls her. I remember well that when Dick
married I warned him against it; I said, 'She isn't the wife for you!'
It's the mother's blood coming out in her, though my brother's child.
But ... What was I going to say? I'm that upset that—— Oh yes! I
make no excuses for her, but I would have liked to see more sorrow
on your part, Mr. Heriot; I could have pitied you more if you'd have
taken it more to heart. You may think me too bold, but it was ever
my way to say what was in my mind. I don't think I'll stop any
longer. The way you may take it is between you and your Gawd, but
——" She put out her hand. "I don't think I'll stop."
"Good-evening," he said stonily. "I'm sorry you can't stay and dine."

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