What a fool - what an incredible fool he had been!
And amazement contained him, sheer bewildered amazement. How had it all come about? He simply could not understand it. It was as though his life were divided into two parts, one, the larger part, a sane well-balanced orderly progression, the other a brief uncharacteristic madness. The two parts simply did not fit.
For with all his ability and his clever, shrewd intellect, Stephen had not the inner perception to see that actually they fitted only too well.
Sometimes he looked back over his life, appraising it coldly and without undue emotion, but with a certain priggish self-congratulation.
From a very early age he had been determined to succeed in life, and in spite of difficulties and certain initial disadvantages he had succeeded.
He had always had a certain simplicity of belief and outlook. He believed in the will.
What a man willed, that he could do!
Little Stephen Farraday had steadfastly cultivated his will. He could look for little help in life save that which he got by his own efforts. A small pale boy of seven, with a good forehead and a determined chin, he meant to rise - and rise high. His parents, he already knew, would be of no use to him. His mother had married beneath her station in life - and regretted it. His father, a small builder, shrewd, cunning and cheeseparing, was despised by his wife and also by his son...
For his mother, vague, aimless, and given to extraordinary variations of mood, Stephen felt only a puzzled incomprehension until the day he found her slumped down on the corner of a table with an empty eau-de-Cologne bottle fallen from her hand. He had never thought of drink as an explanation of his mother's moods. She never drank spirits or beer, and he had never realised that her passion for eau-de-Cologne had had any other origin than her vague explanation of headaches.
He realised in that moment that he had little affection for his parents. He suspected shrewdly that they had not much for him. He was small for his age, quiet, with a tendency to stammer. Namby-pamby his father called him. A well-behaved child, little trouble in the house. His father would have preferred a more rumbunctious type. "Always getting into mischief I was, at his age." Sometimes, looking at Stephen he felt uneasily his own social inferiority to his wife. Stephen took after her folk.
Quietly, with growing determination, Stephen mapped out his own life. He was going to succeed. As a first test of will, he determined to master his stammer. He practised speaking slowly, with a slight hesitation between every word. And in time his efforts were crowned with success. He no longer stammered. In school he applied himself to his lessons. He intended to have education.
Education got you somewhere. Soon his teachers became interested, encouraged him. He won a scholarship. His parents were then approached - by the educational authorities - the boy had promise. Mr Farraday, doing well out of a row of jerry-built houses, was persuaded to invest money in his son's education.
At twenty-two Stephen came down from Oxford with a good degree, a reputation as a good and witty speaker, and a knack of writing articles. He had also made some useful friends. Politics were what attracted him. He had learnt to overcome his natural shyness and to cultivate an admirable social manner - modest, friendly, and with that touch of brilliance that led people to say, "That young man will go far." Though by predilection a Liberal, Stephen realised that for the moment, at least, the Liberal Party was dead. He joined the ranks of the Labour Party. His name soon became known as that of a "coming" young man. But the Labour Party did not satisfy Stephen. He found it less open to new ideas, more hidebound by tradition than its great and powerful rival. The Conservatives, on the other hand, were on the look-out for promising young talent. They approved of Stephen Farraday - he was just the type they wanted. He contested a fairly solid Labour constituency and won it by a very narrow majority. It was with a feeling of triumph that Stephen took his seat in the House of Commons. His career had begun and this was the right career he had chosen. Into this he could put all his ability, all his ambition. He felt in him the ability to govern, and to govern well. He had a talent for handling people, for knowing when to flatter and when to oppose. One day, he swore it, he would be in the Cabinet.
Nevertheless, once the excitement of being actually in the House had subsided, he experienced swift disillusionment. The hardly fought election had put him in the limelight, now he was down in the rut, a mere insignificant unit of the rank and file, subservient to the party whips, and kept in his place. It was not easy here to rise out of obscurity. Youth here was looked upon with suspicion. One needed something above ability. One needed influence.
There were certain interests. Certain families. You had to be sponsored. He considered marriage. Up to now he had thought very little about the subject. He had a dim picture in the back of his mind of some handsome creature who would stand hand in hand with him sharing his life and his ambitions, who would give him children and to whom he could unburden his thoughts and perplexities. Some woman who felt as he did and who would be eager for his success and proud of him when he achieved it.
Then one day he went to one of the big receptions at Kidderminster House. The Kidderminster connection was the most powerful in England. They were, and had always been, a great political family. Lord Kidderminster, with his little Imperial, his tall, distinguished figure, was known by sight everywhere. Lady Kidderminster's large rocking-horse face was familiar on public platforms and on committees all over England. They had five daughters, three of them beautiful, but all serious-minded, and one son still at Eton.
The Kidderminsters made a point of encouraging likely young members of the Party. Hence Farraday's invitation.
He did not know many people there and he was standing alone near a window about twenty minutes after his arrival. The crowd by the tea table was thinning out and passing into the other rooms when Stephen noticed a tall girl in black standing alone by the table looking for a moment slightly at a loss.
Stephen Farraday had a very good eye for faces. He had picked up that very morning in the Tube a "Home Gossip" discarded by a woman traveller and glanced over it with slight amusement. There had been a rather smudgy reproduction of Lady Alexandra Hayle, third daughter of the Earl of Kidderminster, and below a gossipy little extract about her - "... always been of a shy and retiring disposition - devoted to animals. Lady Alexandra has taken a course in Domestic Science as Lady Kidderminster believes in her daughters being thoroughly grounded in all domestic subjects."
That was Lady Alexandra Hayle standing there, and with the unerring perception of a shy person, Stephen knew that she, too, was shy. The plainest of the five daughters, Alexandra had always suffered under a sense of inferiority. Given the same education and upbringing as her sisters, she had never quite attained their savoir-faire, which annoyed her mother considerably. Sandra must make an effort - it was absurd to appear so awkward, so gauche. Stephen did not know that, but he knew that the girl was ill at ease and unhappy. And suddenly a rush of conviction came to him. This was his chance! "Take it, you fool, take it! It's now or never!"
He crossed the room to the long buffet. Standing beside the girl he picked up a sandwich. Then, turning, and speaking nervously and with an effort (no acting, that - he was nervous!) he said:
"I say, do you mind if I speak to you? I don't know many people here and I can see you don't either. Don't snub me. As a matter of fact I'm awfully s-s-shy" (his stammer of years ago came back at a most opportune moment) "and - and I think you're s-s-shy too, aren't you?"
The girl flushed - her mouth opened. But as he had guessed, she could not say it. Too difficult to find words to say "I'm the daughter of the house." Instead she admitted quietly:
"As a matter of fact, I - I am shy. I always have been."
Stephen went on quickly: "It's a horrible feeling. I don't know whether one ever gets over it. Sometimes I feel absolutely tongue-tied."
"So do I."
He went on - talking rather quickly, stammering a little - his manner was boyish, appealing. It was a manner that had been natural to him a few years ago and which was now consciously retained and cultivated. It was young, na?ve, disarming.
He led the conversation soon to the subject of plays, mentioned one that was running which had attracted a good deal of interest.
Sandra had seen it. They discussed it. It had dealt with some point of the social services and they were soon deep in a discussion of these measures.
Stephen did not overdo things. He saw Lady Kidderminster entering the room, her eyes in search of her daughter. It was no part of his plan to be introduced now. He murmured a goodbye.
"I have enjoyed talking to you. I was simply hating the whole show till I found you. Thank you."
He left Kidderminster House with a feeling of exhilaration. He had taken his chance.
Now to consolidate what he had started. For several days after that he haunted the neighbourhood of Kidderminster House. Once Sandra came out with one of her sisters. Once she left the house alone, but with a hurried step. He shook his head. That would not do, she was obviously en route to some particular appointment. Then, about a week after the party, his patience was rewarded.
She came out one morning with a small black Scottie dog and she turned with a leisurely step in the direction of the Park.
Five minutes later, a young man walking rapidly in the opposite direction pulled up short and stopped in front of Sandra. He exclaimed blithely:
"I say, what luck! I wondered if I'd ever see you again."
His tone was so delighted that she blushed just a little.
He stooped to the dog.
"What a jolly little fellow. What's his name?"
"MacTavish."
"Oh, very Scotch."
They talked dog for some moments. Then Stephen said, with a trace of embarrassment:
"I never told you my name the other day. It's Farraday. Stephen Farraday. I'm an obscure M.P."
He looked inquiringly and saw the colour come up in her cheeks again as she said: "I'm Alexandra Hayle."
He responded to that very well. He might have been back in the O.U.D.S. Surprise, recognition, dismay, embarrassment!
"Oh, you're - you're Lady Alexandra Hayle - you - my goodness! What a stupid fool you must have thought me the other day!"
Her answering move was inevitable. She was bound both by her breeding and her natural kindliness to do all she could to put him at his ease, to reassure him.
"I ought to have told you at the time."
"I ought to have known. What an oaf you must think me!"
"How should you have known? What does it matter anyway? Please, Mr Farraday, don't look so upset. Let's walk to the Serpentine. Look, MacTavish is simply pulling."
After that, he met her several times in the Park. He told her his ambitions. Together they discussed political topics. He found her intelligent, well-informed and sympathetic.
She had good brains and a singularly unbiased mind. They were friends now. The next advance came when he was asked to dinner at Kidderminster House and had to go on to a dance. A man had fallen through at the last moment. When Lady Kidderminster was racking her brains Sandra said quietly: "What about Stephen Farraday?"
"Stephen Farraday?"
"Yes, he was at your party the other day and I've met him once or twice since."
Lord Kidderminster was consulted and was all in favour of encouraging the young hopefuls of the political world.
"Brilliant young fellow - quite brilliant. Never heard of his people, but he'll make a name for himself one of these days."
Stephen came and acquitted himself well.
"A useful young man to know," said Lady Kidderminster with unconscious arrogance.
Two months later Stephen put his fortunes to the test. They were by the Serpentine and MacTavish sat with his head on Sandra's foot.
"Sandra, you know - you must know that I love you. I want you to marry me. I wouldn't ask you if I didn't believe that I shall make a name for myself one day. I do believe it. You shan't be ashamed of your choice. I swear it."
She said, "I'm not ashamed."
"Then do you care?"
"Didn't you know?"
"I hoped - but I couldn't be sure. Do you know that I've loved you since that very first moment when I saw you across the room and took my courage in both hands and came to speak to you. I was never more terrified in my life."
She said, "I think I loved you then, too..."
It was not all plain sailing. Sandra's quiet announcement that she was going to marry Stephen Farraday sent her family into immediate protests. Who was he? What did they know about him?
To Lord Kidderminster Stephen was quite frank about his family and origin. He spared a fleeting thought that it was just as well for his prospects that his parents were now both dead.
To his wife, Lord Kidderminster said, "H'm, it might be worse."
He knew his daughter fairly well, knew that her quiet manner hid inflexible purpose. If she meant to have the fellow she would have him. She'd never give in!
"The fellow's got a career ahead of him. With a bit of backing he'll go far. Heaven knows we could do with some young blood. He seems a decent chap, too."
Lady Kidderminster assented grudgingly. It was not at all her idea of a good match for her daughter. Still, Sandra was certainly the most difficult of the family. Susan had been a beauty and Esther had brains. Diana, clever child, had married the young Duke of Harwich - the parti of the season. Sandra had certainly less charm - there was her shyness - and if this young man had a future as everyone seemed to think...
She capitulated, murmuring: "But of course, one will have to use influence..."
So Alexandra Catherine Hayle took Stephen Leonard Farraday for better and for worse, in white satin and Brussels lace, with six bridesmaids and two minute pages and all the accessories of a fashionable wedding.
They went to Italy for the honeymoon and came back to a small charming house in Westminster, and a short time afterwards Sandra's godmother died and left her a very delightful small Queen Anne Manor house in the country. Everything went well for the young married pair. Stephen plunged into Parliamentary life with renewed ardour, Sandra aided and abetted him in every way, identifying herself heart and soul with his ambitions. Sometimes, Stephen would think with an almost incredulous realisation of how Fortune had favoured him! His alliance with the powerful Kidderminster faction assured him of rapid rise in his career. His own ability and brilliance would consolidate the position that opportunity made for him. He believed honestly in his own powers and was prepared to work unsparingly for the good of his country.
