Somerset maughan

belle laide
, and, far from denying the justness of his 
observation, she had been almost flattered. Her mouth was large, 
and she had little round bright eyes. Her skin was colourless and 
much disfigured by freckles. Her nose was long and thin. But her 
face was so kindly, her vivacity so attractive, that no one after ten 
minutes thought of her ugliness. You noticed then that her hair, 
though sprinkled with white, was pretty, and that her figure was 
exceedingly neat. She had good hands, very white and admirably 
formed, which she waved continually in the fervour of her 
gesticulation. Now that her means were adequate she took great 
pains with her dress, and her clothes, though they cost much more 
than she could afford, were always beautiful. Her taste was so great, 
her tact so sure, that she was able to make the most of herself. She 
was determined that if people called her ugly they should be forced 
in the same breath to confess that she was perfectly gowned. Susie's 
talent for dress was remarkable, and it was due to her influence that 
Margaret was arrayed always in the latest mode. The girl's taste 
inclined to be artistic, and her sense of colour was apt to run away 
with her discretion. Except for the display of Susie's firmness, she 
would scarcely have resisted her desire to wear nondescript 
garments of violent hue. But the older woman expressed herself 
with decision. 

---

'My dear, you won't draw any the worse for wearing a well-made 
corset, and to surround your body with bands of grey flannel will 
certainly not increase your talent.' 
'But the fashion is so hideous,' smiled Margaret. 
'Fiddlesticks! The fashion is always beautiful. Last year it was 
beautiful to wear a hat like a pork-pie tipped over your nose; and 
next year, for all I know, it will be beautiful to wear a bonnet like a 
sitz-bath at the back of your head. Art has nothing to do with a 
smart frock, and whether a high-heeled pointed shoe commends 
itself or not to the painters in the quarter, it's the only thing in which 
a woman's foot looks really nice.' 
Susie Boyd vowed that she would not live with Margaret at all 
unless she let her see to the buying of her things. 
'And when you're married, for heaven's sake ask me to stay with 
you four times a year, so that I can see after your clothes. You'll 
never keep your husband's affection if you trust to your own 
judgment.' 
Miss Boyd's reward had come the night before, when Margaret, 
coming home from dinner with Arthur, had repeated an observation 
of his. 
'How beautifully you're dressed!' he had said. 'I was rather afraid 
you'd be wearing art-serges.' 
'Of course you didn't tell him that I insisted on buying every stitch 
you'd got on,' cried Susie. 
'Yes, I did,' answered Margaret simply. 'I told him I had no taste at 
all, but that you were responsible for everything.' 
'That was the least you could do,' answered Miss Boyd. 
But her heart went out to Margaret, for the trivial incident showed 
once more how frank the girl was. She knew quite well that few of 
her friends, though many took advantage of her matchless taste, 
would have made such an admission to the lover who congratulated 
them on the success of their costume. 

---

There was a knock at the door, and Arthur came in. 
'This is the fairy prince,' said Margaret, bringing him to her friend. 
'I'm glad to see you in order to thank you for all you've done for 
Margaret,' he smiled, taking the proffered hand. 
Susie remarked that he looked upon her with friendliness, but with 
a certain vacancy, as though too much engrossed in his beloved 
really to notice anyone else; and she wondered how to make 
conversation with a man who was so manifestly absorbed. While 
Margaret busied herself with the preparations for tea, his eyes 
followed her movements with a doglike, touching devotion. They 
travelled from her smiling mouth to her deft hands. It seemed that 
he had never seen anything so ravishing as the way in which she 
bent over the kettle. Margaret felt that he was looking at her, and 
turned round. Their eyes met, and they stood for an appreciable 
time gazing at one another silently. 
'Don't be a pair of perfect idiots,' cried Susie gaily. 'I'm dying for my 
tea.' 
The lovers laughed and reddened. It struck Arthur that he should 
say something polite. 
'I hope you'll show me your sketches afterwards, Miss Boyd. 
Margaret says they're awfully good.' 
'You really needn't think it in the least necessary to show any 
interest in me,' she replied bluntly. 
'She draws the most delightful caricatures,' said Margaret. 'I'll bring 
you a horror of yourself, which she'll do the moment you leave us.' 
'Don't be so spiteful, Margaret.' 
Miss Boyd could not help thinking all the same that Arthur Burdon 
would caricature very well. Margaret was right when she said that 
he was not handsome, but his clean-shaven face was full of interest 
to so passionate an observer of her kind. The lovers were silent, and 
Susie had the conversation to herself. She chattered without pause 
and had the satisfaction presently of capturing their attention. 

---

Arthur seemed to become aware of her presence, and laughed 
heartily at her burlesque account of their fellow-students at 
Colarossi's. Meanwhile Susie examined him. He was very tall and 
very thin. His frame had a Yorkshireman's solidity, and his bones 
were massive. He missed being ungainly only through the serenity 
of his self-reliance. He had high cheek-bones and a long, lean face. 
His nose and mouth were large, and his skin was sallow. But there 
were two characteristics which fascinated her, an imposing strength 
of purpose and a singular capacity for suffering. This was a man 
who knew his mind and was determined to achieve his desire; it 
refreshed her vastly after the extreme weakness of the young 
painters with whom of late she had mostly consorted. But those 
quick dark eyes were able to express an anguish that was hardly 
tolerable, and the mobile mouth had a nervous intensity which 
suggested that he might easily suffer the very agonies of woe. 
Tea was ready, and Arthur stood up to receive his cup. 
'Sit down,' said Margaret. 'I'll bring you everything you want, and I 
know exactly how much sugar to put in. It pleases me to wait on 
you.' 
With the grace that marked all her movements she walked cross the 
studio, the filled cup in one hand and the plate of cakes in the other. 
To Susie it seemed that he was overwhelmed with gratitude by 
Margaret's condescension. His eyes were soft with indescribable 
tenderness as he took the sweetmeats she gave him. Margaret 
smiled with happy pride. For all her good-nature, Susie could not 
prevent the pang that wrung her heart; for she too was capable of 
love. There was in her a wealth of passionate affection that none had 
sought to find. None had ever whispered in her ears the charming 
nonsense that she read in books. She recognised that she had no 
beauty to help her, but once she had at least the charm of vivacious 
youth. That was gone now, and the freedom to go into the world 
had come too late; yet her instinct told her that she was made to be a 
decent man's wife and the mother of children. She stopped in the 
middle of her bright chatter, fearing to trust her voice, but Margaret 
and Arthur were too much occupied to notice that she had ceased to 
speak. They sat side by side and enjoyed the happiness of one 
another's company. 

---

'What a fool I am!' thought Susie. 
She had learnt long ago that common sense, intelligence, good-
nature, and strength of character were unimportant in comparison 
with a pretty face. She shrugged her shoulders. 
'I don't know if you young things realise that it's growing late. If you 
want us to dine at the Chien Noir, you must leave us now, so that 
we can make ourselves tidy.' 
'Very well,' said Arthur, getting up. 'I'll go back to my hotel and 
have a wash. We'll meet at half-past seven.' 
When Margaret had closed the door on him, she turned to her 
friend. 
'Well, what do you think?' she asked, smiling. 
'You can't expect me to form a definite opinion of a man whom I've 
seen for so short a time.' 
'Nonsense!' said Margaret. 
Susie hesitated for a moment. 
'I think he has an extraordinarily good face,' she said at last gravely. 
'I've never seen a man whose honesty of purpose was so 
transparent.' 
Susie Boyd was so lazy that she could never be induced to occupy 
herself with household matters and, while Margaret put the tea 
things away, she began to draw the caricature which every new face 
suggested to her. She made a little sketch of Arthur, abnormally 
lanky, with a colossal nose, with the wings and the bow and arrow 
of the God of Love, but it was not half done before she thought it 
silly. She tore it up with impatience. When Margaret came back, she 
turned round and looked at her steadily. 
'Well?' said the girl, smiling under the scrutiny. 
She stood in the middle of the lofty studio. Half-finished canvases 
leaned with their faces against the wall; pieces of stuff were hung 

---

here and there, and photographs of well-known pictures. She had 
fallen unconsciously into a wonderful pose, and her beauty gave 
her, notwithstanding her youth, a rare dignity. Susie smiled 
mockingly. 
'You look like a Greek goddess in a Paris frock,' she said. 
'What have you to say to me?' asked Margaret, divining from the 
searching look that something was in her friend's mind. 
Susie stood up and went to her. 
'You know, before I'd seen him I hoped with all my heart that he'd 
make you happy. Notwithstanding all you'd told me of him, I was 
afraid. I knew he was much older than you. He was the first man 
you'd ever known. I could scarcely bear to entrust you to him in 
case you were miserable.' 
'I don't think you need have any fear.' 
'But now I hope with all my heart that you'll make him happy. It's 
not you I'm frightened for now, but him.' 
Margaret did not answer; she could not understand what Susie 
meant. 
'I've never seen anyone with such a capacity for wretchedness as 
that man has. I don't think you can conceive how desperately he 
might suffer. Be very careful, Margaret, and be very good to him, for 
you have the power to make him more unhappy than any human 
being should be.' 
'Oh, but I want him to be happy,' cried Margaret vehemently. 'You 
know that I owe everything to him. I'd do all I could to make him 
happy, even if I had to sacrifice myself. But I can't sacrifice myself, 
because I love him so much that all I do is pure delight.' 
Her eyes filled with tears and her voice broke. Susie, with a little 
laugh that was half hysterical, kissed her. 
'My dear, for heaven's sake don't cry! You know I can't bear people 
who weep, and if he sees your eyes red, he'll never forgive me.' 

---

3 
The Chien Noir, where Susie Boyd and Margaret generally dined, 
was the most charming restaurant in the quarter. Downstairs was a 
public room, where all and sundry devoured their food, for the little 
place had a reputation for good cooking combined with cheapness; 
and the 
patron
, a retired horse-dealer who had taken to victualling in 
order to build up a business for his son, was a cheery soul whose 
loud-voiced friendliness attracted custom. But on the first floor was 
a narrow room, with three tables arranged in a horse-shoe, which 
was reserved for a small party of English or American painters and 
a few Frenchmen with their wives. At least, they were so nearly 
wives, and their manner had such a matrimonial respectability, that 
Susie, when first she and Margaret were introduced into this society, 
judged it would be vulgar to turn up her nose. She held that it was 
prudish to insist upon the conventions of Notting Hill in the 
Boulevard de Montparnasse. The young women who had thrown in 
their lives with these painters were modest in demeanour and quiet 
in dress. They were model housewives, who had preserved their 
self-respect notwithstanding a difficult position, and did not look 
upon their relation with less seriousness because they had not 
muttered a few words before