Everything seemed gay and bright and I found life one continual joy.
Let Youth be happy and gay. It is the time to be irresponsible and light-hearted. Years bring soberness. Life makes us wonder if the game is worth the struggle. I suppose it comes to all of us at times to wish to run away and hide ourselves as Tolstoi did. The rebellion of youth against home restraint returns again in later years as the rebellion of age against life’s thraldom.
And then, when the sky was blue, the bolt fell. We had been married eight years.
Suddenly all was changed. My husband had joined a syndicate. The syndicate failed. He had lost—lost heavily. Lost his capital.
Immediately our household was reduced to modest limits. Our drawing-room was shut up, three servants dismissed, the horses sold. For the first time in my life I was without a carriage. But, as Alec was sure of earning money again shortly, we did not part with anything which this income would make possible to keep.
Then a wonderful thing happened. A very dear old friend came to me.
“Ethel,” he said, “I am more than sorry, my dear child, for all that has happened, but your husband will go back to business and all will be well; meantime put that in your bank to tide you over and keep things going as a weapon to fight fate.”
It was a cheque for two thousand pounds. Imagine my amazement, imagine my pride at having a friend willing to make such a sacrifice; but, of course, I did not take it. I could not take it, although I thanked him from the bottom of my heart and promised if the necessity really came I would go to him.
To give in one’s lifetime is true generosity, to bequeath after death is often merely convenience.