VII—THE BUBBLE, REPUTATION
1
There is nothing more unsettling than a sudden uncalculated, incalculable success. It at once thrills, depresses, confuses. People attack with the most unexpected venom. Others, the most unexpected others, defend with vehemence, One feels queerly out of it, yet forlornly conspicuous. As if it were some one else, or a dream. Innocent effort dragged to the public arena, quarrelled over, misunderstood. One boasts and apologises in a breath; dreads the thing will keep up and fears it will stop; finds one day it has stopped and ever after thinks back in sentimental retrospect to the good old days, the great days, when one did stir them up a bit.
Henry awoke on this Saturday morning to a sense of trouble that hung heavily over him during the walk with Humphrey from the rooms to Stanley's. Nothing of the stir reached them here. They were so late that the restaurant was about empty. Humphrey did hear a faint, distant voice booming, but gave no particular thought to it at the moment. And the Stanleys went quietly about their business as usual. Henry, indeed, was deep in his personal concern.
This found words over the oatmeal. He drew a rumpled paper from his pocket and submitted it to his room mate.
'Got this last night,' Henry explained moodily.
Humphrey read the following pencilled communication:—
'Henry Calverly, can't you see that your attentions are making it hard for a certain young lady? Do you want to injure her reputation along with yours? Why don't you do the decent thing and leave town!