BY THE SAME AUTHOR _NOVELS_ A MAN FROM THE NORTH ANNA OF THE FIVE TOWNS LEONORA A GREAT MAN SACRED AND PROFANE LOVE WHOM GOD HATH JOINED BURIED ALIVE THE OLD WIVES' TALE THE GLIMPSE HELEN WITH THE HIGH HAND CLAYHANGER THE CARD HILDA LESSWAYS THE REGENT THE PRICE OF LOVE _FANTASIAS_ THE GRAND BABYLON HOTEL THE GATES OF WRATH TERESA OF WATLING STREET THE LOOT OF CITIES HUGO THE GHOST THE CITY OF PLEASURE _SHORT STORIES_ TALES OF THE FIVE TOWNS THE GRIM SMILE OF THE FIVE TOWNS THE MATADOR OF THE FIVE TOWNS _BELLES-LETTRES_ JOURNALISM FOR WOMEN FAME AND FICTION HOW TO BECOME AN AUTHOR THE TRUTH ABOUT AN AUTHOR THE REASONABLE LIFE HOW TO LIVE ON 24 HOURS A DAY THE HUMAN MACHINE LITERARY TASTE THE FEAST OF ST. FRIEND THOSE UNITED STATES THE PLAIN MAN AND HIS WIFE PARIS NIGHTS THE AUTHOR'S CRAFT LIBERTY _DRAMA_ POLITE FARCES CUPID AND COMMON SENSE WHAT THE PUBLIC WANTS THE HONEYMOON THE GREAT ADVENTURE (_In collaboration with Eden Phillpotts_) THE SINEWS OF WAR: A Romance THE STATUE: A Romance (_In collaboration with Edward Knoblauch_) MILESTONES HELEN WITH THE HIGH HAND _IDYLLIC DIVERSION_ BY ARNOLD BENNETT AUTHOR OF "THE OLD WIVES TALE," ETC. _A NEW EDITION_ HODDER AND STOUGHTON LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO 1915 CONTENTS CHAP. I BEGINNING OF THE IDYLL II AN AFFAIR OF THE SEVENTIES III MARRYING OFF A MOTHER IV INVITATION TO TEA V A SALUTATION VI MRS. BUTT'S DEPARTURE VII THE NEW COOK VIII OMELETTE IX A GREAT CHANGE X A CALL XI ANOTHER CALL XII BREAKFAST XIII THE WORLD XIV SONG, SCENE AND DANCE XV THE GIFT XVI THE HALL AND ITS RESULT XVII DESCENDANTS OF MACHIAVELLI XVIII CHICANE XIX THE TOSSING XX THE FLITTING XXI SHIP AND OCEAN XXII CONFESSIONAL XXIII NOCTURNAL XXIV SEEING A LADY HOME XXV GIRLISH CONFIDENCES XXVI THE CONCERT XXVII UNKNOTTING AND KNOTTING CHAPTER I BEGINNING OF THE IDYLL In the Five Towns human nature is reported to be so hard that you can break stones on it. Yet sometimes it softens, and then we have one of our rare idylls of which we are very proud, while pretending not to be. The soft and delicate South would possibly not esteem highly our idylls, as such. Nevertheless they are our idylls, idyllic for us, and reminding us, by certain symptoms, that though we never cry there is concealed somewhere within our bodies a fount of happy tears.