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diff --git a/34366-h/34366-h.htm b/34366-h/34366-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..695b026 --- /dev/null +++ b/34366-h/34366-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10915 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Vera, by the Author of Elizabeth + and her German Garden. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + + + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 34366 ***</div> + +<h1>VERA</h1> + + +<h2>BY THE AUTHOR OF<br/> +"ELIZABETH AND HER GERMAN GARDEN"</h2> + + +<h4>MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED,</h4> +<h4>ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON</h4> +<h4>1921 </h4> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>I</h2> + + +<p>When the doctor had gone, and the two women from the +village he had been waiting for were upstairs shut in +with her dead father, Lucy went out into the garden +and stood leaning on the gate staring at the sea.</p> + +<p>Her father had died at nine o'clock that morning, +and it was now twelve. The sun beat on her bare head; +and the burnt-up grass along the top of the cliff, and the +dusty road that passed the gate, and the glittering sea, +and the few white clouds hanging in the sky, all blazed +and glared in an extremity of silent, motionless heat +and light.</p> + +<p>Into this emptiness Lucy stared, motionless herself, +as if she had been carved in stone. There was not a +sail on the sea, nor a line of distant smoke from any +steamer, neither was there once the flash of a bird's wing +brushing across the sky. Movement seemed smitten +rigid. Sound seemed to have gone to sleep.</p> + +<p>Lucy stood staring at the sea, her face as empty of +expression as the bright blank world before her. Her +father had been dead three hours, and she felt nothing.</p> + +<p>It was just a week since they had arrived in Cornwall, +she and he, full of hope, full of pleasure in the pretty +little furnished house they had taken for August and +September, full of confidence in the good the pure air +was going to do him. But there had always been +confidence; there had never been a moment during +the long years of his fragility when confidence had even +been questioned. He was delicate, and she had taken +care of him. She had taken care of him and he had +been delicate ever since she could remember. And +ever since she could remember he had been everything +in life to her. She had had no thought since she grew +up for anybody but her father. There was no room for +any other thought, so completely did he fill her heart. +They had done everything together, shared everything +together, dodged the winters together, settled in +charming places, seen the same beautiful things, read +the same books, talked, laughed, had friends,—heaps of +friends; wherever they were her father seemed at once +to have friends, adding them to the mass he had already. +She had not been away from him a day for years; she +had had no wish to go away. Where and with whom +could she be so happy as with him? All the years were +years of sunshine. There had been no winters; nothing +but summer, summer, and sweet scents and soft skies, +and patient understanding with her slowness—for he +had the nimblest mind—and love. He was the most +amusing companion to her, the most generous friend, +the most illuminating guide, the most adoring father; +and now he was dead, and she felt nothing.</p> + +<p>Her father. Dead. For ever.</p> + +<p>She said the words over to herself. They meant +nothing.</p> + +<p>She was going to be alone. Without him. Always.</p> + +<p>She said the words over to herself. They meant +nothing.</p> + +<p>Up in that room with its windows wide open, shut +away from her with the two village women, he was +lying dead. He had smiled at her for the last time, said +all he was ever going to say to her, called her the last +of the sweet, half-teasing names he loved to invent for +her. Why, only a few hours ago they were having +breakfast together and planning what they would do +that day. Why, only yesterday they drove together +after tea towards the sunset, and he had seen, with his +quick eyes that saw everything, some unusual grasses +by the road-side, and had stopped and gathered them, +excited to find such rare ones, and had taken them back +with him to study, and had explained them to her +and made her see profoundly interesting, important +things in them, in these grasses which, till he touched +them, had seemed just grasses. That is what he did +with everything,—touched it into life and delight. The +grasses lay in the dining-room now, waiting for him to +work on them, spread out where he had put them on +some blotting-paper in the window. She had seen them +as she came through on her way to the garden; and she +had seen, too, that the breakfast was still there, the +breakfast they had had together, still as they had left +it, forgotten by the servants in the surprise of death. +He had fallen down as he got up from it. Dead. In +an instant. No time for anything, for a cry, for a look. +Gone. Finished. Wiped out.</p> + +<p>What a beautiful day it was; and so hot. He loved +heat. They were lucky in the weather....</p> + +<p>Yes, there were sounds after all,—she suddenly +noticed them; sounds from the room upstairs, a busy +moving about of discreet footsteps, the splash of water, +crockery being carefully set down. Presently the women +would come and tell her everything was ready, and she +could go back to him again. The women had tried to +comfort her when they arrived; and so had the servants, +and so had the doctor. Comfort her! And she felt +nothing.</p> + +<p>Lucy stared at the sea, thinking these things, examining +the situation as a curious one but unconnected +with herself, looking at it with a kind of cold comprehension. +Her mind was quite clear. Every detail of +what had happened was sharply before her. She knew +everything, and she felt nothing,—like God, she said to +herself; yes, exactly like God.</p> + +<p>Footsteps came along the road, which was hidden +by the garden's fringe of trees and bushes for fifty yards +on either side of the gate, and presently a man passed +between her eyes and the sea. She did not notice him, +for she was noticing nothing but her thoughts, and he +passed in front of her quite close, and was gone.</p> + +<p>But he had seen her, and had stared hard at her for +the brief instant it took to pass the gate. Her face and +its expression had surprised him. He was not a very +observant man, and at that moment was even less so +than usual, for he was particularly and deeply absorbed +in his own affairs; yet when he came suddenly on the +motionless figure at the gate, with its wide-open eyes +that simply looked through him as he went by, unconscious, +obviously, that any one was going by, his attention +was surprised away from himself and almost he had +stopped to examine the strange creature more closely. +His code, however, prevented that, and he continued +along the further fifty yards of bushes and trees that +hid the other half of the garden from the road, but more +slowly, slower and slower, till at the end of the garden +where the road left it behind and went on very solitarily +over the bare grass on the top of the cliffs, winding in +and out with the ins and outs of the coast for as far as +one could see, he hesitated, looked back, went on a yard +or two, hesitated again, stopped and took off his hot hat +and wiped his forehead, looked at the bare country and +the long twisting glare of the road ahead, and then very +slowly turned and went past the belt of bushes towards +the gate again.</p> + +<p>He said to himself as he went: 'My God, I'm so +lonely. I can't stand it. I must speak to some one. +I shall go off my head——'</p> + +<p>For what had happened to this man—his name was +Wemyss—was that public opinion was forcing him into +retirement and inactivity at the very time when he most +needed company and distraction. He had to go away +by himself, he had to withdraw for at the very least a +week from his ordinary life, from his house on the river +where he had just begun his summer holiday, from his +house in London where at least there were his clubs, +because of this determination on the part of public +opinion that he should for a space be alone with his +sorrow. Alone with sorrow,—of all ghastly things for +a man to be alone with! It was an outrage, he felt, to +condemn a man to that; it was the cruellest form of +solitary confinement. He had come to Cornwall because +it took a long time to get to, a whole day in the train +there and a whole day in the train back, clipping the +week, the minimum of time public opinion insisted on +for respecting his bereavement, at both ends; but +still that left five days of awful loneliness, of wandering +about the cliffs by himself trying not to think, without +a soul to speak to, without a thing to do. He couldn't +play bridge because of public opinion. Everybody knew +what had happened to him. It had been in all the +papers. The moment he said his name they would +know. It was so recent. Only last week....</p> + +<p>No, he couldn't bear this, he must speak to some one. +That girl,—with those strange eyes she wasn't just +ordinary. She wouldn't mind letting him talk to her +for a little, perhaps sit in the garden with her a little. +She would understand.</p> + +<p>Wemyss was like a child in his misery. He very +nearly cried outright when he got to the gate and took +off his hat, and the girl looked at him blankly just as +if she still didn't see him and hadn't heard him when he +said, 'Could you let me have a glass of water? I—it's +so hot——'</p> + +<p>He began to stammer because of her eyes. 'I—I'm +horribly thirsty—the heat——'</p> + +<p>He pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his +forehead. He certainly looked very hot. His face was +red and distressed, and his forehead dripped. He was +all puckered, like an unhappy baby. And the girl +looked so cool, so bloodlessly cool. Her hands, folded +on the top bar of the gate, looked more than cool, they +looked cold; like hands in winter, shrunk and small with +cold. She had bobbed hair, he noticed, so that it was +impossible to tell how old she was, brown hair from +which the sun was beating out bright lights; and her +small face had no colour except those wide eyes fixed on +his and the colour of her rather big mouth; but even +her mouth seemed frozen.</p> + +<p>'Would it be much bother——' began Wemyss +again; and then his situation overwhelmed him.</p> + +<p>'You would be doing a greater kindness than you +know,' he said, his voice trembling with unhappiness, +'if you would let me come into the garden a minute and +rest.'</p> + +<p>At the sound of the genuine wretchedness in his voice +Lucy's blank eyes became a little human. It got through +to her consciousness that this distressed warm stranger +was appealing to her for something.</p> + +<p>'Are you so hot?' she asked, really seeing him for +the first time.</p> + +<p>'Yes, I'm hot,' said Wemyss. 'But it isn't that. +I've had a misfortune—a terrible misfortune——'</p> + +<p>He paused, overcome by the remembrance of it, by +the unfairness of so much horror having overtaken +him.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I'm sorry,' said Lucy vaguely, still miles away +from him, deep in indifference. 'Have you lost anything?'</p> + +<p>'Good God, not that sort of misfortune!' cried +Wemyss. 'Let me come in a minute—into the garden +a minute—just to sit a minute with a human being. +You would be doing a great kindness. Because you're +a stranger I can talk to you about it if you'll let me. +Just because we're strangers I could talk. I haven't +spoken to a soul but servants and official people since—since +it happened. For two days I haven't spoken +at all to a living soul—I shall go mad——'</p> + +<p>His voice shook again with his unhappiness, with +his astonishment at his unhappiness.</p> + +<p>Lucy didn't think two days very long not to speak +to anybody in, but there was something overwhelming +about the strange man's evident affliction that roused +her out of her apathy; not much,—she was still profoundly +detached, observing from another world, as it +were, this extreme heat and agitation, but at least she +saw him now, she did with a faint curiosity consider him. +He was like some elemental force in his directness. He +had the quality of an irresistible natural phenomenon. +But she did not move from her position at the gate, and +her eyes continued, with the unwaveringness he thought +so odd, to stare into his.</p> + +<p>'I would gladly have let you come in,' she said, 'if +you had come yesterday, but to-day my father died.'</p> + +<p>Wemyss looked at her in astonishment. She had +said it in as level and ordinary a voice as if she had been +remarking, rather indifferently, on the weather.</p> + +<p>Then he had a moment of insight. His own calamity +had illuminated him. He who had never known pain, +who had never let himself be worried, who had never +let himself be approached in his life by a doubt, had for +the last week lived in an atmosphere of worry and pain, +and of what, if he allowed himself to think, to become +morbid, might well grow into a most unfair, tormenting +doubt. He understood, as he would not have understood +a week ago, what her whole attitude, her rigidity +meant. He stared at her a moment while she stared +straight back at him, and then his big warm hands +dropped on to the cold ones folded on the top bar of the +gate, and he said, holding them firmly though they made +no attempt to move, 'So that's it. So that's why. +Now I know.'</p> + +<p>And then he added, with the simplicity his own +situation was putting into everything he did, 'That +settles it. We two stricken ones must talk together.'</p> + +<p>And still covering her hands with one of his, with the +other he unlatched the gate and walked in.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>II</h2> + + +<p>There was a seat under a mulberry tree on the little +lawn, with its back to the house and the gaping windows, +and Wemyss, spying it out, led Lucy to it as if she were +a child, holding her by the hand.</p> + +<p>She went with him indifferently. What did it matter +whether she sat under the mulberry tree or stood at +the gate? This convulsed stranger—was he real? +Was anything real? Let him tell her whatever it was +he wanted to tell her, and she would listen, and get him +his glass of water, and then he would go his way and +by that time the women would have finished upstairs +and she could be with her father again.</p> + +<p>'I'll fetch the water,' she said when they got to the +seat.</p> + +<p>'No. Sit down,' said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>She sat down. So did he, letting her hand go. It +dropped on the seat, palm upwards, between them.</p> + +<p>'It's strange our coming across each other like this,' +he said, looking at her while she looked indifferently +straight in front of her at the sun on the grass beyond +the shade of the mulberry tree, at a mass of huge fuchsia +bushes a little way off. 'I've been going through +hell—and so must you have been. Good God, what hell! Do +you mind if I tell you? You'll understand because of +your own——'</p> + +<p>Lucy didn't mind. She didn't mind anything. She +merely vaguely wondered that he should think she had +been going through hell. Hell and her darling father; +how quaint it sounded. She began to suspect that she +was asleep. All this wasn't really happening. Her +father wasn't dead. Presently the housemaid would +come in with the hot water and wake her to the usual +cheerful day. The man sitting beside her,—he seemed +rather vivid for a dream, it was true; so detailed, with +his flushed face and the perspiration on his forehead, +besides the feel of his big warm hand a moment ago and +the small puffs of heat that came from his clothes when +he moved. But it was so unlikely ... everything +that had happened since breakfast was so <i>unlikely</i>. +This man, too, would resolve himself soon into just +something she had had for dinner last night, and she +would tell her father about her dream at breakfast, +and they would laugh.</p> + +<p>She stirred uneasily. It wasn't a dream. It was real.</p> + +<p>'The story is unbelievably horrible,' Wemyss was +saying in a high aggrievement, looking at her little head +with the straight cut hair, and her grave profile. How +old was she? Eighteen? Twenty-eight? Impossible +to tell exactly with hair cut like that, but young anyhow +compared to him; very young perhaps compared to +him who was well over forty, and so much scarred, so +deeply scarred, by this terrible thing that had happened +to him.</p> + +<p>'It's so horrible that I wouldn't talk about it if you +were going to mind,' he went on, 'but you can't mind +because you're a stranger, and it may help you with your +own trouble, because whatever you may suffer I'm +suffering much worse, so then you'll see yours isn't so +bad. And besides I must talk to some one I should +go mad——'</p> + +<p>This was certainly a dream, thought Lucy. Things +didn't happen like this when one was awake,—grotesque +things.</p> + +<p>She turned her head and looked at him. No, it +wasn't a dream. No dream could be so solid as the +man beside her. What was he saying?</p> + +<p>He was saying in a tormented voice that he was +Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'You are Wemyss,' she repeated gravely.</p> + +<p>It made no impression on her. She didn't mind his +being Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'I'm the Wemyss the newspapers were full of last +week,' he said, seeing that the name left her unmoved. +'My God,' he went on, again wiping his forehead, but +as fast as he wiped it more beads burst out, 'those +posters to see one's own name staring at one everywhere +on posters!'</p> + +<p>'Why was your name on posters?' said Lucy.</p> + +<p>She didn't want to know; she asked mechanically, +her ear attentive only to the sounds from the open +windows of the room upstairs.</p> + +<p>'Don't you read newspapers here?' was his answer.</p> + +<p>'I don't think we do,' she said, listening. 'We've +been settling in. I don't think we've remembered to +order any newspapers yet.'</p> + +<p>A look of some, at any rate, relief from the pressure +he was evidently struggling under came into Wemyss's +face. 'Then I can tell you the real version,' he said, +'without you're being already filled up with the +monstrous suggestions that were made at the inquest. +As though I hadn't suffered enough as it was! As +though it hadn't been terrible enough already——'</p> + +<p>'The inquest?' repeated Lucy.</p> + +<p>Again she turned her head and looked at him. 'Has +your trouble anything to do with death?'</p> + +<p>'Why, you don't suppose anything else would reduce +me to the state I'm in?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, I'm sorry,' she said; and into her eyes and into +her voice came a different expression, something living, +something gentle. 'I hope it wasn't anybody you—loved?'</p> + +<p>'It was my wife,' said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>He got up quickly, so near was he to crying at the +thought of it, at the thought of all he had endured, +and turned his back on her and began stripping the +leaves off the branches above his head.</p> + +<p>Lucy watched him, leaning forward a little on both +hands. 'Tell me about it,' she said presently, very +gently.</p> + +<p>He came back and dropped down heavily beside her +again, and with many interjections of astonishment +that such a ghastly calamity could have happened to +him, to him who till now had never——</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Lucy, comprehendingly and gravely, +'yes—I know——'</p> + +<p>—had never had anything to do with—well, with +calamities, he told her the story.</p> + +<p>They had gone down, he and his wife, as they did +every 25th of July, for the summer to their house on +the river, and he had been looking forward to a glorious +time of peaceful doing nothing after months of London, +just lying about in a punt and reading and smoking and +resting—London was an awful place for tiring one out—and +they hadn't been there twenty-four hours before +his wife—before his wife——</p> + +<p>The remembrance of it was too grievous to him. He +couldn't go on.</p> + +<p>'Was she—very ill?' asked Lucy gently, to give +him time to recover. 'I think that would almost be +better. One would be a little at least one would be +a little prepared——'</p> + +<p>'She wasn't ill at all,' cried Wemyss. 'She just—died.'</p> + +<p>'Oh like father!' exclaimed Lucy, roused now +altogether. It was she now who laid her hand on his.</p> + +<p>Wemyss seized it between both his, and went on +quickly.</p> + +<p>He was writing letters, he said, in the library at his +table in the window where he could see the terrace and +the garden and the river; they had had tea together +only an hour before; there was a flagged terrace along +that side of the house, the side the library was on and +all the principal rooms; and all of a sudden there was +a great flash of shadow between him and the light; +come and gone instantaneously; and instantaneously +then there was a thud; he would never forget it, that +thud; and there outside his window on the flags——</p> + +<p>'Oh don't—oh don't——' gasped Lucy.</p> + +<p>'It was my wife,' Wemyss hurried on, not able now +to stop, looking at Lucy while he talked with eyes of +amazed horror. 'Fallen out of the top room of the +house her sitting-room because of the view—it was in +a straight line with the library window—she dropped +past my window like a stone—she was smashed—smashed——'</p> + +<p>'Oh, don't—oh——'</p> + +<p>'Now can you wonder at the state I'm in?' he cried. +'Can you wonder if I'm nearly off my head? And +forced to be by myself—forced into retirement for what +the world considers a proper period of mourning, with +nothing to think of but that ghastly inquest.'</p> + +<p>He hurt her hand, he gripped it so hard.</p> + +<p>'If you hadn't let me come and talk to you,' +he said, 'I believe I'd have pitched myself over the +cliff there this afternoon and made an end of it.'</p> + +<p>'But how—but why—how could she fall?' whispered +Lucy, to whom poor Wemyss's misfortune seemed more +frightful than anything she had ever heard of.</p> + +<p>She hung on his words, her eyes on his face, her lips +parted, her whole body an agony of sympathy. Life—how +terrible it was, and how unsuspected. One went +on and on, never dreaming of the sudden dreadful day +when the coverings were going to be dropped and one +would see it was death after all, that it had been death +all the time, death pretending, death waiting. Her +father, so full of love and interests and plans,—gone, +finished, brushed away as if he no more mattered than +some insect one unseeingly treads on as one walks; +and this man's wife, dead in an instant, dead so far +more cruelly, so horribly....</p> + +<p>'I had often told her to be careful of that window,' +Wemyss answered in a voice that almost sounded like +anger; but all the time his tone had been one of high +anger at the wanton, outrageous cruelty of fate. 'It +was a very low one, and the floor was slippery. Oak. +Every floor in my house is polished oak. I had them +put in myself. She must have been leaning out and her +feet slipped away behind her. That would make her +fall head foremost——'</p> + +<p>'Oh—oh——' said Lucy, shrinking. What could she +do, what could she say to help him, to soften at least +these dreadful memories?</p> + +<p>'And then,' Wemyss went on after a moment, as +unaware as Lucy was that she was tremblingly stroking +his hand, 'at the inquest, as though it hadn't all been +awful enough for me already, the jury must actually +get wrangling about the cause of death.'</p> + +<p>'The cause of death?' echoed Lucy. 'But—she +fell.'</p> + +<p>'Whether it were an accident or done on purpose.'</p> + +<p>'Done on——?'</p> + +<p>'Suicide.'</p> + +<p>'Oh——'</p> + +<p>She drew in her breath quickly.</p> + +<p>'But—it wasn't?'</p> + +<p>'How could it be? She was my wife, without a +care in the world, everything done for her, no troubles, +nothing on her mind, nothing wrong with her health. +We had been married fifteen years, and I was devoted +to her—devoted to her.'</p> + +<p>He banged his knee with his free hand. His voice +was full of indignant tears.</p> + +<p>'Then why did the jury——'</p> + +<p>'My wife had a fool of a maid—I never could stand +that woman—and it was something she said at the +inquest, some invention or other about what my wife +had said to her. You know what servants are. It +upset some of the jury. You know juries are made up +of anybody and everybody—butcher, baker, and candle-stick-maker—quite +uneducated most of them, quite at +the mercy of any suggestion. And so instead of a +verdict of death by misadventure, which would have +been the right one, it was an open verdict.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, how terrible—how terrible for you,' breathed +Lucy, her eyes on his, her mouth twitching with +sympathy.</p> + +<p>'You'd have seen all about it if you had read the +papers last week,' said Wemyss, more quietly. It had +done him good to get it out and talked over.</p> + +<p>He looked down at her upturned face with its horror-stricken +eyes and twitching mouth. 'Now tell me about +yourself,' he said, touched with compunction; nothing +that had happened to her could be so horrible as what +had happened to him, still she too was newly smitten, +they had met on a common ground of disaster, Death +himself had been their introducer.</p> + +<p>'Is life all—only death?' she breathed, her horror-stricken +eyes on his.</p> + +<p>Before he could answer—and what was there to +answer to such a question except that of course it +wasn't, and he and she were just victims of a monstrous +special unfairness,—he certainly was; her father had +probably died as fathers did, in the usual way in his +bed—before he could answer, the two women came out of +the house, and with small discreet steps proceeded +down the path to the gate. The sun flooded their +spare figures and their decent black clothes, clothes +kept for these occasions as a mark of respectful +sympathy.</p> + +<p>One of them saw Lucy under the mulberry tree and +hesitated, and then came across the grass to her with +the mincing steps of tact.</p> + +<p>'Here's somebody coming to speak to you,' said +Wemyss, for Lucy was sitting with her back to the +path.</p> + +<p>She started and looked round.</p> + +<p>The woman approached hesitatingly, her head on +one side, her hands folded, her face pulled into a little +smile intended to convey encouragement and pity.</p> + +<p>'The gentleman's quite ready, miss,' she said softly.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>III</h2> + + +<p>All that day and all the next day Wemyss was Lucy's +tower of strength and rock of refuge. He did everything +that had to be done of the business part of death—that +extra wantonness of misery thrown in so grimly to +finish off the crushing of a mourner who is alone. It +is true the doctor was kind and ready to help, but he +was a complete stranger; she had never seen him till +he was fetched that dreadful morning; and he had +other things to see to besides her affairs,—his own +patients, scattered widely over a lonely countryside. +Wemyss had nothing to see to. He could concentrate +entirely on Lucy. And he was her friend, linked to +her so strangely and so strongly by death. She felt +she had known him for ever. She felt that since the +beginning of time she and he had been advancing hand +in hand towards just this place, towards just this house +and garden, towards just this year, this August, this +moment of existence.</p> + +<p>Wemyss dropped quite naturally into the place a +near male relative would have been in if there had +been a near male relative within reach; and his relief +at having something to do, something practical and +immediate, was so immense that never were funeral +arrangements made with greater zeal and energy,—really +one might almost say with greater gusto. Fresh from the +horrors of those other funeral arrangements, clouded as +they had been by the silences of friends and the averted +looks of neighbours—all owing to the idiotic jurors and +their hesitations, and the vindictiveness of that woman +because, he concluded, he had refused to raise her +wages the previous month—what he was arranging now +was so simple and straightforward that it positively +was a pleasure. There were no anxieties, there were no +worries, and there was a grateful little girl. After each +fruitful visit to the undertaker, and he paid several in +his zeal, he came back to Lucy and she was grateful; +and she was not only grateful, but very obviously glad +to get him back.</p> + +<p>He saw she didn't like it when he went away, off along +the top of the cliff on his various business visits, purpose +in each step, a different being from the indignantly +miserable person who had dragged about that very +cliff killing time such a little while before; he could see +she didn't like it. She knew he had to go, she was +grateful and immensely expressive of her gratitude—Wemyss +thought he had never met any one so expressively +grateful—that he should so diligently go, but +she didn't like it. He saw she didn't like it; he saw +that she clung to him; and it pleased him.</p> + +<p>'Don't be long,' she murmured each time, looking +at him with eyes of entreaty; and when he got +back, and stood before her again mopping his forehead, +having triumphantly advanced the funeral arrangements +another stage, a faint colour came into her face and +she had the relieved eyes of a child who has been +left alone in the dark and sees its mother coming in +with a candle. Vera usedn't to look like that. Vera +had accepted everything he did for her as a matter of +course.</p> + +<p>Naturally he wasn't going to let the poor little girl +sleep alone in that house with a dead body, and the +strange servants who had been hired together with the +house and knew nothing either about her or her father +probably getting restive as night drew on, and as likely +as not bolting to the village; so he fetched his things +from the primitive hotel down in the cove about seven +o'clock and announced his intention of sleeping on the +drawing-room sofa. He had lunched with her, and had +had tea with her, and now was going to dine with her. +What she would have done without him Wemyss couldn't +think.</p> + +<p>He felt he was being delicate and tactful in this +about the drawing-room sofa. He might fairly have +claimed the spare-room bed; but he wasn't going to +take any advantage, not the smallest, of the poor little +girl's situation. The servants, who supposed him to be +a relation and had supposed him to be that from the +first moment they saw him, big and middle-aged, +holding the young lady's hand under the mulberry +tree, were surprised at having to make up a bed in the +drawing-room when there were two spare-rooms with +beds already in them upstairs, but did so obediently, +vaguely imagining it had something to do with watchfulness +and French windows; and Lucy, when he told her +he was going to stay the night, was so grateful, so really +thankful, that her eyes, red from the waves of grief that +had engulfed her at intervals during the afternoon—ever +since, that is, the sight of her dead father lying +so remote from her, so wrapped, it seemed, in a deep, +absorbed attentiveness, had unfrozen her and swept her +away into a sea of passionate weeping—filled again +with tears.</p> + +<p>'Oh,' she murmured, 'how <i>good</i> you are——'</p> + +<p>It was Wemyss who had done all the thinking for +her, and in the spare moments between his visits to +the undertaker about the arrangements, and to the +doctor about the certificate, and to the vicar about the +burial, had telegraphed to her only existing relative, +an aunt, had sent the obituary notice to <i>The Times</i>, +and had even reminded her that she had on a blue +frock and asked if she hadn't better put on a black one; +and now this last instance of his thoughtfulness overwhelmed her.</p> + +<p>She had been dreading the night, hardly daring to +think of it so much did she dread it; and each time he +had gone away on his errands, through her heart crept +the thought of what it would be like when dusk came +and he went away for the last time and she would be +alone, all alone in the silent house, and upstairs that +strange, wonderful, absorbed thing that used to be her +father, and whatever happened to her, whatever awful +horror overcame her in the night, whatever danger, he +wouldn't hear, he wouldn't know, he would still lie +there content, content....</p> + +<p>'How <i>good</i> you are!' she said to Wemyss, her red +eyes filling. 'What would I have done without you?'</p> + +<p>'But what would I have done without <i>you</i>?' he +answered; and they stared at each other, astonished +at the nature of the bond between them, at its closeness, +at the way it seemed almost miraculously to have been +arranged that they should meet on the crest of despair +and save each other.</p> + +<p>Till long after the stars were out they sat together +on the edge of the cliff, Wemyss smoking while he talked, +in a voice subdued by the night and the silence and the +occasion, of his life and of the regular healthy calm +with which it had proceeded till a week ago. Why this +calm should have been interrupted, and so cruelly, he +couldn't imagine. It wasn't as if he had deserved it. +He didn't know that a man could ever be justified +in saying he had done good, but he, Wemyss, could +at least fairly say that he hadn't done any one any +harm.</p> + +<p>'Oh, but you have done good,' said Lucy, her voice, +too, dropped into more than ordinary gentleness by the +night, the silence, and the occasion; besides which it +vibrated with feeling, it was lovely with seriousness, +with simple conviction. 'Always, always I know that +you've been doing good,' she said, 'being kind. I can't +imagine you anything else but a help to people and +a comfort.'</p> + +<p>And Wemyss said, Well, he had done his best and +tried, and no man could say more, but judging from +what—well, what people had said to him, it hadn't been +much of a success sometimes, and often and often he +had been hurt, deeply hurt, by being misunderstood.</p> + +<p>And Lucy said, How was it possible to misunderstand +him, to misunderstand any one so transparently good, +so evidently kind?</p> + +<p>And Wemyss said, Yes, one would think he was +easy enough to understand; he was a very natural, +simple sort of person, who had only all his life asked +for peace and quiet. It wasn't much to ask. Vera——</p> + +<p>'Who is Vera?' asked Lucy.</p> + +<p>'My wife.'</p> + +<p>'Ah, don't,' said Lucy earnestly, taking his hand +very gently in hers. 'Don't talk of that to-night +please don't let yourself think of it. If I could only, +only find the words that would comfort you——'</p> + +<p>And Wemyss said that she didn't need words, that +just her being there, being with him, letting him help +her, and her not having been mixed up with anything +before in his life, was enough.</p> + +<p>'Aren't we like two children,' he said, his voice, +like hers, deepened by feeling, 'two scared, unhappy +children, clinging to each other alone in the dark.'</p> + +<p>So they talked on in subdued voices as people do +who are in some holy place, sitting close together, +looking out at the starlit sea, darkness and coolness +gathering round them, and the grass smelling sweetly +after the hot day, and the little waves, such a long way +down, lapping lazily along the shingle, till Wemyss +said it must be long past bedtime, and she, poor girl, +must badly need rest.</p> + +<p>'How old are you?' he asked suddenly, turning to +her and scrutinising the delicate faint outline of her +face against the night.</p> + +<p>'Twenty-two,' said Lucy.</p> + +<p>'You might just as easily be twelve,' he said, +'except for the sorts of things you say.'</p> + +<p>'It's my hair,' said Lucy. 'My father liked—he +liked——'</p> + +<p>'Don't,' said Wemyss, in his turn taking her hand. +'Don't cry again. Don't cry any more to-night. Come—we'll +go in. It's time you were in bed.'</p> + +<p>And he helped her up, and when they got into the +light of the hall he saw that she had, this time, successfully +strangled her tears.</p> + +<p>'Good-night,' she said, when he had lit her candle +for her, 'good-night, and—God bless you.'</p> + +<p>'God bless <i>you</i>' said Wemyss solemnly, holding her +hand in his great warm grip.</p> + +<p>'He has,' said Lucy. 'Indeed He has already, in +sending me you.' And she smiled up at him.</p> + +<p>For the first time since he had known her—and he +too had the feeling that he had known her ever since he +could remember—he saw her smile, and the difference +it made to her marred, stained face surprised him.</p> + +<p>'Do that again,' he said, staring at her, still holding +her hand.</p> + +<p>'Do what?' asked Lucy.</p> + +<p>'Smile,' said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>Then she laughed; but the sound of it in the silent, +brooding house was shocking.</p> + +<p>'<i>Oh</i>,' she gasped, stopping short, hanging her head +appalled by what it had sounded like.</p> + +<p>'Remember you're to go to sleep and not think of +anything,' Wemyss ordered as she went slowly upstairs.</p> + +<p>And she did fall asleep at once, exhausted but protected, +like some desolate baby that had cried itself +sick and now had found its mother.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>IV</h2> + + +<p>All this, however, came to an end next day when +towards evening Miss Entwhistle, Lucy's aunt, arrived.</p> + +<p>Wemyss retired to his hotel again and did not +reappear till next morning, giving Lucy time to explain +him; but either the aunt was inattentive, as she well +might be under the circumstances in which she found +herself so suddenly, so lamentably placed, or Lucy's +explanations were vague, for Miss Entwhistle took +Wemyss for a friend of her dear Jim's, one of her dear, +dear brother's many friends, and accepted his services +as natural and himself with emotion, warmth, and +reminiscences.</p> + +<p>Wemyss immediately became her rock as well as +Lucy's, and she in her turn clung to him. Where he +had been clung to by one he was now clung to by two, +which put an end to talk alone with Lucy. He did not +see Lucy alone again once before the funeral, but at +least, owing to Miss Entwhistle's inability to do without +him, he didn't have to spend any more solitary hours. +Except breakfast, he had all his meals up in the little +house on the cliff, and in the evenings smoked his pipe +under the mulberry tree till bedtime sent him away, +while Miss Entwhistle in the darkness gently and +solemnly reminisced, and Lucy sat silent, as close to +him as she could get.</p> + +<p>The funeral was hurried on by the doctor's advice, +but even so the short notice and the long distance did +not prevent James Entwhistle's friends from coming to +it. The small church down in the cove was packed; +the small hotel bulged with concerned, grave-faced +people. Wemyss, who had done everything and been +everything, disappeared in this crowd. Nobody noticed +him. None of James Entwhistle's friends happened—luckily, +he felt, with last week's newspapers still fresh +in the public mind—to be his. For twenty-four hours +he was swept entirely away from Lucy by this surge of +mourners, and at the service in the church could only +catch a distant glimpse, from his seat by the door, of her +bowed head in the front pew.</p> + +<p>He felt very lonely again. He wouldn't have stayed +in the church a minute, for he objected with a healthy +impatience to the ceremonies of death, if it hadn't +been that he regarded himself as the stage-manager, +so to speak, of these particular ceremonies, and that it +was in a peculiarly intimate sense his funeral. He +took a pride in it. Considering the shortness of the +time it really was a remarkable achievement, the way +he had done it, the smooth way the whole thing was +going. But to-morrow,—what would happen to-morrow, +when all these people had gone away again? Would +they take Lucy and the aunt with them? Would the +house up there be shut, and he, Wemyss, left alone again +with his bitter, miserable recollections? He wouldn't, +of course, stay on in that place if Lucy were to go, but +wherever he went there would be emptiness without her, +without her gratefulness, and gentleness, and clinging. +Comforting and being comforted,—that is what he and +she had been doing to each other for four days, and he +couldn't but believe she would feel the same emptiness +without him that he knew he was going to feel without +her.</p> + +<p>In the dark under the mulberry tree, while her aunt +talked softly and sadly of the past, Wemyss had sometimes +laid his hand on Lucy's, and she had never taken +hers away. They had sat there, content and comforted +to be hand in hand. She had the trust in him, he felt, +of a child; the confidence, and the knowledge that she +was safe. He was proud and touched to know it, and +it warmed him through and through to see how her face +lit up whenever he appeared. Vera's face hadn't done +that. Vera had never understood him, not with fifteen +years to do it in, as this girl had in half a day. And +the way Vera had died,—it was no use mincing matters +when it came to one's own thoughts, and it had been all +of a piece with her life: the disregard for others and of +anything said to her for her own good, the determination +to do what suited her, to lean out of dangerous windows +if she wished to, for instance, not to take the least +trouble, the least thought.... Imagine bringing such +horror on him, such unforgettable horror, besides worries +and unhappiness without end, by deliberately disregarding +his warnings, his orders indeed, about that window. +Wemyss did feel that if one looked at the thing dispassionately +it would be difficult to find indifference to +the wishes and feelings of others going further.</p> + +<p>Sitting in the church during the funeral service, +his arms folded on his chest and his mouth grim with +these thoughts, he suddenly caught sight of Lucy's +face. The priest was coming down the aisle in front of +the coffin on the way out to the grave, and Lucy and +her aunt were following first behind it.</p> + +<p><i>Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to +live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, +like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never +continueth in one stay....</i></p> + +<p>The priest's sad, disillusioned voice recited the +beautiful words as he walked, the afternoon sun from +the west window and the open west door pouring on +his face and on the faces of the procession that seemed +all black and white,—black clothes, white faces.</p> + +<p>The whitest face was Lucy's, and when Wemyss +saw the look on it his mouth relaxed and his heart went +soft within him, and he came impulsively out of the +shadow and joined her, boldly walking on her other side +at the head of the procession, and standing beside her at +the grave; and at the awful moment when the first earth +was dropped on to the coffin he drew her hand, before +everybody, through his arm and held it there tight.</p> + +<p>Nobody was surprised at his standing there with +her like that. It was taken quite for granted. He was +evidently a relation of poor Jim's. Nor was anybody +surprised when Wemyss, not letting her go again, took +her home up the cliff, her arm in his just as though he +were the chief mourner, the aunt following with some +one else.</p> + +<p>He didn't speak to her or disturb her with any claims +on her attention, partly because the path was very +steep and he wasn't used to cliffs, but also because of +his feeling that he and she, isolated together by their +sorrows, understood without any words. And when they +reached the house, the first to reach it from the church +just as if, he couldn't help thinking, they were coming +back from their wedding, he told her in his firmest voice +to go straight up to her room and lie down, and she +obeyed with the sweet obedience of perfect trust.</p> + +<p>'Who is that?' asked the man who was helping +Miss Entwhistle up the cliff.</p> + +<p>'Oh, a <i>very</i> old friend of darling Jim's,' she sobbed,—she +had been sobbing without stopping from the first +words of the burial service, and was quite unable to +leave off. 'Mr.—Mr.—We—We—Wemyss——'</p> + +<p>'Wemyss? I don't remember coming across him +with Jim.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, one of his—his <i>oldest</i>—f—fr—friends,' sobbed +poor Miss Entwhistle, got completely out of control.</p> + +<p>Wemyss, continuing in his rôle of chief mourner, was +the only person who was asked to spend the evening +up at the bereaved house.</p> + +<p>'I don't wonder,' said Miss Entwhistle to him at +dinner, still with tears in her voice, 'at my dear brother's +devotion to you. You have been the greatest help, +the greatest comfort——'</p> + +<p>And neither Wemyss nor Lucy felt equal to explanation.</p> + +<p>What did it matter? Lucy, fatigued by emotions, +her mind bruised by the violent demands that had +been made on it the last four days, sat drooping at +the table, and merely thought that if her father had +known Wemyss it would certainly have been true that +he was devoted to him. He hadn't known him; he +had missed him by—yes, by just three hours; and this +wonderful friend of hers was the very first good thing +that she and her father hadn't shared. And Wemyss's +attitude was simply that if people insist on jumping at +conclusions, why, let them. He couldn't anyhow begin +to expound himself in the middle of a meal, with a +parlourmaid handing dishes round and listening.</p> + +<p>But there was an awkward little moment when Miss +Entwhistle tearfully wondered—she was eating blanc-mange, +the last of a series of cold and pallid dishes with +which the imaginative cook, a woman of Celtic origin, +had expressed her respectful appreciation of the occasion—whether +when the will was read it wouldn't be found +that Jim had appointed Mr. Wemyss poor Lucy's +guardian.</p> + +<p>'I am—dear me, how very hard it is to remember +to say I was—my dear brother's only relative. We +belong—belonged—to an exiguous family, and naturally +I'm no longer as young as I was. There is only—was +only—a year between Jim and me, and at any moment +I may be——'</p> + +<p>Here Miss Entwhistle was interrupted by a sob, and +had to put down her spoon.</p> + +<p>'—taken,' she finished after a moment, during which +the other two sat silent.</p> + +<p>'When this happens,' she went on presently, a little +recovered, 'poor Lucy will be without any one, unless +Jim thought of this and has appointed a guardian. +You, Mr. Wemyss, I hope and expect.'</p> + +<p>Neither Lucy nor Wemyss spoke. There was the +parlourmaid hovering, and one couldn't anyhow go +into explanations now which ought to have been made +four days ago.</p> + +<p>A dead-white cheese was handed round,—something +local probably, for it wasn't any form of cheese with +which Wemyss was acquainted, and the meal ended +with cups of intensely black cold coffee. And all these +carefully thought-out expressions of the cook's sympathy +were lost on the three, who noticed nothing; certainly +they noticed nothing in the way the cook had intended. +Wemyss was privately a little put out by the coffee +being cold. He had eaten all the other clammy things +patiently, but a man likes his after-dinner coffee hot, +and it was new in his experience to have it served cold. +He did notice this, and was surprised that neither of +his companions appeared to. But there,—women were +notoriously insensitive to food; on this point the best +of them were unintelligent, and the worst of them were +impossible. Vera had been awful about it; he had had +to do all the ordering of the meals himself at last, and +also the engaging of the cooks.</p> + +<p>He got up from the table to open the door for the +ladies feeling inwardly chilled, feeling, as he put it to +himself, slabby inside; and, left alone with a dish of +black plums and some sinister-looking wine in a decanter, +which he avoided because when he took hold of it ice +clinked, he rang the bell as unobtrusively as he could +and asked the parlourmaid in a subdued voice, the +French window to the garden being open and in the +garden being Lucy and her aunt, whether there were +such a thing in the house as a whisky and soda.</p> + +<p>The parlourmaid, who was a nice-looking girl and +much more at home, as she herself was the first to admit, +with gentlemen than with ladies, brought it him, and +inquired how he had liked the dinner.</p> + +<p>'Not at all,' said Wemyss, whose mind on that point +was clear.</p> + +<p>'No sir,' said the parlourmaid, nodding sympathetically. +'No sir.'</p> + +<p>She then explained in a discreet whisper, also with +one eye on the open window, how the dinner hadn't +been an ordinary dinner and it wasn't expected that it +should be enjoyed, but it was the cook's tribute to her +late master's burial day,—a master they had only known +a week, sad to say, but to whom they had both taken +a great fancy, he being so pleasant-spoken and all for +giving no trouble.</p> + +<p>Wemyss listened, sipping the comforting drink and +smoking a cigar.</p> + +<p>Very different, said the parlourmaid, who seemed glad +to talk, would the dinner have been if the cook hadn't +liked the poor gentleman. Why, in one place where she +and the cook were together, and the lady was taken +just as the cook would have given notice if she hadn't +been because she was such a very dishonest and unpunctual +lady, besides not knowing her place—no lady, +of course, and never was—when she was taken, not +sudden like this poor gentleman but bit by bit, on the +day of her funeral the cook sent up a dinner you'd never +think of,—she was like that, all fancy. Lucky it was +that the family didn't read between the lines, for it +began with fried soles——</p> + +<p>The parlourmaid paused, her eye anxiously on the +window. Wemyss sat staring at her.</p> + +<p>'Did you say fried soles?' he asked, staring at her.</p> + +<p>'Yes sir. Fried soles. I didn't see anything in +that either at first. It's how you spell it makes the +difference, Cook said. And the next course was'—her +voice dropped almost to inaudibleness—'devilled +bones.'</p> + +<p>Wemyss hadn't so much as smiled for nearly a fortnight, +and now to his horror, for what could it possibly +sound like to the two mourners on the lawn, he gave a +sudden dreadful roar of laughter. He could hear it +sounding hideous himself.</p> + +<p>The noise he made horrified the parlourmaid as +much as it did him. She flew to the window and shut +it. Wemyss, in his effort to strangle the horrid thing, +choked and coughed, his table-napkin up to his face, +his body contorted. He was very red, and the parlourmaid +watched him in terror. He had seemed at first +to be laughing, though what Uncle Wemyss (thus did +he figure in the conversations of the kitchen) could see +to laugh at in the cook's way of getting her own back, +the parlourmaid, whose flesh had crept when she first +heard the story, couldn't understand; but presently +she feared he wasn't laughing at all but was being, in +some very robust way, ill. Dread seized her, deaths +being on her mind, lest perhaps here in the chair, so +convulsively struggling behind a table-napkin, were +the beginnings of yet another corpse. Having flown +to shut the window she now flew to open it, and +ran out panic-stricken into the garden to fetch the +ladies.</p> + +<p>This cured Wemyss. He got up quickly, leaving +his half-smoked cigar and his half-drunk whisky, and +followed her out just in time to meet Lucy and her aunt +hurrying across the lawn towards the dining-room +window.</p> + +<p>'I choked,' he said, wiping his eyes, which indeed +were very wet.</p> + +<p>'Choked?' repeated Miss Entwhistle anxiously. +'We heard a most strange noise——'</p> + +<p>'That was me choking,' said Wemyss. 'It's all +right—it's nothing at all,' he added to Lucy, who was +looking at him with a face of extreme concern.</p> + +<p>But he felt now that he had had about as much of +the death and funeral atmosphere as he could stand. +Reaction had set in, and his reactions were strong. He +wanted to get away from woe, to be with normal, +cheerful people again, to have done with conditions in +which a laugh was the most improper of sounds. Here +he was, being held down by the head, he felt, in a black +swamp,—first that ghastly business of Vera's, and now +this woebegone family.</p> + +<p>Sudden and violent was Wemyss's reaction, let loose +by the parlourmaid's story. Miss Entwhistle's swollen +eyes annoyed him. Even Lucy's pathetic face made +him impatient. It was against nature, all this. It +shouldn't be allowed to go on, it oughtn't to be encouraged. +Heaven alone knew how much he had +suffered, how much more he had suffered than the +Entwhistles with their perfectly normal sorrow, and if +he could feel it was high time now to think of other +things surely the Entwhistles could. He was tired of +funerals. He had carried this one through really +brilliantly from start to finish, but now it was over and +done with, and he wished to get back to naturalness. +Death seemed to him highly unnatural. The mere fact +that it only happened once to everybody showed how +exceptional it was, thought Wemyss, thoroughly disgusted +with it. Why couldn't he and the Entwhistles +go off somewhere to-morrow, away from this place +altogether, go abroad for a bit, to somewhere cheerful, +where nobody knew them and nobody would expect +them to go about with long faces all day? Ostend, for +instance? His mood of sympathy and gentleness had +for the moment quite gone. He was indignant that +there should be circumstances under which a man felt +as guilty over a laugh as over a crime. A natural person +like himself looked at things wholesomely. It was +healthy and proper to forget horrors, to dismiss them +from one's mind. If convention, that offspring of +cruelty and hypocrisy, insisted that one's misfortunes +should be well rubbed in, that one should be forced to +smart under them, and that the more one was seen to +wince the more one was regarded as behaving creditably,—if +convention insisted on this, and it did insist, as +Wemyss had been experiencing himself since Vera's +accident, why then it ought to be defied. He had +found he couldn't defy it by himself, and came away +solitary and wretched in accordance with what it +expected, but he felt quite different now that he had +Lucy and her aunt as trusting friends who looked up to +him, who had no doubts of him and no criticisms. +Health of mind had come back to him,—his own natural +wholesomeness, which had never deserted him in his +life till this shocking business of Vera's.</p> + +<p>'I'd like to have some sensible talk with you,' he +said, looking down at the two small black figures and +solemn tired faces that were growing dim and wraith-like +in the failing light of the garden.</p> + +<p>'With me or with Lucy?' asked Miss Entwhistle.</p> + +<p>By this time they both hung on his possible wishes, +and watched him with the devout attentiveness of a +pair of dogs.</p> + +<p>'With you and with Lucy,' said Wemyss, smiling +at the upturned faces. He felt very conscious of being +the male, of being in command.</p> + +<p>It was the first time he had called her Lucy. To Miss +Entwhistle it seemed a matter of course, but Lucy +herself flushed with pleasure, and again had the feeling +of being taken care of and safe. Sad as she was at the +end of that sad day, she still was able to notice how nice +her very ordinary name sounded in this kind man's voice. +She wondered what his own name was, and hoped it +was something worthy of him,—not Albert, for instance.</p> + +<p>'Shall we go into the drawing-room?' asked Miss +Entwhistle.</p> + +<p>'Why not to the mulberry tree?' said Wemyss, who +naturally wished to hold Lucy's little hand if possible, +and could only do that in the dark.</p> + +<p>So they sat there as they had sat other nights, +Wemyss in the middle, and Lucy's hand, when it got +dark enough, held close and comfortingly in his.</p> + +<p>'This little girl,' he began, 'must get the roses back +into her cheeks.'</p> + +<p>'Indeed, indeed she must,' agreed Miss Entwhistle, +a catch in her voice at the mere reminder of the absence +of Lucy's roses, and consequently of what had driven +them away.</p> + +<p>'How do you propose to set about it?' asked +Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'Time,' gulped Miss Entwhistle.</p> + +<p>'Time?'</p> + +<p>'And patience. We must wait we must both wait +p-patiently till time has s-softened——'</p> + +<p>She hastily pulled out her handkerchief.</p> + +<p>'No, no,' said Wemyss, 'I don't at all agree. It +isn't natural, it isn't reasonable to prolong sorrow. +You'll forgive plain words, Miss Entwhistle, but I don't +know any others, and I say it isn't right to wallow—yes, +wallow—in sorrow. Far from being patient one +should be impatient. One shouldn't wait resignedly for +time to help one, one should up and take time by the +forelock. In cases of this kind, and believe me I know +what I'm talking about'—it was here that his hand, the +one on the further side from Miss Entwhistle, descended +gently on Lucy's, and she made a little movement closer +up to him—'it is due to oneself to refuse to be knocked +out. Courage, spirit, is what one must aim at,—setting +an example.'</p> + +<p>Ah, how wonderful he was, thought Lucy; so big, +so brave, so simple, and so tragically recently himself +the victim of the most awful of catastrophes. There +was something burly about his very talk. Her darling +father and his friends had talked quite differently. +Their talk used to seem as if it ran about the room like +liquid fire, it was so quick and shining; often it was +quite beyond her till her father afterwards, when she +asked him, explained it, put it more simply for her, +eager as he always was that she should share and understand. +She could understand every word of Wemyss's. +When he spoke she hadn't to strain, to listen with all her +might; she hardly had to think at all. She found this +immensely reposeful in her present state.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' murmured Miss Entwhistle into her handkerchief, +'yes—you're quite right, Mr. Wemyss—one ought—it +would be more—more heroic. But then if one—if +one has loved some one very tenderly—as I did my +dear brother—and Lucy her most precious father——'</p> + +<p>She broke off and wiped her eyes.</p> + +<p>'Perhaps,' she finished, 'you haven't ever loved +anybody very—very particularly and lost them.'</p> + +<p>'Oh,' breathed Lucy at that, and moved still closer +to him.</p> + +<p>Wemyss was deeply injured. Why should Miss +Entwhistle suppose he had never particularly loved +anybody? He seemed, on looking back, to have loved +a great deal. Certainly he had loved Vera with the +utmost devotion till she herself wore it down. He indignantly +asked himself what this maiden lady could +know of love.</p> + +<p>But there was Lucy's little hand, so clinging, so +understanding, nestling in his. It soothed him.</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Then he said, very gravely, +'My wife died only a fortnight ago.'</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle was crushed. 'Ah,' she cried, 'but +you must forgive me——'</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>V</h2> + + +<p>Nevertheless he was not able to persuade her to join +him, with Lucy, in a trip abroad. She was tirelessly +concerned to do and say everything she could that +showed her deep sympathy with him in his loss—he had +told her nothing beyond the bare fact, and she was not +one to read about inquests—and her deep sense of +obligation to him that he, labouring under so great a +burden of sorrow of his own, should have helped them +with such devotion and unselfishness in theirs; but +she wouldn't go abroad. She was going, she said, to her +little house in London with Lucy.</p> + +<p>'What, in August?' exclaimed Wemyss.</p> + +<p>Yes, they would be quiet there, and indeed they +were both worn out and only wished for solitude.</p> + +<p>'Then why not stay here?' asked Wemyss, who +now considered Lucy's aunt selfish. 'This is solitary +enough, in all conscience.'</p> + +<p>No, they neither of them felt they could bear to +stay in that house. Lucy must go to the place least +connected in her mind with her father. Indeed, indeed +it was best. She did so understand and appreciate +Mr. Wemyss's wonderful and unselfish motives in +suggesting the continent, but she and Lucy were in that +state when the idea of an hotel and waiters and a band +was simply impossible to them, and all they wished was +to creep into the quiet and privacy of their own nest,—'Like +wounded birds,' said poor Miss Entwhistle, +looking up at him with much the piteous expression +of a dog lifting an injured paw.</p> + +<p>'It's very bad for Lucy to be encouraged to think +she's a wounded bird,' said Wemyss, controlling his +disappointment as best he could.</p> + +<p>'You must come and see us in London and help us +to feel heroic,' said Miss Entwhistle, with a watery +smile.</p> + +<p>'But I can come and see you much better and easier +if you're here,' persisted Wemyss.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle, however, though watery, was +determined. She refused to stay where she so conveniently +was, and Wemyss now considered Lucy's aunt +obstinate as well as selfish. Also he thought her very +ungrateful. She had made use of him, and now was +going to leave him, without apparently giving him a +thought, in the lurch.</p> + +<p>He was having a good deal of Miss Entwhistle, +because during the two days that came after the funeral +Lucy was practically invisible, engaged in collecting and +packing her father's belongings. Wemyss hung about +the garden, not knowing when these activities mightn't +suddenly cease and not wishing to miss her if she did +come out, and Miss Entwhistle, who couldn't help Lucy +in this—no one could help her in the heart-breaking +work—naturally joined him.</p> + +<p>He found these two days long. Miss Entwhistle felt +there was a great bond between herself and him, and +Wemyss felt there wasn't. When she said there was +he had difficulty in not contradicting her. Not only, +Miss Entwhistle felt, and also explained, was there the +bond of their dear Jim, whom both she and Mr. Wemyss +had so much loved, but there was this communion of +sorrow,—the loss of his wife, the loss of her brother, +within the same fortnight.</p> + +<p>Wemyss shut his mouth tight at this and said nothing.</p> + +<p>How natural for her, feeling so sorry for him, feeling +so grateful to him, when from a window during those +two days she beheld him sitting solitary beneath the +mulberry tree, to go down and sit there with him; how +natural that, when he got up, made restless, she supposed, +by his memories, and began to pace the lawn, she should +get up and sympathetically pace it too. She could not +let this kind, tender-hearted man—he must be that, or +Jim wouldn't have been fond of him, besides she had +seen it for herself in the way he had helped her and +Lucy—she could not let him be alone with his sad +thoughts. And he had a double burden of sad thoughts, +a double loss to bear, for he had lost her dear brother as +well as his poor wife.</p> + +<p>All Entwhistles were compassionate, and as she and +Wemyss sat together or together paced, she kept up a +flow of gentle loving-kindness. Wemyss smoked his +pipe in practically unbroken silence. This was his way +when he was holding on to himself. Miss Entwhistle +of course didn't know he was holding on to himself, and +taking his silence for the inarticulateness of deep unhappiness +was so much touched that she would have +done anything for him, anything that might bring this +poor, kind, suffering fellow-creature comfort—except +go to Ostend. From that dreadful suggestion she +continued to shudder away; nor, though he tried +again, even after all arrangements for leaving Cornwall +had been made, would she be persuaded to stay where +she was.</p> + +<p>Therefore Wemyss was forced to conclude that she +was obstinate as well as selfish; and if it hadn't been +for the brief moments at meals when Lucy appeared, +and through her unhappiness—what she was doing was +obviously depressing her very much—smiled faintly at +him and always went and sat as near him as she could, +he would have found these two days intolerable.</p> + +<p>How atrocious, he thought, while he smoked in +silence and held on to himself, that Lucy should be +taken away from him by a mere maiden lady, an aunt, +an unmarried aunt,—weakest and most negligible, surely, +of all relatives. How atrocious that such a person +should have any right to come between him and Lucy, to +say she wouldn't do this, that, or the other that Wemyss +proposed, and thus possess the power to make him +unhappy. Miss Entwhistle was so little that he could +have brushed her aside with the back of one hand; yet +here again the strong monster public opinion stepped in +and forced him to acquiesce in any plan she chose to +make for Lucy, however desolate it left him, merely +because she stood to her in the anæmic relationship of +aunt.</p> + +<p>During two mortal days, as he waited about in that +garden so grievously infested by Miss Entwhistle, +sounds of boxes being moved and drawers being opened +and shut came through the windows, but except at +meals there was no Lucy. He could have borne it if +he hadn't known they were the very last days he would +be with her, but as things were it seemed cruel that he +should be left like that to be miserable. Why should +he be left like that to be miserable, just because of a lot +of clothes and papers? he asked himself; and he felt +he was getting thoroughly tired of Jim.</p> + +<p>'Haven't you done yet?' he said at tea on the second +afternoon of this sorting out and packing, when Lucy +got up to go indoors again, leaving him with Miss +Entwhistle, even before he had finished his second cup +of tea.</p> + +<p>'You've no idea what a lot there is,' she said, her +voice sounding worn out; and she lingered a moment, +her hand on the back of her aunt's chair. 'Father +brought all his notes with him, and heaps and heaps of +letters from people he was consulting, and I'm trying +to get them straight—get them as he would have +wished——'</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle put up her hand and stroked Lucy's +arm.</p> + +<p>'If you weren't in this hurry to go away you'd have +had more time and done it comfortably,' said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'Oh, but I don't want more time,' said Lucy quickly.</p> + +<p>'Lucy means she couldn't bear it drawn out,' said +Miss Entwhistle, leaning her thin cheek against Lucy's +sleeve. 'These things—they tear one's heart. And +nobody can help her. She has to go through with it +alone.' And she drew Lucy's face down to hers and +held it there a moment, gently stroking it, the tears +brimming up again in the eyes of both.</p> + +<p>Always tears, thought Wemyss. Yes, and there +always would be tears as long as that aunt had hold of +Lucy. She was the arch-wallower, he told himself, +filling his pipe in silence after Lucy had gone in.</p> + +<p>He got up and went out at the gate and crossed the +road and stood staring at the evening sea. Should he +hear steps coming after him and Miss Entwhistle were +to follow him even beyond the garden, he would proceed +without looking round down to the cove and to the inn, +where she must needs leave him alone. He had had +enough. That Miss Entwhistle should explain to him +what Lucy meant, he considered to be the last straw +of her behaviour. Barging in, he said indignantly to +himself; barging in when nobody had asked her opinion +or explanation of anything. And she had stroked Lucy's +face as though Lucy and her face and everything about +her belonged to her, merely because she happened to be +her aunt. Fancy explaining to him what Lucy really +meant, taking upon herself the functions of interpreter, +of go-between, when for a whole day and a half before +she appeared on the scene—and she had only appeared +on it at all thanks to his telegram—Lucy and he had +been in the closest fellowship, the closest communion....</p> + +<p>Well, things couldn't go on like this. He was not the +man to be dominated by a relative. If he had lived +in those sensible ancient days when people behaved +wholesomely, he would have flung Lucy over his shoulder +and walked off with her to Ostend or Paris and laughed +at such insects as aunts. He couldn't do that unfortunately, +though where the harm would be in two +mourners like himself and Lucy going together in search +of relief he must say he was unable to see. Why should +they be condemned to search for relief separately? +Their sorrows, surely, would be their chaperone, +especially his sorrow. Nobody would object to Lucy's +nursing him, supposing he were dangerously ill; why +should she not be equally beyond the reach of tongues if +she nursed the bitter wounds of his spirit?</p> + +<p>He heard steps coming down the garden path to the +gate. There, he thought, was the aunt again, searching +for him, and he stood squarely and firmly with his back +to the road, smoking his pipe and staring at the sea. If +he heard the gate open and she dared to come through +it he would instantly walk away. In the garden he +had to endure being joined by her, because there he was +in the position of guest; but let her try to join him on +the King's highway!</p> + +<p>Nobody opened the gate, however, and, as he heard +no retreating footsteps either, after a minute he began +to want to look round. He struggled against this wish, +because the moment Miss Entwhistle caught his eye +she would come out to him, he felt sure. But Wemyss +was not much good at struggling against his wishes,—he +usually met with defeat; and after briefly doing so +on this occasion he did look round. And what a good +thing he did, for it was Lucy.</p> + +<p>There she was, leaning on the gate just as she had +been that first morning, but this time her eyes instead of +being wide and blank were watching him with a deep +and touching interest.</p> + +<p>He got across the road in one stride. 'Lucy!' he +exclaimed. 'You? Why didn't you call me? We've +wasted half an hour——'</p> + +<p>'About two minutes,' she said, smiling up at him as +he, on the other side of the gate, folded both her hands +in his just as he had done that first morning; and the +relief it was to Wemyss to see her again alone, to see +that smile of trust and—surely—content in getting back +to him!</p> + +<p>Then her face went grave again. 'I've finished +father's things now,' she said, 'and so I came to look +for you.'</p> + +<p>'Lucy, how can you leave me,' was Wemyss's answer +to that, his voice vibrating, 'how can you go away from +me to-morrow and hand me over again to the torments—yes, +torments, I was in before?'</p> + +<p>'But I have to go,' she said, distressed. 'And you +mustn't say that. You mustn't let yourself be like that +again. You won't be, I know—you're so brave and +strong.'</p> + +<p>'Not without you. I'm nothing without you,' said +Wemyss; and his eyes, as he searched hers, were full of +tears.</p> + +<p>At this Lucy flushed, and then, staring at him, her +face went slowly white. These words of his, the way +he said them, reminded her—oh no, it wasn't possible; +he and she stood in a relationship to each other like +none, she was sure, that had ever yet been. It was +an intimacy arrived at at a bound, with no preliminary +steps. It was a holy thing, based on mutual grief, +protected from everything ordinary by the great wings +of Death. He was her wonderful friend, big in his +simplicity, all care for her and goodness, a very rock +of refuge and shelter in the wilderness she had been +flung into when he found her. And that he, bleeding +as he was himself from the lacerations of the violent +rending asunder from his wife to whom he had been, +as he had told her, devoted, that he should—oh no, +it wasn't possible; and she hung her head, shocked at +her thoughts. For the way he had said those words, +and the words themselves had reminded her—no, she +could hardly bear to think it, but they <i>had</i> reminded +her of the last time she had been proposed to. The +man—he was a young man; she had never been +proposed to by any one even approximately Wemyss's +age—had said almost exactly that: Without you I am +nothing. And just in that same deep, vibrating voice.</p> + +<p>How dreadful thoughts could be, Lucy said to herself, +overcome that such a one at such a moment should +thrust itself into her mind. Hateful of her, hateful....</p> + +<p>She hung her head in shame; and Wemyss, looking +down at the little bobbed head with its bright, thick +young hair bent over their folded hands as though +it were saying its prayers,—Wemyss, not having his +pipe in his mouth to protect him and help him to hold +on to himself, for he had hastily stuffed it in his pocket, +all alight as it was, when he saw her at the gate, and +there at that moment it was burning holes,—Wemyss, +after a brief struggle with his wishes, in which as usual +he was defeated, stooped and began to kiss Lucy's hair. +And having begun, he continued.</p> + +<p>She was horrified. At the first kiss she started as if +she had been hit, and then, clinging to the gate, she +stood without moving, without being able to think +or lift her head, in the same attitude bowed over his +and her own hands, while this astonishing thing was +being done to her hair. Death all round them, death +pervading every corner of their lives, death in its +blackest shape brooding over him, and—kisses. Her +mind, if anything so gentle could be said to be in anything +that sounds so loud, was in an uproar. She had +had the complete, guileless trust in him of a child +for a tender and sympathetic friend,—a friend, not +a father, though he was old enough to be her father, +because in a father, however much hidden by sweet +comradeship as it had been in hers, there always at +the back of everything was, after all, authority. And +it had been even more than the trust of a child in its +friend: it had been the trust of a child in a fellow-child +hit by the same punishment,—a simple fellowship, +a wordless understanding.</p> + +<p>She hung on to the gate while her thoughts flew +about in confusion within her. These kisses—and his +wife just dead—and dead so terribly—how long would +she have to stand there with this going on—she +couldn't lift up her head, for then she felt it would only +get worse—she couldn't turn and run into the house, +because he was holding her hands. He oughtn't to +have—oh, he oughtn't to have—it wasn't fair....</p> + +<p>Then—what was he saying? She heard him say, +in an absolutely broken voice, laying his head on hers, +'We two poor things—we two poor things'—and then +he said and did nothing more, but kept his head like +that, and presently, thick though her hair was, through +it came wetness.</p> + +<p>At that Lucy's thoughts suddenly stopped flying +about and were quite still. Her heart went to wax +within her, melted again into pity, into a great flood +of pitiful understanding. The dreadfulness of lonely +grief.... Was there anything in the world so blackly +desolate as to be left alone in grief? This poor broken +fellow-creature—and she herself, so lost, so lost in +loneliness—they were two half-drowned things, clinging +together in a shipwreck—how could she let him go, +leave him to himself—how could she be let go, left to +herself....</p> + +<p>'Lucy,' he said, 'look at me——'</p> + +<p>She lifted her head. He loosed her hands, and put +his arms round her shoulders.</p> + +<p>'Look at me,' he said; for though she had lifted her +head she hadn't lifted her eyes.</p> + +<p>She looked at him. Tears were on his face. When +she saw them her mouth began to quiver and twitch. +She couldn't bear that.</p> + +<p>'Lucy——' he said again.</p> + +<p>She shut her eyes. 'Yes'—she breathed, 'yes.' +And with one hand she felt along up his coat till she +reached his face, and shakingly tried to brush away +its tears.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>VI</h2> + + +<p>After that, for the moment anyhow, it was all over +with Lucy. She was engulfed. Wemyss kissed her shut +eyes, he kissed her parted lips, he kissed her dear, +delightful bobbed hair. His tears dried up; or rather, +wiped away by her little blind, shaking hand, there +were no more of them. Death for Wemyss was indeed +at that moment swallowed up in victory. Instantly +he passed from one mood to the other, and when she +finally did open her eyes at his orders and look at him, +she saw bending over her a face she hardly recognised, +for she had not yet seen him happy. Happy! How +could he be happy, as happy as that all in a moment? +She stared at him, and even through her confusion, her +bewilderment, was frankly amazed.</p> + +<p>Then the thought crept into her mind that it was +she who had done this, it was she who had transformed +him, and her stare softened into a gaze almost of awe, +with something of the look in it of a young mother +when she first sees her new-born baby. 'So that is +what it is like,' the young mother whispers to herself +in a sort of holy surprise, 'and I have made it, and it +is mine'; and so, gazing at this new, effulgent Wemyss, +did Lucy say to herself with the same feeling of wonder, +of awe at her own handiwork, 'So that is what he +is like.'</p> + +<p>Wemyss's face was indeed one great beam. He +simply at that moment couldn't remember that he had +ever been miserable. He seemed to have his arms +round Love itself; for never did any one look more +like the very embodiment of his idea of love than Lucy +then as she gazed up at him, so tender, so resistless. +But there were even more wonderful moments after +dinner in the darkening garden, while Miss Entwhistle +was upstairs packing ready to start by the early train +next morning, and they hadn't got the gate between +them, and Lucy of her own accord laid her cheek against +his coat, nestling her head into it as though there indeed +she knew that she was safe.</p> + +<p>'My baby—my baby,' Wemyss murmured, in an +ecstasy of passionate protectiveness, in his turn flooded +by maternal feeling. 'You shall never cry again +never, never.'</p> + +<p>It irked him that their engagement—Lucy demurred +at first to the word engagement, but Wemyss, holding +her tight in his arms, said he would very much like to +know, then, by what word she would describe her +position at that moment—it irked him that it had to +be a secret. He wanted instantly to shout out to the +whole world his glory and his pride. But this under +the tragic circumstances of their mourning was even to +Wemyss clearly impossible. Generally he brushed aside +the word impossible if it tried to come between him +and the smallest of his wishes, but that inquest was +still too vividly in his mind, and the faces of his so-called +friends. What the faces of his so-called friends would +look like if he, before Vera had been dead a fortnight, +should approach them with the news of his engagement +even Wemyss, a person not greatly imaginative, could +picture. And Lucy, quite overwhelmed, first by his +tears and then by his joy, no longer could judge anything. +She no longer knew whether it were very awful +to be love-making in the middle of death, or whether +it were, as Wemyss said, the natural glorious self-assertiveness +of life. She knew nothing any more +except that he and she, shipwrecked, had saved each +other, and that for the moment nothing was required +of her, no exertion, nothing at all, except to sit passive +with her head on his breast, while he called her his +baby and softly, wonderfully, kissed her closed eyes. +She couldn't think; she needn't think; oh, she was +tired—and this was rest.</p> + +<p>But after he had gone that night, and all the next +day in the train without him, and for the first few days +in London, misgivings laid hold of her.</p> + +<p>That she should be being made love to, be engaged, +as Wemyss insisted, within a week of her father's death, +could not, she thought, be called anything worse than +possibly and at the outside an irrelevance. It did no +harm to her father's dear memory; it in no way +encroached on her adoration of him. He would have +been the first to be pleased that she should have found +comfort. But what worried her was that Everard—Wemyss's +Christian name was Everard—should be able +to think of such things as love and more marriage when +his wife had just died so awfully, and he on the very +spot, and he the first to rush out and see....</p> + +<p>She found that the moment she was away from him +she couldn't get over this. It went round and round +in her head as a thing she was unable, by herself, to +understand. While she was with him he overpowered +her into a torpor, into a shutting of her eyes and her +thoughts, into just giving herself up, after the shocks +and agonies of the week, to the blessedness of a soothed +and caressed semi-consciousness; and it was only when +his first letters began to come, such simple, adoring +letters, taking the situation just as it was, just as life +and death between them had offered it, untroubled by +questioning, undimmed by doubt, with no looking +backward but with a touching, thankful acceptance of +the present, that she gradually settled down into that +placidity which was at once the relief and the astonishment +of her aunt. And his letters were so easy to +understand. They were so restfully empty of the +difficult thoughts and subtle, half-said things her father +used to write and all his friends. His very handwriting +was the round, slow handwriting of a boy. Lucy had +loved him before; but now she fell in love with him, +and it was because of his letters.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>VII</h2> + + +<p>Miss Entwhistle lived in a slim little house in Eaton +Terrace. It was one of those little London houses +where you go in and there's a dining-room, and you go +up and there's a drawing-room, and you go up again +and there's a bedroom and a dressing-room, and you go +up yet more and there's a maid's room and a bathroom, +and then that's all. For one person it was just enough; +for two it was difficult. It was so difficult that Miss +Entwhistle had never had any one stay with her before, +and the dressing-room had to be cleared out of all her +clothes and toques, which then had nowhere to go to +and became objects that you met at night hanging over +banisters or perched with an odd air of dashingness on +the ends of the bath, before Lucy could go in.</p> + +<p>But no Entwhistle ever minded things like that. No +trouble seemed to any of them too great to take for a +friend; while as for one's own dear niece, if only she +could have been induced to take the real bedroom and +let her aunt, who knew the dressing-room's ways, sleep +there instead, that aunt—on such liberal principles was +this family constructed—would have been perfectly +happy.</p> + +<p>Lucy, of course, only smiled at that suggestion, and +inserted herself neatly into the dressing-room, and the +first weeks of their mourning, which Miss Entwhistle +had dreaded for them both, proceeded to flow by with +a calm, an unruffledness, that could best be described +by the word placid.</p> + +<p>In that small house, unless the inhabitants were +accommodating and adaptable, daily life would be a +trial. Miss Entwhistle well knew Lucy would give no +trouble that she could help, but their both being in +such trouble themselves would, at such close quarters, +she had been afraid, inevitably keep their sorrow raw +by sheer rubbing against each other.</p> + +<p>To her surprise and great relief nothing of the sort +happened. There seemed to be no rawness to rub. +Not only Lucy didn't fret—her white face and heavy +eyes of the days in Cornwall had gone—but she was +almost from the first placid. Just on leaving Cornwall, +and for a day or two after, she was a little <i>bouleversée</i>, +and had a curious kind of timidity in her manner to +her aunt, and crept rather than walked about the house, +but this gradually disappeared; and if Miss Entwhistle +hadn't known her, hadn't known of her terrible loss, +she would have said that here was some one who was +quietly happy. It was subdued, but there it was, as +if she had some private source of confidence and warmth. +Had she by any chance got religion? wondered her +aunt, who herself had never had it, and neither had +Jim, and neither had any Entwhistles she had ever +heard of. She dismissed that. It was too unlikely +for one of their breed. But even the frequent necessary +visits to the house in Bloomsbury she and her father +had lived in so long didn't quite blot out the odd effect +Lucy produced of being somehow inwardly secure. +Presently, when these sad settlings up were done with, +and the books and furniture stored, and the house +handed over to the landlord, and she no longer had to +go to it and be among its memories, her face became +what it used to be,—delicately coloured, softly rounded, +ready to light up at a word, at a look.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle was puzzled. This serenity of the +one who was, after all, chief mourner, made her feel it +would be ridiculous if she outdid Lucy in grief. If +Lucy could pull herself together so marvellously—and +she supposed it must be that, it must be that she was +heroically pulling herself together—she for her part +wouldn't be behindhand. Her darling Jim's memory +should be honoured, then, like this: she would bless +God for him, bless God that she had had him, and +in a high thankfulness continue cheerfully on her +way.</p> + +<p>Such were some of Miss Entwhistle's reflections and +conclusions as she considered Lucy. She seemed to +have no thought of the future,—again to her aunt's +surprise and relief, who had been afraid she would very +soon begin to worry about what she was to do next. +She never talked of it; she never apparently thought +of it. She seemed to be—yes, that was the word, +decided Miss Entwhistle observing her—resting. But +resting on what? A second time Miss Entwhistle +dismissed the idea of religion. Impossible, she thought, +that Jim's girl,—yet it did look very like religion.</p> + +<p>There was, it appeared, enough money left scraped +together by Jim for Lucy in case of his death to produce +about two hundred pounds a year. This wasn't much; +but Lucy apparently didn't give it a thought. Probably +she didn't realise what it meant, thought her aunt, +because of her life with her father having been so easy, +surrounded by all those necessities for an invalid which +were, in fact, to ordinary people luxuries. No one had +been appointed her guardian. There was no mention +of Mr. Wemyss in the will. It was a very short will, +leaving everything to Lucy. This, as far as it went, +was admirable, thought Miss Entwhistle, but +unfortunately there was hardly anything to leave. Except +books; thousands of books, and the old charming +furniture of the Bloomsbury house. Well, Lucy should +live with her for as long as she could endure the dressing-room, +and perhaps they might take a house together a +little less tiny, though Miss Entwhistle had lived in +the one she was in for so long that it wouldn't be very +easy for her to leave it.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the first weeks of mourning slid by in an +increasing serenity, with London empty and no one +to intrude on what became presently distinctly +recognisable as happiness. She and Lucy agreed so +perfectly. And they weren't altogether alone either, +for Mr. Wemyss came regularly twice a week, coming +on the same days, and appearing so punctually on the +stroke of five that at last she began to set her clocks +by him.</p> + +<p>He, too, poor man, seemed to be pulling himself +together. He had none of the air of the recently +bereaved, either in his features or his clothes. Not +that he wore coloured ties or anything like that, but +he certainly didn't produce an effect of blackness. His +trousers, she observed, were grey; and not a particularly +dark grey either. Well, perhaps it was no longer the +fashion, thought Miss Entwhistle, eyeing these trousers +with some doubt, to be very unhappy. But she couldn't +help thinking there ought to be a band on his left arm +to counteract the impression of light-heartedness in his +legs; a crape band, no matter how narrow, or a band +of black anything, not necessarily crape, such as she +was sure it was usual in these circumstances to wear.</p> + +<p>However, whatever she felt about his legs she welcomed +him with the utmost cordiality, mindful of his +kindness to them down in Cornwall and of how she +had clung to him there as her rock; and she soon got +to remember the way he liked his tea, and had the +biggest chair placed comfortably ready for him—the +chairs were neither very big nor numerous in her spare +little drawing-room—and did all she could in the way +of hospitality and pleasant conversation. But the more +she saw of him, and the more she heard of his talk, the +more she wondered at Jim.</p> + +<p>Mr. Wemyss was most good-natured, and she was +sure, and as she knew from experience, was most kind +and thoughtful; but the things he said were so very +unlike the things Jim said, and his way of looking at +things was so very unlike Jim's way. Not that there +wasn't room in the world for everybody, Miss Entwhistle +reminded herself, sitting at her tea-table observing +Wemyss, who looked particularly big and prosperous in +her small frugal room, and no doubt one star differed +from another in glory; still, she did wonder at Jim. +And if Mr. Wemyss could bear the loss of his wife to +the extent of grey trousers, how was it he couldn't +bear Jim's name so much as mentioned? Whenever +the talk got on to Jim—it couldn't be kept off him in +a circle composed of his daughter and his sister and his +friend—she noticed that Mr. Wemyss went silent. She +would have taken this for excess of sensibility and the +sign of a deep capacity for faithful devotion if it +hadn't been for those trousers. Faced by them, it +perplexed her.</p> + +<p>While Miss Entwhistle was thinking like this and +observing Wemyss, who never observed her at all after +a first moment of surprise that she should look and +behave so differently from the liquid lady of the cottage +in Cornwall, that she should sit so straight and move +so briskly, he and Lucy were, though present in the +body, absent in love. Round them was drawn that +magic circle through which nobody and nothing can +penetrate, and within it they sat hand in hand and +safe. Lucy's whole heart was his. He only had to +come into the room for her to feel content. There was +a naturalness, a bigness about his way of looking at +things that made intricate, tormenting feelings shrink +away in his presence ashamed. Quite apart from her +love for him, her gratitude, her longing that he should +go on now being happy and forget his awful tragedy, +he was so very comfortable. She had never met any +one so comfortable to lean on mentally. Bodily, on +the few occasions on which her aunt was out of the +room, he was comfortable too; he reminded her of the +very nicest of sofas,—expensive ones, all cushions. +But mentally he was more than comfortable, he was +positively luxurious. Such perfect rest, listening to his +talk. No thinking needed. Things according to him +were either so, or so. With her father things had never +been either so, or so; and one had had to frown, and +concentrate, and make efforts to follow and understand +his distinctions, his infinitely numerous, delicate, +difficult distinctions. Everard's plain division of everything +into two categories only, snow-white and jet-black, +was as reposeful as the Roman church. She +hadn't got to strain or worry, she had only to surrender. +And to what love, to what safety! At night she couldn't +go to bed for thinking of how happy she was. She +would sit quite still in the little dressing-room, her +hands in her lap, and a proverb she had read somewhere +running in her head:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin: 2.5em 8em;">When God shuts the door He opens the window.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Not for a moment, hardly, had she been left alone to +suffer. Instantly, almost, Everard had come into her +life and saved her. Lucy had indeed, as her aunt had +twice suspected, got religion, but her religion was +Wemyss. Ah, how she loved him! And every night +she slept with his last letter under her pillow on the +side of her heart.</p> + +<p>As for Wemyss, if Lucy couldn't get over having +got him he couldn't get over having got Lucy. He +hadn't had such happiness as this, of this quality of +tenderness, of goodness, in his life before. What he +had felt for Vera had not at any time, he was sure, +even at the beginning, been like this. While for the last +few years—oh, well. Wemyss, when he found himself +thinking of Vera, pulled up short. He declined to think +of her now. She had filled his thoughts enough lately, +and how terribly. His little angel Lucy had healed +that wound, and there was no use in thinking of an old +wound; nobody healthy ever did that. He had explained +to Lucy, who at first had been a little morbid, +how wrong it is, how really wicked, besides being +intensely stupid, not to get over things. Life, he had +said, is for the living; let the dead have death. The +present is the only real possession a man has, whatever +clever people may say; and the wise man, who is also +the natural man of simple healthy instincts and a proper +natural shrinking from death and disease, does not +allow the past, which after all anyhow is done for, +to intrude upon, much less spoil, the present. That +is what, he explained, the past will always do if +it can. The only safe way to deal with it is to +forget it.</p> + +<p>'But I don't want to forget mine,' Lucy had said at +that, opening her eyes, which as usual had been shut, +because the commas of Wemyss's talk with her when +they chanced to be alone were his soothing, soporific +kisses dropped gently on her closed eyelids. +'Father——'</p> + +<p>'Oh, you may remember yours,' he had answered, +smiling tenderly down at the head lying on his breast. +'It's such a little one. But you'll see when you're +older if your Everard wasn't right.'</p> + +<p>To Wemyss in his new happiness it seemed that Vera +had belonged to another life altogether, an elderly, stale +life from which, being healthy-minded, he had managed +to unstick himself and to emerge born again all new and +fresh and fitted for the present. She was forty when +she died. She had started life five years younger than +he was, but had quickly caught him up and passed him, +and had ended, he felt, by being considerably his senior. +And here was Lucy, only twenty-two anyhow, and +looking like twelve. The contrast never ceased to +delight him, to fill him with pride. And how pretty +she was, now that she had left off crying. He adored +her bobbed hair that gave her the appearance of a child +or a very young boy, and he adored the little delicate +lines of her nose and nostrils, and her rather big, kind +mouth that so easily smiled, and her sweet eyes, the +colour of Love-in-a-Mist. Not that he set any store +by prettiness, he told himself; all he asked in a woman +was devotion. But her being pretty would make it +only the more exciting when the moment came to show +her to his friends, to show his little girl to those friends +who had dared slink away from him after Vera's death, +and say, 'Look here—look at this perfect little +thing—<i>she</i> believes in me all right!'</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>VIII</h2> + + +<p>London being empty, Wemyss had it all his own way. +No one else was there to cut him out, as his expression +was. Lucy had many letters with offers of every kind +of help from her father's friends, but naturally she +needed no help and had no wish to see anybody in her +present condition of secret contentment, and she replied +to them with thanks and vague expressions of hope that +later on they might all meet. One young man—he +was the one who often proposed to her—wasn't to be +put off like that, and journeyed all the way from Scotland, +so great was his devotion, and found out from the +caretaker of the Bloomsbury house that she was living +with her aunt, and called at Eaton Terrace. But that +afternoon Lucy and Miss Entwhistle were taking the +air in a car Wemyss had hired, and at the very moment +the young man was being turned away from the Eaton +Terrace door Lucy was being rowed about the river at +Hampton Court—very slowly, because of how soon +Wemyss got hot—and her aunt, leaning on the stone +parapet at the end of the Palace gardens, was observing +her. It was a good thing the young man wasn't observing +her too, for it wouldn't have made him happy.</p> + +<p>'What is Mr. Wemyss?' asked Miss Entwhistle +unexpectedly that evening, just as they were going to +bed.</p> + +<p>Lucy was taken aback. Her aunt hadn't asked a +question or said a thing about him up to then, except +general comments on his kindness and good-nature.</p> + +<p>'What is Mr. Wemyss?' she repeated stupidly; for +she was not only taken aback, but also, she discovered, +she had no idea. It had never occurred to her even to +wonder what he was, much less to ask. She had been, +as it were, asleep the whole time in a perfect contentment +on his breast.</p> + +<p>'Yes. What is he besides being a widower?' said +Miss Entwhistle. 'We know he's that, but it is hardly +a profession.'</p> + +<p>'I—don't think I know,' said Lucy, looking and +feeling very stupid.</p> + +<p>'Oh well, perhaps he isn't anything,' said her aunt +kissing her good-night. 'Except punctual,' she added, +smiling, pausing a moment at her bedroom door.</p> + +<p>And two or three days later, when Wemyss had again +hired a car to take them for an outing to Windsor, while +she and Lucy were tidying themselves for tea in the +ladies' room of the hotel she turned from the looking-glass +in the act of pinning back some hair loosened by +motoring, and in spite of having a hairpin in her mouth +said, again suddenly, 'What did Mrs. Wemyss die of?'</p> + +<p>This unnerved Lucy. If she had stared stupidly at +her aunt at the other question she stared aghast at her +at this one.</p> + +<p>'What did she die of?' she repeated, flushing.</p> + +<p>'Yes. What illness was it?' asked her aunt, continuing to pin.</p> + +<p>'It—wasn't an illness,' said Lucy helplessly.</p> + +<p>'Not an illness?'</p> + +<p>'I—believe it was an accident.'</p> + +<p>'An accident?' said Miss Entwhistle, taking the +hairpin out of her mouth and in her turn staring. 'What +sort of an accident?'</p> + +<p>'I think a rather serious one,' said Lucy, completely +unnerved.</p> + +<p>How could she bear to tell that dreadful story, the +knowledge of which seemed somehow so intimately to +bind her and Everard together with a sacred, terrible tie?</p> + +<p>At that her aunt remarked that an accident resulting +in death would usually be described as serious, and asked +what its nature, apart from its seriousness, had been; +and Lucy, driven into a corner, feeling instinctively +that her aunt, who had already once or twice expressed +what she said was her surprised admiration for Mr. +Wemyss's heroic way of bearing his bereavement, +might be too admiringly surprised altogether if she knew +how tragically much he really had to bear, and might +begin to inquire into the reasons of this heroism, took +refuge in saying what she now saw she ought to have +begun by saying, even though it wasn't true, that she +didn't know.</p> + +<p>'Ah,' said her aunt. 'Well—poor man. It's +wonderful how he bears things.' And again in her +mind's eye, and with an increased doubt, she saw the +grey trousers.</p> + +<p>That day at tea Wemyss, with the simple naturalness +Lucy found so restful, the almost bald way he had +of talking frankly about things more sophisticated +people wouldn't have mentioned, began telling them of +the last time he had been at Windsor.</p> + +<p>It was the summer before, he said, and he and his +wife—at this Miss Entwhistle became attentive—had +motored down one Sunday to lunch in that very room, +and it had been so much crowded, and the crowding +had been so monstrously mismanaged, that positively +they had had to go away without having had lunch at all.</p> + +<p>'Positively without having had any lunch at all,' +repeated Wemyss, looking at them with a face full of +astonished aggrievement at the mere recollection.</p> + +<p>'Ah,' said Miss Entwhistle, leaning across to him, +'don't let us revive sad memories.'</p> + +<p>Wemyss stared at her. Good heavens, he thought, +did she think he was talking about Vera? Any one +with a grain of sense would know he was only talking +about the lunch he hadn't had.</p> + +<p>He turned impatiently to Lucy, and addressed his +next remark to her. But in another moment there was +her aunt again.</p> + +<p>'Mr. Wemyss,' she said, 'I've been dying to ask +you——'</p> + +<p>Again he was forced to attend. The pure air and +rapid motion of the motoring intended to revive and +brace his little love were apparently reviving and +bracing his little love's aunt as well, for lately he had +been unable to avoid noticing a tendency on her part +to assert herself. During his first eight visits to Eaton +Terrace—that made four weeks since his coming back +to London and six since the funeral in Cornwall—he +had hardly known she was in the room; except, of +course, that she <i>was</i> in the room, completely hindering +his courting. During those eight visits his first impression +of her remained undisturbed in his mind: she was +a wailing creature who had hung round him in Cornwall +in a constant state of tears. Down there she had +behaved exactly like the traditional foolish woman when +there is a death about,—no common sense, no grit, crying +if you looked at her, and keeping up a continual dismal +recital of the virtues of the departed. Also she had +been obstinate; and she had, besides, shown +unmistakable signs of selfishness. When he paid his first +call in Eaton Terrace he did notice that she had +considerably, indeed completely, dried up, and was therefore +to that extent improved, but she still remained for +him just Lucy's aunt,—somebody who poured out the +tea, and who unfortunately hardly ever went out of the +room; a necessary, though luckily a transitory, evil. +But now it was gradually being borne in on him that she +really existed, on her own account, independently. +She asserted herself. Even when she wasn't saying +anything—and often she said hardly a word during an +entire outing—she still somehow asserted herself.</p> + +<p>And here she was asserting herself very much indeed, +and positively asking him across a tea-table which was +undoubtedly for the moment his, asking him straight +out what, if anything, he did in the way of a trade, +profession or occupation.</p> + +<p>She was his guest, and he regarded it as less than +seemly for a guest to ask a host what he did. Not that +he wouldn't gladly have told her if it had come from +him of his own accord. Surely a man has a right, he +thought, to his own accord. At all times Wemyss +disliked being asked questions. Even the most innocent, +ordinary question appeared to him to be an encroachment +on the right he surely had to be let alone.</p> + +<p>Lucy's aunt between sips of tea—his tea—pretended, +pleasantly it is true, and clothing what could be nothing +but idle curiosity in words that were not disagreeable, +that she was dying to know what he was. She could +see for herself, she said, smiling down at the leg nearest +her, that he wasn't a bishop, she was sure he wasn't +either a painter, musician or writer, but she wouldn't +be in the least surprised if he were to tell her he was an +admiral.</p> + +<p>Wemyss thought this intelligent of the aunt. He +had no objection to being taken for an admiral; they +were an honest, breezy lot.</p> + +<p>Placated, he informed her that he was on the Stock +Exchange.</p> + +<p>'Ah,' nodded Miss Entwhistle, looking wise because +on this subject she so completely wasn't, the Stock +Exchange being an institution whose nature and operations +were alien to anything the Entwhistles were +familiar with; 'ah yes. Quite. Bulls and bears. +Now I come to look at it, you have the Stock +Exchange eye.'</p> + +<p>'Foolish woman,' thought Wemyss, who for some +reason didn't like being told before Lucy that he had +the Stock Exchange eye; and he dismissed her impatiently +from his mind and concentrated on his little +love, asking himself while he did so how short he could, +with any sort of propriety, cut this unpleasant time of +restricted courting, of never being able to go anywhere +with her unless her tiresome aunt came too.</p> + +<p>Nearly two months now since both those deaths; +surely Lucy's aunt might soon be told now of the +engagement. It was after this outing that he began +in his letters, and in the few moments he and she were +alone, to urge Lucy to tell her aunt. Nobody else need +know, he wrote; it could go on being kept secret from +the world; but the convenience of her aunt's knowing +was so obvious,—think of how she would then keep out +of the way, think of how she would leave them to +themselves, anyhow indoors, anyhow in the house in +Eaton Terrace.</p> + +<p>Lucy, however, was reluctant. She demurred. She +wrote begging him to be patient. She said that every +week that passed would make their engagement less a +thing that need surprise. She said that at present it +would take too much explaining, and she wasn't sure +that even at the end of the explanation her aunt would +understand.</p> + +<p>Wemyss wrote back brushing this aside. He said +her aunt would have to understand, and if she didn't +what did it matter so long as she knew? The great +thing was that she should know. Then, he said, she +would leave them alone together, instead of for ever +sticking; and his little love must see how splendid it +would be for him to come and spend happy hours with +her quite alone. What was an aunt after all? he asked. +What could she possibly be, compared to Lucy's own +Everard? Besides, he disliked secrecy, he said. No +honest man could stand an atmosphere of concealment. +His little girl must make up her mind to tell her aunt, +and believe that her Everard knew best; or, if she +preferred it, he would tell her himself.</p> + +<p>Lucy didn't prefer it, and was beginning to feel +worried, because as the days went on Wemyss grew +more and more persistent the more he became bored by +Miss Entwhistle's development of an independent and +inquiring mind, and she hated having to refuse or even +to defer doing anything he asked, when her aunt one +morning at breakfast, in the very middle of apparent +complete serene absorption in her bacon, looked up +suddenly over the coffee-pot and said, 'How long had +your father known Mr. Wemyss?'</p> + +<p>This settled things. Lucy felt she could bear no +more of these shocks. A clean breast was the only +thing left for her.</p> + +<p>'Aunt Dot,' she stammered—Miss Entwhistle's +Christian name was Dorothy,—'I'd like—I've got—I +want to tell you——'</p> + +<p>'After breakfast,' said Miss Entwhistle briskly. +'We shall need lots of time, and to be undisturbed. +We'll go up into the drawing-room.'</p> + +<p>And immediately she began talking about other +things.</p> + +<p>Was it possible, thought Lucy, her eyes carefully on +her toast and butter, that Aunt Dot suspected?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>IX</h2> + + +<p>It was not only possible, but the fact. Aunt Dot had +suspected, only she hadn't suspected anything like all +that was presently imparted to her, and she found great +difficulty in assimilating it. And two hours later Lucy, +standing in the middle of the drawing-room, was still +passionately saying to her, and saying it for perhaps the +tenth time, 'But don't you <i>see</i>? It's just <i>because</i> +what happened to him was so awful. It's nature asserting +itself. If he couldn't be engaged now, if he couldn't +reach up out of such a pit of blackness and get into touch +with living things again and somebody who sympathises +and—is fond of him, he would die, die or go mad; and +oh, what's the <i>use</i> to the world of somebody good and +fine being left to die or go mad? Aunt Dot, what's +the <i>use</i>?'</p> + +<p>And her aunt, sitting in her customary chair by the +fireplace, continued to assimilate with difficulty. Also +her face was puckered into folds of distress. She was +seriously upset.</p> + +<p>Lucy, looking at her, felt a kind of despair that she +wasn't being able to make her aunt, whom she loved, +see what she saw, understand what she understood, and +so be, as she was, filled with confidence and happiness. +Not that she was happy at that moment; she, too, +was seriously upset, her face flushed, her eyes bright +with effort to get Wemyss as she knew him, as he so +simply was, through into her aunt's consciousness.</p> + +<p>She had made her clean breast with a completeness +that had included the confession that she did know +what Mrs. Wemyss's accident had been, and she had +described it. Her aunt was painfully shocked. Anything +so horrible as that hadn't entered her mind. To fall +past the very window her husband was sitting at ... it +seemed to her dreadful that Lucy should be mixed up +in it, and mixed up so instantly on the death of her +of her natural protector,—of her two natural protectors, +for hadn't Mrs. Wemyss as long as she existed also +been one? She was bewildered, and couldn't understand +the violent reactions that Lucy appeared to look +upon as so natural in Wemyss. She would have concluded +that she didn't understand because she was too +old, because she was out of touch with the elasticities +of the younger generation, but Wemyss must be very +nearly as old as herself. Certainly he was of the same +generation; and yet behold him, within a fortnight of +his wife's most shocking death, able to forget her, able +to fall in love——</p> + +<p>'But that's <i>why</i>—that's <i>why</i>,' Lucy cried when Miss +Entwhistle said this. 'He <i>had</i> to forget, or die himself. +It was beyond what anybody could bear and stay +sane——'</p> + +<p>'I'm sure I'm very glad he should stay sane,' said +Miss Entwhistle, more and more puckered, 'but I can't +help wishing it hadn't been you, Lucy, who are assisting +him to stay it.'</p> + +<p>And then she repeated what at intervals she had +kept on repeating with a kind of stubborn helplessness, +that her quarrel with Mr. Wemyss was that he had got +happy so very quickly.</p> + +<p>'Those grey trousers,' she murmured.</p> + +<p>No; Miss Entwhistle couldn't get over it. She +couldn't understand it. And Lucy, expounding and +defending Wemyss in the middle of the room with all +the blaze and emotion of what was only too evidently +genuine love, was to her aunt an astonishing sight. +That little thing, defending that enormous man. Jim's +daughter; Jim's cherished little daughter....</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle, sitting in her chair, struggled among +other struggles to be fair, and reminded herself that Mr. +Wemyss had proved himself to be most kind and eager +to help down in Cornwall,—though even on this there +was shed a new and disturbing light, and that now that +she knew everything, and the doubts that had made +her perhaps be a little unjust were out of the way and +she could begin to consider him impartially, she would +probably very soon become sincerely attached to him. +She hoped so with all her heart. She was used to being +attached to people. It was normal to her to like and be +liked. And there must be something more in him than +his fine appearance for Lucy to be so very fond of him.</p> + +<p>She gave herself a shake. She told herself she was +taking this thing badly; that she ought not, just because +it was an unusual situation, be so ready to condemn it. +Was she really only a conventional spinster, shrinking +back shocked at a touch of naked naturalness? Wasn't +there much in what that short-haired child was so +passionately saying about the rightness, the saneness, +of reaction from horror? Wasn't it nature's own protection +against too much death? After all, what was +the good of doubling horror, of being so much horrified +at the horrible that you stayed rooted there and couldn't +move, and became, with your starting eyes and bristling +hair, a horror yourself?</p> + +<p>Better, of course, to pass on, as Lucy was explaining, +to get on with one's business, which wasn't death but +life. Still—there were the decencies. However desolate +one would be in retirement, however much one would +suffer, there was a period, Miss Entwhistle felt, +during which the bereaved withdrew. Instinctively. +The really bereaved <i>would</i> want to withdraw——</p> + +<p>'Ah, but don't you <i>see</i>,' Lucy once more tried +despairingly to explain, 'this wasn't just being +bereaved—this was something simply too awful. Of course +Everard would have behaved in the ordinary way if +it had been an ordinary death.'</p> + +<p>'So that the more terrible one's sorrow the more +cheerfully one goes out to tea,' said Miss Entwhistle, +the remembrance of the light trousers at one end of +Wemyss and the unmistakably satisfied face at the other +being for a moment too much for her.</p> + +<p>'Oh,' almost moaned Lucy at that, and her head +drooped in a sudden fatigue.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle got up quickly and put her arms +round her. 'Forgive me,' she said. 'That was just +stupid and cruel. I think I'm hide-bound. I think +I've probably got into a rut. Help me out of it, Lucy. +You shall teach me to take heroic views——'</p> + +<p>And she kissed her hot face tenderly, holding it close +to her own.</p> + +<p>'But if I could only make you <i>see</i>,' said Lucy, clinging +to her, tears in her voice.</p> + +<p>'But I do see that you love him very much,' said +Miss Entwhistle gently, again very tenderly kissing her.</p> + +<p>That afternoon when Wemyss appeared at five +o'clock, it being his bi-weekly day for calling, he found +Lucy alone.</p> + +<p>'Why, where——? How——-?' he asked, peeping +round the drawing-room as though Miss Entwhistle +must be lurking behind a chair.</p> + +<p>'I've told,' said Lucy, who looked tired.</p> + +<p>Then he clasped her with a great hug to his heart. +'Everard's own little love,' he said, kissing and kissing +her. 'Everard's own good little love.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, but——' began Lucy faintly. She was, however, +so much muffled and engulfed that her voice didn't +get through.</p> + +<p>'Now wasn't I right?' he said triumphantly, holding +her tight. 'Isn't this as it should be? Just you and +me, and nobody to watch or interfere?'</p> + +<p>'Yes, but——' began Lucy again.</p> + +<p>'What do you say? "Yes, but?"' laughed +Wemyss, bending his ear. 'Yes without any but, you +precious little thing. Buts don't exist for us—only +yeses.'</p> + +<p>And on these lines the interview continued for quite +a long time before Lucy succeeded in telling him that +her aunt had been much upset.</p> + +<p>Wemyss minded that so little that he didn't even ask +why. He was completely incurious about anything her +aunt might think. 'Who cares?' he said, drawing +her to his heart again. 'Who cares? We've got each +other. What does anything else matter? If you had +fifty aunts, all being upset, what would it matter? +What can it matter to us?'</p> + +<p>And Lucy, who was exhausted by her morning, felt +too as she nestled close to him that nothing did matter +so long as he was there. But the difficulty was that he +wasn't there most of the time, and her aunt was, and she +loved her aunt and did very much hate that she should +be upset.</p> + +<p>She tried to convey this to Wemyss, but he didn't +understand. When it came to Miss Entwhistle he +was as unable to understand Lucy as Miss Entwhistle +was unable to understand her when it came to Wemyss. +Only Wemyss didn't in the least mind not understanding. +Aunts. What were they? Insects. He laughed, and +said his little love couldn't have it both ways; she +couldn't eat her cake, which was her Everard, and have +it too, which was her aunt; and he kissed her hair and +asked who was a complicated little baby, and rocked +her gently to and fro in his arms, and Lucy was amused +at that and laughed too, and forgot her aunt, and forgot +everything except how much she loved him.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Miss Entwhistle was spending a diligent +afternoon in the newspaper room of the British Museum. +She was reading <i>The Times</i> report of the Wemyss +accident and inquest; and if she had been upset by what +Lucy told her in the morning she was even more upset +by what she read in the afternoon. Lucy hadn't +mentioned that suggestion of suicide. Perhaps he +hadn't told her. Suicide. Well, there had been no +evidence. There was an open verdict. It had been a +suggestion made by a servant, perhaps a servant with a +grudge. And even if it had been true, probably the +poor creature had discovered she had some incurable +disease, or she may have had some loss that broke her +down temporarily, and—oh, there were many explanations; +respectable, ordinary explanations.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle walked home slowly, loitering at +shop windows, staring at hats and blouses that she never +saw, spinning out her walk to its utmost, trying to +think. Suicide. How desolate it sounded on that +beautiful afternoon. Such a giving up. Such a defeat. +Why should she have given up? Why should she have +been defeated? But it wasn't true. The coroner had +said there was no evidence to show how she came by +her death.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle walked slower and slower. The +nearer she got to Eaton Terrace the more unwillingly +did she advance. When she reached Belgrave Square +she went right round it twice, lingering at the garden +railings studying the habits of birds. She had been out +all the afternoon, and, as those who have walked it +know, it is a long way from the British Museum to Eaton +Terrace. Also it was a hot day and her feet ached, +and she very much would have liked to be in her own +chair in her cool drawing-room having her tea. But +there in that drawing-room would probably still be Mr. +Wemyss, no longer now to be Mr. Wemyss for her—would +she really have to call him Everard?—or she +might meet him on the stairs—narrow stairs; or in the +hall—also narrow, which he would fill up; or on her +doorstep she might meet him, filling up her doorstep; +or, when she turned the corner into her street, there, +coming towards her, might be the triumphant trousers.</p> + +<p>No, she felt she couldn't stand seeing him that day. +So she lingered forlornly watching the sparrows inside +the garden railings of Belgrave Square, balancing first +on one and then on the other of those feet that ached.</p> + +<p>This was only the beginning, she thought; this was +only the first of many days for her of wandering homelessly +round. Her house was too small to hold both +herself and love-making. If it had been the slender +love-making of the young man who was so doggedly +devoted to Lucy, she felt it wouldn't have been too +small. He would have made love youthfully, shyly. +She could have sat quite happily in the dining-room +while the suitably paired young people dallied delicately +together overhead. But she couldn't bear the thought +of being cramped up so near Mr. Wemyss's—no, +Everard's; she had better get used to that at +once—love-making. His way of courting wouldn't be,—she +searched about in her uneasy mind for a word, and +found vegetarian. Yes; that word sufficiently indicated +what she meant: it wouldn't be vegetarian.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle drifted away from the railings, and +turning her back on her own direction wandered towards +Sloane Street. There she saw an omnibus stopping +to let some one out. Wanting very much to sit down +she made an effort and caught it, and squeezing herself +into its vacant seat gave herself up to wherever it +should take her.</p> + +<p>It took her to the City; first to the City, and then +to strange places beyond. She let it take her. Her +clothes became steadily more fashionable the farther the +omnibus went. She ended by being conspicuous and +stared at. But she was determined to give the widest +margin to the love-making and go the whole way, and +she did.</p> + +<p>For an hour and a half the omnibus went on and on. +She had no idea omnibuses did such things. When +it finally stopped she sat still; and the conductor, who +had gradually come to share the growing surprise of the +relays of increasingly poor passengers, asked her what +address she wanted.</p> + +<p>She said she wanted Sloane Street.</p> + +<p>He was unable to believe it, and tried to reason with +her, but she sat firm in her place and persisted.</p> + +<p>At nine o'clock he put her down where he had taken +her up. She disappeared into the darkness with the +movements of one who is stiff, and he winked at the +passenger nearest the door and touched his forehead.</p> + +<p>But as she climbed wearily and hungrily up her steps +and let herself in with her latchkey, she felt it had been +well worth it; for that one day at least she had escaped +Mr. We—— no, Everard.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>X</h2> + + +<p>Miss Entwhistle, however, made up her mind very +firmly that after this one afternoon of giving herself up +to her feelings she was going to behave in the only way +that is wise when faced by an inevitable marriage, the +way of sympathy and friendliness.</p> + +<p>Too often had she seen the first indignation of +disappointed parents at the marriages of their children +harden into a matter of pride, a matter of doggedness +and principle, and finally become an attitude unable to +be altered, long after years had made it ridiculous. If +the marriages turned out happy, how absurd to persist +in an antiquated disapproval; if they turned out +wretched, then how urgent the special need for love.</p> + +<p>Thus Miss Entwhistle reasoned that first sleepless +night in bed, and on these lines she proceeded during +the next few months. They were trying months. She +used up all she had of gallantry in sticking to her determination. +Lucy's instinct had been sound, that wish +to keep her engagement secret from her aunt for as +long as possible. Miss Entwhistle, always thin, grew +still more thin in her constant daily and hourly struggle +to be pleased, to enter into Lucy's happiness, to make +things easy for her, to protect her from the notice and +inquiry of their friends, to look hopefully and with as +much of Lucy's eyes as she could at Everard and at +the future.</p> + +<p>'She isn't simple enough,' Wemyss would say to +Lucy if ever she said anything about her aunt's increasing +appearance of strain and overwork. 'She should +take things more naturally. Look at us.' For it was +the one fly in Lucy's otherwise perfect ointment, this +intermittent consciousness that her aunt wasn't altogether happy.</p> + +<p>And then he would ask her, laying his head on hers +as he stood with his arms about her, who had taught +his little girl to be simple; and they would laugh, and +kiss, and talk of other things.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle was unable to be simple in Wemyss's +sense. She tried to; for when she saw his fresh, +unlined face, his forehead without a wrinkle on it, and +compared it in the glass with her own which was only +three years older, she thought there must be a good +deal to be said for single-mindedness. It was Lucy +who told her Everard was so single-minded. He took +one thing at a time, she said, concentrating quietly. +When he had completely finished it off then, and not +till then, he went on to the next. He knew his own +mind. Didn't Aunt Dot think it was a great thing to +know one's own mind? Instead of wobbling about, +wasting one's thoughts and energies on side-shows?</p> + +<p>This was the very language of Wemyss; and Miss +Entwhistle, after having been listening to him in the +afternoon—for every time he came she put in a brief +appearance just for the look of the thing, and on the +Saturday and Sunday outings she was invariably +present the whole time—felt it a little hard that when +at last she had reached the end of the day and the +harbour of her empty drawing-room she should, through +the mouth of Lucy, have to listen to him all the evening +as well.</p> + +<p>But she always agreed, and said Yes, he was a great +dear; for when an only and much-loved niece is certainly +going to marry, the least a wise aunt can call her future +nephew is a great dear. She will make this warmer and +more varied if she can, but at least she will say that +much. Miss Entwhistle tried to think of variations, +afraid Lucy might notice a certain sameness, and once +with an effort she faltered out that he seemed to be +a—a real darling; but it had a hollow sound, and she didn't +repeat it. Besides, Lucy was quite satisfied with the +other.</p> + +<p>She used, sitting at her aunt's feet in the +evenings—Wemyss never came in the evenings because he distrusted +the probable dinner—sometimes to make her +aunt say it again, by asking a little anxiously, 'But +you <i>do</i> think him a great dear, don't you, Aunt Dot?' +Whereupon Miss Entwhistle, afraid her last expression +of that opinion may have been absent-minded, would +hastily exclaim with almost excess of emphasis, 'Oh, +a <i>great</i> dear.'</p> + +<p>Perhaps he was a dear. She didn't know. What +had she against him? She didn't know. He was too +old, that was one thing; but the next minute, after +hearing something he had said or laughed at, she +thought he wasn't old enough. Of course what she +really had against him was that he had got over his +wife's shocking death so quickly. Yet she admitted +there was much in Lucy's explanation of this as a sheer +instinctive gesture of self-defence. Besides, she couldn't +keep it up as a grudge against him for ever; with every +day it mattered less. And sometimes Miss Entwhistle +even doubted whether it was this that mattered to her +at all,—whether it was not rather some quite small +things that she really objected to: a want of fastidiousness, +for instance, a forgetfulness of the minor +courtesies,—the objections, in a word, she told herself smiling, of +an old maid. Lucy seemed not to mind his blunders +in these directions in the least. She seemed positively, +thought her aunt, to take a kind of pride in them, +delighting in everything he said or did with the +adoring tenderness of a young mother watching the +pranks of her first-born. She laughed gaily; she +let him caress her openly. She too, thought Miss +Entwhistle, had become what she no doubt would +say was single-minded. Well, perhaps all this was a +spinster's way of feeling about a type not previously +met with, and she had got—again she reproached +herself—into an elderly groove. Jim's friends,—well, +they had been different, but not necessarily better. +Mr. Wemyss would call them, she was sure, a finicking +lot.</p> + +<p>When in October London began to fill again, and +Jim's friends came to look her and Lucy up and showed +a tendency, many of them, to keep on doing it, a new +struggle was added to her others, the struggle to prevent +their meeting Wemyss. He wouldn't, she was convinced, +be able to hide his proprietorship in Lucy, and +Lucy wouldn't ever get that look of tenderness out of +her eyes when they rested on him. Questions as to +who he was would naturally be asked, and one or other +of Jim's friends would be sure to remember the affair +of Mrs. Wemyss's death; indeed, that day she went +to the British Museum and read the report of it she had +been amazed that she hadn't seen it at the time. It +took up so much of the paper that she was bound to +have seen it if she had seen a paper at all. She could +only suppose that as she was visiting friends just then, +she chanced that day to have been in the act of leaving +or arriving, and that if she bought a paper on the +journey she had looked, as was sometimes her way +in trains, not at it but out of the window.</p> + +<p>She felt she hadn't the strength to support being +questioned, and in her turn have to embark on the +explanation and defence of Wemyss. There was too +much of him, she felt, to be explained. He ought to be +separated into sections, and taken gradually and bit +by bit,—but far best not to produce him, to keep him +from meeting her friends. She therefore arranged a +day in the week when she would be at home, and +discouraged every one from the waste of time of trying to +call on her on other days. Then presently the afternoon +became an evening once a week, when whoever +liked could come in after dinner and talk and drink coffee, +because the evening was safer; made safe by Wemyss's +conviction—he hadn't concealed it—that the dinners +of maiden ladies were notoriously both scanty and +bad.</p> + +<p>Lucy would have preferred never to see a soul except +Wemyss, who was all she wanted, all she asked for in +life; but she did see her aunt's point, that only by pinning +their friends to a day and an hour could the risk of their +overflowing into precious moments be avoided. This is +how Miss Entwhistle put it to her, wondering as she +said it at her own growing ability in artfulness.</p> + +<p>She had an old friend living in Chesham Street, a +widow full of that ripe wisdom that sometimes comes +at the end to those who have survived marriage; +and to her, when the autumn brought her back to +London, Miss Entwhistle went occasionally in search +of comfort.</p> + +<p>'What in the whole world puts such a gulf between +two affections and comprehensions as a new love?' +she asked one day, freshly struck, because of something +Lucy had said, by the distance she had travelled. Lucy +was quite a tiny figure now, so far away from her had +she moved; she couldn't even get her voice to carry +to her, much less still hold on to her with her hands.</p> + +<p>And the friend, made brief of speech by wisdom, +said: 'Nothing.'</p> + +<p>About Wemyss's financial position Miss Entwhistle +could only judge from appearances, for it wouldn't have +occurred to him that it might perhaps be her concern +to know, and she preferred to wait till later, when the +engagement could be talked about, to ask some old +friend of Jim's to make the proper inquiries; but from +the way he lived it seemed to be an easy one. He went +freely in taxis, he hired cars with a reasonable frequency, +he inhabited one of the substantial houses of Lancaster +Gate, and also, of course, he had The Willows, the house +on the river near Strorley where his wife had died. +After all, what could be better than two houses, Miss +Entwhistle thought, congratulating herself, as it were, +on Lucy's behalf that this side of Wemyss was so +satisfactory. Two houses, and no children; how much +better than the other way about. And one day, feeling +almost hopeful about Lucy's prospects, on the advantages +of which she had insisted that her mind should dwell, +she went round again to the widow in Chesham Street +and said suddenly to her, who was accustomed to these +completely irrelevant exclamatory inquiries from her +friend, and who being wise was also incurious, 'What +can be better than two houses?'</p> + +<p>To which the widow, whose wisdom was more ripe +than comforting, replied disappointingly: 'One.'</p> + +<p>Later, when the marriage loomed very near, Miss +Entwhistle, who found that she was more than ever in +need of reassurance instead of being, as she had hoped +to become, more reconciled, went again, in a kind of +desperation this time, to the widow, seeking some word +from her who was so wise that would restore her to +tranquillity, that would dispel her absurd persistent +doubts. 'After all,' she said almost entreatingly, +'what can be better than a devoted husband?'</p> + +<p>And the widow, who had had three and knew what +she was talking about, replied with the large calm of +those who have finished and can in leisure weigh and +reckon up: 'None.'</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XI</h2> + + +<p>The Wemyss-Entwhistle engagement proceeded on its +way of development through the ordinary stages of all +engagements: secrecy complete, secrecy partial, semi-publicity, +and immediately after that entire publicity, +with its inevitable accompanying uproar. The uproar, +always more or less audible to the protagonists, of +either approval or disapproval, was in this case one +of unanimous disapproval. Lucy's father's friends protested +to a man. The atmosphere at Eaton Terrace +was convulsed; and Lucy, running as she always did +to hide from everything upsetting into Wemyss's arms, +was only made more certain than ever that there alone +was peace.</p> + +<p>This left Miss Entwhistle to face the protests by +herself. There was nothing for it but to face them. +Jim had had so many intimate, devoted friends, and +each of them apparently regarded his daughter as his +special care and concern. One or two of the younger +ones, who had been disciples rather than friends, were +in love with her themselves, and these were specially +indignant and vocal in their indignation. Miss Entwhistle +found herself in the position she had tried so +hard to avoid, that of defending and explaining Wemyss +to a highly sceptical, antagonistic audience. It was as +if, forced to fight for him, she was doing so with her +back to her drawing-room wall.</p> + +<p>Lucy couldn't help her, because though she was +distressed that her aunt should be being worried because +of her affairs, yet she did feel that Everard was right +when he said that her affairs concerned nobody in the +world but herself and him. She, too, was indignant, +but her indignation was because her father's friends, +who had been ever since she could remember always +good and kind, besides perfectly intelligent and +reasonable, should with one accord, and without knowing +anything about Everard except that story of the +accident, be hostile to her marrying him. The ready +unfairness, the willingness immediately to believe the +worst instead of the best, astonished and shocked her. +And then the way they all talked! Everlasting arguments +and reasoning and hair-splitting; so clever, so +impossible to stand up against, and yet so surely, she +was certain, if only she had been clever too and able to +prove things, wrong. All their multitudinous points of +view,—why, there was only one point of view about a +thing, Everard said, and that was the right one. Ah, +but what a woman wanted wasn't this; she didn't +want this endless thinking and examining and dissecting +and considering. A woman—her very thoughts were +now dressed in Wemyss's words—only wanted her +man. '"Hers not to reason why,"' Wemyss had +quoted one day, and both of them had laughed at his +parody, '"hers but to love and—not die, but live."'</p> + +<p>The most that could be said for her father's friends +was that they meant well; but oh, what trouble the +well-meaning could bring into an otherwise simple +situation! From them she hid—it was inevitable—in +Wemyss's arms. Here were no arguments; here were +no misgivings and paralysing hesitations. Here was +just simple love, and the feeling—delicious to her whose +mother had died in the very middle of all the sweet +early petting, and whose whole life since had been spent +entirely in the dry and bracing company of unusually +inquisitive-minded, clever men—of being a baby again +in somebody's big, comfortable, uncritical lap.</p> + +<p>The engagement hadn't leaked out so much as +flooded out. It would have continued secret for quite +a long time, known only to the three and to the maids—who +being young women themselves, and well acquainted +with the symptoms of the condition, were +sure of it before Miss Entwhistle had even begun to +suspect,—if Wemyss hadn't taken to dropping in, +contrary to expectations, on the Thursday evenings. +Lucy's descriptions of these evenings and of the people +who came, and of how very kind they were to her aunt +and herself, and how anxious they were to help her, +they of course supposing that she was, actually, the +lonely thing she would have been if she hadn't had +Everard as the dear hidden background to her life—at +this point they embraced,—at first amused him, then +made him curious, and finally caused him to come and +see for himself.</p> + +<p>He didn't tell Lucy he was coming, he just came. +It had taken him five Thursday evenings of playing +bridge as usual at his club, playing it with one hand, +as he said to her afterwards, and thinking of her with +the other—'You know what I mean,' he said, and they +laughed and embraced—before it slowly oozed into and +pervaded his mind that there was his little girl, +rounded by people fussing over her and making love +to her (because, said Wemyss, everybody would +naturally want to make love to her), and there was +he, the only person who had a right to do this, somewhere +else.</p> + +<p>So he walked in; and when he walked in, the group +standing round Lucy with their backs to the door saw +her face, which had been gently attentive, suddenly flash +into colour and light; and turning with one accord to +see what it was she was looking at behind them with +parted lips and eyes of startled joy, beheld once more +the unknown chief mourner of the funeral in Cornwall.</p> + +<p>Down there they had taken for granted that he was +a relation of Jim's, the kind of relative who in a man's +life appears only three times, the last of which is his +funeral; here in Eaton Terrace they were immediately +sure he was not, anyhow, that, because for relatives +who only appear those three times a girl's face doesn't +change in a flash from gentle politeness to tremulous, +shining life. They all stared at him astonished. He +was so different from the sorts of people they had met +at Jim's. For one thing he was so well dressed,—in the +mating season, thought Miss Entwhistle, even birds dress +well,—and in his impressive evening clothes, with what +seemed a bigger and more spotless shirt-front than any +shirt-front they could have imagined, he made them look +and feel what they actually were, a dingy, shabby lot.</p> + +<p>Wemyss was good-looking. He might be middle-aged, +but he was good-looking enough frequently to +eclipse the young. He might have a little too much of +what tailors call a fine presence, but his height carried +this off. His features were regular, his face care-free +and healthy, his brown hair sleek with no grey in it, +he was clean-shaven, and his mouth was the kind of +mouth sometimes described by journalists as mobile, +sometimes as determined, but always as well cut. One +could visualise him in a fur-lined coat, thought a young +man near Lucy, considering him; and one couldn't +visualise a single one of the others, including himself, +in the room that evening in a fur-lined coat. Also, +thought this same young man, one could see railway +porters and taxi-drivers and waiters hurrying to be of +service to him; and one not only couldn't imagine them +taking any notice that wasn't languid and reluctant of +the others, including himself, but one knew from personal +distressing experience that they didn't.</p> + +<p>'My splendid lover!' Lucy's heart cried out within +her when the door opened and there he stood. She +had not seen him before in the evening, and the contrast +between him and the rest of the people there was really +striking.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle had been right: there was no hiding +the look in Lucy's eyes or Wemyss's proprietary manner. +He hadn't meant to take any but the barest notice of +his little girl, he had meant to be quite an ordinary +guest—just shake hands and say 'Hasn't it been wet +to-day'—that sort of thing; but his pride and love +were too much for him, he couldn't hide them. He +thought he did, and was sure he was behaving beautifully +and with the easiest unconcern, but the mere way +he looked at her and stood over her was enough. Also +there was the way she looked at him. The intelligences +in that room were used to drawing more complicated +inferences than this. They were outraged by its obviousness. +Who was this middle-aged, prosperous outsider +who had got hold of Jim's daughter? What had her +aunt been about? Where had he dropped from? Had +Jim known?</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle introduced him. 'Mr. Wemyss,' +she said to them generally, with a vague wave of her +hand; and a red spot appeared and stayed on each of +her cheekbones.</p> + +<p>Wemyss held forth. He stood on the hearthrug +filling his pipe—he was used to smoking in that room +when he came to tea with Lucy, and forgot to ask Miss +Entwhistle if it mattered—and told everybody what +he thought. They were talking about Ireland when he +came in, and after the disturbance of his arrival had +subsided he asked them not to mind him but to go on. +He then proceeded to go on himself, telling them what +he thought; and what he thought was what <i>The Times</i> +had thought that morning. Wemyss spoke with the +practised fluency of a leading article. He liked politics +and constantly talked them at his club, and it created +vacancies in the chairs near him. But Lucy, who +hadn't heard him on politics before and found that she +could understand every word, listened to him with +parted lips. Before he came in they had been saying +things beyond her quickness in following, eagerly +discussing Sinn Fein, Lloyd George, the outrageous cost +of living—it was the autumn of 1920—turning everything +inside out, upside down, being witty, being +surprising, being tremendously eager and earnest. It +had been a kind of restless flashing round and catching +fire from each other,—a kind of kick, and flick, and +sparks, and a burst of laughter, and then on to something +else just as she was laboriously getting under weigh to +follow the last sentence but six. She had been missing +her father, who took her by the hand on these occasions +when he saw her lagging behind, and stopped a moment +to explain to her, and held up the others while she got +her breath.</p> + +<p>But now came Everard, and in a minute everything +was plain. He had the effect on her of a window being +thrown open and fresh air and sunlight being let in. +He was so sensible, she felt, compared to these others; +so healthy and natural. The Government, he said, +only had to do this and that, and Ireland and the cost +of living would immediately, regarded as problems, be +solved. He explained the line to be taken. It was a +very simple line. One only needed goodwill and a +little common sense. Why, thought Lucy, unconsciously +nodding proud agreement, didn't people have goodwill +and a little common sense?</p> + +<p>At first there was a disposition to interrupt, to +heckle, but it grew fainter and soon gave way to complete +silence. The other guests might have been stunned, +Miss Entwhistle thought, so motionless did they presently +sit. And when they went away, which they +seemed to do earlier than usual and in a body, Wemyss +was still standing on the hearthrug explaining the +points of view of the ordinary, sensible business man.</p> + +<p>'Mind you,' he said, pointing at them with his pipe, +'I don't pretend to be a great thinker. I'm just a +plain business man, and as a plain business man I know +there's only one way of doing a thing, and that's the +right way. Find out what that way is, and go and do +it. There's too much arguing altogether and asking +other people what they think. We don't want talk, +we want action. I agree with Napoleon, who said +concerning the French Revolution, <i>"Il aurait fallu +mitrailler cette canaille."</i> We're not simple enough.'</p> + +<p>This was the last the others heard as they trooped +in silence down the stairs. Outside they lingered for a +while in little knots on the pavement talking, and then +they drifted away to their various homes, where most +of them spent the rest of the evening writing to Miss +Entwhistle.</p> + +<p>The following Thursday evening, her letters in reply +having been vague and evasive, they came again, each +hoping to get Lucy's aunt to himself, and on the ground +of being Jim's most devoted friend ask her straight +questions such as who and what was Wemyss. Also, +more particularly, why. Who and what he was was of +no sort of consequence if he would only be and do it +somewhere else; but they arrived determined to get +an answer to the third question: Why Wemyss? And +when they got there, there he was again; there before +them this time, standing on the hearthrug as if he had +never moved off it since the week before and had gone +on talking ever since.</p> + +<p>This was the end of the Thursday evenings. The +next one was unattended, except by Wemyss; but +Miss Entwhistle had been forced to admit the engagement, +and from then on right up to the marriage +her life was a curse to her and a confusion. Just +because Jim had appointed no guardian in his will +for Lucy, every single one of his friends felt bound to +fill the vacancy. They were indignant when they discovered +that almost before they had begun Lucy was +being carried off, but they were horrified when they +discovered what Wemyss it was who was carrying her +off. Most of them quite well remembered the affair of +Mrs. Wemyss's death a few weeks before, and those who +did not went, as Miss Entwhistle had gone, to the British +Museum and read it up. They also, though they themselves +were chiefly unworldly persons who lost money +rather than made it, instituted the most searching +private inquiries into Wemyss's business affairs, hoping +that he might be caught out as such a rascal or so +penniless, or, preferably, both, that no woman could +possibly have anything to do with him. But Wemyss's +business record, the solicitor they employed informed +them, was quite creditable. Everything about it was +neat and in order. He was not what the City would +call a wealthy man, but if you went out say to Ealing, +said the solicitor, he would be called wealthy. He was +solid, and he was certainly more than able to support +a wife and family. He could have been quite wealthy +if he had not adopted a principle to which he had adhered +for years of knocking off work early and leaving his +office at an hour when other men did not,—the friends +were obliged to admit that this, at least, seemed sensible. +There had been, though, a very sad occurrence recently +in his private life,—'Oh, thank you,' interrupted the +friends, 'we have heard about that.'</p> + +<p>But however good Wemyss's business record might +be, it couldn't alter their violent objection to Jim's +daughter marrying him. Apart from the stuff he +talked, there was the inquest. They were aware that in +this they were unreasonable, but they were all too much +attached to Jim's memory to be able to be reasonable +about a man they felt so certain he wouldn't have +liked. Singly and in groups they came at safe times, such +as after breakfast, to Eaton Terrace to reason with Lucy, +too much worried to remember that you cannot reason +with a person in love. Less wise than Miss Entwhistle, +they tried to dissuade her from marrying this man, +and the more they tried the tighter she clung to him. +To the passion of love was added, by their attitudes, +the passion of protectiveness, of flinging her body +between him and them. And all the while, right inside +her innermost soul, in spite of her amazement at them +and her indignation, she was smiling to herself; for it +was really very funny, the superficial judgments of +these clever people when set side by side with what +she alone knew,—the tenderness, the simple goodness +of her heart's beloved.</p> + +<p>Lucy laughed to herself in her happy sureness. She +had miraculously found not only a lover she could adore +and a guide she could follow and a teacher she could +look up to and a sufferer who without her wouldn't +have been healed, but a mother, a nurse, and a playmate. +In spite of his being so much older and so +extraordinarily wise, he was yet her contemporary,—sometimes +hardly even that, so boyish was he in his +talk and jokes. Lucy had never had a playmate. She +had spent her life sitting, as it were, bolt upright +mentally behaving, and she hadn't known till Wemyss +came on the scene how delicious it was to relax. +Nonsense had delighted her father, it is true, but it +had to be of a certain kind; never the kind to which +the adjective 'sheer' would apply. With Wemyss she +could say whatever nonsense came into her head, sheer +or otherwise. He laughed consumedly at her when she +talked it. She loved to make him laugh. They laughed +together. He understood her language. He was her +playmate. Those people outside, old and young, who +didn't know what playing was and were trying to get +her away from him, might beat at the door behind which +he and she sat listening, amused, as long as they liked.</p> + +<p>'How they all try to separate us,' she said to him +one day, sitting as usual safe in the circle of his arm, +her head on his breast.</p> + +<p>'You can't separate unity,' remarked Wemyss +comfortably.</p> + +<p>She wanted to tell them that answer, confront them +with it next time they came after breakfast, as a discouragement +to useless further effort, but she had +learned that they somehow always knew when what +she said was Everard's and not hers, and then, of course, +prejudiced as they were, they wouldn't listen.</p> + +<p>'Now, Lucy, that's pure Wemyss,' they would say. +'For heaven's sake say something of your own.'</p> + +<p>At Christmas Wemyss had an encounter with Miss +Entwhistle, who ever since she had been told of the +engagement had been so quiet and inoffensive that he +quite liked her. She had seemed to recognise her +position as a side-show, and had accepted it without +a word. She no longer asked him questions, and she +made no difficulties. She left him alone with Lucy in +Eaton Terrace, and though she had to go with them on +the outings she asserted herself so little that he forgot +she was there. But when towards the middle of +December he remarked one afternoon that he always +spent Christmas at The Willows, and what day would +she and Lucy come down, Christmas Eve or the day +before, to his astonishment she looked astonished, +and after a silence said it was most kind of him, +but they were going to spend Christmas where they +were.</p> + +<p>'I had hoped you would join us,' she said. 'Must +you really go away?'</p> + +<p>'But——' began Wemyss, incredulous, doubting +his ears.</p> + +<p>It was, however, the fact that Miss Entwhistle +wouldn't go to The Willows; and of course if she +wouldn't Lucy couldn't either. Nothing that he said +could shake her determination. Here was a repetition, +only how much worse—fancy spoiling his Christmas—of +her conduct in Cornwall when she insisted on going +away from that nice little house where they were all +so comfortably established, and taking Lucy up to +London. He had forgotten, so acquiescent had she +been for weeks, that down there he had discovered she +was obstinate. It was a shock to him to realise that +her obstinacy, the most obstinate obstinacy he had +ever met, might be going to upset his plans. He couldn't +believe it. He couldn't believe he wasn't going to be +able to have what he wished, and only because an old +maid said 'No.' Was the story of Balaam to be +reversed, and the angel be held up by the donkey? +He refused to believe such a thing possible.</p> + +<p>Wemyss, who made his plans first and talked about +them afterwards, hadn't mentioned Christmas even to +Lucy. It was his habit to settle what he wished to do, +arrange all the details, and then, when everything was +ready, inform those who were to take part. It hadn't +occurred to him that over the Christmas question there +would be trouble. He had naturally taken it for granted +that he would spend Christmas with his little girl, and +of course as he always spent it at The Willows she +would spend it there too. All his arrangements were +made, and the servants, who looked surprised, had been +told to get the spare-rooms ready for two ladies. He +had begun to feel seasonable as early as the first week +in December, and had bespoken two big turkeys instead +of one, because this was to be his first real Christmas at +The Willows—Vera had been without the Christmas +spirit—and he felt it couldn't be celebrated lavishly +enough. Two where there had in previous years been +one,—that was the turkeys; four where there had been +two,—-that was the plum puddings. He doubled everything. +Doubling seemed the proper, even the symbolic +expression of his feelings, for wasn't he soon going to +be doubled himself? And how sweetly.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly, having finished his preparations and +proceeding, the time being ripe, to the question of the +day of arrival, he found himself up against opposition. +Miss Entwhistle wouldn't go to The Willows—incredible, +impossible, and insufferable,—while Lucy, +instead of instantly insisting and joining with him in +a compelling majority, sat as quiet as a mouse.</p> + +<p>'But Lucy——' Wemyss having stared speechless +at her aunt, turned to her. 'But of course we must +spend Christmas together.'</p> + +<p>'Oh yes,' said Lucy, leaning forward, 'of course——'</p> + +<p>'But of course you must come down. Why, any +other arrangement is unthinkable. My house is in the +country, which is the proper place for Christmas, and +it's your Everard's house, and you haven't seen it yet—why, +I would have taken you down long ago, but I've +been saving up for this.'</p> + +<p>'We hoped,' said Miss Entwhistle, 'you would join +us here.'</p> + +<p>'Here! But there isn't room to swing a turkey +here. I've ordered two, and each of them is twice too +big to get through your front door.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Everard—have you actually ordered turkeys?' +said Lucy.</p> + +<p>She wanted to laugh, but she also wanted to cry. +His simplicity was too wonderful. In her eyes it set +him apart from criticism and made him sacred, like the +nimbus about the head of a saint.</p> + +<p>That he should have been secretly busy making +preparations, buying turkeys, planning a surprise, when +all this time she had been supposing that why he never +mentioned The Willows was because he shrank both for +himself and for her from the house of his tragedy! +There had never been any talk of showing it to her, as +there had about the house in Lancaster Gate, and she +had imagined he would never go near it again and was +probably quietly getting rid of it. He would want to +get rid of it, of course,—that house of unbearable +memories. To the other one, the house in Lancaster +Gate, he had insisted on taking them to tea, and in spite +of a great desire not to go, plainly visible on her aunt's +face and felt too by herself, it had seemed after all a +natural and more or less inevitable thing, and they had +gone. At least that poor Vera had only lived there, and +not died there. It was a gloomy house, and Lucy had +wanted him to give it up and start life with her in a +place without associations, but he had been so much +astonished at the idea—'Why,' he had cried, 'it was +my father's house and I was born in it!'—that she +couldn't help laughing at his dismay, and was ashamed +of herself for having thought of uprooting him. Besides, +she hadn't known he had been born in it.</p> + +<p>The Willows, however, was different. Of that he +never spoke, and Lucy had been sure of the pitiful, +the delicate reason. Now it appeared that all this +time he had just been saving it up as a Christmas +treat.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Everard——!' she said, with a gasp. She +hadn't reckoned with The Willows. That The Willows +should still be in Everard's life, and actively so, not +just lingering on while house agents were disposing of +it, but visited and evidently prized, came upon her as +an immense shock.</p> + +<p>'I think we can achieve a happy little Christmas for +you here,' said her aunt, smiling the smile she smiled +when she found difficulty in smiling. 'Of course +you and Lucy would want to be together. I ought +to have told you earlier that we were counting on +you, but somehow Christmas comes on one so unexpectedly.'</p> + +<p>'Perhaps you'll tell me why you won't come to +The Willows,' said Wemyss, holding on to himself as +she used to make him hold on to himself in Cornwall. +'You realise, of course, that if you persist you spoil +both Lucy's and my Christmas.'</p> + +<p>'Ah, but you mustn't put it that way,' said Miss +Entwhistle, gentle but determined. 'I promise you +that you and Lucy shall be very happy here.'</p> + +<p>'You haven't answered my question,' said Wemyss, +slowly filling his pipe.</p> + +<p>'I don't think I'm going to,' said Miss Entwhistle, +suddenly flaring up. She hadn't flared up since she +was ten, and was instantly ashamed of herself, but +there was something about Mr. Wemyss——</p> + +<p>'I think,' she said, getting up and speaking very +gently, 'you'll like to be alone together now.' And she +crossed to the door.</p> + +<p>There she wavered, and turning round said more +gently still, even penitentially, 'If Lucy wishes to go +to The Willows I'll—I'll accept your kind invitation +and take her. I leave it to her.'</p> + +<p>Then she went out.</p> + +<p>'That's all right then,' said Wemyss with a great +sigh of relief, smiling broadly at Lucy. 'Come here, +little love,—come to your Everard, and we'll fix it all +up. Lord, what a kill-joy that woman is!'</p> + +<p>And he put out his arms and drew her to him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XII</h2> + + +<p>But Christmas was spent after all at Eaton Terrace, +and they lived on Wemyss's turkeys and plum puddings +for a fortnight.</p> + +<p>It was not a very successful Christmas, because +Wemyss was so profoundly disappointed, and Miss +Entwhistle had the apologeticness of those who try to +make up for having got their own way, and Lucy, who +had shrunk from The Willows far more than her aunt, +wished many times before it was over that they had +after all gone there. It would have been much simpler +in the long run, and much less painful than having to +look on at Everard being disappointed; but at the time, +and taken by surprise, she had felt that she couldn't +have borne festivities, and still less could she have borne +seeing Everard bearing festivities in that house.</p> + +<p>'This is morbid,' he said, when in answer to his +questioning she at last told him it was poor Vera's +dreadful death there that made her feel she couldn't +go; and he explained, holding her in his arms, how +foolish it was to be morbid, and how his little girl, who +was marrying a healthy, sensible man who, God knew, +had had to fight hard enough to keep so—she pressed +closer—and yet had succeeded, must be healthily +sensible too. Otherwise, if she couldn't do this and +couldn't do that because it reminded her of something +sad, and couldn't go here and couldn't go there because +of somebody's having died, he was afraid she would +make both herself and him very unhappy.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Everard——' said Lucy at that, holding him +tight, the thought of making him unhappy, him, her +own beloved who had been through such terrible +unhappiness already, giving her heart a stab.</p> + +<p>His little girl must know, he continued, speaking +with the grave voice that was natural to him when he +was serious, the voice not of the playmate but of the +man she adored, the man she was in love with, in whose +hands she could safely leave her earthly concerns,—his +little girl must know that somebody had died +everywhere. There wasn't a spot, there wasn't a house, +except quite new ones——</p> + +<p>'Oh yes, I know—but——' Lucy tried to interrupt.</p> + +<p>And The Willows was his home, the home he had +looked forward to and worked for and had at last been +able to afford to rent on a long lease, a lease so long +that it made it practically his very own, and he had +spent the last ten years developing and improving it, +and there wasn't a brick or a tree in it in which he didn't +take an interest, really an almost personal interest, and +his one thought all these months had been the day when +he would show it to her, to its dear future mistress.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Everard—yes—you shall—I want to——' said +Lucy incoherently, her cheek against his, 'only not yet—not +festivities—please—I won't be so morbid—I +promise not to be morbid—but—please——'</p> + +<p>And just when she was wavering, just when she was +going to give in, not because of his reasoning, for her +instincts were stronger than his reasoning, but because +she couldn't bear his disappointment, Miss Entwhistle, +sure now of Lucy's dread of Christmas at The Willows, +suddenly turned firm again and announced that they +would spend it in Eaton Terrace.</p> + +<p>So Wemyss was forced to submit. The sensation +was so new to him that he couldn't get over it. Once +it was certain that his Christmas was, as he insisted, +spoilt, he left off talking about it and went to the other +extreme and was very quiet. That his little love should +be so much under the influence of her aunt saddened +him, he told her. Lucy tried to bring gaiety into this +attitude by pointing out the proof she was giving +him of how very submissive she was to the person +she happened to live with,—'And presently all my +submissiveness will be concentrated on you,' she said +gaily.</p> + +<p>But he wouldn't be gay. He shook his head in +silence and filled his pipe. He was too deeply +disappointed to be able to cheer up. And the expression +'happen to live with,' jarred a little. There was an +airy carelessness about the phrase. One didn't happen +to live with one's husband; yet that had been the +implication.</p> + +<p>Every year in April Wemyss had a birthday; that +is, unlike most people of his age, he regularly celebrated +it. Christmas and his birthday were the festivals of +the year for Him, and were always spent at The Willows. +He regarded his birthday, which was on the 4th of +April, as the first day of spring, defying the calendar, +and was accustomed to find certain yellow flowers in +blossom down by the river on that date supporting his +contention. If these flowers came out before his birthday +he took no notice of them, treating them as non-existent, +nor did he ever notice them afterwards, for he did not +easily notice flowers; but his gardener had standing +orders to have a bunch of them on the table that one +morning in the year to welcome him with their bright +shiny faces when he came down to his birthday breakfast, +and coming in and seeing them he said, 'My birthday +and Spring's'; whereupon his wife—up to now it +had been Vera, but from now it would be Lucy—kissed +him and wished him many happy returns. This was +the ritual; and when one year of abnormal cold the +yellow flowers weren't there at breakfast, because neither +by the river's edge nor in the most sheltered of the +swamps had the increasingly frantic gardener been able +to find them, the entire birthday was dislocated. He +couldn't say on entering the room and beholding them, +'My birthday and Spring's,' because he didn't behold +them; and his wife—that year Vera—couldn't kiss +him and wish him many happy returns because she +hadn't the cue. She was so much used to the cue that +not having it made her forget her part,—forget, indeed, +his birthday altogether; and consequently it was a day +of the extremest spiritual chill and dinginess, matching +the weather without. Wemyss had been terribly +hurt. He hoped never to spend another birthday like +it. Nor did he, for Vera remembered it after that.</p> + +<p>Birthdays being so important to him, he naturally +reflected after Miss Entwhistle had spoilt his Christmas +that she would spoil his birthday too if he let her. Well, +he wasn't going to let her. Not twice would he be +caught like that; not twice would he be caught in a +position of helplessness on his side and power on hers. +The way to avoid it was very simple: he would marry +Lucy in time for his birthday. Why should they wait +any longer? Why stick to that absurd convention of +the widower's year? No sensible man minded what +people thought. And who were the people? Surely +one didn't mind the opinions of those shabby weeds he +had met on the two Thursday evenings at Lucy's aunt's. +The little they had said had been so thoroughly unsound +and muddled and yet dangerous, that if they one and +all emigrated to-morrow England would only be the +better. After meeting them he had said to Lucy, who +had listened in some wonder at this new light thrown +on her father's friends, that they were the very stuff +of which successful segregation was made. In an island +by themselves, he told her, they would be quite happy +undermining each other's backbones, and the backbone +of England, which consisted of plain unspoilt patriots, +would be let alone. They, certainly, didn't matter; +while as for his own friends, those friends who had +behaved badly to him on Vera's death, not only didn't +he care twopence for their criticisms but he could +hardly wait for the moment when he would confound +them by producing for their inspection this sweetest +of little girls, so young, so devoted to him, Lucy his +wife.</p> + +<p>He accordingly proceeded to make all the necessary +arrangements for being married in March, for going for +a trip to Paris, and for returning to The Willows for +the final few days of his honeymoon on the very day +of his birthday. What a celebration that would be! +Wemyss, thinking of it, shut his eyes so as to dwell +upon it undisturbed. Never would he have had a +birthday like this next one. He might really quite +fairly call it his First, for he would be beginning life +all over again, and entering on years that would indeed +be truthfully described as tender.</p> + +<p>So much was it his habit to make plans privately +and not mention them till they were complete, that he +found it difficult to tell Lucy of this one in spite of the +important part she was to play in it. But, after all, +some preparing would, he admitted to himself, be +necessary even for the secret marriage he had decided +on at a registrar's office. She would have to pack a +bag; she would have to leave her belongings in order. +Also he might perhaps have to use persuasion. He +knew his little girl well enough to be sure she would +relinquish church and white satin without a murmur at +his request, but she might want to tell her aunt of the +marriage's imminence, and then the aunt would, to a +dead certainty, obstruct, and either induce her to wait +till the year was out, or, if Lucy refused to do this, +make her miserable with doubts as to whether she had +been right to follow her lover's wishes. Fancy making +a girl miserable because she followed her lover's wishes! +What a woman, thought Wemyss, filling his pipe. In +his eyes Miss Entwhistle had swollen since her conduct +at Christmas to the bulk of a monster.</p> + +<p>Having completed his preparations, and fixed his +wedding day for the first Saturday in March, Wemyss +thought it time he told Lucy; so he did, though not +without a slight fear at the end that she might make +difficulties.</p> + +<p>'My little love isn't going to do anything that spoils +her Everard's plans after all the trouble he has taken?' +he said, seeing that with her mouth slightly open she +gazed at him in an obvious astonishment and didn't +say a word.</p> + +<p>He then proceeded to shut the eyes that were gazing +up into his, and the surprised parted lips, with kisses, +for he had discovered that gentle, lingering kisses hushed +Lucy quiet when she was inclined to say, 'But——' and +brought her back quicker than anything to the mood +of tender, half-asleep acquiescence in which, as she lay +in his arms, he most loved her; then indeed she was +his baby, the object of the passionate protectiveness he +felt he was naturally filled with, but for the exercise of +which circumstances up to now had given him no scope. +You couldn't passionately protect Vera. She was +always in another room.</p> + +<p>Lucy, however, did say, 'But——' when she +recovered from her first surprise, and did presently—directly, +that is, he left off kissing her and she could +speak—make difficulties. Her aunt; the secrecy; why +secrecy; why not wait; it was so necessary under +the circumstances to wait.</p> + +<p>And then he explained about his birthday.</p> + +<p>At that she gazed at him again with a look of wonder +in her eyes, and after a moment began to laugh. She +laughed a great deal, and with her arm tight round his +neck, but her eyes were wet. 'Oh, Everard,' she said, +her cheek against his, 'do you think we're really old +enough to marry?'</p> + +<p>This time, however, he got his way. Lucy found +she couldn't bring herself to spoil his plans a second +time; the spectacle of his prolonged silent disappointment +at Christmas was still too vividly before her. +Nor did she feel she could tell her aunt. She hadn't the +courage to face her aunt's expostulations and final +distressed giving in. Her aunt, who loomed so enormous +in Wemyss's eyes, seemed to Lucy to be only half the +size she used to be. She seemed to have been worried +small by her position, like a bone among contending +dogs, in the middle of different indignations. What +would be the effect on her of this final blow? The +thought of it haunted Lucy and spoilt all the last days +before her marriage, days which she otherwise would +have loved, because she very quickly became infected +by the boyish delight and excitement over their secret +that made Wemyss hardly able to keep still in his chair. +He didn't keep still in it. Once at least he got up and +did some slow steps about the room, moving with an +apparent solemnity because of not being used to such +steps, which he informed her presently were a dance. +Till he told her this she watched him too much surprised +to say anything. So did penguins dance in pictures. +She couldn't think what was the matter with him. +When he had done, and told her, breathing a little hard, +that it was a dance symbolic of married happiness, she +laughed and laughed, and flew to hug him.</p> + +<p>'Baby, oh, baby!' she said, rubbing her cheek up +and down his coat.</p> + +<p>'Who's another baby?' he asked, breathless but +beaming.</p> + +<p>Such was their conversation.</p> + +<p>But poor Aunt Dot....</p> + +<p>Lucy couldn't bear to think of poor little kind Aunt +Dot. She had been so wonderful, so patient, and she +would be deeply horrified by a runaway marriage. +Never, never would she understand the reason for it. +She didn't a bit understand Everard, didn't begin to +understand him, and that his birthday should be a +reason for breaking what she would regard as the common +decencies would of course only seem to her too childish to +be even discussed. Lucy was afraid Aunt Dot was going +to be very much upset, poor darling little Aunt Dot. +Conscience-stricken, she couldn't do enough for Aunt +Dot now that the secret date was fixed. She watched +for every possible want during their times alone, flew +to fetch things, darted at dropped handkerchiefs, kissed +her not only at bedtime and in the morning but whenever +there was the least excuse and with the utmost +tenderness; and every kiss and every look seemed to +say, 'Forgive me.'</p> + +<p>'Are they going to run away?' wondered Miss +Entwhistle presently.</p> + +<p>Lucy would have been immensely taken aback, and +perhaps, such is one's perversity, even hurt, if she could +have seen the ray of hope which at this thought lit her +Aunt Dot's exhausted mind; for Miss Entwhistle's +life, which had been a particularly ordered and calm +one up to the day when Wemyss first called at Eaton +Terrace, had since then been nothing but just confused +clamour. Everybody was displeased with her, and each +for directly opposite reasons. She had fallen on evil +days, and they had by February been going on so long +that she felt worn out. Wemyss, she was quite aware, +disliked her heartily; her Jim was dead; Lucy, her +one living relation, so tenderly loved, was every day +disappearing further before her very eyes into Wemyss's +personality, into what she sometimes was betrayed by +fatigue and impatience into calling to herself the Wemyss +maw; and her little house, which had always been so +placid, had become, she wearily felt, the cockpit of +London. She used to crawl back to it with footsteps +that lagged more and more the nearer she got, after her +enforced prolonged daily outings—enforced and +prolonged because the house couldn't possibly hold both +herself and Wemyss except for the briefest moments,—and +drearily wonder what letters she would find from +Jim's friends scolding her, and what fresh arrangements +in the way of tiring motor excursions, or invitations to +tea at that dreadful house in Lancaster Gate, would be +sprung upon her. Did all engagements pursue such a +turbulent course? she asked herself,—she had given up +asking the oracle of Chesham Street anything because +of her disconcerting answers. How glad she was she +had never been engaged; how glad she was she had +refused the offers she had had when she was a girl. +Quite recently she had met one of those would-be +husbands in an omnibus, and how glad she was when +she looked at him that she had refused him. People +don't keep well, mused Miss Entwhistle. If Lucy would +only refuse Wemyss now, how glad she would be that she +had when she met him in ten years' time in an omnibus.</p> + +<p>But these, of course, were merely the reflections of +a tired-out spinster, and she still had enough spirit to +laugh at them to herself. After all, whatever she might +feel about Wemyss Lucy adored him, and when anybody +adores anybody as much as that, Miss Entwhistle +thought, the only thing to do is to marry and have done +with it. No; that was cynical. She meant, marry +and not have done with it. Ah, if only the child were +marrying that nice young Teddy Trevor, her own age +and so devoted, and with every window-sill throughout +his house in Chelsea the proper height....</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle was very unhappy all this time, +besides having feet that continually ached. Though +she dreaded the marriage, yet she couldn't help feeling +that it would be delicious to be able once more to sit +down. How enchanting to sit quietly in her own empty +drawing-room, and not to have to walk about London +any more. How enchanting not to make any further +attempts to persuade herself that she enjoyed Battersea +Park, and liked the Embankment, and was entertained +by Westminster Abbey. What she wanted with an +increasing longing that amounted at last to desperation +as the winter dragged on, was her own chair by the fire +and an occasional middle-aged crony to tea. She had +reached the time of life when one likes sitting down. +Also she had definitely got to the period of cronies. +One's contemporaries—people who had worn the same +kinds of clothes as oneself in girlhood, who remembered +bishop's sleeves and could laugh with one about bustles—how +very much one longed for one's contemporaries.</p> + +<p>When, then, Lucy's behaviour suddenly became so +markedly attentive and so very tender, when she caught +her looking at her with wistful affection and flushing on +being caught, when her good-nights and good-mornings +were many kisses instead of one, and she kept on jumping +up and bringing her teaspoons she hadn't asked for +and sugar she didn't want, Miss Entwhistle began to +revive.</p> + +<p>'Is it possible they're going to run away?' she +wondered; and so much reduced was she that she +very nearly hoped so.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XIII</h2> + + +<p>Lucy had meant to do exactly as Wemyss said and keep +her marriage secret, creeping out of the house quietly, +going off with him abroad after the registrar had bound +them together, and telegraphing or writing to her aunt +from some safe distant place <i>en route</i> like Boulogne; +but on saying good-night the evening before the wedding +day, to her very great consternation her aunt, whom she +was in the act of kissing, suddenly pushed her gently +a little away, looked at her a moment, and then +holding her by both arms said with conviction, 'It's +to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>Lucy could only stare. She stared idiotically, open-mouthed, +her face scarlet. She looked and felt both +foolish and frightened. Aunt Dot was uncanny. If +she had discovered, how had she discovered? And +what was she going to do? But had she discovered, +or was it just something she chanced to remember, +some engagement Lucy had naturally forgotten, or +perhaps only somebody coming to tea?</p> + +<p>She clutched at this straw. 'What is to-morrow?' +she stammered, scarlet with fright and guilt.</p> + +<p>And her aunt made herself perfectly clear by replying, +'Your wedding.'</p> + +<p>Then Lucy fell on her neck and cried and told her +everything, and her wonderful, unexpected, uncanny, +adorable little aunt, instead of being upset and making +her feel too wicked and ungrateful to live, was full of +sympathy and understanding. They sobbed together, +sitting on the sofa locked in each other's arms, but it +was a sweet sobbing, for they both felt at this moment +how much they loved each other. Miss Entwhistle +wished she had never had a single critical impatient +thought of the man this darling little child so deeply +loved, and Lucy wished she had never had a single +secret from this darling little aunt Everard so blindly +didn't love. Dear, dear little Aunt Dot. Lucy's heart +was big with gratitude and tenderness and pity,—pity +because she herself was so gloriously happy and +surrounded by love, and Aunt Dot's life seemed, compared +to hers, so empty, so solitary, and going to be like that +till the end of her days; and Miss Entwhistle's heart +was big with yearning over this lamb of Jim's who was +giving herself with such fearlessness, all lit up by radiant +love, into the hands of a strange husband. Presently, +of course, he wouldn't be a strange husband, he would +be a familiar husband; but would he be any the better +for that, she wondered? They sobbed, and kissed, +and sobbed again, each keeping half her thoughts to +herself.</p> + +<p>This is how it was that Miss Entwhistle walked into +the registrar's office with Lucy next morning and was +one of the witnesses of the marriage.</p> + +<p>Wemyss had a very bad moment when he saw her +come in. His heart gave a great thump, such as it had +never done in his life before, for he thought there was +to be a hitch and that at the very last minute he was +somehow not going to get his Lucy. Then he looked at +Lucy and was reassured. Her face was like the morning +of a perfect day in its cloudlessness, her Love-in-a-Mist +eyes were dewy with tenderness as they rested on him, +and her mouth was twisted up by happiness into the +sweetest, funniest little crooked smile. If only she +would take off her hat, thought Wemyss, bursting with +pride, so that the registrar could see how young she +looked with her short hair,—why, perhaps the old boy +might think she was too young to be married and start +asking searching questions! What fun that would be.</p> + +<p>He himself produced the effect on Miss Entwhistle, +as he stood next to Lucy being married, of an enormous +schoolboy who has just won some silver cup or other +for his House after immense exertions. He had exactly +that glowing face of suppressed triumph and pride; he +was red with delighted achievement.</p> + +<p>'Put the ring on your wife's finger,' ordered the +registrar when, having got through the first part of +the ceremony, Wemyss, busy beaming down at Lucy, +forgot there was anything more to do. And Lucy +stuck up her hand with all the fingers spread out and +stiff, and her face beamed too with happiness at the +words, 'Your wife.'</p> + +<p>'"Nothing is here for tears,"' quoted Miss Entwhistle +to herself, watching the blissful absorption with +which they were both engaged in getting the ring +successfully over the knuckle of the proper finger. +'He really <i>is</i> a—a dear. Yes. Of course. But how +queer life is. I wonder what he was doing this day +last year, he and that poor other wife of his.'</p> + +<p>When it was over and they were outside on the +steps, with the taxi Wemyss had come in waiting to +take them to the station, Miss Entwhistle realised that +here was the place and moment of good-bye, and that +not only could she go no further with Lucy but that +from now on she could do nothing more for her. Except +love her. Except listen to her. Ah, she would always +be there to love and listen to her; but happiest of all +it would be for the little thing if she never, from her, +were to need either of those services.</p> + +<p>At the last moment she put her hand impulsively +on Wemyss's breast and looked up into +his triumphant, flushed face and said, 'Be kind to +her.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, Aunt Dot!' laughed Lucy, turning to hug her +once more.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Aunt Dot!' laughed Wemyss, vigorously +shaking her hand.</p> + +<p>They went down the steps, leaving her standing alone +on the top, and she watched the departing taxi with the +two heads bobbing up and down at the window and the +four hands waving good-byes. That taxi window could +never have framed in so much triumph, so much radiance +before. Well, well, thought Aunt Dot, going down in +her turn when the last glimpse of them had disappeared, +and walking slowly homeward; and she added, after a +space of further reflection, 'He really <i>is</i> a—a dear.'</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XIV</h2> + + +<p>Marriage, Lucy found, was different from what she +had supposed; Everard was different; everything was +different. For one thing she was always sleepy. For +another she was never alone. She hadn't realised how +completely she would never be alone, or, if alone, not +sure for one minute to the other of going on being alone. +Always in her life there had been intervals during +which she recuperated in solitude from any strain; +now there were none. Always there had been places +she could go to and rest in quietly, safe from interruption; +now there were none. The very sight of their +room at the hotels they stayed at, with Wemyss's suitcases +and clothes piled on the chairs, and the table +covered with his brushes and shaving things, for he +wouldn't have a dressing-room, being too natural and +wholesome, he explained, to want anything separate +from his own woman—the very sight of this room +fatigued her. After a day of churches, pictures and +restaurants—he was a most conscientious sightseer, +besides being greatly interested in his meals—to come +back to this room wasn't rest but further fatigue. +Wemyss, who was never tired and slept wonderfully—it +was the soundness of his sleep that kept her awake, +because she wasn't used to hearing sound sleep so +close—would fling himself into the one easy-chair and +pull her on to his knee, and having kissed her a great +many times he would ruffle her hair, and then when +it was all on ends like a boy's coming out of a bath, +look at her with the pride of possession and say, 'There's +a wife for a respectable British business man to have! +Mrs. Wemyss, aren't you ashamed of yourself?' And +then there would be more kissing,—jovial, gluttonous +kisses, that made her skin rough and chapped.</p> + +<p>'Baby,' she would say, feebly struggling, and smiling +a little wearily.</p> + +<p>Yes, he was a baby, a dear, high-spirited baby, but +a baby now at very close quarters and one that went +on all the time. You couldn't put him in a cot and +give him a bottle and say, 'There now,' and then sit +down quietly to a little sewing; you didn't have Sundays +out; you were never, day or night, an instant off duty. +Lucy couldn't count the number of times a day she had +to answer the question, 'Who's my own little wife?' +At first she answered it with laughing ecstasy, running +into his outstretched arms, but very soon that fatal +sleepiness set in and remained with her for the whole +of her honeymoon, and she really felt too tired sometimes +to get the ecstasy she quickly got to know was +expected of her into her voice. She loved him, she was +indeed his own little wife, but constantly to answer +this and questions like it satisfactorily was a great +exertion. Yet if there was a shadow of hesitation +before she answered, a hair's-breadth of delay owing to +her thoughts having momentarily wandered, Wemyss was +upset, and she had to spend quite a long time reassuring +him with the fondest whispers and caresses. Her +thoughts mustn't wander, she had discovered; her +thoughts were to be his as well as all the rest of her. +Was ever a girl so much loved? she asked herself, +astonished and proud; but, on the other hand, she +was dreadfully sleepy.</p> + +<p>Any thinking she did had to be done at night, when +she lay awake because of the immense emphasis with +which Wemyss slept, and she hadn't been married a +week before she was reflecting what a bad arrangement +it was, the way ecstasy seemed to have no staying power. +Also it oughtn't to begin, she considered, at its topmost +height and accordingly not be able to move except +downwards. If one could only start modestly in +marriage with very little of it and work steadily upwards, +taking one's time, knowing there was more and more +to come, it would be much better she thought. No +doubt it would go on longer if one slept better and hadn't, +consequently, got headaches. Everard's ecstasy went +on. Perhaps by ecstasy she really meant high spirits, +and Everard was beside himself with high spirits.</p> + +<p>Wemyss was indeed the typical bridegroom of the +Psalms, issuing forth rejoicing from his chamber. Lucy +wished she could issue forth from it rejoicing too. She +was vexed with herself for being so stupidly sleepy, for +not being able to get used to the noise beside her at +night and go to sleep as naturally as she did in Eaton +Terrace, in spite of the horns of taxis. It wasn't fair +to Everard, she felt, not to find a wife in the morning +matching him in spirits. Perhaps, however, this was a +condition peculiar to honeymoons, and marriage, once +the honeymoon was over, would be a more tranquil state. +Things would settle down when they were back in +England, to a different, more separated life in which +there would be time to rest, time to think; time to +remember, while he was away at his office, how deeply +she loved him. And surely she would learn to sleep; +and once she slept properly she would be able to answer +his loving questions throughout the day with more +real <i>élan</i>.</p> + +<p>But,—there in England waiting for her, inevitable, +no longer to be put off or avoided, was The Willows. +Whenever her thoughts reached that house they gave +a little jump and tried to slink away. She was ashamed +of herself, it was ridiculous, and Everard's attitude was +plainly the sensible one, and if he could adopt it surely +she, who hadn't gone through that terrible afternoon +last July, could; yet she failed to see herself in The +Willows, she failed altogether to imagine it. How, for +instance, was she going to sit on that terrace,—'We +always have tea in fine weather on the terrace,' Wemyss +had casually remarked, apparently quite untouched by +the least memory—how was she going to have tea on +the very flags perhaps where.... Her thoughts slunk +away; but not before one of them had sent a curdling +whisper through her mind, '<i>The tea would taste of blood</i>.'</p> + +<p>Well, this was sleeplessness. She never in her life +had had that sort of absurd thought. It was just that +she didn't sleep, and so her brain was relaxed and let +the reins of her thinking go slack. The day her father +died, it's true, when it began to be evening and she was +afraid of the night alone with him in his mysterious +indifference, she had begun thinking absurdly, but +Everard had come and saved her. He could save her +from this too if she could tell him; only she couldn't +tell him. How could she spoil his joy in his home? +It was the thing he loved next best to her.</p> + +<p>As the honeymoon went on and Wemyss's ecstasies +a little subsided, as he began to tire of so many trains—after +Paris they did the châteaux country—and hotels +and waiters and taxis and restaurants, and the cooking +which he had at first enjoyed now only increased his +longing at every meal for a plain English steak and boiled +potatoes, he talked more and more of The Willows. +With almost the same eagerness as that which had so +much enchanted and moved her before their marriage +when he talked of their wedding day, he now talked of +The Willows and the day when he would show it to her. +He counted the days now to that day. The 4th of +April; his birthday; on that happy day he would lead +his little wife into the home he loved. How could she, +when he talked like that, do anything but pretend +enthusiasm and looking forward? He had apparently +entirely forgotten what she had told him about her +reluctance to go there at Christmas. She was astonished +that, when the first bliss of being married to her had +worn off and his thoughts were free for this other thing +he so much loved, his home, he didn't approach it with +more care for what he must know was her feeling about +it. She was still more astonished when she realised +that he had entirely forgotten her feeling about it. It +would be, she felt, impossible to shadow his happiness +at the prospect of showing her his home by any reminder +of her reluctance. Besides, she was certainly going to +have to live at The Willows, so what was the use of +talking?</p> + +<p>'I suppose,' she did say hesitatingly one day when +he was describing it to her for the hundredth time, for +it was his habit to describe the same thing often, 'you've +changed your room——?'</p> + +<p>They were sitting at the moment, resting after the +climb up, on one of the terraces of the Château of +Amboise, with a view across the Loire of an immense +horizon, and Wemyss had been comparing it, to its +disadvantage, when he recovered his breath, with the +view from his bedroom window at The Willows. It +wasn't very nice weather, and they both were cold and +tired, and it was still only eleven o'clock in the morning.</p> + +<p>'Change my room? What room?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'Your—the room you and—the room you slept in.'</p> + +<p>'My bedroom? I should think not. It's the best +room in the house. Why do you think I've changed +it?' And he looked at her with a surprised face.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I don't know,' said Lucy, taking refuge in +stroking his hand. 'I only thought——'</p> + +<p>An inkling of what was in her mind penetrated into +his, and his voice went grave.</p> + +<p>'You mustn't think,' he said. 'You mustn't be +morbid. Now Lucy, I can't have that. It will spoil +everything if you let yourself be morbid. And you +promised me before our marriage you wouldn't be. +Have you forgotten?'</p> + +<p>He turned to her and took her face in both his hands +and searched her eyes with his own very solemn ones, +while the woman who was conducting them over the +castle went to the low parapet, and stood with her back +to them studying the view and yawning.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Everard—of course I haven't forgotten. I've +not forgotten anything I promised you, and never will. +But—have I got to go into that bedroom too?'</p> + +<p>He was really astonished. 'Have you got to go into +that bedroom too?' he repeated, staring at the face +enclosed in his two big hands. It looked extraordinarily +pretty like that, like a small flower in its delicate whiteness +next to his discoloured, middle-aged hands, and +her mouth since her marriage seemed to have become +an even more vivid red than it used to be, and her eyes +were young enough to be made more beautiful instead +of less by the languor of want of sleep. 'Well, I should +think so. Aren't you my wife?'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Lucy. 'But——'</p> + +<p>'Now, Lucy, I'll have no buts,' he said, with his +most serious air, kissing her on the cheek, she had +discovered that just that kind of kiss was a rebuke. +'Those buts of yours butt in——'</p> + +<p>He stopped, struck by what he had said.</p> + +<p>'I think that was rather amusing—don't you?' he +asked, suddenly smiling.</p> + +<p>'Oh yes—very,' said Lucy eagerly, smiling too, +delighted that he should switch off from solemnity.</p> + +<p>He kissed her again,—this time a real kiss, on her +funny, charming mouth.</p> + +<p>'I suppose you'll admit,' he said, laughing and +squeezing up her face into a quaint crumpled shape, +'that either you're my wife or not my wife, and that +if you're my wife——'</p> + +<p>'Oh, I'm <i>that</i> all right,' laughed Lucy.</p> + +<p>'Then you share my room. None of these damned +new-fangled notions for me, young woman.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, but I didn't mean——'</p> + +<p>'What? Another but?' he exclaimed, pouncing +down on to her mouth and stopping it with an +enormous kiss.</p> + +<p>'<i>Monsieur et Madame se refroidiront</i>,' said the woman, +turning round and drawing her shawl closer over her +chest as a gust of chilly wind swept over the terrace.</p> + +<p>They were honeymooners, poor creatures, and therefore +one had patience; but even honeymooners oughtn't +to wish to embrace in a cold wind on an exposed terrace +of a château round which they were being conducted +by a woman who was in a hurry to return to the preparation +of her Sunday dinner. For such purposes hotels +were provided, and the shelter of a comfortable warm +room. She had supposed them to be <i>père et fille</i> when +first she admitted them, but was soon aware of their +real relationship. '<i>Il doit être bien riche</i>,' had been her +conclusion.</p> + +<p>'Come along, come along,' said Wemyss, getting up +quickly, for he too felt the gust of cold wind. 'Let's +finish the château or we'll be late for lunch. I wish +they hadn't preserved so many of these places—one +would have been quite enough to show us the sort +of thing.'</p> + +<p>'But we needn't go and look at them all,' said Lucy.</p> + +<p>'Oh yes we must. We've arranged to.'</p> + +<p>'But Everard——' began Lucy, following after him +as he followed after the conductress, who had a way of +darting out of sight round corners.</p> + +<p>'This woman's like a lizard,' panted Wemyss, arriving +round a corner only to see her disappear through an +arch. 'Won't we be happy when it's time to go back +to England and not have to see any more sights.'</p> + +<p>'But why don't we go back now, if you feel like it?' +asked Lucy, trotting after him as he on his big legs +pursued the retreating conductress, and anxious to +show him, by eagerness to go sooner to The Willows than +was arranged, that she wasn't being morbid.</p> + +<p>'Why, you know we can't leave before the 3rd of +April,' said Wemyss, over his shoulder. 'It's all +settled.'</p> + +<p>'But can't it be unsettled?'</p> + +<p>'What, and upset all the plans, and arrive home +before my birthday?' He stopped and turned round +to stare at her. 'Really, my dear——' he said.</p> + +<p>She had discovered that my dear was a term of +rebuke.</p> + +<p>'Oh yes—of course,' she said hastily, 'I forgot +about your birthday.'</p> + +<p>At that Wemyss stared at her harder than ever; +incredulously, in fact. Forgot about his birthday? +<i>Lucy</i> had forgotten? If it had been Vera, now—but +Lucy? He was deeply hurt. He was so much hurt +that he stood quite still, and the conductress was +obliged, on discovering that she was no longer being +followed, to wait once more for the honeymooners; +which she did, clutching her shawl round her abundant +French chest and shivering.</p> + +<p>What had she said, Lucy hurriedly asked herself, +nipping over her last words in her mind, for she had +learned by now what he looked like when he was hurt. +Oh yes,—the birthday. How stupid of her. But it +was because birthdays in her family were so unimportant, +and nobody had minded whether they were remembered +or not.</p> + +<p>'I didn't mean that,' she said earnestly, laying her +hand on his breast. 'Of course I hadn't forgotten +anything so precious. It only had—well, you know +what even the most wonderful things do sometimes—it—it +had escaped my memory.'</p> + +<p>'Lucy! Escaped your memory? The day to which +you owe your husband?'</p> + +<p>Wemyss said this with such an exaggerated solemnity, +such an immense pomposity, that she thought he was in +fun and hadn't really minded about the birthday at all; +and, eager to meet every mood of his, she laughed. +Relieved, she was so unfortunate as to laugh merrily.</p> + +<p>To her consternation, after a moment's further stare +he turned his back on her without a word and walked on.</p> + +<p>Then she realised what she had done, that she had +laughed—oh, how dreadful!—in the wrong place, and +she ran after him and put her arm through his, and +tried to lay her cheek against his sleeve, which was +difficult because of the way their paces didn't match +and also because he took no notice of her, and said, +'Baby—baby—were his dear feelings hurt, then?' and +coaxed him.</p> + +<p>But he wouldn't be coaxed. She had wounded him +too deeply,—laughing, he said to himself, at what was +to him the most sacred thing in life, the fact that he +was her husband, that she was his wife.</p> + +<p>'Oh, Everard,' she murmured at last, withdrawing +her arm, giving up, 'don't spoil our day.'</p> + +<p>Spoil their day? He? That finished it.</p> + +<p>He didn't speak to her again till night. Then, in +bed, after she had cried bitterly for a long while, because +she couldn't make out what really had happened, and +she loved him so much, and wouldn't hurt him for +the world, and was heart-broken because she had, and +anyhow was tired out, he at last turned to her and took +her to his arms again and forgave her.</p> + +<p>'I can't live,' sobbed Lucy, 'I can't live—if you +don't go on loving me—if we don't understand——'</p> + +<p>'My little Love,' said Wemyss, melted by the way +her small body was shaking in his arms, and rather +frightened, too, at the excess of her woe. 'My little +Love don't. You mustn't. Your Everard loves you, +and you mustn't give way like this. You'll be ill. +Think how miserable you'd make him then.'</p> + +<p>And in the dark he kissed away her tears, and held +her close till her sobbing quieted down; and presently, +held close like that, his kisses shutting her smarting eyes, +she now the baby comforted and reassured, and he the +soothing nurse, she fell asleep, and for the first time +since her marriage slept all night.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XV</h2> + + +<p>Early in their engagement Wemyss had expounded his +theory to Lucy that there should be the most perfect +frankness between lovers, while as for husband and wife +there oughtn't to be a corner anywhere about either of +them, mind, body, or soul, which couldn't be revealed +to the other one.</p> + +<p>'You can talk about everything to your Everard,' +he assured her. 'Tell him your innermost thoughts, +whatever they may be. You need no more be ashamed +of telling him than of thinking them by yourself. He +<i>is</i> you. You and he are one in mind and soul now, +and when he is your husband you and he will become +perfect and complete by being one in body as well. +Everard—Lucy. Lucy—Everard. We shan't know +where one ends and the other begins. That, little Love, +is real marriage. What do you think of it?'</p> + +<p>Lucy thought so highly of it that she had no words +with which to express her admiration, and fell to kissing +him instead. What ideal happiness, to be for ever +removed from the fear of loneliness by the simple +expedient of being doubled; and who so happy as herself +to have found the exactly right person for this doubling, +one she could so perfectly agree with and understand? +She felt quite sorry she had nothing in her mind in the +way of thoughts she was ashamed of to tell him then +and there, but there wasn't a doubt, there wasn't a +shred of anything a little wrong, not even an unworthy +suspicion. Her mind was a chalice filled only with love, +and so clear and bright was the love that even at the +bottom, when she stirred it up to look, there wasn't a +trace of sediment.</p> + +<p>But marriage—or was it sleeplessness?—completely +changed this, and there were perfect crowds of thoughts +in her mind that she was thoroughly ashamed of. +Remembering his words, and whole-heartedly agreeing +that to be able to tell each other everything, to have +no concealments, was real marriage, the day after her +wedding she first of all reminded him of what he had +said, then plunged bravely into the announcement that +she'd got a thought she was ashamed of.</p> + +<p>Wemyss pricked up his ears, thinking it was something +interesting to do with sex, and waited with an +amused, inquisitive smile. But Lucy in such matters +was content to follow him, aware of her want of +experience and of the abundance of his, and the thought +that was worrying her only had to do with a waiter. +A waiter, if you please.</p> + +<p>Wemyss's smile died away. He had had occasion +to reprimand this waiter at lunch for gross negligence, +and here was Lucy alleging he had done so without +any reason that she could see, and anyhow roughly. +Would he remove the feeling of discomfort she had at +being forced to think her own heart's beloved, the kindest +and gentlest of men, hadn't been kind and gentle but +unjust, by explaining?</p> + +<p>Well, that was at the very beginning. She soon +learned that a doubt in her mind was better kept there. +If she brought it out to air it and dispel it by talking +it over with him, all that happened was that he was +hurt, and when he was hurt she instantly became +perfectly miserable. Seeing, then, that this happened +about small things, how impossible it was to talk with +him of big things; of, especially, her immense doubt in +regard to The Willows. For a long while she was sure +he was bearing her feeling in mind, since it couldn't +have changed since Christmas, and that when she +arrived there she would find that he had had everything +altered and all traces of Vera's life there removed. +Then, when he began to talk about The Willows, she +found that such an idea as alterations hadn't entered +his head. She was to sleep in the very room that had +been his and Vera's, in the very bed. And positively, +so far was it from true that she could tell him every +thought and talk everything over with him, when +she discovered this she wasn't able to say more than +that hesitating remark on the château terrace at Amboise +about supposing he was going to change his bedroom.</p> + +<p>Yet The Willows haunted her, and what a comfort +it would have been to tell him all she felt and let +him help her to get rid of her growing obsession by +laughing at her. What a comfort if, even if he had +thought her too silly and morbid to be laughed at, +he had indulged her and consented to alter those +rooms. But one learns a lot on a honeymoon, Lucy +reflected, and one of the things she had learned was +that Wemyss's mind was always made up. There +seemed to be no moment when it was in a condition of +becoming, and she might have slipped in a suggestion +or laid a wish before him; his plans were sprung upon +her full fledged, and they were unalterable. Sometimes +he said, 'Would you like——?' and if she didn't +like, and answered truthfully, as she answered at first +before she learned not to, there was trouble. Silent +trouble. A retiring of Wemyss into a hurt aloofness, +for his question was only decorative, and his little Love +should instinctively, he considered, like what he liked; +and there outside this aloofness, after efforts to get +at him with fond and anxious questions, she sat like a +beggar in patient distress, waiting for him to emerge +and be kind to her.</p> + +<p>Of course as far as the minor wishes and preferences +of every day went it was all quite easy, once she had +grasped the right answer to the question, 'Would you +like?' She instantly did like. 'Oh yes—<i>very</i> much!' +she hastened to assure him; and then his face continued +content and happy instead of clouding with aggrievement. +But about the big things it wasn't easy, because +of the difficulty of getting the right flavour of enthusiasm +into her voice, and if she didn't get it in he would put +his finger under her chin and turn her to the light +and repeat the question in a solemn voice,—precursor, +she had learned, of the beginning of the cloud on his +face.</p> + +<p>How difficult it was sometimes. When he said to +her, 'You'll like the view from your sitting-room at +The Willows,' she naturally wanted to cry out that +she wouldn't, and ask him how he could suppose she +would like what was to her a view for ever associated +with death? Why shouldn't she be able to cry out +naturally if she wanted to, to talk to him frankly, to +get his help to cure herself of what was so ridiculous +by laughing at it with him? She couldn't laugh all +alone, though she was always trying to; with him she +could have, and so have become quite sensible. For +he was so much bigger than she was, so wonderful in +the way he had triumphed over diseased thinking, and +his wholesomeness would spread over her too, a purging, +disinfecting influence, if only he would let her talk, if +only he would help her to laugh. Instead, she found +herself hurriedly saying in a small, anxious voice, 'Oh +yes—<i>very</i> much!'</p> + +<p>'Is it possible,' she thought, 'that I am abject?'</p> + +<p>Yes, she was extremely abject, she reflected, lying +awake at night considering her behaviour during the +day. Love had made her so. Love did make one +abject, for it was full of fear of hurting the beloved. +The assertion of the Scriptures that perfect love casteth +out fear only showed, seeing that her love for Everard +was certainly perfect, how little the Scriptures really +knew what they were talking about.</p> + +<p>Well, if she couldn't tell him the things she was +feeling, why couldn't she get rid of the sorts of feelings +she couldn't tell him, and just be wholesome? Why +couldn't she be at least as wholesome about going to +that house as Everard? If anybody was justified in +shrinking from The Willows it was Everard, not herself. +Sometimes Lucy would be sure that deep in his character +there was a wonderful store of simple courage. +He didn't speak of Vera's death, naturally he didn't +wish to speak of that awful afternoon, but how often +he must think of it, hiding his thoughts even from her, +bearing them altogether alone. Sometimes she was sure +of this, and sometimes she was equally sure of the very +opposite. From the way he looked, the way he spoke, +from those tiny indications that one somehow has +noticed without knowing that one has noticed and that +are so far more revealing and conclusive than any words, +she sometimes was sure he really had forgotten. But +this was too incredible. She couldn't believe it. What +had perhaps happened, she thought, was that in self-defence, +for the preservation of his peace, he had made +up his mind never to think of Vera. Only by banishing +her altogether from his mind would he be safe. Yet +that couldn't be true either, for several times on the +honeymoon he had begun talking of her, of things she +had said, of things she had liked, and it was she, Lucy, +who stopped him. She shrank from hearing anything +about Vera. She especially shrank from hearing her +mentioned casually. She was ready to brace herself +to talk about her if it was to be a serious talk, because +she wanted to help and comfort him whenever the +remembrance of her death arose to torment him, but +she couldn't bear to hear her mentioned casually. In +a way she admired this casualness, because it was a +proof of the supreme wholesomeness Everard had +attained to by sheer courageous determination, but +even so she couldn't help thinking that she would have +preferred a little less of just this kind of wholesomeness +in her beloved. She might be too morbid, but wasn't +it possible to be too wholesome? Anyhow she shrank +from the intrusion of Vera into her honeymoon. That, +at least, ought to be kept free from her. Later on at +The Willows....</p> + +<p>Lucy fought and fought against it, but always at +the back of her mind was the thought, not looked at, +slunk away from, but nevertheless fixed, that there at +The Willows, waiting for her, was Vera.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XVI</h2> + + +<p>Those who go to Strorley, and cross the bridge to the +other side of the river, have only to follow the towpath +for a little to come to The Willows. It can also be +reached by road, through a white gate down a lane +that grows more and more willowy as it gets nearer the +river and the house, but is quite passable for carts and +even for cars, except when there are floods. When +there are floods this lane disappears, and when the +floods have subsided it is black and oozing for a long +time afterwards, with clouds of tiny flies dancing about +in it if the weather is at all warm, and the shoes of those +who walk stick in it and come off, and those who drive, +especially if they drive a car, have trouble. But all +is well once a second white gate is reached, on the +other side of which is a gravel sweep, a variety of +handsome shrubs, nicely kept lawns, and The Willows. +There are no big trees in the garden of The Willows, +because it was built in the middle of meadows where +there weren't any, but all round the iron railings of +the square garden—the house being the centre of the +square—and concealing the wire netting which keeps +the pasturing cows from thrusting their heads through +and eating the shrubs, is a fringe of willows. Hence +its name.</p> + +<p>'A house,' said Wemyss, explaining its name to +Lucy on the morning of their arrival, 'should always +be named after whatever most insistently catches +the eye.'</p> + +<p>'Then oughtn't it to have been called The Cows?' +asked Lucy; for the meadows round were strewn +thickly as far as she could see with recumbent cows, +and they caught her eye much more than the tossing +bare willow branches.</p> + +<p>'No,' said Wemyss, annoyed. 'It ought not have +been called The Cows.'</p> + +<p>'No—of course I didn't mean that,' she said hastily.</p> + +<p>Lucy was nervous, and said what first came into +her head, and had been saying things of this nature +the whole journey down. She didn't want to, she +knew he didn't like it, but she couldn't stop.</p> + +<p>They had just arrived, and were standing on the +front steps while the servants unloaded the fly that +had brought them from the station, and Wemyss was +pointing out what he wished her to look at and admire +from that raised-up place before taking her indoors. +Lucy was glad of any excuse that delayed going indoors, +that kept her on the west side of the house, furthest +away from the terrace and the library window. Indoors +would be the rooms, the unaltered rooms, the library +past whose window..., the sitting-room at the top +of the house out of whose window..., the bedroom +she was going to sleep in with the very bed.... It was +too miserably absurd, too unbalanced of her for anything +but shame and self-contempt, how she couldn't +get away from the feeling that indoors waiting for her +would be Vera.</p> + +<p>It was a grey, windy morning, with low clouds +scurrying across the meadows. The house was raised +well above flood level, and standing on the top step +she could see how far the meadows stretched beyond +the swaying willow hedge. Grey sky, grey water, green +fields,—it was all grey and green except the house, +which was red brick with handsome stone facings, and +made, in its exposed position unhidden by any trees, +a great splotch of vivid red in the landscape.</p> + +<p>'Like blood,' said Lucy to herself; and was +immediately ashamed.</p> + +<p>'Oh, how bracing!' she cried, spreading out her +arms and letting the wind blow her serge wrap out +behind her like a flag. It whipped her skirt round +her body, showing its slender pretty lines, and the +parlourmaid, going in and out with the luggage, looked +curiously at this small juvenile new mistress. 'Oh, I +love this wind—don't take me indoors yet——'</p> + +<p>Wemyss was pleased that she should like the wind, +for was it not by the time it reached his house part, too, +of his property? His face, which had clouded a little +because of The Cows, cleared again.</p> + +<p>But she didn't really like the wind at all, she never +had liked anything that blustered and was cold, and if +she hadn't been nervous the last thing she would have +done was to stand there letting it blow her to pieces.</p> + +<p>'And what a lot of laurels!' she exclaimed, holding +on her hat with one hand and with the other pointing +to a corner filled with these shrubs.</p> + +<p>'Yes. I'll take you round the garden after lunch,' +said Wemyss. 'We'll go in now.'</p> + +<p>'And—and laurustinus. I love laurustinus——'</p> + +<p>'Yes. Vera planted that. It has done very well. +Come in now——'</p> + +<p>'And—look, what are those bare things without any +leaves yet?'</p> + +<p>'I'll show you everything after lunch, Lucy. Come +in——' And he put his arm about her shoulders, and +urged her through the door the maid was holding open +with difficulty because of the wind.</p> + +<p>There she was, then, actually inside The Willows. +The door was shut behind her. She looked about her +shrinkingly.</p> + +<p>They were in a roomy place with a staircase in it.</p> + +<p>'The hall,' said Wemyss, standing still, his arm +round her.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Lucy.</p> + +<p>'Oak,' said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Lucy.</p> + +<p>He gazed round him with a sigh of satisfaction at +having got back to it.</p> + +<p>'All oak,' he said. 'You'll find nothing gimcrack +about <i>my</i> house, little Love. Where are those flowers?' +he added, turning sharply to the parlourmaid. 'I +don't see my yellow flowers.'</p> + +<p>'They're in the dining-room, sir,' said the parlourmaid.</p> + +<p>'Why aren't they where I could see them the first +thing?'</p> + +<p>'I understood the orders were they were always to +be on the breakfast-table, sir.'</p> + +<p>'Breakfast-table! When there isn't any breakfast?'</p> + +<p>'I understood——'</p> + +<p>'I'm not interested in what you understood.'</p> + +<p>Lucy here nervously interrupted, for Everard sounded +suddenly very angry, by exclaiming, 'Antlers!' and waving +her unpinned-down arm in the direction of the——</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Wemyss, his attention called off the +parlourmaid, gazing up at his walls with pride.</p> + +<p>'What a lot,' said Lucy.</p> + +<p>'Aren't there. I always said I'd have a hall with +antlers in it, and I've got it.' He hugged her close +to his side. 'And I've got you too,' he said. 'I always +get what I'm determined to get.'</p> + +<p>'Did you shoot them all yourself?' asked Lucy, +thinking the parlourmaid would take the opportunity +to disappear, and a little surprised that she continued +to stand there.</p> + +<p>'What? The beasts they belonged to? Not I. +If you want antlers the simple way is to go and buy them. +Then you get them all at once, and not gradually. The +hall was ready for them all at once, not gradually. I +got these at Whiteley's. Kiss me.'</p> + +<p>This sudden end to his remarks startled Lucy, and +she repeated in her surprise—for there still stood the +parlourmaid 'Kiss you?'</p> + +<p>'I haven't had my birthday kiss yet.'</p> + +<p>'Why, the very first thing when you woke up——'</p> + +<p>'Not my real birthday kiss in my own home.'</p> + +<p>She looked at the parlourmaid, who was quite frankly +looking at her. Well, if the parlourmaid didn't mind, +and Everard didn't mind, why should she mind?</p> + +<p>She lifted her face and kissed him; but she didn't +like kissing him or being kissed in public. What was +the point of it? Kissing Everard was a great delight +to her. A mixture of all sorts of wonderful sensations, +and she loved to do it in different ways, tenderly, +passionately, lingeringly, dreamily, amusingly, solemnly; +each kind in turn, or in varied combinations. But +among her varied combinations there was nothing that +included a parlourmaid. Consequently her kiss was of +the sort that was to be expected, perfunctory and +brief, whereupon Wemyss said, 'Lucy——' in his hurt +voice.</p> + +<p>She started.</p> + +<p>'Oh Everard—what is it?' she asked nervously.</p> + +<p>That particular one of his voices always by now made +her start, for it always took her by surprise. Pick her +way as carefully as she might among his feelings there +were always some, apparently, that she hadn't dreamed +were there and that she accordingly knocked against. +How dreadful if she had hurt him the very first thing +on getting into The Willows! And on his birthday +too. From the moment he woke that morning, all the +way down in the train, all the way in the fly from the +station, she had been unremittingly engaged in avoiding +hurting him; an activity made extra difficult by the +unfortunate way her nervousness about the house at +the journey's end impelled her to say the kinds of things +she least wanted to. Irreverent things; such as the +silly remark on his house's name. She had got on much +better the evening before at the house in Lancaster +Gate where they had slept, because gloomy as it was it +anyhow wasn't The Willows. Also there was no trace +in it that she could see of such a thing as a woman ever +having lived in it. It was a man's house; the house +of a man who has no time for pictures, or interesting +books and furniture. It was like a club and an office +mixed up together, with capacious leather chairs and +solid tables and Turkey carpets and reference books. +She found it quite impossible to imagine Vera, or any +other woman, in that house. Either Vera had spent +most of her time at The Willows, or every trace of her +had been very carefully removed. Therefore Lucy, +helped besides by extreme fatigue, for she had been +sea-sick all the way from Dieppe to Newhaven, Wemyss +having crossed that way because he was fond of the +sea, had positively been unable to think of Vera in +those surroundings and had dropped off to sleep directly +she got there and had slept all night; and of course being +asleep she naturally hadn't said anything she oughtn't +to have said, so that her first appearance in Lancaster +Gate was a success; and when she woke next morning, +and saw Wemyss's face in such unclouded tranquillity +next to hers as he still slept, she lay gazing at it with +her heart brimming with tender love and vowed that +his birthday should be as unclouded throughout as his +dear face was at that moment. She adored him. He +was her very life. She wanted nothing in the world +except for him to be happy. She would watch every +word. She really must see to it that on this day of +all days no word should escape her before it had been +turned round in her head at least three times, and +considered with the utmost care. Such were her resolutions +in the morning; and here she was not only saying +the wrong things but doing them. It was because she +hadn't expected to be told to kiss him in the presence +of a parlourmaid. She was always being tripped up +by the unexpected. She ought by now to have learned +better. How unfortunate.</p> + +<p>'Oh Everard—what is it?' she asked nervously; +but she knew before he could answer, and throwing her +objections to public caresses to the winds, for anything +was better than that he should be hurt at just that +moment, she put up her free arm and drew his head +down and kissed him again,—lingeringly this time, a +kiss of tender, appealing love. What must it be like, +she thought while she kissed him and her heart yearned +over him, to be so fearfully sensitive. It made things +difficult for her, but how much, much more difficult +for him. And how wonderful the way his sensitiveness +had developed since marriage. There had been no sign +of it before.</p> + +<p>Implicit in her kiss was an appeal not to let anything +she said or did spoil his birthday, to forgive her, to +understand. And at the back of her mind, quite +uncontrollable, quite unauthorised, ran beneath these other +thoughts this thought: 'I am certainly abject.'</p> + +<p>This time he was quickly placated because of his +excitement at getting home. 'Nobody can hurt me +as you can,' was all he said.</p> + +<p>'Oh but as though I ever, ever mean to,' she breathed, +her arm round his neck.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the parlourmaid looked on.</p> + +<p>'Why doesn't she go?' whispered Lucy, making the +most of having got his ear.</p> + +<p>'Certainly not,' said Wemyss out loud, raising his +head. 'I might want her. Do you like the hall, +little Love?'</p> + +<p>'<i>Very</i> much,' she said, loosing him.</p> + +<p>'Don't you think it's a very fine staircase?'</p> + +<p>'<i>Very</i> fine,' she said.</p> + +<p>He gazed about him with pride, standing in the +middle of the Turkey carpet holding her close to +his side.</p> + +<p>'Now look at the window,' he said, turning her +round when she had had time to absorb the staircase. +'Look—isn't it a jolly window? No nonsense about +that window. You can really see out of it, and it really +lets in light. Vera'—she winced—'tried to stuff it +all up with curtains. She said she wanted colour, or +something. Having got a beautiful garden to look out +at, what does she try to do but shut most of it out again +by putting up curtains.'</p> + +<p>The attempt had evidently not succeeded, for the +window, which was as big as a window in the waiting-room +of a London terminus, had nothing to interfere +with it but the hanging cord of a drawn-up brown holland +blind. Through it Lucy could see the whole half of +the garden on the right side of the front door with the +tossing willow hedge, the meadows, and the cows. The +leafless branches of some creeper beat against it and +made a loud irregular tapping in the pauses of Wemyss's +observations.</p> + +<p>'Plate glass,' he said.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Lucy; and something in his voice made +her add in a tone of admiration, 'Fancy.'</p> + +<p>Looking at the window they had their backs to the +stairs. Suddenly she heard footsteps coming down +them from the landing above.</p> + +<p>'Who's that?' she said quickly, with a little gasp, +before she could think, before she could stop, not +turning her head, her eyes staring at the window.</p> + +<p>'Who's what?' asked Wemyss. 'You do think it's +a jolly window, don't you, little Love?'</p> + +<p>The footsteps on the stairs stopped, and a gong she +had noticed at the angle of the turn was sounded. Her +body, which had shrunk together, relaxed. What a +fool she was.</p> + +<p>'Lunch,' said Wemyss. 'Come along—but isn't it +a jolly window, little Love?'</p> + +<p>'<i>Very</i> jolly.'</p> + +<p>He turned her round to march her off to the dining-room, +while the housemaid, who had come down from +the landing, continued to beat the gong, though there +they were obeying it under her very nose.</p> + +<p>'Don't you think that's a good place to have a +gong?' he asked, raising his voice because the gong, +which had begun quietly, was getting rapidly louder. +'Then when you're upstairs in your sitting-room you'll +hear it just as distinctly as if you were downstairs. +Vera——'</p> + +<p>But what he was going to say about Vera was drowned +this time in the increasing fury of the gong.</p> + +<p>'Why doesn't she leave off?' Lucy tried to call out +to him, straining her voice to its utmost, for the maid +was very good at the gong and was now extracting +the dreadfullest din out of it.</p> + +<p>'Eh?' shouted Wemyss.</p> + +<p>In the dining-room, whither they were preceded by +the parlourmaid, who at last had left off standing still +and had opened the door for them, as Lucy could hear +the gong continuing to be beaten though muffled now +by doors and distance, she again said, 'Why doesn't she +leave off?'</p> + +<p>Wemyss took out his watch.</p> + +<p>'She will in another fifty seconds,' he said.</p> + +<p>Lucy's mouth and eyebrows became all inquiry.</p> + +<p>'It is beaten for exactly two and a half minutes +before every meal,' he explained.</p> + +<p>'Oh?' said Lucy. 'Even when we're visibly +collected?'</p> + +<p>'She doesn't know that.'</p> + +<p>'But she saw us.'</p> + +<p>'But she doesn't know it officially.'</p> + +<p>'Oh,' said Lucy.</p> + +<p>'I had to make that rule,' said Wemyss, arranging +his knives and forks more accurately beside his plate, +'because they would leave off beating it almost as soon +as they'd begun, and then Vera was late and her excuse +was that she hadn't heard. For a time after that I +used to have it beaten all up the stairs right to the +door of her sitting-room. Isn't it a fine gong? +Listen——' And he raised his hand.</p> + +<p>'<i>Very</i> fine,' said Lucy, who was thoroughly convinced +there wasn't a finer, more robust gong in +existence.</p> + +<p>'There. Time's up,' he said, as three great strokes +were followed by a blessed silence.</p> + +<p>He pulled out his watch again. 'Let's see. Yes—to +the tick. You wouldn't believe the trouble I had to +get them to keep time.'</p> + +<p>'It's wonderful,' said Lucy.</p> + +<p>The dining-room was a narrow room full of a table. +It had a window facing west and a window facing north, +and in spite of the uninterrupted expanses of plate glass +was a bleak, dark room. But then the weather was +bleak and dark, and one saw such a lot of it out of the +two big windows as one sat at the long table and watched +the rolling clouds blowing straight towards one from +the north-west; for Lucy's place was facing the north +window, on Wemyss's left hand. Wemyss sat at the +end of the table facing the west window. The table +was so long that if Lucy had sat in the usual seat of +wives, opposite her husband, communication would +have been difficult,—indeed, as she remarked, she would +have disappeared below the dip of the horizon.</p> + +<p>'I like a long table,' said Wemyss to this. 'It looks +so hospitable.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Lucy a little doubtfully, but willing to +admit that its length at least showed a readiness for +hospitality. 'I suppose it does. Or it would if there +were people all round it.'</p> + +<p>'People? You don't mean to say you want people +already?'</p> + +<p>'Good heavens no,' said Lucy hastily.' Of course +I don't. Why, of course, Everard, I didn't mean that,' +she added, laying her hand on his and smiling at him +so as to dispel the gathering cloud on his face; and once +more she flung all thoughts of the parlourmaid to the +winds. 'You know I don't want a soul in the world +but you.'</p> + +<p>'Well, that's what I thought,' said Wemyss, mollified. +'I know all I want is you.'</p> + +<p>(Was this same parlourmaid here in Vera's time? +Lucy asked herself very privately and unconsciously +and beneath the concerned attentiveness she was +concentrating on Wemyss.)</p> + +<p>'What lovely kingcups!' she said aloud.</p> + +<p>'Oh yes, there they are—I hadn't noticed them. +Yes, aren't they? They're my birthday flowers.' And +he repeated his formula: 'It's my birthday and +Spring's.'</p> + +<p>But Lucy, of course, didn't know the proper ritual, +it being her first experience of one of Wemyss's birthdays, +besides having wished him his many happy returns +hours ago when he first opened his eyes and found hers +gazing at him with love; so all she did was to make +the natural but unfortunate remark that surely Spring +began on the 21st of March,—or was it the 25th? +No, that was Christmas Day—no, she didn't mean +that——</p> + +<p>'You're always saying things and then saying you +didn't mean them,' interrupted Wemyss, vexed, for he +thought that Lucy of all people should have recognised +the allegorical nature of his formula. If it had been +Vera, now,—but even Vera had managed to understand +that much. 'I wish you would begin with what you +do mean, it would be so much simpler. What, pray, +<i>do</i> you mean now?'</p> + +<p>'I can't think,' said Lucy timidly, for she had +offended him again, and this time she couldn't even +remotely imagine how.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XVII</h2> + + +<p>He got over it, however. There was a particularly +well-made soufflé, and this helped. Also Lucy kept on +looking at him very tenderly, and it was the first time +she had sat at his table in his beloved home, realising +the dreams of months that she should sit just there +with him, his little bobbed-haired Love, and gradually +therefore he recovered and smiled at her again.</p> + +<p>But what power she had to hurt him, thought +Wemyss; it was so great because his love for her was +so great. She should be very careful how she wielded +it. Her Everard was made very sensitive by his love.</p> + +<p>He gazed at her solemnly, thinking this, while the +plates were being changed.</p> + +<p>'What is it, Everard?' Lucy asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>'I'm only thinking that I love you,' he said, laying +his hand on hers.</p> + +<p>She flushed with pleasure, and her face grew instantly +happy. 'My Everard,' she murmured, gazing back at +him, forgetful in her pleasure of the parlourmaid. How +dear he was. How silly she was to be so much distressed +when he was offended. At the core he was so sound +and simple. At the core he was utterly her own dear +lover. The rest was mere incident, merest indifferent +detail.</p> + +<p>'We'll have coffee in the library,' he said to the +parlourmaid, getting up when he had finished his lunch +and walking to the door. 'Come along, little Love,' +he called over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>The library....</p> + +<p>'Can't we—don't we—have coffee in the hall?' +asked Lucy, getting up slowly.</p> + +<p>'No,' said Wemyss, who had paused before an +enlarged photograph that hung on the wall between +the two windows, enlarged to life size.</p> + +<p>He examined it a moment, and then drew his finger +obliquely across the glass from top to bottom. It then +became evident that the picture needed dusting.</p> + +<p>'Look,' he said to the parlourmaid, pointing.</p> + +<p>The parlourmaid looked.</p> + +<p>'I notice you don't say anything,' he said to her +after a silence in which she continued to look, and Lucy, +taken aback again, stood uncertain by the chair she +had got up from. 'I don't wonder. There's nothing +you can possibly say to excuse such carelessness.'</p> + +<p>'Lizzie——' began the parlourmaid.</p> + +<p>'Don't put it on to Lizzie.'</p> + +<p>The parlourmaid ceased putting it on to Lizzie and +was dumb.</p> + +<p>'Come along, little Love,' said Wemyss, turning to +Lucy and holding out his hand. 'It makes one pretty +sick, doesn't it, to see that not even one's own father +gets dusted.'</p> + +<p>'Is that your father?' asked Lucy, hurrying to his +side and offering no opinion about dusting.</p> + +<p>It could have been no one else's. It was Wemyss +grown very enormous, Wemyss grown very old, Wemyss +displeased. The photograph had been so arranged that +wherever you moved to in the room Wemyss's father +watched you doing it. He had been watching Lucy +from between those two windows all through her first +lunch, and must, flashed through Lucy's brain, have +watched Vera like that all through her last one.</p> + +<p>'How long has he been there?' she asked, looking +up into Wemyss's father's displeased eyes which looked +straight back into hers.</p> + +<p>'Been there?' repeated Wemyss, drawing her away +for he wanted his coffee. 'How can I remember? +Ever since I've lived here, I should think. He died +five years ago. He was a wonderful old man, nearly +ninety. He used to stay here a lot.'</p> + +<p>Opposite this picture hung another, next to the door +that led into the hall,—also a photograph enlarged to +life-size. Lucy had noticed neither of these pictures +when she came in, because the light from the windows +was in her eyes. Now, turning to go out through the +door led by Wemyss, she was faced by this one.</p> + +<p>It was Vera. She knew at once; and if she hadn't +she would have known the next minute, because he +told her.</p> + +<p>'Vera,' he said, in a matter-of-fact tone, as it were +introducing them.</p> + +<p>'Vera,' repeated Lucy under her breath; and she +and Vera—for this photograph too followed one about +with its eye—stared at each other.</p> + +<p>It must have been taken about twelve years earlier, +judging from the clothes. She was standing, and in a +day dress that yet had a train to it trailing on the carpet, +and loose, floppy sleeves and a high collar. She looked +very tall, and had long thin fingers. Her dark hair was +drawn up from her ears and piled on the top of her +head. Her face was thin and seemed to be chiefly +eyes,—very big dark eyes that stared out of the absurd +picture in a kind of astonishment, and her mouth had +a little twist in it as though she were trying not to laugh.</p> + +<p>Lucy looked at her without moving. So this was +Vera. Of course. She had known, though she had +never constructed any image of her in her mind, had +carefully avoided doing it, that she would be like +that. Only older; the sort of Vera she must have been +at forty when she died,—not attractive like that, not a +young woman. To Lucy at twenty-two, forty seemed +very old; at least, if you were a woman. In regard to +men, since she had fallen in love with some one of forty-five +who was certainly the youngest thing she had ever +come across, she had rearranged her ideas of age, but +she still thought forty very old for a woman. Vera had +been thin and tall and dark in her idea of her, just as +this Vera was thin and tall and dark; but thin bonily, +tall stoopingly, and her dark hair was turning grey. +In her idea of her, too, she was absent-minded and +not very intelligent; indeed, she was rather troublesomely +unintelligent, doing obstinate, foolish things, +and at last doing that fatal, obstinate, foolish thing +which so dreadfully ended her. This Vera was certainly +intelligent. You couldn't have eyes like that and be +a fool. And the expression of her mouth,—what had +she been trying not to laugh at that day? Did she +know she was going to be enlarged and hang for years +in the bleak dining-room facing her father-in-law, each +of them eyeing the other from their walls, while three +times a day the originals sat down beneath their own +pictures at the long table and ate? Perhaps she +laughed, thought Lucy, because else she might have +cried; only that would have been silly, and she couldn't +have been silly,—not with those eyes, not with those +straight, fine eyebrows. But would she, herself, presently +be photographed too and enlarged and hung +there? There was room next to Vera, room for just +one more before the sideboard began. How very odd +it would be if she were hung up next to Vera, and every +day three times as she went out of the room was faced +by Everard's wives. And how quaint to watch one's +clothes as the years went by leaving off being pretty +and growing more absurd. Really for such purposes +one ought to be just wrapped round in a shroud. Fashion +didn't touch shrouds; they always stayed the same. +Besides, how suitable, thought Lucy, gazing into her +dead predecessor's eyes; one would only be taking time +by the forelock....</p> + +<p>'Come along.' said Wemyss, drawing her away, 'I +want my coffee. Don't you think it's a good idea,' he +went on, as he led her down the hall to the library door, +'to have life-sized photographs instead of those idiotic +portraits that are never the least like people?'</p> + +<p>'Oh, a <i>very</i> good idea,' said Lucy mechanically, +bracing herself for the library. There was only one +room in the house she dreaded going into more than +the library, and that was the sitting-room on the top +floor,—her sitting-room and Vera's.</p> + +<p>'Next week we'll go to a photographer's in London +and have my little girl done,' said Wemyss, pushing +open the library door, 'and then I'll have her exactly +as God made her, without some artist idiot or other +coming butting-in with his idea of her. God's idea of +her is good enough for me. They won't have to enlarge +much,' he laughed, 'to get <i>you</i> life-size, you midge. +Vera was five foot ten. Now isn't this a fine room? +Look—there's the river. Isn't it jolly being so close to +it? Come round here—don't knock against my writing-table, +now. Look—there's only the towpath between +the river and the garden. Lord, what a beastly day. +It might just as easily have been a beautiful spring +day and us having our coffee out on the terrace. Don't +you think this is a beautiful look-out,—so typically +English with the beautiful green lawn and the bit of lush +grass along the towpath, and the river. There's no +river like it in the world, is there, little Love. Say you +think it's the most beautiful river in the world'—he +hugged her close—'say you think it's a hundred times +better than that beastly French one we got so sick of +with all those châteaux.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, a <i>hundred</i> times better,' said Lucy.</p> + +<p>They were standing at the window, with his arm +round her shoulder. There was just room for them +between it and the writing-table. Outside was the +flagged terrace, and then a very green lawn with worms +and blackbirds on it and a flagged path down the middle +leading to a little iron gate. There was no willow +hedge along the river end of the square garden, so as +not to interrupt the view,—only the iron railings and +wire-netting. Terra-cotta vases, which later on would +be a blaze of geraniums, Wemyss explained, stood at +intervals on each side of the path. The river, swollen +and brown, slid past Wemyss's frontage very quickly +that day, for there had been much rain. The clouds +scudding across the sky before the wind were not in +such a hurry but that every now and then they let loose +a violent gust of rain, soaking the flags of the terrace +again just as the wind had begun to dry them up. How +could he stand there, she thought, holding her tight so +that she couldn't get away, making her look out at the +very place on those flags not two yards off....</p> + +<p>But the next minute she thought how right he really +was, how absolutely the only way this was to do the +thing. Perfect simplicity was the one way to meet this +situation successfully; and she herself was so far from +simplicity that here she was shrinking, not able to +bear to look, wanting only to hide her face,—oh, +he was wonderful, and she was the most ridiculous of +fools.</p> + +<p>She pressed very close to him, and put up her face +to his, shutting her eyes, for so she shut out the desolating +garden with its foreground of murderous flags.</p> + +<p>'What is it, little Love?' asked Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'Kiss me,' she said; and he laughed and kissed her, +but hastily, because he wanted her to go on admiring +the view.</p> + +<p>She still, however, held up her face. 'Kiss my eyes,' +she whispered, keeping them shut. 'They're tired——'</p> + +<p>He laughed again, but with a slight impatience, and +kissed her eyes; and then, suddenly struck by her little +blind face so close to his, the strong light from the big +window showing all its delicate curves and delicious +softnesses, his Lucy's face, his own little wife's, he +kissed her really, as she loved him to kiss her, becoming +absorbed only in his love.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I love you, love you——' murmured Lucy, +clinging to him, making secret vows of sensibleness, of +wholesomeness, of a determined, unfailing future +simplicity.</p> + +<p>'Aren't we happy,' he said, pausing in his kisses to +gaze down at what was now his face, for was it not +much more his than hers? Of course it was his. She +never saw it, except when she specially went to look, +but he saw it all the time; she only had duties in regard +to it, but he was on the higher plane of only having +joys. She washed it, but he kissed it. And he kissed +it when he liked and as much as ever he liked. 'Isn't +it wonderful being married,' he said, gazing down at +this delightful thing that was his very own for ever.</p> + +<p>'Oh—wonderful!' murmured Lucy, opening her eyes +and gazing into his.</p> + +<p>Her face broke into a charming smile. 'You have +the dearest eyes,' she said, putting up her finger and +gently tracing his eyebrows with it.</p> + +<p>Wemyss's eyes, full at that moment of love and +pride, were certainly dear eyes, but a noise at the other +end of the room made Lucy jump so in his arms, gave +her apparently such a fright, that when he turned his +head to see who it was daring to interrupt them, daring +to startle his little girl like that, and beheld the parlourmaid, +his eyes weren't dear at all but very angry.</p> + +<p>The parlourmaid had come in with the coffee; and +seeing the two interlaced figures against the light of the +big window had pulled up short, uncertain what to do. +This pulling up had jerked a spoon off its saucer onto +the floor with a loud rattle because of the floor not +having a carpet on it and being of polished oak, and it +was this noise that made Lucy jump so excessively that +her jump actually made Wemyss jump too.</p> + +<p>In the parlourmaid's untrained phraseology there +had been a good deal of billing and cooing during +luncheon, and even in the hall before luncheon there +were examples of it, but what she found going on in the +library was enough to make anybody stop dead and +upset things,—it was such, she said afterwards in the +kitchen, that if she didn't know for a fact that they +were really married she wouldn't have believed it. +Married people in the parlourmaid's experience didn't +behave like that. What affection there was was +exhibited before, and not after, marriage. And she went +on to describe the way in which Wemyss—thus briefly +and irreverently did they talk of their master in the +kitchen—had flown at her for having come into the +library. 'After telling me to,' she said. 'After saying, +"We'll 'ave coffee in the library."' And they all +agreed, as they had often before agreed, that if it weren't +that he was in London half the time they wouldn't +stay in the place five minutes.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Wemyss and Lucy were sitting side by +side in two enormous chairs facing the unlit library fire +drinking their coffee. The fire was only lit in the +evenings, explained Wemyss, after the 1st of April; +the weather ought to be warm enough by then to do +without fires in the daytime, and if it wasn't it was its +own look-out.</p> + +<p>'Why did you jump so?' he asked. 'You gave me +such a start. I couldn't think what was the matter.'</p> + +<p>'I don't know,' said Lucy, faintly flushing. 'Perhaps'—she +smiled at him over the arm of the enormous chair +in which she almost totally disappeared—'because the +maid caught us.'</p> + +<p>'Caught us?'</p> + +<p>'Being so particularly affectionate.'</p> + +<p>'I like that,' said Wemyss. 'Fancy feeling guilty +because you're being affectionate to your own husband.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, well,' laughed Lucy, 'don't forget I haven't +had him long.'</p> + +<p>'You're such a complicated little thing. I shall +have to take you seriously in hand and teach you to be +natural. I can't have you having all sorts of finicking +ideas about not doing this and not doing the other +before servants. Servants don't matter. I never consider +them.'</p> + +<p>'I wish you had considered the poor parlourmaid,' +said Lucy, seeing that he was in an unoffended frame of +mind. 'Why did you give her such a dreadful scolding?'</p> + +<p>'Why? Because she made you jump so. You +couldn't have jumped more if you had thought it was +a ghost. I won't have your flesh being made to creep.'</p> + +<p>'But it crept much worse when I heard the things you +said to her.'</p> + +<p>'Nonsense. These people have to be kept in order. +What did the woman mean by coming in like that?'</p> + +<p>'Why, you told her to bring us coffee.'</p> + +<p>'But I didn't tell her to make an infernal noise by +dropping spoons all over the place.'</p> + +<p>'That was because she got just as great a fright when +she saw us as I did when I heard her.'</p> + +<p>'I don't care what she got. Her business is not +to drop things. That's what I pay her for. But look +here—don't you go thinking such a lot of tangled-up +things and arguing. Do, for goodness sake, try and be +simple.'</p> + +<p>'I feel <i>very</i> simple,' said Lucy, smiling and putting +out her hand to him, for his face was clouding. 'Do +you know, Everard, I believe what's the matter with +me is that I'm <i>too</i> simple.'</p> + +<p>Wemyss roared, and forgot how near he was getting +to being hurt. 'You simple! You're the most +complicated——'</p> + +<p>'No I'm not. I've got the untutored mind and +uncontrolled emotions of a savage. That's really why +I jumped.'</p> + +<p>'Lord,' laughed Wemyss, 'listen to her how she +talks. Anybody might think she was clever, saying +such big long words, if they didn't know she was just +her Everard's own little wife. Come here, my little +savage—come and sit on your husband's knee and tell +him all about it.'</p> + +<p>He held out his arms, and Lucy got up and went +into them and he rocked her and said, 'There, there—was +it a little untutored savage then——'</p> + +<p>But she didn't tell him all about it, first because by +now she knew that to tell him all about anything was +asking for trouble, and second because he didn't really +want to know. Everard, she was beginning to realise +with much surprise, preferred not to know. He was +not merely incurious as to other people's ideas and +opinions, he definitely preferred to be unconscious +of them.</p> + +<p>This was a great contrast to the restless curiosity +and interest of her father and his friends, to their +insatiable hunger for discussion, for argument; and it +much surprised Lucy. Discussion was the very salt +of life for them,—a tireless exploration of each other's +ideas, a clashing of them together, and out of that clashing +the creation of fresh ones. To Everard, Lucy was +beginning to perceive, discussion merely meant +contradiction, and he disliked contradiction, he disliked +even difference of opinion. 'There's only one way of +looking at a thing, and that's the right way,' as he said, +'so what's the good of such a lot of talk?'</p> + +<p>The right way was his way; and though he seemed +by his direct, unswerving methods to succeed in living +mentally in a great calm, and though after the fevers +of her father's set this was to her immensely restful, +was it really a good thing? Didn't it cut one off from +growth? Didn't it shut one in an isolation? Wasn't +it, frankly, rather like death? Besides, she had doubts +as to whether it were true that there was only one way +of looking at a thing, and couldn't quite believe that +his way was invariably the right way. But what did it +matter after all, thought Lucy, snuggled up on his knee +with one arm round his neck, compared to the great, +glorious fact of their love? That at least was indisputable +and splendid. As to the rest, truth would go +on being truth whether Everard saw it or not; and if +she were not going to be able to talk over things with him +she could anyhow kiss him, and how sweet that was, +thought Lucy. They understood each other perfectly +when they kissed. What, indeed, when such sweet +means of communion existed, was the good of a lot +of talk?</p> + +<p>'I believe you're asleep' said Wemyss, looking down +at the face on his breast.</p> + +<p>'Sound,' said Lucy, smiling, her eyes shut.</p> + +<p>'My baby.'</p> + +<p>'My Everard.'</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XVIII</h2> + + +<p>But this only lasted as long as his pipe lasted. When +that was finished he put her off his knee, and said he was +now ready to gratify her impatience and show her +everything; they would go over the house first, and +then the garden and outbuildings.</p> + +<p>No woman was ever less impatient than Lucy. +However, she pulled her hat straight and tried to seem +all readiness and expectancy. She wished the wind +wouldn't howl so. What an extraordinary dreary place +the library was. Well, any place would be dreary at +half-past two o'clock on such an afternoon, without a +fire and with the rain beating against the window, and +that dreadful terrace just outside.</p> + +<p>Wemyss stooped to knock out the ashes of his pipe +on the bars of the empty grate, and Lucy carefully kept +her head turned away from the window and the terrace +towards the other end of the room. The other end was +filled with bookshelves from floor to ceiling, and the +books, in neat rows and uniform editions, were packed +so tightly in the shelves that no one but an unusually +determined reader would have the energy to wrench +one out. Reading was evidently not encouraged, for not +only were the books shut in behind glass doors, but the +doors were kept locked and the key hung on Wemyss's +watch-chain. Lucy discovered this when Wemyss, +putting his pipe in his pocket, took her by the arm and +walked her down the room to admire the shelves. One +of the volumes caught her eye, and she tried to open +the glass door to take it out and look at it. 'Why,' +she said surprised, 'it's locked.'</p> + +<p>'Of course,' said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'Why but then nobody can get at them.'</p> + +<p>'Precisely.'</p> + +<p>'But——'</p> + +<p>'People are so untrustworthy about books. I +took pains to arrange mine myself, and they're all in +first-class-bindings and I don't want them taken out +and left lying anywhere by Tom, Dick, and Harry. +If any one wants to read they can come and ask me. +Then I know exactly what is taken, and can see that it +is put back.' And he held up the key on his watch-chain.</p> + +<p>'But doesn't that rather discourage people?' asked +Lucy, who was accustomed to the most careless familiarity +in intercourse with books, to books loose everywhere, +books overflowing out of their shelves, books in +every room, instantly accessible books, friendly books, +books used to being read aloud, with their hospitable +pages falling open at a touch.</p> + +<p>'All the better,' said Wemyss. '<i>I</i> don't want +anybody to read my books.'</p> + +<p>Lucy laughed, though she was dismayed inside. +'Oh Everard—' she said, 'not even me?'</p> + +<p>'You? You're different. You're my own little +girl. Whenever you want to, all you've got to do is to +come and say, "Everard, your Lucy wants to read," +and I'll unlock the bookcase.'</p> + +<p>'But—I shall be afraid I may be disturbing you.'</p> + +<p>'People who love each other can't ever disturb +each other.'</p> + +<p>'That's true,' said Lucy.</p> + +<p>'And they shouldn't ever be afraid of it.'</p> + +<p>'I suppose they shouldn't,' said Lucy.</p> + +<p>'So be simple, and when you want a thing just say so.' +Lucy said she would, and promised with many kisses +to be simple, but she couldn't help privately thinking +it a difficult way of getting at a book.</p> + +<p>'Macaulay, Dickens, Scott, Thackeray, British Poets, +English Men of Letters, <i>Encyclopædia Britannica</i>—I +think there's about everything,' said Wemyss, going +over the gilt names on the backs of the volumes with +much satisfaction as he stood holding her in front of +them. 'Whiteley's did it for me. I said I had room +for so and so many of such and such sizes of the best +modern writers in good bindings. I think they did it +very well, don't you little Love?'</p> + +<p>'<i>Very</i> well,' said Lucy, eyeing the shelves doubtfully.</p> + +<p>She was of those who don't like the feel of prize +books in their hands, and all Wemyss's books might have +been presented as prizes to deserving schoolboys. They +were handsome; their edges—she couldn't see them, +but she was sure—were marbled. They wouldn't +open easily, and one's thumbs would have to do a lot +of tiring holding while one's eyes tried to peep at the +words tucked away towards the central crease. These +were books with which one took no liberties. She +couldn't imagine idly turning their pages in some lazy +position out on the grass. Besides, their pages wouldn't +be idly turned; they would be, she was sure, obstinate +with expensiveness, stiff with the leather and gold of +their covers.</p> + +<p>Lucy stared at them, thinking all this so as not to +think other things. What she wanted to shut out was +the wind sobbing up and down that terrace behind her, +and the consciousness of the fierce intermittent squalls +of rain beating on its flags, and the certainty that upstairs.... +Had Everard <i>no</i> imagination, she thought, +with a sudden flare of rebellion, that he should expect +her to use and to like using the very sitting-room where +Vera——</p> + +<p>With a quick shiver she grabbed at her thoughts +and caught them just in time.</p> + +<p>'Do you like Macaulay?' she asked, lingering in +front of the bookcase, for he was beginning to move her +off towards the door.</p> + +<p>'I haven't read him,' said Wemyss, still moving +her.</p> + +<p>'Which of all these do you like best?' she asked, +holding back.</p> + +<p>'Oh, I don't know,' said Wemyss, pausing a moment, +pleased by her evident interest in his books. 'I haven't +much time for reading, you must remember. I'm +a busy man. By the time I've finished my day's work, +I'm not inclined for much more than the evening paper +and a game of bridge.'</p> + +<p>'But what will you do with me, who don't play +bridge?'</p> + +<p>'Lord, you don't suppose I shall want to play bridge +now that I've got you?' he said. 'All I shall want is +just to sit and look at you.'</p> + +<p>She turned red with swift pleasure, and laughed, +and hugged the arm that was thrust through hers +leading her to the door. How much she adored him; +when he said dear, absurd, simple things like that, how +much she adored him!</p> + +<p>'Come upstairs now and take off your hat,' said +Wemyss. 'I want to see what my bobbed hair looks +like in my home. Besides, aren't you dying to see our +bedroom?'</p> + +<p>'Dying,' said Lucy, going up the oak staircase with +a stout, determined heart.</p> + +<p>The bedroom was over the library, and was the +same size and with the same kind of window. Where +the bookcase stood in the room below, stood the bed: +a double, or even a treble, bed, so very big was it, facing +the window past which Vera—it was no use, she couldn't +get away from Vera—having slept her appointed +number of nights, fell and was finished. But she wasn't +finished. If only she had slipped away out of memory, +out of imagination, thought Lucy ... but she hadn't, +she hadn't—and this was her room, and that intelligent-eyed +thin thing had slept in it for years and years, and +for years and years the looking-glass had reflected her +while she had dressed and undressed, dressed and +undressed before it—regularly, day after day, year after +year—oh, what a trouble—and her thin long hands had +piled up her hair—Lucy could see her sitting there +piling it on the top of her small head—sitting at the +dressing-table in the window past which she was at last +to drop like a stone—horribly—ignominiously—all anyhow—and +everything in the room had been hers, every +single thing in it had been Vera's, including Ev——</p> + +<p>Lucy made a violent lunge after her thoughts and +strangled them.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Wemyss had shut the door and was standing +looking at her without moving.</p> + +<p>'Well?' he said.</p> + +<p>She turned to him nervously, her eyes still wide with +the ridiculous things she had been thinking.</p> + +<p>'Well?' he said again.</p> + +<p>She supposed he meant her to praise the room, so +she hastily began, saying what a good view there must +be on a fine day, and how very comfortable it was, +such a nice big looking-glass—she loved a big looking-glass—and +such a nice sofa—she loved a nice sofa—and +what a very big bed—and what a lovely carpet——</p> + +<p>'Well?' was all Wemyss said when her words came +to an end.</p> + +<p>'What is it, Everard?'</p> + +<p>'I'm waiting,' he said.</p> + +<p>'Waiting?'</p> + +<p>'For my kiss.'</p> + +<p>She ran to him.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' he said, when she had kissed him, looking +down at her solemnly, '<i>I</i> don't forget these things. <i>I</i> +don't forget that this is the first time my own wife +and I have stood together in our very own bedroom.'</p> + +<p>'But Everard I didn't forget—I only——'</p> + +<p>She cast about for something to say, her arms still +round his neck, for the last thing she could have told +him was what she had been thinking—oh, how he would +have scolded her for being morbid, and oh, how right +he would have been!—and she ended by saying as +lamely and as unfortunately as she had said it in the +château of Amboise—'I only didn't remember.'</p> + +<p>Luckily this time his attention had already wandered +away from her. 'Isn't it a jolly room?' he said. 'Who's +got far and away the best bedroom in Strorley? And +who's got a sitting-room all for herself, just as jolly? +And who spoils his little woman?'</p> + +<p>Before she could answer, he loosened her hands from +his neck and said, 'Come and look at yourself in the +glass. Come and see how small you are compared to +the other things in the room.' And with his arms round +her shoulders he led her to the dressing-table.</p> + +<p>'The other things?' laughed Lucy; but like a +flame the thought was leaping in her brain, 'Now +what shall I do if when I look into this I don't see myself +but Vera? It's <i>accustomed</i> to Vera....'</p> + +<p>'Why, she's shutting her eyes. Open them, little +Love,' said Wemyss, standing with her before the glass +and seeing in it that though he held her in front of it +she wasn't looking at the picture of wedded love he and +she made, but had got her eyes tight shut.</p> + +<p>With his free hand he took off her hat and threw it +on to the sofa; then he laid his head on hers and said, +'Now look.'</p> + +<p>Lucy obeyed; and when she saw the sweet picture +in the glass the face of the girl looking at her broke into +its funny, charming smile, for Everard at that moment +was at his dearest, Everard boyishly loving her, with +his good-looking, unlined face so close to hers and his +proud eyes gazing at her. He and she seemed to set +each other off; they were becoming to each other.</p> + +<p>Smiling at him in the glass, a smile tremulous with +tenderness, she put up her hand and stroked his face. +'Do you know who you've married?' she asked, addressing +the man in the glass.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Wemyss, addressing the girl in the glass.</p> + +<p>'No you don't,' she said. 'But I'll tell you. You've +married the completest of fools.'</p> + +<p>'Now what has the little thing got into its head +this time?' he said, kissing her hair, and watching +himself doing it.</p> + +<p>'Everard, you must help me,' she murmured, holding +his face tenderly against hers. 'Please, my beloved, +help me, teach me——'</p> + +<p>'That, Mrs. Wemyss, is a very proper attitude in a +wife,' he said. And the four people laughed at each +other, the two Lucys a little quiveringly.</p> + +<p>'Now come and I'll introduce you to your sitting-room,' +he said, disengaging himself. 'We'll have tea +up there. The view is really magnificent.'</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XIX</h2> + + +<p>The wind made more noise than ever at the top of the +house, and when Wemyss tried to open the door to +Vera's sitting-room it blew back on him.</p> + +<p>'Well I'm damned,' he said, giving it a great shove.</p> + +<p>'Why?' asked Lucy nervously.</p> + +<p>'Come in, come in,' he said impatiently, pressing +the door open and pulling her through.</p> + +<p>There was a great flapping of blinds and rattling of +blind cords, a whirl of sheets of notepaper, an extra +wild shriek of the wind, and then Wemyss, hanging on +to the door, shut it and the room quieted down.</p> + +<p>'That slattern Lizzie!' he exclaimed, striding across +to the fireplace and putting his finger on the bell-button +and keeping it there.</p> + +<p>'What has she done?' asked Lucy, standing where +he had left her just inside the door.</p> + +<p>'Done? Can't you see?'</p> + +<p>'You mean'—she could hardly get herself to mention +the fatal thing—'you mean—the window?'</p> + +<p>'On a day like this!'</p> + +<p>He continued to press the bell. It was a very loud +bell, for it rang upstairs as well as down in order to +be sure of catching Lizzie's ear in whatever part of the +house she might be endeavouring to evade it, and Lucy, +as she listened to its strident, persistent summons of a +Lizzie who didn't appear, felt more and more on edge, +felt at last that to listen and wait any longer was +unbearable.</p> + +<p>'Won't you wear it out?' she asked, after some +moments of nothing happening and Wemyss still +ringing.</p> + +<p>He didn't answer. He didn't look at her. His +finger remained steadily on the button. His face was +extraordinarily like the old man's in the enlarged +photograph downstairs. Lucy wished for only two +things at that moment, one was that Lizzie shouldn't +come, and the other was that if she did she herself +might be allowed to go and be somewhere else.</p> + +<p>'Hadn't—hadn't the window better be shut?' she +suggested timidly presently, while he still went on +ringing and saying nothing—'else when Lizzie opens +the door won't all the things blow about again?'</p> + +<p>He didn't answer, and went on ringing.</p> + +<p>Of all the objects in the world that she could think +of, Lucy most dreaded and shrank from that window; +nevertheless she began to feel that as Everard was +engaged with the bell and apparently wouldn't leave +it, it behoved her to put into practice her resolution not +to be a fool but to be direct and wholesome, and go +and shut it herself. There it was, the fatal window, +huge as the one in the bedroom below and the one in +the library below that, yawning wide open above its +murderous low sill, with the rain flying in on every fresh +gust of wind and wetting the floor and the cushions of +the sofa and even, as she could see, those sheets of +notepaper off the writing-table that had flown in her face +when she came in and were now lying scattered at her +feet. Surely the right thing to do was to shut the window +before Lizzie opened the door and caused a second +convulsion? Everard couldn't, because he was ringing +the bell. She could and she would; yes, she would do +the right thing, and at the same time be both simple +and courageous.</p> + +<p>'I'll shut it,' she said, taking a step forward.</p> + +<p>She was arrested by Wemyss's voice. 'Confound it!' +he cried. 'Can't you leave it alone?'</p> + +<p>She stopped dead. He had never spoken to her +like that before. She had never heard that voice before. +It seemed to hit her straight on the heart.</p> + +<p>'Don't interfere,' he said, very loud.</p> + +<p>She was frozen where she stood.</p> + +<p>'Tiresome woman,' he said, still ringing.</p> + +<p>She looked at him. He was looking at her.</p> + +<p>'Who?' she breathed.</p> + +<p>'You.'</p> + +<p>Her heart seemed to stop beating. She gave a little +gasp, and turned her head to right and left like something +trapped, something searching for escape. Everard—where +was her Everard? Why didn't he come and +take care of her? Come and take her away—out of +that room—out of that room——</p> + +<p>There were sounds of steps hurrying along the +passage, and then there was a great scream of the wind +and a great whirl of the notepaper and a great blowing +up on end off her forehead of her short hair, and Lizzie +was there panting on the threshold.</p> + +<p>'I'm sorry, sir,' she panted, her hand on her chest, +'I was changing my dress——'</p> + +<p>'Shut the door, can't you?' cried Wemyss, about +whose ears, too, notepaper was flying. 'Hold on to it— +don't let it go, damn you!'</p> + +<p>'Oh—oh——' gasped Lucy, stretching out her hands +as though to keep something off, 'I think I—I think +I'll go downstairs——'</p> + +<p>And before Wemyss realised what she was doing, she +had turned and slipped through the door Lizzie was +struggling with and was gone.</p> + +<p>'Lucy!' he shouted, 'Lucy! Come back at once!' +But the wind was too much for Lizzie, and the door +dragged itself out of her hands and crashed to.</p> + +<p>As though the devil were after her Lucy ran along +the passage. Down the stairs she flew, down past the +bedroom landing, down past the gong landing, down +into the hall and across it to the front door, and tried +to pull it open, and found it was bolted, and tugged +and tugged at the bolts, tugged frantically, getting them +undone at last, and rushing out on to the steps.</p> + +<p>There an immense gust of rain caught her full in +the face. Splash—bang—she was sobered. The rain +splashed on her as though a bucket were being emptied +at her, and the door had banged behind her shutting +her out. Suddenly horrified at herself she turned +quickly, as frantic to get in again as she had been to +get out. What was she doing? Where was she running +to? She must get in, get in—before Everard could +come after her, before he could find her standing there +like a drenched dog outside his front door. The wind +whipped her wet hair across her eyes. Where was the +handle? She couldn't find it. Her hair wouldn't keep +out of her eyes; her thin serge skirt blew up like a balloon +and got in the way of her trembling fingers searching +along the door. She must get in—before he came—what +had possessed her? Everard—he couldn't have +meant—he didn't mean—what would he think—what +<i>would</i> he think—oh, where was that handle?</p> + +<p>Then she heard heavy footsteps on the other side of +the door, and Wemyss's voice, still very loud, saying +to somebody he had got with him, 'Haven't I given +strict orders that this door is to be kept bolted?'—and +then the sound of bolts being shot.</p> + +<p>'Everard! Everard!' Lucy cried, beating on the +door with both hands, 'I'm here—out here—let me in—Everard! +Everard!'</p> + +<p>But he evidently heard nothing, for his footsteps went +away again.</p> + +<p>Snatching her hair out of her eyes, she looked about +for the bell and reached up to it and pulled it violently. +What she had done was terrible. She must get in at +once, face the parlourmaid's astonishment, run to +Everard. She couldn't imagine his thoughts. Where +did he suppose she was? He must be searching the +house for her. He would be dreadfully upset. Why +didn't the parlourmaid come? Was she changing her +dress too? No—she had waited at lunch all ready in +her black afternoon clothes. Then why didn't she come?</p> + +<p>Lucy pulled the bell again and again, at last keeping +it down, using up its electricity as squanderously as +Wemyss had used it upstairs. She was wet to the skin +by this time, and you wouldn't have recognised her +pretty hair, all dark now and sticking together in lank +strands.</p> + +<p>Everard—why, of course—Everard had only spoken +like that out of fear—fear and love. The window—of +course he would be terrified lest she too, trying to +shut that fatal window, that great heavy fatal window, +should slip.... Oh, of course, of course—how could +she have misunderstood—in moments of danger, of +dreadful anxiety for one's heart's beloved, one did speak +sharply, one did rap out commands. It was because +he loved her so <i>much</i>.... Oh, how lunatic of her to +have misunderstood!</p> + +<p>At last she heard some one coming, and she let go +of the bell and braced herself to meet the astonished +gaze of the parlourmaid with as much dignity as was +possible in one who only too well knew she must be +looking like a drowning cat, but the footsteps grew +heavy as they got nearer, and it was Wemyss who, after +pulling back the bolts, opened the door.</p> + +<p>'Oh Everard!' Lucy exclaimed, running in, pursued +to the last by the pelting rain, 'I'm so glad it's you—oh +I'm so sorry I——'</p> + +<p>Her voice died away; she had seen his face.</p> + +<p>He stooped to bolt the lower bolt.</p> + +<p>'Don't be angry, darling Everard,' she whispered, +laying her arm on his stooping shoulder.</p> + +<p>Having finished with the bolt Wemyss straightened +himself, and then, putting up his hand to the arm still +round his shoulder, he removed it. 'You'll make my +coat wet,' he said; and walked away to the library +door and went in and shut it.</p> + +<p>For a moment she stood where he had left her, +collecting her scattered senses; then she went after +him. Wet or not wet, soaked and dripping as she was, +ridiculous scarecrow with her clinging clothes, her lank +hair, she must go after him, must instantly get the +horror of misunderstanding straight, tell him how she +had meant only to help over that window, tell him how +she had thought he was saying dreadful things to her +when he was really only afraid for her safety, tell him +how silly she had been, silly, silly, not to have followed +his thoughts quicker, tell him he must forgive her, be +patient with her, help her, because she loved him so +much and she knew—oh, she knew—how much he loved +her....</p> + +<p>Across the hall ran Lucy, the whole of her one welter +of anxious penitence and longing and love, and when +she got to the door and turned the handle it was locked.</p> + +<p>He had locked her out.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XX</h2> + + +<p>Her hand slid slowly off the knob. She stood quite +still. How <i>could</i> he.... And she knew now that he +had bolted the front door knowing she was out in the +rain. How <i>could</i> he? Her body was motionless as +she stood staring at the locked door, but her brain +was a rushing confusion of questions. Why? Why? +This couldn't be Everard. Who was this man—pitiless, +cruel? Not Everard. Not her lover. Where was he, +her lover and husband? Why didn't he come and take +care of her, and not let her be frightened by this strange +man....</p> + +<p>She heard a chair being moved inside the room, +and then she heard the creak of leather as Wemyss sat +down in it, and then there was the rustle of a newspaper +being opened. He was actually settling down +to read a newspaper while she, his wife, his love—wasn't +he always telling her she was his little Love?—was +breaking her heart outside the locked door. Why, +but Everard—she and Everard; they understood each +other; they had laughed, played together, talked +nonsense, been friends....</p> + +<p>For an instant she had an impulse to cry out and +beat on the door, not to care who heard, not to care that +the whole house should come and gather round her +naked misery; but she was stopped by a sudden new +wisdom. It shuddered down on her heart, a wisdom +she had never known or needed before, and held her +quiet. At all costs there mustn't be two of them doing +these things, at all costs these things mustn't be doubled, +mustn't have echoes. If Everard was like this he must +be like it alone. She must wait. She must sit quiet +till he had finished. Else—but oh, he <i>couldn't</i> be like +it, it <i>couldn't</i> be true that he didn't love her. Yet if +he did love her, how could he ... how could he....</p> + +<p>She leaned her forehead against the door and began +softly to cry. Then, afraid that she might after all +burst out into loud, disgraceful sobbing, she turned and +went upstairs.</p> + +<p>But where could she go? Where in the whole +house was any refuge, any comfort? The only person +who could have told her anything, who could have +explained, who <i>knew</i>, was Vera. Yes—she would have +understood. Yes, yes—Vera. She would go to Vera's +room, get as close to her mind as she could,—search, +find something, some clue....</p> + +<p>It seemed now to Lucy, as she hurried upstairs, that +the room in the house she had most shrunk from was +the one place where she might hope to find comfort. +Oh, she wasn't frightened any more. Everything was +trying to frighten her, but she wasn't going to be +frightened. For some reason or other things were all +trying together to-day to see if they could crush her, +beat out her spirit. But they weren't going to....</p> + +<p>She jerked her wet hair out of her eyes as she +climbed the stairs. It kept on getting into them and +making her stumble. Vera would help her. Vera never +was beaten. Vera had had fifteen years of not being +beaten before she—before she had that accident. And +there must have been heaps of days just like this one, +with the wind screaming and Vera up in her room and +Everard down in his—locked in, perhaps—and yet Vera +had managed, and her spirit wasn't beaten out. For +years and years, panted Lucy—her very thoughts +came in gasps—Vera lived up here winter after winter, +years, years, years, and would have been here now +if she hadn't—oh, if only Vera weren't dead! If +<i>only, only</i> Vera weren't dead! But her mind lived +on—her mind was in that room, in every littlest thing +in it——</p> + +<p>Lucy stumbled up the last few stairs completely out +of breath, and opening the sitting-room door stood +panting on the threshold much as Lizzie had done, her +hand on her chest.</p> + +<p>This time everything was in order. The window was +shut, the scattered notepaper collected and tidily on +the writing-table, the rain on the floor wiped up, and +a fire had been lit and the wet cushions were drying in +front of it. Also there was Lizzie, engaged in conscience-stricken +activities, and when Lucy came in she was on +her knees poking the fire. She was poking so vigorously +that she didn't hear the door open, especially not with +that rattling and banging of the window going on; and +on getting up and seeing the figure standing there panting, +with strands of lank hair in its eyes and its general +air of neglect and weather, she gave a loud exclamation.</p> + +<p>'Lumme!' exclaimed Lizzie, whose origin and +bringing-up had been obscure.</p> + +<p>She had helped carry in the luggage that morning, +so she had seen her mistress before and knew what she +was like in her dry state. She never could have +believed, having seen her then all nicely fluffed out, +that there was so little of her. Lizzie knew what long-haired +dogs look like when they are being soaped, and +she was also familiar with cats as they appear after +drowning; yet they too surprised her, in spite of +familiarity, each time she saw them in these circumstances +by their want of real substance, of stuffing. +Her mistress looked just like that,—no stuffing at all; +and therefore Lizzie, the poker she was holding arrested +in mid-air on its way into its corner, exclaimed Lumme.</p> + +<p>Then, realising that this weather-beaten figure must +certainly be catching its death of cold, she dropped the +poker and hurrying across the room and talking in +the stress of the moment like one girl to another, she +felt Lucy's sleeve and said, 'Why, you're wet to the +bones. Come to the fire and take them sopping clothes +off this minute, or you'll be laid up as sure as sure——' +and pulled her over to the fire; and having got her +there, and she saying nothing at all and not resisting, +Lizzie stripped off her clothes and shoes and stockings, +repeating at frequent intervals as she did so, 'Dear, +dear,' and repressing a strong desire to beg her not +to take on, lest later, perhaps, her mistress mightn't +like her to have noticed she had been crying. Then +she snatched up a woollen coverlet that lay folded on +the end of the sofa, rolled her tightly round in it, sat +her in a chair right up close to the fender, and still +talking like one girl to another said, 'Now sit there and +don't move while I fetch dry things—I won't be above +a minute—now you promise, don't you——' and hurrying +to the door never remembered her manners at all +till she was through it, whereupon she put in her head +again and hastily said, 'Mum,' and disappeared.</p> + +<p>She was away, however, more than a minute. Five +minutes, ten minutes passed and Lizzie, feverishly +unpacking Lucy's clothes in the bedroom below, and +trying to find a complete set of them, and not knowing +what belonged to which, didn't come back.</p> + +<p>Lucy sat quite still, rolled up in Vera's coverlet. +Obediently she didn't move, but stared straight into the +fire, sitting so close up to it that the rest of the room +was shut out. She couldn't see the window, or the +dismal rain streaming down it. She saw nothing but +the fire, blazing cheerfully. How kind Lizzie was. +How comforting kindness was. It was a thing she +understood, a normal, natural thing, and it made her +feel normal and natural just to be with it. Lizzie had +given her such a vigorous rub-down that her skin +tingled. Her hair was on ends, for that too had had +a vigorous rubbing from Lizzie, who had taken her +apron to it feeling that this was an occasion on which +one abandoned convention and went in for resource. +And as Lucy sat there getting warmer and warmer, +and more and more pervaded by the feeling of relief +and well-being that even the most wretched feel if they +take off all their clothes, her mind gradually calmed +down, it left off asking agonised questions, and +presently her heart began to do the talking.</p> + +<p>She was so much accustomed to find life kind, that +given a moment of quiet like this with somebody being +good-natured and back she slipped to her usual state, +which was one of affection and confidence. Lizzie hadn't +been gone five minutes before Lucy had passed from +sheer bewildered misery to making excuses for Everard; +in ten minutes she was seeing good reasons for what he +had done; in fifteen she was blaming herself for most +of what had happened. She had been amazingly idiotic +to run out of the room, and surely quite mad to run +out of the house. It was wrong, of course, for him to +bolt her out, but he was angry, and people did things +when they were angry that horrified them afterwards. +Surely people who easily got angry needed all the sympathy +and understanding one could give them,—not +to be met by despair and the loss of faith in them of +the person they had hurt. That only turned passing, +temporary bad things into a long unhappiness. She +hadn't known he had a temper. She had only, so far, +discovered his extraordinary capacity for being offended. +Well, if he had a temper how could he help it? He +was born that way, as certainly as if he had been born +lame. Would she not have been filled with tenderness +for his lameness if he had happened to be born like that? +Would it ever have occurred to her to mind, to feel it +as a grievance?</p> + +<p>The warmer Lucy got the more eager she grew to +justify Wemyss. In the middle of the reasons she +was advancing for his justification, however, it suddenly +struck her that they were a little smug. All that about +people with tempers needing sympathy,—who was she, +with her impulses and impatiences—with her, as she +now saw, devastating impulses and impatiences—to +take a line of what was very like pity. Pity! Smug, +odious word; smug, odious thing. Wouldn't she hate +it if she thought he pitied her for her failings? Let +him be angry with her failings, but not pity her. She +and her man, they needed no pity from each other; +they had love. It was impossible that anything either +of them did or was should <i>really</i> touch that.</p> + +<p>Very warm now in Vera's blanket, her face flushed +by the fire, Lucy asked herself what could really put +out that great, glorious, central blaze. All that was +needed was patience when he.... She gave herself +a shake,—there she was again, thinking smugly. She +wouldn't think at all. She would just take things as +they came, and love, and love.</p> + +<p>Then the vision of Everard, sitting solitary with his +newspaper and by this time, too, probably thinking +only of love, and anyhow not happy, caused one of +those very impulses to lay hold of her which she had a +moment before been telling herself she would never give +way to again. She was aware one had gripped her, +but this was a good impulse,—this wasn't a bad one like +running out into the rain: she would go down and have +another try at that door. She was warmed through +now and quite reasonable, and she felt she couldn't +another minute endure not being at peace with Everard. +How silly they were. It was ridiculous. It was like +two children fighting. Lizzie was so long bringing her +clothes; she couldn't wait, she must sit on Everard's +knee again, feel his arms round her, see his eyes looking +kind. She would go down in her blanket. It wrapped +her up from top to toe. Only her feet were bare; but +they were quite warm, and anyhow feet didn't matter.</p> + +<p>So Lucy padded softly downstairs, making hardly +a sound, and certainly none that could be heard above +the noise of the wind by Lizzie in the bedroom, frantically +throwing clothes about.</p> + +<p>She knocked at the library door.</p> + +<p>Wemyss's voice said, 'Come in.'</p> + +<p>So he had unlocked it. So he had hoped she would +come.</p> + +<p>He didn't, however, look round. He was sitting +with his back to the door at the writing-table in the +window, writing.</p> + +<p>'I want my flowers in here,' he said, without turning +his head.</p> + +<p>So he had rung. So he thought it was the parlourmaid. +So he hadn't unlocked the door because he +hoped she would come.</p> + +<p>But his flowers,—he wanted his birthday flowers in +there because they were all that were left to him of his +ruined birthday.</p> + +<p>When she heard this order Lucy's heart rushed out +to him. She shut the door softly and with her bare +feet making no sound went up behind him.</p> + +<p>He thought the parlourmaid had shut the door, and +gone to carry out his order. Feeling an arm put round +his shoulder he thought the parlourmaid hadn't gone +to carry out his order, but had gone mad instead.</p> + +<p>'Good God!' he exclaimed, jumping up.</p> + +<p>At the sight of Lucy in her blanket, with her bare +feet and her confused hair, his face changed. He stared +at her without speaking.</p> + +<p>'I've come to tell you—I've come to tell you——' +she began.</p> + +<p>Then she faltered, for his mouth was a mere hard line.</p> + +<p>'Everard, darling,' she said entreatingly, lifting her +face to his, 'let's be friends—please let's be friends—I'm +so sorry—so sorry——'</p> + +<p>His eyes ran over her. It was evident that all she +had on was that blanket. A strange fury came into +his face, and he turned his back on her and marched +with a heavy tread to the door, a tread that made Lucy, +for some reason she couldn't at first understand, think +of Elgar. Why Elgar? part of her asked, puzzled, +while the rest of her was blankly watching Wemyss. +Of course: the march: <i>Pomp and Circumstance</i>.</p> + +<p>At the door he turned and said, 'Since you thrust +yourself into my room when I have shown you I don't +desire your company you force me to leave it.'</p> + +<p>Then he added, his voice sounding queer and through +his teeth, 'You'd better go and put your clothes on. +I assure you I'm proof against sexual allurements.'</p> + +<p>Then he went out.</p> + +<p>Lucy stood looking at the door. Sexual allurements? +What did he mean? Did he think—did he mean——</p> + +<p>She flushed suddenly, and gripping her blanket tight +about her she too marched to the door, her eyes bright +and fixed.</p> + +<p>Considering the blanket, she walked upstairs with a +good deal of dignity, and passed the bedroom door +just as Lizzie, her arms full of a complete set of clothing, +came out of it.</p> + +<p>'Lumme!' once more exclaimed Lizzie, who seemed +marked down for shocks; and dropped a hairbrush and +a shoe.</p> + +<p>Disregarding her, Lucy proceeded up the next flight +with the same dignity, and having reached Vera's room +crossed to the fire, where she stood in silence while +Lizzie, who had hurried after her and was reproaching +her for having gone downstairs like that, dressed her +and brushed her hair.</p> + +<p>She was quite silent. She didn't move. She was +miles away from Lizzie, absorbed in quite a new set +of astonished, painful thoughts. But at the end, when +Lizzie asked her if there was anything more she could +do, she looked at her a minute and then, having realised +her, put out her hand and laid it on her arm.</p> + +<p>'Thank you <i>very</i> much for everything,' she said +earnestly.</p> + +<p>'I'm terribly sorry about that window, mum,' said +Lizzie, who was sure she had been the cause of trouble. +'I don't know what come over me to forget it.'</p> + +<p>Lucy smiled faintly at her. 'Never mind,' she said; +and she thought that if it hadn't been for that window +she and Everard—well, it was no use thinking like that; +perhaps there would have been something else.</p> + +<p>Lizzie went. She was a recent acquisition, and was +the only one of the servants who hadn't known the late +Mrs. Wemyss, but she told herself that anyhow she +preferred this one. She went; and Lucy stood where +she had left her, staring at the floor, dropping back +into her quite new set of astonished, painful thoughts.</p> + +<p>Everard,—that was an outrage, that about sexual +allurements; just simply an outrage. She flushed at +the remembrance of it; her whole body seemed to +flush hot. She felt as though never again would she +be able to bear him making love to her. He had spoilt +that. But that was a dreadful way to feel, that was +destructive of the very heart of marriage. No, she +mustn't let herself,—she must stamp that feeling out; +she must forget what he had said. He couldn't really +have meant it. He was still in a temper. She oughtn't +to have gone down. But how could she know? All +this was new to her, a new side of Everard. Perhaps, +she thought, watching the reflection of the flames +flickering on the shiny, slippery oak floor, only people +with tempers should marry people with tempers. They +would understand each other, say the same sorts of +things, tossing them backwards and forwards like a +fiery, hissing ball, know the exact time it would last, +and be saved by their vivid emotions from the deadly +hurt, the deadly loneliness of the one who couldn't +get into a rage.</p> + +<p>Loneliness.</p> + +<p>She lifted her head and looked round the room.</p> + +<p>No, she wasn't lonely. There was still——</p> + +<p>Suddenly she went to the bookshelves, and began +pulling out the books quickly, hungrily reading their +names, turning over their pages in a kind of starving +hurry to get to know, to get to understand, Vera....</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XXI</h2> + + +<p>Meanwhile Wemyss had gone into the drawing-room +till such time as his wife should choose to allow him to +have his own library to himself again.</p> + +<p>For a long while he walked up and down it thinking +bitter things, for he was very angry. The drawing-room +was a big gaunt room, rarely used of recent years. +In the early days, when people called on the newly +arrived Wemysses, there had been gatherings in it,—retaliatory +festivities to the vicar, to the doctor, to +the landlord, with a business acquaintance or two of +Wemyss's, wife appended, added to fill out. These +festivities, however, died of inanition. Something was +wanting, something necessary to nourish life in them. +He thought of them as he walked about the echoing +room from which the last guest had departed years ago. +Vera, of course. Her fault that the parties had left off. +She had been so slack, so indifferent. You couldn't +expect people to come to your house if you took no +pains to get them there. Yet what a fine room for +entertaining. The grand piano, too. Never used. +And Vera who made such a fuss about music, and +pretended she knew all about it.</p> + +<p>The piano was clothed from head to foot in a heavy +red baize cover, even its legs being buttoned round in +what looked like Alpine Sport gaiters, and the baize +flap that protected the keys had buttons all along it from +one end to the other. In order to play, these buttons +had first to be undone,—Wemyss wasn't going to have +the expensive piano not taken care of. It had been +his wedding present to Vera—how he had loved that +woman!—and he had had the baize clothes made +specially, and had instructed Vera that whenever the +piano was not in use it was to have them on, properly +fastened.</p> + +<p>What trouble he had had with her at first about it. +She was always forgetting to button it up again. She +would be playing, and get up and go away to lunch, +or tea, or out into the garden, and leave it uncovered +with the damp and dust getting into it, and not only +uncovered but with its lid open. Then, when she found +that he went in to see if she had remembered, she did +for a time cover it up in the intervals of playing, but +never buttoned all its buttons; invariably he found that +some had been forgotten. It had cost £150. Women +had no sense of property. They were unfit to have +the charge of valuables. Besides, they got tired of +them. Vera had actually quite soon got tired of the +piano. His present. That wasn't very loving of her. +And when he said anything about it she wouldn't +speak. Sulked. How profoundly he disliked sulking. +And she, who had made such a fuss about music when +first he met her, gave up playing, and for years no one +had touched the piano. Well, at least it was being +taken care of.</p> + +<p>From habit he stooped and ran his eye up its gaiters.</p> + +<p>All buttoned.</p> + +<p>Stay—no; one buttonhole gaped.</p> + +<p>He stooped closer and put out his hand to button +it, and found the button gone. No button. Only an +end of thread. How was that?</p> + +<p>He straightened himself, and went to the fireplace +and rang the bell. Then he waited, looking at his +watch. Long ago he had timed the distances between +the different rooms and the servants' quarters, allowing +for average walking and one minute's margin for +getting under way at the start, so that he knew +exactly at what moment the parlourmaid ought to +appear.</p> + +<p>She appeared just as time was up and his finger was +moving towards the bell again.</p> + +<p>'Look at that piano-leg,' said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>The parlourmaid, not knowing which leg, looked at +all three so as to be safe.</p> + +<p>'What do you see?' he asked.</p> + +<p>The parlourmaid was reluctant to say. What she +saw was piano-legs, but she felt that wasn't the right +answer.</p> + +<p>'What do you <i>not</i> see?' Wemyss asked, louder.</p> + +<p>This was much more difficult, because there were +so many things she didn't see; her parents, for +instance.</p> + +<p>'Are you deaf, woman?' he inquired.</p> + +<p>She knew the answer to that, and said it quickly. +'No sir,' she said.</p> + +<p>'Look at that piano-leg, I say,' said Wemyss, pointing +with his pipe.</p> + +<p>It was, so to speak, the off fore-leg at which he +pointed, and the parlourmaid, relieved to be given a +clue, fixed her eye on it earnestly.</p> + +<p>'What do you see?' he asked. 'Or, rather, what +do you not see?'</p> + +<p>The parlourmaid looked hard at what she saw, +leaving what she didn't see to take care of itself. It +seemed unreasonable to be asked to look at what she +didn't see. But though she looked, she could see +nothing to justify speech. Therefore she was silent.</p> + +<p>'Don't you see there's a button off?'</p> + +<p>The parlourmaid, on looking closer, did see that, and +said so.</p> + +<p>'Isn't it your business to attend to this room?'</p> + +<p>She admitted that it was.</p> + +<p>'Buttons don't come off of themselves,' Wemyss +informed her.</p> + +<p>The parlourmaid, this not being a question, said +nothing.</p> + +<p>'Do they?' he asked loudly.</p> + +<p>'No sir,' said the parlourmaid; though she could +have told him many a story of things buttons did do +of themselves, coming off in your hand when you hadn't +so much as begun to touch them. Cups, too. The +way cups would fall apart in one's hand——</p> + +<p>She, however, merely said, 'No sir.'</p> + +<p>'Only wear and tear makes them come off,' Wemyss +announced; and continuing judicially, emphasising his +words with a raised forefinger, he said: 'Now attend +to me. This piano hasn't been used for years. Do +you hear that? Not for years. To my certain knowledge +not for years. Therefore the cover cannot have +been unbuttoned legitimately, it cannot have been +unbuttoned by any one authorised to unbutton it. +Therefore——'</p> + +<p>He pointed his finger straight at her and paused. +'Do you follow me?' he asked sternly.</p> + +<p>The parlourmaid hastily reassembled her wandering +thoughts. 'Yes sir,' she said.</p> + +<p>'Therefore some one unauthorised has unbuttoned +the cover, and some one unauthorised has played on the +piano. Do you understand?'</p> + +<p>'Yes sir,' said the parlourmaid.</p> + +<p>'It is hardly credible,' he went on, 'but nevertheless +the conclusion can't be escaped, that some one has +actually taken advantage of my absence to play on that +piano. Some one in this house has actually dared——'</p> + +<p>'There's the tuner,' said the parlourmaid tentatively, +not sure if that would be an explanation, for Wemyss's +lucid sentences, almost of a legal lucidity, invariably +confused her, but giving the suggestion for what it was +worth. 'I understood the orders was to let the tuner +in once a quarter, sir. Yesterday was his day. He +played for a hour. And 'ad the baize and everything +off, and the lid leaning against the wall.'</p> + +<p>True. True. The tuner. Wemyss had forgotten +the tuner. The tuner had standing instructions to come +and tune. Well, why couldn't the fool-woman have +reminded him sooner? But the tuner having tuned +didn't excuse the parlourmaid's not having sewn on +the button the tuner had pulled off.</p> + +<p>He told her so.</p> + +<p>'Yes sir,' she said.</p> + +<p>'You will have that button on in five minutes,' he +said, pulling out his watch. 'In five minutes exactly +from now that button will be on. I shall be staying +in this room, so shall see for myself that you carry out +my orders.'</p> + +<p>'Yes sir,' said the parlourmaid.</p> + +<p>He walked to the window and stood staring at the +wild afternoon. She remained motionless where she was.</p> + +<p>What a birthday he was having. And with what joy +he had looked forward to it. It seemed to him very +like the old birthdays with Vera, only so much more +painful because he had expected so much. Vera had +got him used to expecting very little; but it was Lucy, +his adored Lucy, who was inflicting this cruel disappointment +on him. Lucy! Incredible. And she to come +down in that blanket, tempting him, very nearly getting +him that way rather than by the only right and decent +way of sincere and obvious penitence. Why, even +Vera had never done a thing like that, not once in all +the years.</p> + +<p>'Let's be friends,' says Lucy. Friends! Yes, she +did say something about sorry, but what about that +blanket? Sorrow with no clothes on couldn't possibly +be genuine. It didn't go together with that kind of +appeal. It was not the sort of combination one expected +in a wife. Why couldn't she come down and +apologise properly dressed? God, her little shoulder +sticking out—how he had wanted to seize and kiss +it ... but then that would have been giving in, that +would have meant her triumph. Her triumph, indeed—when +it was she, and she only, who had begun the whole +thing, running out of the room like that, not obeying +him when he called, humiliating him before that +damned Lizzie....</p> + +<p>He thrust his hands into his pockets and turned +away with a jerk from the window.</p> + +<p>There, standing motionless, was the parlourmaid.</p> + +<p>'What? You still here?' he exclaimed. 'Why +the devil don't you go and fetch that button?'</p> + +<p>'I understood your orders was none of us is to leave +rooms without your permission, sir.'</p> + +<p>'You'd better be quick then,' he said, looking at +his watch. 'I gave you five minutes, and three of them +have gone.'</p> + +<p>She disappeared; and in the servants' sitting-room, +while she was hastily searching for her thimble and a +button that would approximately do, she told the +others what they already knew but found satisfaction +in repeating often, that if it weren't that Wemyss was +most of the week in London, not a day, not a minute, +would she stay in the place.</p> + +<p>'There's the wages,' the cook reminded her.</p> + +<p>Yes; they were good; higher than anywhere she +had heard of. But what was the making of the place +was the complete freedom from Monday morning every +week to Friday tea-time. Almost anything could be +put up with from Friday tea-time till Monday morning, +seeing that the rest of the week they could do exactly +as they chose, with the whole place as good as belonging +to them; and she hurried away, and got back to the +drawing-room thirty seconds over time.</p> + +<p>Wemyss, however, wasn't there with his watch. He +was on his way upstairs to the top of the house, telling +himself as he went that if Lucy chose to take possession +of his library he would go and take possession of her +sitting-room. It was only fair. But he knew she wasn't +now in the library. He knew she wouldn't stay there +all that time. He wanted an excuse to himself for going +to where she was. She must beg his pardon properly. +He could hold out—oh, he could hold out all right for +any length of time, as she'd find out very soon if she +tried the sulking game with him—but to-day it was +their first day in his home; it was his birthday; and +though nothing could be more monstrous than the way +she had ruined everything, yet if she begged his pardon +properly he would forgive her, he was ready to take her +back the moment she showed real penitence. Never +was a woman loved as he loved Lucy. If only she +would be penitent, if only she would properly and +sincerely apologise, then he could kiss her again. He +would kiss that little shoulder of hers, make her pull +her blouse back so that he could see it as he saw it down +in the library, sticking out of that damned blanket—God, +how he loved her....</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XXII</h2> + + +<p>The first thing he saw when he opened the door of the +room at the top of the house was the fire.</p> + +<p>A fire. He hadn't ordered a fire. He must look into +that. That officious slattern Lizzie——</p> + +<p>Then, before he had recovered from this, he had +another shock. Lucy was on the hearthrug, her head +leaning against the sofa, sound asleep.</p> + +<p>So that's what she had been doing,—just going +comfortably to sleep, while he——</p> + +<p>He shut the door and walked over to the fireplace +and stood with his back to it looking down at her. +Even his heavy tread didn't wake her. He had shut +the door in the way that was natural, and had walked +across the room in the way that was natural, for he +felt no impulse in the presence of sleep to go softly. +Besides, why should she sleep in broad daylight? +Wemyss was of opinion that the night was for that. +No wonder she couldn't steep at night if she did it in +the daytime. There she was, sleeping soundly, +completely indifferent to what he might be doing. Would +a really loving woman be able to do that? Would a +really devoted wife?</p> + +<p>Then he noticed that her face, the side of it he could +see, was much swollen, and her nose was red. At least, +he thought, she had had some contrition for what she +had done before going to sleep. It was to be hoped +she would wake up in a proper frame of mind. If so, +even now some of the birthday might be saved.</p> + +<p>He took out his pipe and filled it slowly, his eyes +wandering constantly to the figure on the floor. +Fancy that thing having the power to make or mar his +happiness. He could pick that much up with one hand. +It looked like twelve, with its long-stockinged relaxed +legs, and its round, short-haired head, and its swollen +face of a child in a scrape. Make or mar. He lit his +pipe, repeating the phrase to himself, struck by it, +struck by the way it illuminated his position of bondage +to love.</p> + +<p>All his life, he reflected, he had only asked to be +allowed to lavish love, to make a wife happy. Look +how he had loved Vera: with the utmost devotion till +she had killed it, and nothing but trouble as a reward. +Look how he loved that little thing on the floor. +Passionately. And in return, the first thing she did on +being brought into his home as his bride was to quarrel +and ruin his birthday. She knew how keenly he had +looked forward to his birthday, she knew how the +arrangements of the whole honeymoon, how the very +date of the wedding, had hinged on this one day; yet +she had deliberately ruined it. And having ruined it, +what did she care? Comes up here, if you please, and +gets a book and goes comfortably to sleep over it in +front of the fire.</p> + +<p>His mouth hardened still more. He pulled the arm-chair +up and sat down noisily in it, his eyes cold with +resentment.</p> + +<p>The book Lucy had been reading had dropped out +of her hand when she fell asleep, and lay open on the +floor at his feet. If she used books in such a way, +Wemyss thought, he would be very careful how he let +her have the key of his bookcase. This was one of +Vera's,—Vera hadn't taken any care of her books either; +she was always reading them. He slanted his head sideways +to see the title, to see what it was Lucy had +considered more worth her attention than her conduct +that day towards her husband. <i>Wuthering Heights</i>. +He hadn't read it, but he fancied he had heard of it as +a morbid story. She might have been better employed, +on their first day at home, than in shutting herself away +from him reading a morbid story.</p> + +<p>It was while he was looking at her with these thoughts +stonily in his eyes that Lucy, wakened by the smell of +his pipe, opened hers. She saw Everard sitting close +to her, and had one of those moments of instinctive +happiness, of complete restoration to unshadowed +contentment, which sometimes follow immediately on +waking up, before there has been time to remember. +It seems for a wonderful instant as though all in the +world were well. Doubts have vanished. Pain is gone. +And sometimes the moment continues even beyond +remembrance.</p> + +<p>It did so now with Lucy. When she opened her +eyes and saw Everard, she smiled at him a smile of +perfect confidence. She had forgotten everything. She +woke up after a deep sleep and saw him, her dear love, +sitting beside her. How natural to be happy. Then, +the expression on his face bringing back remembrance, +it seemed to her in that first serene sanity, that +clear-visioned moment of spirit unfretted by body, that they +had been extraordinarily silly, taking everything the +other one said and did with a tragicness....</p> + +<p>Only love filled Lucy after the deep, restoring sleep. +'Dearest one,' she murmured drowsily, smiling at him, +without changing her position.</p> + +<p>He said nothing to that; and presently, having +woken up more, she got on to her knees and pulled +herself across to him and curled up at his feet, her head +against his knee.</p> + +<p>He still said nothing. He waited. He would give her +time. Her words had been familiar, but not penitent. +They had hardly been the right beginning for an expression +of contrition; but he would see what she said next.</p> + +<p>What she said next was, 'Haven't we been silly,'—and, +more familiarity, she put one arm round his knees +and held them close against her face.</p> + +<p>'We?' said Wemyss. 'Did you say we?'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Lucy, her cheek against his knee. 'We've +been wasting time.'</p> + +<p>Wemyss paused before he made his comment on +this. 'Really,' he then said, 'the way you include me +shows very little appreciation of your conduct.'</p> + +<p>'Well, <i>I've</i> been silly then,' she said, lifting her head +and smiling up at him.</p> + +<p>She simply couldn't go on with indignations. Perhaps +they were just ones. It didn't matter if they were. +Who wanted to be in the right in a dispute with one's +lover? Everybody, oh, but everybody who loved, would +passionately want always to have been in the wrong, +never, never to have been right. That one's beloved +should have been unkind,—who wanted that to be +true? Who wouldn't do anything sooner than have +not been mistaken about it? Vividly she saw Everard +as he was before their marriage; so dear, so boyish, +such fun, her playmate. She could say anything to +him then. She had been quite fearless. And vividly, +too, she saw him as he was when first they met, both +crushed by death,—how he had comforted her, how he +had been everything that was wonderful and tender. +All that had happened since, all that had happened on +this particular and most unfortunate day, was only a +sort of excess of boyishness: boyishness on its +uncontrolled side, a wave, a fit of bad temper provoked by +her not having held on to her impulses. That locking +her out in the rain,—a schoolboy might have done that +to another schoolboy. It meant nothing, except that +he was angry. That about sexual allure——oh, well.</p> + +<p>'I've been very silly,' she said earnestly.</p> + +<p>He looked down at her in silence. He wanted more +than that. That wasn't nearly enough. He wanted +much more of humbleness before he could bring himself +to lift her on to his knee, forgiven. And how much he +wanted her on his knee.</p> + +<p>'Do you realise what you've done?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Lucy. 'And I'm so sorry. Won't we +kiss and be friends?'</p> + +<p>'Not yet, thank you. I must be sure first that you +understand how deliberately wicked you've been.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, but I haven't been deliberately wicked!' +exclaimed Lucy, opening her eyes wide with astonishment. +'Everard, how can you say such a thing?'</p> + +<p>'Ah, I see. You are still quite impenitent, and I +am sorry I came up.'</p> + +<p>He undid her arm from round his knees, put her on one +side, and got out of the chair. Rage swept over him again.</p> + +<p>'Here I've been sitting watching you like a dog,' he +said, towering over her, 'like a faithful dog while you +slept, waiting patiently till you woke up and only +wanting to forgive you, and you not only callously +sleep after having behaved outrageously and allowed +yourself to exhibit temper before the whole house on +our very first day together in my home—well knowing, +mind you, what day it is—but when I ask you for some +sign, some word, some assurance that you are ashamed +of yourself and will not repeat your conduct, you merely +deny that you have done anything needing forgiveness.'</p> + +<p>He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, his face twitching +with anger, and wished to God he could knock the +opposition out of Lucy as easily.</p> + +<p>She, on the floor, sat looking up at him, her mouth +open. What could she do with Everard? She didn't +know. Love had no effect; saying she was sorry had +no effect.</p> + +<p>She pushed her hair nervously behind her ears with +both hands. 'I'm sick of quarrels,' she said.</p> + +<p>'So am I,' said Wemyss, going towards the door +thrusting his pipe into his pocket. 'You've only got +yourself to thank for them.'</p> + +<p>She didn't protest. It seemed useless. She said, +'Forgive me, Everard.'</p> + +<p>'Only if you apologise.'</p> + +<p>'Yes.'</p> + +<p>'Yes what?' He paused for her answer.</p> + +<p>'I do apologise.'</p> + +<p>'You admit you've been deliberately wicked?'</p> + +<p>'Oh yes.'</p> + +<p>He continued towards the door.</p> + +<p>She scrambled to her feet and ran after him. 'Please +don't go,' she begged, catching his arm. 'You know I +can't bear it, I can't bear it if we quarrel——'</p> + +<p>'Then what do you mean by saying "Oh yes," in +that insolent manner?'</p> + +<p>'Did it seem insolent? I didn't mean—oh, I'm so +tired of this——'</p> + +<p>'I daresay. You'll be tireder still before you've +done. <i>I</i> don't get tired, let me tell you. You can go +on as long as you choose,—it won't affect me.'</p> + +<p>'Oh do, do let's be friends. I don't want to go on. +I don't want anything in the world except to be friends. +Please kiss me, Everard, and say you forgive me——'</p> + +<p>He at least stood still and looked at her.</p> + +<p>'And do believe I'm so, so sorry——'</p> + +<p>He relented. He wanted, extraordinarily, to kiss +her. 'I'll accept it if you assure me it is so,' he said.</p> + +<p>'And do, do let's be happy. It's your birthday——'</p> + +<p>'As though I've forgotten that.'</p> + +<p>He looked at her upturned face; her arm was round +his neck now. 'Lucy, I don't believe you understand +my love for you,' he said solemnly.</p> + +<p>'No,' said Lucy truthfully, 'I don't think I do.'</p> + +<p>'You'll have to learn.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Lucy; and sighed faintly.</p> + +<p>'You mustn't wound such love.'</p> + +<p>'No,' said Lucy. 'Don't let us wound each other +ever any more, darling Everard.'</p> + +<p>'I'm not talking of each other. I'm talking at this +moment of myself in relation to you. One thing at a +time, please.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Lucy. 'Kiss me, won't you, Everard? +Else I shan't know we're really friends.'</p> + +<p>He took her head in his hands, and bestowed a solemn +kiss of pardon on her brow.</p> + +<p>She tried to coax him back to cheerfulness. 'Kiss +my eyes too,' she said, smiling at him, 'or they'll feel +neglected.'</p> + +<p>He kissed her eyes.</p> + +<p>'And now my mouth, please, Everard.'</p> + +<p>He kissed her mouth, and did at last smile.</p> + +<p>'And now won't we go to the fire and be cosy?' +she asked, her arm in his.</p> + +<p>'By the way, who ordered the fire?' he inquired +in his ordinary voice.</p> + +<p>'I don't know. It was lit when I came up. Oughtn't +it to have been?'</p> + +<p>'Not without orders. It must have been that +Lizzie. I'll ring and find out——'</p> + +<p>'Oh, don't ring!' exclaimed Lucy, catching his hand,—she +felt she couldn't bear any more ringing. 'If you +do she'll come, and I want us to be alone together.'</p> + +<p>'Well, whose fault is it we haven't been alone together +all this time?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'Ah, but we're friends now—you mustn't go back +to that any more,' she said, anxiously smiling and +drawing his hand through her arm.</p> + +<p>He allowed her to lead him to the arm-chair, and +sitting in it did at last feel justified in taking her on his +knee.</p> + +<p>'How my own Love spoils things,' he said, shaking +his head at her with fond solemnity when they were +settled in the chair.</p> + +<p>And Lucy, very cautious now, only said gently, +'But I never <i>mean</i> to.'</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XXIII</h2> + + +<p>She sat after that without speaking on his knee, his arms +round her, her head on his breast.</p> + +<p>She was thinking.</p> + +<p>Try as she might to empty herself of everything +except acceptance and love, she found that only her +body was controllable. That lay quite passive in +Wemyss's arms; but her mind refused to lie passive, +it would think. Strange how tightly one's body could +be held, how close to somebody else's heart, and yet +one wasn't anywhere near the holder. They locked +you up in prisons that way, holding your body tight +and thinking they had got you, and all the while your +mind—you—was as free as the wind and the sunlight. +She couldn't help it, she struggled hard to feel as she +had felt when she woke up and saw him sitting near her; +but the way he had refused to be friends, the complete +absence of any readiness in him to meet her, not half, +nor even a quarter, but a little bit of the way, had for +the first time made her consciously afraid of him.</p> + +<p>She was afraid of him, and she was afraid of herself +in relation to him. He seemed outside anything of +which she had experience. He appeared not to be—he +anyhow had not been that day—generous. There +seemed no way, at any point, by which one could reach +him. What was he <i>really</i> like? How long was it +going to take her really to know him? Years? And +she herself,—she now knew, now that she had made +their acquaintance, that she couldn't at all bear scenes. +Any scenes. Either with herself, or in her presence +with other people. She couldn't bear them while they +were going on, and she couldn't bear the exhaustion +of the long drawn-out making up at the end. And +she not only didn't see how they were to be avoided—for +no care, no caution would for ever be able to watch +what she said, or did, or looked, or, equally important, +what she didn't say, or didn't do, or didn't look—but +she was afraid, afraid with a most dismal foreboding, +that some day after one of them, or in the middle of one +of them, her nerve would give out and she would collapse. +Collapse deplorably; into just something that howled +and whimpered.</p> + +<p>This, however, was horrible. She mustn't think +like this. Sufficient unto the day, she thought, trying +to make herself smile, is the whimpering thereof. +Besides, she wouldn't whimper, she wouldn't go to +pieces, she would discover a way to manage. Where +there was so much love there must be a way to manage.</p> + +<p>He had pulled her blouse back, and was kissing her +shoulder and asking her whose very own wife she was. +But what was the good of love-making if it was immediately +preceded or followed or interrupted by anger? +She was afraid of him. She wasn't in this kissing +at all. Perhaps she had been afraid of him unconsciously +for a long while. What was that abjectness +on the honeymoon, that anxious desire to please, to +avoid offending, but fear? It was love afraid; afraid +of getting hurt, of not going to be able to believe whole-heartedly, +of not going to be able—this was the worst—to +be proud of its beloved. But now, after her experiences +to-day, she had a fear of him more separate, +more definite, distinct from love. Strange to be afraid +of him and love him at the same time. Perhaps if she +didn't love him she wouldn't be afraid of him. No, +she didn't think she would then, because then nothing +that he said would reach her heart. Only she couldn't +imagine that. He <i>was</i> her heart.</p> + +<p>'What are you thinking of?' asked Wemyss, who having +finished with her shoulder noticed how quiet she was.</p> + +<p>She could tell him truthfully; a moment sooner +and she couldn't have. 'I was thinking,' she said, +'that you are my heart.'</p> + +<p>'Take care of your heart then, won't you?' said +Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'We both will,' said Lucy.</p> + +<p>'Of course,' said Wemyss. 'That's understood. +Why state it?'</p> + +<p>She was silent a minute. Then she said, 'Isn't it +nearly tea-time?'</p> + +<p>'By Jove, yes,' he exclaimed, pulling out his watch. +'Why, long past. I wonder what that fool—get up, +little Love—' he brushed her off his lap—'I'll ring and +find out what she means by it.'</p> + +<p>Lucy was sorry she had said anything about tea. +However, he didn't keep his finger on the bell this time, +but rang it normally. Then he stood looking at his +watch.</p> + +<p>She put her arm through his. She longed to say, +'Please don't scold her.'</p> + +<p>'Take care,' he said, his eyes on his watch. 'Don't +shake me——'</p> + +<p>She asked what he was doing.</p> + +<p>'Timing her,' he said. 'Sh—sh—don't talk. I +can't keep count if you talk.'</p> + +<p>She became breathlessly quiet and expectant. She +listened anxiously for the sound of footsteps. She did +hope Lizzie would come in time. Lizzie was so nice,—it +would be dreadful if she got a scolding. Why didn't +she come? There—what was that? A door going +somewhere. Would she do it? Would she?</p> + +<p>Running steps came along the passage outside. +Wemyss put his watch away. 'Five seconds to spare,' +he said. 'That's the way to teach them to answer bells,' +he added with satisfaction.</p> + +<p>'Did you ring, sir?' inquired Lizzie, opening the door.</p> + +<p>'Why is tea late?'</p> + +<p>'It's in the library, sir.'</p> + +<p>'Kindly attend to my question. I asked why +tea was late.'</p> + +<p>'It wasn't late to begin with, sir,' said Lizzie.</p> + +<p>'Be so good as to make yourself clear.'</p> + +<p>Lizzie, who had felt quite clear, here became befogged. +She did her best, however. 'It's got late through +waiting to be 'ad, sir,' she said.</p> + +<p>'I'm afraid I don't follow you. Do you?' he asked, +turning to Lucy.</p> + +<p>She started. 'Yes,' she said.</p> + +<p>'Really. Then you are cleverer than I am,' said +Wemyss.</p> + +<p>Lizzie at this—for she didn't want to make any more +trouble for the young lady—made a further effort to +explain. 'It was punctual in the library, sir, at 'alf-past +four if you'd been there to 'ave it. The tea was +punctual, sir, but there wasn't no one to 'ave it.'</p> + +<p>'And pray by whose orders was it in the library?'</p> + +<p>'I couldn't say, sir. Chesterton——'</p> + +<p>'Don't put it on to Chesterton.'</p> + +<p>'I was thinking,' said Lizzie, who was more stout-hearted +than the parlourmaid and didn't take cover +quite so frequently in dumbness, 'I was thinking +p'raps Chesterton knew. I don't do the tea, sir.'</p> + +<p>'Send Chesterton,' said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>Lizzie disappeared with the quickness of relief. +Lucy, with a nervous little movement, stooped and +picked up <i>Wuthering Heights</i>, which was still lying face +downward on the floor.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Wemyss. 'I like the way you treat books.'</p> + +<p>She put it back on its shelf. 'I went to sleep, and +it fell down,' she said. 'Everard,' she went on quickly, +'I must go and get a handkerchief. I'll join you in +the library.'</p> + +<p>'I'm not going into the library. I'm going to have +tea here. Why should I have tea in the library?'</p> + +<p>'I only thought as it was there——'</p> + +<p>'I suppose I can have tea where I like in my own +house?'</p> + +<p>'But of course. Well, then, I'll go and get a handkerchief +and come back here.'</p> + +<p>'You can do that some other time. Don't be so +restless.'</p> + +<p>'But I—I <i>want</i> a handkerchief this minute,' +said Lucy.</p> + +<p>'Nonsense; here, have mine,' said Wemyss; and +anyhow it was too late to escape, for there in the door +stood Chesterton.</p> + +<p>She was the parlourmaid. Her name has not till +now been mentioned. It was Chesterton.</p> + +<p>'Why is tea in the library?' Wemyss asked.</p> + +<p>'I understood, sir, tea was always to be in the library,' +said Chesterton.</p> + +<p>'That was while I was by myself. I suppose it +wouldn't have occurred to you to inquire whether I +still wished it there now that I am not by myself.'</p> + +<p>This floored Chesterton. Her ignorance of the right +answer was complete. She therefore said nothing, +and merely stood.</p> + +<p>But he didn't let her off. 'Would it?' he asked +suddenly.</p> + +<p>'No sir,' she said, dimly feeling that 'Yes sir' would +land her in difficulties.</p> + +<p>'No. Quite so. It wouldn't. Well, you will now +go and fetch that tea and bring it up here. Stop a +minute, stop a minute—don't be in such a hurry, please. +How long has it been made?'</p> + +<p>'Since half-past four, sir.'</p> + +<p>'Then you will make fresh tea, and you will +make fresh toast, and you will cut fresh bread and +butter.'</p> + +<p>'Yes sir.'</p> + +<p>'And another time you will have the goodness to +ascertain my wishes before taking upon yourself to put +the tea into any room you choose to think fit.'</p> + +<p>'Yes sir.'</p> + +<p>She waited.</p> + +<p>He waved.</p> + +<p>She went.</p> + +<p>'That'll teach her,' said Wemyss, looking refreshed +by the encounter. 'If she thinks she's going to get out +of bringing tea up here by putting it ready somewhere +else she'll find she's mistaken. Aren't they a set? +<i>Aren't</i> they a set, little Love?'</p> + +<p>'I—don't know,' said Lucy nervously.</p> + +<p>'You don't know!'</p> + +<p>'I mean, I don't know them yet. How can I know +them when I've only just come?'</p> + +<p>'You soon will, then. A lazier set of careless, +lying——'</p> + +<p>'Do tell me what that picture is, Everard,' she +interrupted, quickly crossing the room and standing in +front of it. 'I've been wondering and wondering.'</p> + +<p>'You can see what it is. It's a picture.'</p> + +<p>'Yes. But where's the place?'</p> + +<p>'I've no idea. It's one of Vera's. She didn't +condescend to explain it.'</p> + +<p>'You mean she painted it?'</p> + +<p>'I daresay. She was always painting.'</p> + +<p>Wemyss, who had been filling his pipe, lit it and +stood smoking in front of the fire, occasionally looking +at his watch, while Lucy stared at the picture. Lovely, +lovely to run through that door out into the open, into +the warmth and sunshine, further and further away....</p> + +<p>It was the only picture in the room; indeed, the +room was oddly bare,—a thin room, with no carpet on +its slippery floor, only some infrequent rugs, and no +curtains. But there had been curtains, for there were +the rods with rings on them, so that somebody must have +taken Vera's curtains away. Lucy had been strangely +perturbed when she noticed this. It was Vera's room. +Her curtains oughtn't to have been touched.</p> + +<p>The long wall opposite the fireplace had nothing at +all on its sand-coloured surface from the door to the +window except a tall narrow looking-glass in a queerly-carved +black frame, and the picture. But how that +one picture glowed. What glorious weather they were +having in it! It wasn't anywhere in England, she was +sure. It was a brilliant, sunlit place, with a lot of almond +trees in full blossom,—an orchard of them, apparently, +standing in grass that was full of little flowers, very +gay little flowers, of kinds she didn't know. And +through the open door in the wall there was an amazing +stretch of hot, vivid country. It stretched on and on +till it melted into an ever so far away lovely blue. There +was an effect of immense spaciousness, of huge freedom. +One could feel oneself running out into it with one's +face to the sun, flinging up one's arms in an ecstasy of +release, of escape....</p> + +<p>'It's somewhere abroad,' she said, after a silence.</p> + +<p>'I daresay,' said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'Used you to travel much?' she asked, still examining +the picture, fascinated.</p> + +<p>'She refused to.'</p> + +<p>'She refused to?' echoed Lucy, turning round.</p> + +<p>She looked at him wonderingly. That seemed not +only unkind of Vera, but extraordinarily—yes, energetic. +The exertion required for refusing Everard something +he wanted was surely enormous, was surely greater than +any but the most robust-minded wife could embark +upon. She had had one small experience of what +disappointing him meant in that question of Christmas, +and she hadn't been living with him then, and she had +had all the nights to recover in; yet the effect of that +one experience had been to make her give in at once +when next he wanted something, and it was because +of last Christmas that she was standing married in that +room instead of being still, as both she and her Aunt Dot +had intended, six months off it.</p> + +<p>'Why did she refuse?' she asked, wondering.</p> + +<p>Wemyss didn't answer for a moment. Then he said, +'I was going to say you had better ask her, but you +can't very well do that, can you.'</p> + +<p>Lucy stood looking at him. 'Yes,' she said, 'she +does seem extraordinarily near, doesn't she. This +room is full——'</p> + +<p>'Now Lucy I'll have none of that. Come here.'</p> + +<p>He held out his hand. She crossed over obediently +and took it.</p> + +<p>He pulled her close and ruffled her hair. He was +in high spirits again. His encounters with the servants +had exhilarated him.</p> + +<p>'Who's my duddely-umpty little girl?' he asked. +'Tell me who's my duddely-umpty little girl. Quick. +Tell me——' And he caught her round the waist and +jumped her up and down.</p> + +<p>Chesterton, bringing in the tea, arrived in the middle +of a jump.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XXIV</h2> + + +<p>There appeared to be no tea-table. Chesterton, her +arms stretched taut holding the heavy tray, looked +round. Evidently tea up there wasn't usual.</p> + +<p>'Put it in the window,' said Wemyss, jerking his +head towards the writing-table.</p> + +<p>'Oh——' began Lucy quickly; and stopped.</p> + +<p>'What's the matter?' asked Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'Won't it—be draughty?'</p> + +<p>'Nonsense. Draughty. Do you suppose I'd tolerate +windows in my house that let in draughts?'</p> + +<p>Chesterton, resting a corner of the tray on the table, +was sweeping a clear space for it with her hand. Not +that much sweeping was needed, for the table was big +and all that was on it was the notepaper which earlier +in the afternoon had been scattered on the floor, a +rusty pen or two, some pencils whose ends had been +gnawed as the pencils of a child at its lessons are gnawed, +a neglected-looking inkpot, and a grey book with +<i>Household Accounts</i> in dark lettering on its cover.</p> + +<p>Wemyss watched her while she arranged the tea-things.</p> + +<p>'Take care, now—take care,' he said, when a cup +rattled in its saucer.</p> + +<p>Chesterton, who had been taking care, took more +of it; and <i>le trop</i> being <i>l'ennemi du bien</i> she was so +unfortunate as to catch her cuff in the edge of the plate +of bread and butter.</p> + +<p>The plate tilted up; the bread and butter slid off; +and only by a practised quick movement did she stop +the plate from following the bread and butter and +smashing itself on the floor.</p> + +<p>'There now,' said Wemyss. 'See what you've done. +Didn't I tell you to be careful? It isn't,' he said, +turning to Lucy, 'as if I hadn't <i>told</i> her to be careful.'</p> + +<p>Chesterton, on her knees, was picking up the bread +and butter which lay—a habit she had observed in bread +and butter under circumstances of this kind—butter +downwards.</p> + +<p>'You will fetch a cloth,' said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'Yes sir.'</p> + +<p>'And you will cut more bread and butter.'</p> + +<p>'Yes sir.'</p> + +<p>'That makes two plates of bread and butter wasted +to-day entirely owing to your carelessness. They shall be +stopped out of your——Lucy, where are you going?'</p> + +<p>'To fetch a handkerchief. I must have a handkerchief, +Everard. I can't for ever use yours.'</p> + +<p>'You'll do nothing of the kind. Lizzie will bring +you one. Come back at once. I won't have you +running in and out of the room the whole time. I +never knew any one so restless. Ring the bell and tell +Lizzie to get you one. What is she for, I should like +to know?'</p> + +<p>He then resumed and concluded his observations to +Chesterton. 'They shall be stopped out of your wages. +That,' he said, 'will teach you.'</p> + +<p>And Chesterton, who was used to this, and had long +ago arranged with the cook that such stoppages should +be added on to the butcher's book, said, 'Yes sir.'</p> + +<p>When she had gone—or rather withdrawn, for a +plain word like gone doesn't justly describe the noiseless +decorum with which Chesterton managed the doors of +her entrances and exits—and when Lizzie, too, had gone +after bringing a handkerchief, Lucy supposed they +would now have tea; she supposed the moment had at +last arrived for her to go and sit in that window.</p> + +<p>The table was at right angles to it, so that sitting at +it you had nothing between one side of you and the +great pane of glass that reached nearly to the floor. +You could look sheer down on to the flags below. She +thought it horrible, gruesome to have tea there, and the +very first day, before she had had a moment's time to +get used to things. Such detachment on the part of +Everard was either just stark wonderful—she had +already found noble explanations for it—or it was so +callous that she had no explanation for it at all; none, +that is, that she dared think of. Once more she decided +that his way was really the best and simplest way to +meet the situation. You took the bull by the horns. +You seized the nettle. You cleared the air. And +though her images, she felt, were not what they +might be, neither was anything else that day what it +might be. Everything appeared to reflect the confusion +produced by Wemyss's excessive lucidity of speech.</p> + +<p>'Shall I pour out the tea?' she asked presently, +preparing, then, to take the bull by the horns; for he +remained standing in front of the fire smoking in silence. +'Just think,' she went on, making an effort to be gay, +'this is the first time I shall pour out tea in my——'</p> + +<p>She was going to say 'My own home,' but the words +wouldn't come off her tongue. Wemyss had repeatedly +during the day spoken of his home, but not once had +he said 'our' or 'your'; and if ever a house didn't feel +as if it in the very least belonged, too, to her, it was +this one.</p> + +<p>'Not yet,' he said briefly.</p> + +<p>She wondered. 'Not yet?' she repeated.</p> + +<p>'I'm waiting for the bread and butter.'</p> + +<p>'But won't the tea get cold?'</p> + +<p>'No doubt. And it'll be entirely that fool's fault.'</p> + +<p>'But——' began Lucy, after a silence.</p> + +<p>'Buts again?'</p> + +<p>'I was only thinking that if we had it now it wouldn't +be cold.'</p> + +<p>'She must be taught her lesson.'</p> + +<p>Again she wondered. 'Won't it rather be a lesson +to us?' she asked.</p> + +<p>'For God's sake, Lucy, don't argue. Things have +to be done properly in my house. You've had no +experience of a properly managed household. All that +set you were brought up in—why, one only had to look +at them to see what a hugger-mugger way they probably +lived. It's entirely the careless fool's own fault that the +tea will be cold. <i>I</i> didn't ask her to throw the bread +and butter on the floor, did I?'</p> + +<p>And as she said nothing, he asked again. 'Did I?' +he asked.</p> + +<p>'No,' said Lucy.</p> + +<p>'Well then,' said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>They waited in silence.</p> + +<p>Chesterton arrived. She put the fresh bread and +butter on the table, and then wiped the floor with a +cloth she had brought.</p> + +<p>Wemyss watched her closely. When she had done—and +Chesterton being good at her work, scrutinise as he +might he could see no sign on the floor of overlooked +butter—he said, 'You will now take the teapot down +and bring some hot tea.'</p> + +<p>'Yes sir,' said Chesterton, removing the teapot.</p> + +<p>A line of a hymn her nurse used to sing came into +Lucy's head when she saw the teapot going. It was:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What various hindrances we meet—</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>and she thought the next line, which she didn't remember, +must have been:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Before at tea ourselves we seat.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>But though one portion of her mind was repeating +this with nervous levity, the other was full of concern +for the number of journeys up and down all those stairs +the parlourmaid was being obliged to make. It was—well, +thoughtless of Everard to make her go up and +down so often. Probably he didn't realise—of course +he didn't—how very many stairs there were. When +and how could she talk to him about things like this? +When would he be in such a mood that she would be +able to do so without making them worse? And how, +in what words sufficiently tactful, sufficiently gentle, +would she be able to avoid his being offended? She +must manage somehow. But tact—management—prudence—all +these she had not yet in her life needed. +Had she the smallest natural gift for them? Besides, +each of them applied to love seemed to her an insult. +She had supposed that love, real love, needed none of +these protections. She had thought it was a simple, +sturdy growth that could stand anything.... Why, +here was the parlourmaid already, teapot and all. +How very quick she had been!</p> + +<p>Chesterton, however, hadn't so much been quick as +tactful, managing, and prudent. She had been practising +these qualities on the other side of the door, whither +she had taken the teapot and quietly waited with it +a few minutes, and whence she now brought it back. +She placed it on the table with admirable composure; +and when Wemyss, on her politely asking whether there +were anything else he required, said, 'Yes. You will +now take away that toast and bring fresh,' she took the +toast also only as far as the other side of the door, and +waited with it there a little.</p> + +<p>Lucy now hoped they would have tea. 'Shall I +pour it out?' she asked after a moment a little anxiously, +for he still didn't move and she began to be afraid the +toast might be going to be the next hindrance; in which +case they would go round and round for the rest of the +day, never catching up the tea at all.</p> + +<p>But he did go over and sit down at the table, followed +by her who hardly now noticed its position, so much +surprised and absorbed was she by his methods of +housekeeping.</p> + +<p>'Isn't it monstrous,' he said, sitting down heavily, +'how we've been kept waiting for such a simple thing +as tea. I tell you they're the most slovenly——'</p> + +<p>There was Chesterton again, bearing the toast-rack +balanced on the tip of a respectful ringer.</p> + +<p>This time even Lucy realised that it must be the same +toast, and her hand, lifted in the act of pouring out tea, +trembled, for she feared the explosion that was bound +to come.</p> + +<p>How extraordinary. There was no explosion. Everard +hadn't—it seemed incredible—noticed. His attention +was so much fixed on what she was doing with his +cup, he was watching her so carefully lest she should +fill it a hair's-breadth fuller than he liked, that all he said +to Chesterton as she put the toast on the table was, +'Let this be a lesson to you.' But there was no gusto +in it; it was quite mechanical.</p> + +<p>'Yes sir,' said Chesterton.</p> + +<p>She waited.</p> + +<p>He waved.</p> + +<p>She went.</p> + +<p>The door hadn't been shut an instant before Wemyss +exclaimed, 'Why, if that slovenly hussy hasn't +forgotten——' And too much incensed to continue he +stared at the tea-tray.</p> + +<p>'What? What?' asked Lucy startled, also staring +at the tea-tray.</p> + +<p>'Why, the sugar.'</p> + +<p>'Oh, I'll call her back—she's only just gone——'</p> + +<p>'Sit down, Lucy.'</p> + +<p>'But she's just outside——'</p> + +<p>'Sit <i>down</i>, I tell you.'</p> + +<p>Lucy sat.</p> + +<p>Then she remembered that neither she nor Everard +ever had sugar in their tea, so naturally there was no +point in calling Chesterton back.</p> + +<p>'Oh, of course,' she said, smiling nervously, for +what with one thing and another she was feeling +shattered, 'how stupid of me. We don't want sugar.'</p> + +<p>Wemyss said nothing. He was studying his watch, +timing Chesterton. Then when the number of seconds +needed to reach the kitchen had run out, he got up and +rang the bell.</p> + +<p>In due course Lizzie appeared. It seemed that the +rule was that this particular bell should be answered +by Lizzie.</p> + +<p>'Chesterton,' said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>In due course Chesterton appeared. She was less +composed than when she brought back the teapot, than +when she brought back the toast. She tried to hide it, +but she was out of breath.</p> + +<p>'Yes sir?' she said.</p> + +<p>Wemyss took no notice, and went on drinking his +tea.</p> + +<p>Chesterton stood.</p> + +<p>After a period of silence Lucy thought that perhaps +it was expected of her as mistress of the house to tell +her about the sugar; but then as they neither of them +wanted any....</p> + +<p>After a further period of silence, during which she +anxiously debated whether it was this that they were +all waiting for, she thought that perhaps Everard hadn't +heard the parlourmaid come in; so she said—she was +ashamed to hear how timidly it came out—'Chesterton +is here, Everard.'</p> + +<p>He took no notice, and went on eating bread and +butter.</p> + +<p>After a further period of anxious inward debate she +concluded that it must after all be expected of her, as +mistress of the house, to talk of the sugar; and the +sugar was to be talked of not because they needed it +but on principle. But what a roundabout way; how +fatiguing and difficult. Why didn't Everard say what +he wanted, instead of leaving her to guess?</p> + +<p>'I think——' she stammered, flushing, for she was +now very timid indeed, 'you've forgotten the sugar, +Chesterton.'</p> + +<p>'Will you not interfere!' exclaimed Wemyss very +loud, putting down his cup with a bang.</p> + +<p>The flush on Lucy's face vanished as if it had been +knocked out. She sat quite still. If she moved, or +looked anywhere but at her plate, she knew she would +begin to cry. The scenes she had dreaded had not +included any with herself in the presence of servants. +It hadn't entered her head that these, too, were possible. +She must hold on to herself; not move; not look. +She sat absorbed in that one necessity, fiercely +concentrated. Chesterton must have gone away and come +back again, for presently she was aware that sugar was +being put on the tea-tray; and then she was aware that +Everard was holding out his cup.</p> + +<p>'Give me some more tea, please,' he said, 'and for +God's sake don't sulk. If the servants forget their +duties it's neither your nor my business to tell them +what they've forgotten,—they've just got to look and +see, and if they don't see they've just got to stand there +looking till they do. It's the only way to teach them. +But for you to get sulking on the top of it——'</p> + +<p>She lifted the teapot with both hands, because one +hand by itself too obviously shook. She succeeded in +pouring out the tea without spilling it, and in stopping +almost at the very moment when he said, 'Take care, +take care—you're filling it too full.' She even succeeded +after a minute or two in saying, holding carefully on to +her voice to keep it steady, 'I'm not—sulking. I've—got +a headache.'</p> + +<p>And she thought desperately, 'The only thing to be +done with marriage is to let it wash over one.'</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XXV</h2> + + +<p>For the rest of that day she let it wash; unresistingly. +She couldn't think any more. She couldn't feel any +more,—not that day. She really had a headache; and +when the dusk came, and Wemyss turned on the lights, +it was evident even to him that she had, for there was +no colour at all in her face and her eyes were puffed +and leaden.</p> + +<p>He had one of his sudden changes. 'Come here,' +he said, reaching out and drawing her on to his knee; +and he held her face against his breast, and felt full of +maternal instincts, and crooned over her. 'Was it a +poor little baby,' he crooned. 'Did it have a headache +then——' And he put his great cool hand on her hot +forehead and kept it there.</p> + +<p>Lucy gave up trying to understand anything at all +any more. These swift changes,—she couldn't keep up +with them; she was tired, tired....</p> + +<p>They sat like that in the chair before the fire, Wemyss +holding his hand on her forehead and feeling full of +maternal instincts, and she an unresisting blank, till he +suddenly remembered he hadn't shown her the drawing-room +yet. The afternoon had not proceeded on the +lines laid down for it in his plans, but if they were +quick there was still time for the drawing-room before +dinner.</p> + +<p>Accordingly she was abruptly lifted off his knee. +'Come along, little Love,' he said briskly. 'Come along. +Wake up. I want to show you something.'</p> + +<p>And the next thing she knew was that she was +going downstairs, and presently she found herself +standing in a big cold room, blinking in the bright +lights he had switched on at the door.</p> + +<p>'This,' he said, holding her by the arm, 'is the +drawing-room. Isn't it a fine room.' And he explained +the piano, and told her how he had found a button off, +and he pointed out the roll of rugs in a distant corner +which, unrolled, decorated the parquet floor, and he +drew her attention to the curtains,—he had no objections +to curtains in a drawing-room, he said, because a drawing-room +was anyhow a room of concessions; and he asked +her at the end, as he had asked her at the beginning, if +she didn't think it a fine room.</p> + +<p>Lucy said it was a very fine room.</p> + +<p>'You'll remember to put the cover on properly when +you've finished playing the piano, won't you,' he said.</p> + +<p>'Yes I will,' said Lucy. 'Only I don't play,' she +added, remembering she didn't.</p> + +<p>'That's all right then,' he said, relieved.</p> + +<p>They were still standing admiring the proportions +of the room, its marble fireplace and the brilliancy of its +lighting—'The test of good lighting,' said Wemyss, +'is that there shouldn't be a corner of a room in which +a man of eighty can't read his newspaper'—when the +gong began.</p> + +<p>'Good Lord,' he said, looking at his watch, 'it'll +be dinner in ten minutes. Why, we've had nothing +at all of the afternoon, and I'd planned to show you so +many things. Ah,' he said, turning and shaking his +head at her, his voice changing to sorrow, 'whose fault +has that been?'</p> + +<p>'Mine,' said Lucy.</p> + +<p>He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face, +gazing at it and shaking his head slowly. The light, +streaming into her swollen eyes, hurt them and made +her blink.</p> + +<p>'Ah, my Lucy,' he said fondly, 'little waster of +happiness—isn't it better simply to love your Everard +than make him unhappy?'</p> + +<p>'Much better,' said Lucy, blinking.</p> + +<p>There was no dressing for dinner at The Willows, for +that, explained Wemyss, was the great joy of home, +that you needn't ever do anything you don't want to +in it, and therefore, he said, ten minutes' warning was +ample for just washing one's hands. They washed +their hands together in the big bedroom, because Wemyss +disapproved of dressing-rooms at home even more +strongly than on honeymoons in hotels. 'Nobody's +going to separate me from my own woman,' he said, +drying his hands and eyeing her with proud possessiveness +while she dried hers; their basins stood side +by side on the brown mottled marble of the washstand. +'Are they,' he said, as she dried in silence.</p> + +<p>'No,' said Lucy.</p> + +<p>'How's the head?' he said.</p> + +<p>'Better,' she said.</p> + +<p>'Who's got a forgiving husband?' he said.</p> + +<p>'I have,' she said.</p> + +<p>'Smile at me,' he said.</p> + +<p>She smiled at him.</p> + +<p>At dinner it was Vera who smiled, her changeless +little strangled smile, with her eyes on Lucy. Lucy's +seat had its back to Vera, but she knew she had only +to turn her head to see her eyes fixed on her, smiling. +No one else smiled; only Vera.</p> + +<p>Lucy bent her head over her plate, trying to escape +the unshaded light that beat down on her eyes, sore +with crying, and hurt. In front of her was the bowl of +kingcups, the birthday flowers. Just behind Wemyss +stood Chesterton, in an attitude of strained attention. +Dimly through Lucy's head floated thoughts: Seeing +that Everard invariably spent his birthdays at The +Willows, on that day last year at that hour Vera was +sitting where she, Lucy, now was, with the kingcups +glistening in front of her, and Everard tucking his table +napkin into his waistcoat, and Chesterton waiting till +he was quite ready to take the cover off the soup; just +as Lucy was seeing these things this year Vera saw them +last year; Vera still had three months of life ahead of +her then, three more months of dinners, and Chesterton, +and Everard tucking in his napkin. How queer. +What a dream it all was. On that last of his birthdays +at which Vera would ever be present, did any thought +of his next birthday cross her mind? How strange +it would have seemed to her if she could have seen +ahead, and seen her, Lucy, sitting in her chair. The +same chair; everything just the same; except the wife. +'<i>Souvent femme varie</i>,' floated vaguely across her +tired brain. She ate her soup sitting all crooked with +fatigue ... life was exactly like a dream....</p> + +<p>Wemyss, absorbed in the scrutiny of his food +and the behaviour of Chesterton, had no time +to notice anything Lucy might be doing. It was +the rule that Chesterton, at meals, should not for an +instant leave the room. The furthest she was allowed +was a door in the dark corner opposite the door into the +hall, through which at intervals Lizzie's arm thrust +dishes. It was the rule that Lizzie shouldn't come into +the room, but, stationary on the other side of this door, +her function was to thrust dishes through it; and to her +from the kitchen, pattering ceaselessly to and fro, came +the tweeny bringing the dishes. This had all been +thought out and arranged very carefully years ago by +Wemyss, and ought to have worked without a hitch; +but sometimes there were hitches, and Lizzie's arm was +a minute late thrusting in a dish. When this happened +Chesterton, kept waiting and conscious of Wemyss +enormously waiting at the end of the table, would put +her head round the door and hiss at Lizzie, who then +hurried to the kitchen and hissed at the tweeny, who for +her part didn't dare hiss at the cook.</p> + +<p>To-night, however, nothing happened that was not +perfect. From the way Chesterton had behaved about +the tea, and the way Lizzie had behaved about the +window, Wemyss could see that during his four weeks' +absence his household had been getting out of hand, +and he was therefore more watchful than ever, determined +to pass nothing over. On this occasion he +watched in vain. Things went smoothly from start +to finish. The tweeny ran, Lizzie thrust, Chesterton +deposited, dead on time. Every dish was hot and +punctual, or cold and punctual, according to what was +expected of it; and Wemyss going out of the dining-room +at the end, holding Lucy by the arm, couldn't +but feel he had dined very well. Perhaps, though, his +father's photograph hadn't been dusted,—it would +be just like them to have disregarded his instructions. +He went back to look, and Lucy, since he was holding +her by the arm, went too. No, they had even done +that; and there was nothing further to be said except, +with great sternness to Chesterton, eyeing her threateningly, +'Coffee at once.'</p> + +<p>The evening was spent in the library reading Wemyss's +school reports, and looking at photographs of him in +his various stages,—naked and crowing; with ringlets, +in a frock; in knickerbockers, holding a hoop; a stout +schoolboy; a tall and slender youth; thickening; +still thickening; thick,—and they went to bed at ten +o'clock.</p> + +<p>Somewhere round midnight Lucy discovered that +the distances of the treble bed softened sound; either +that, or she was too tired to hear anything, for she +dropped out of consciousness with the heaviness of a +released stone.</p> + +<p>Next day it was finer. There were gleams of sun; +and though the wind still blew, the rain held off except +for occasional spatterings. They got up very late—breakfast +on Sundays at The Willows was not till eleven—and +went and inspected the chickens. By the time they +had done that, and walked round the garden, and stood +on the edge of the river throwing sticks into it and +watching the pace at which they were whirled away on +its muddy and disturbed surface, it was luncheon time. +After luncheon they walked along the towpath, one +behind the other because it was narrow and the grass +at the sides was wet. Wemyss walked slowly, and the +wind was cold. Lucy kept close to his heels, seeking +shelter under, as it were, his lee. Talk wasn't possible +because of the narrow path and the blustering wind, +but every now and then Wemyss looked down over his +shoulder at her. 'Still there?' he asked; and Lucy +said she was.</p> + +<p>They had tea punctually at half-past four up in +Vera's sitting-room, but without, this time, a fire—Wemyss +had rectified Lizzie's tendency to be officious—and +after tea he took her out again to show her how his +electricity was made, while the gardener who saw to the +machinery, and the boy who saw to the gardener, stood +by in attendance.</p> + +<p>There was a cold sunset,—a narrow strip of gold +below heavy clouds, like a sullen, half-open eye. The +prudent cows dotted the fields motionlessly, lying on +their dry bite of grass. The wind blew straight across +from the sunset through Lucy's coat, wrap herself in it +as tightly as she might, while they loitered among +outhouses and examined the durability of the railings. +Her headache, in spite of her good night, hadn't gone, +and by dinner time her throat felt sore. She said +nothing to Wemyss, because she was sure she would +be well in the morning. Her colds never lasted. +Besides she knew, for he had often told her, how much +he was bored by the sick.</p> + +<p>At dinner her cheeks were very red and her eyes +very bright.</p> + +<p>'Who's my pretty little girl,' said Wemyss, struck +by her.</p> + +<p>Indeed he was altogether pleased with her. She +had been his own Lucy throughout the day, so gentle +and sweet, and hadn't once said But, or tried to go out +of rooms. Unquestioningly acquiescent she had been; +and now so pretty, with the light full on her, showing +up her lovely colouring.</p> + +<p>'Who's my pretty little girl,' he said again, laying +his hand on hers, while Chesterton looked down her nose.</p> + +<p>Then he noticed she had a knitted scarf round her +shoulders, and he said, 'Whatever have you got that +thing on in here for?'</p> + +<p>'I'm cold,' said Lucy.</p> + +<p>'Cold! Nonsense. You're as warm as a toast. +Feel my hand compared to yours.'</p> + +<p>Then she did tell him she thought she had caught +cold, and he said, withdrawing his hand and his face +falling, 'Well, if you have it's only what you deserve +when you recollect what you did yesterday.'</p> + +<p>'I suppose it is,' agreed Lucy; and assured him her +colds were all over in twenty-four hours.</p> + +<p>Afterwards in the library when they were alone, she +asked if she hadn't better sleep by herself in case he +caught her cold, but Wemyss wouldn't hear of such a +thing. Not only, he said, he never caught colds and +didn't believe any one else who was sensible ever did, but +it would take more than a cold to separate him from his +wife. Besides, though of course she richly deserved a +cold after yesterday—'Who's a shameless little baggage,' +he said, pinching her ear, 'coming down with only a +blanket on——' somehow, though he had been so angry +at the time, the recollection of that pleased him—he +could see no signs of her having got one. She didn't +sneeze, she didn't blow her nose——</p> + +<p>Lucy agreed, and said she didn't suppose it was +anything really, and she was sure she would be all +right in the morning.</p> + +<p>'Yes—and you know we catch the early train up,' +said Wemyss. 'Leave here at nine sharp, mind.'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Lucy. And presently, for she was +feeling very uncomfortable and hot and cold in +turns, and had a great longing to creep away and +be alone for a little while, she said that perhaps, +although she knew it was very early, she had better +go to bed.</p> + +<p>'All right,' said Wemyss, getting up briskly. 'I'll +come too.'</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XXVI</h2> + + +<p>He found her, however, very trying that night, the way +she would keep on turning round, and it reached such +a pitch of discomfort to sleep with her, or rather +endeavour to sleep with her, for as the night went on she +paid less and less attention to his requests that she +should keep still, that at about two o'clock, staggering +with sleepiness, he got up and went into a spare room, +trailing the quilt after him and carrying his pillows, +and finished the night in peace.</p> + +<p>When he woke at seven he couldn't make out at +first where he was, nor why, on stretching out his arm, +he found no wife to be gathered in. Then he remembered, +and he felt most injured that he should have been turned +out of his own bed. If Lucy imagined she was going +to be allowed to develop the same restlessness at night +that was characteristic of her by day, she was mistaken; +and he got up to go and tell her so.</p> + +<p>He found her asleep in a very untidy position, the +clothes all dragged over to her side of the bed and +pulled up round her. He pulled them back again, +and she woke up, and he got into bed and said, +'Come here,' stretching out his arm, and she didn't +come.</p> + +<p>Then he looked at her more closely, and she, looking +at him with heavy eyes, said something husky. It +was evident she had a very tiresome cold.</p> + +<p>'What an untruth you told me,' he exclaimed, +'about not having a cold in the morning!'</p> + +<p>She again said something husky. It was evident +she had a very tiresome sore throat.</p> + +<p>'It's getting on for half-past seven,' said Wemyss. +'We've got to leave the house at nine sharp, mind.'</p> + +<p>Was it possible that she wouldn't leave the house +at nine sharp? The thought that she wouldn't was too +exasperating to consider. He go up to London alone? +On this the first occasion of going up after his marriage? +He be alone in Lancaster Gate, just as if he hadn't +a wife at all? What was the good of a wife if she didn't +go up to London with one? And all this to come upon +him because of her conduct on his birthday.</p> + +<p>'Well,' he said, sitting up in bed and looking down +at her, 'I hope you're pleased with the result of your +behaviour.'</p> + +<p>But it was no use saying things to somebody who +merely made husky noises.</p> + +<p>He got out of bed and jerked up the blinds. 'Such +a beautiful day, too,' he said indignantly.</p> + +<p>When at a quarter to nine the station cab arrived, +he went up to the bedroom hoping that he would find +her after all dressed and sensible and ready to go, but +there she was just as he had left her when he went to +have his breakfast, dozing and inert in the tumbled bed.</p> + +<p>'You'd better follow me by the afternoon train,' +he said, after staring down at her in silence. 'I'll +tell the cab. But in any case,' he said, as she didn't +answer, 'in <i>any</i> case, Lucy, I expect you to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>She opened her eyes and looked at him languidly.</p> + +<p>'Do you hear?' he said.</p> + +<p>She made a husky noise.</p> + +<p>'Good-bye,' he said shortly, stooping and giving +the top of her head a brief, disgusted kiss. The way +the consequences of folly fell always on somebody else +and punished him.... Wemyss could hardly give his +<i>Times</i> the proper attention in the train for thinking of it.</p> + +<p>That day Miss Entwhistle, aware of the return from +the honeymoon on the Friday, and of the week-end to +be spent at The Willows, and of the coming up to +Lancaster Gate early on the Monday morning for the +inside of the week, waited till twelve o'clock, so as to +allow plenty of time for Wemyss no longer to be in the +house, and then telephoned. Lucy and she were to +lunch together. Lucy had written to say so, and Miss +Entwhistle wanted to know if she wouldn't soon be +round. She longed extraordinarily to fold that darling +little child in her arms again. It seemed an eternity +since she saw her radiantly disappearing in the taxi; +and the letters she had hoped to get during the honeymoon +hadn't been letters at all, but picture postcards.</p> + +<p>A man's voice answered her,—not Wemyss's. It was, +she recognised, the voice of the pale servant, who with +his wife attended to the Lancaster Gate house. They +inhabited the basement, and emerged from it up into +the light only if they were obliged. Bells obliged them +to emerge, and Wemyss's bath and breakfast, and after +his departure to his office the making of his bed; but +then the shades gathered round them again till next +morning, because for a long while now once he had left +the house he hadn't come back till after they were in +bed. His re-marriage was going to disturb them, they +were afraid, and the pale wife had forebodings about +meals to be cooked; but at the worst the disturbance +would only be for the three inside days of the week, and +anything could be borne when one had from Friday to +Monday to oneself; and as the morning went on, and no +one arrived from Strorley, they began to take heart, and +had almost quite taken it when the telephone bell rang.</p> + +<p>It didn't do it very often, for Wemyss had his other +addresses, at the office, at the club, so that Twite, +wanting in practice, was not very good at dealing with +it. Also the shrill bell vibrating through the empty +house, so insistent, so living, never failed to agitate +both Twites. It seemed to them uncanny; and Mrs. +Twite, watching Twite being drawn up by it out of his +shadows, like some quiet fish sucked irresistibly up to +gasp on the surface, was each time thankful that she +hadn't been born a man.</p> + +<p>She always went and listened at the bottom of the +kitchen stairs, not knowing what mightn't happen to +Twite up there alone with that voice, and on this +occasion she heard the following:</p> + +<p>'No, ma'am, not yet, ma'am.'</p> + +<p>'I couldn't say, ma'am.'</p> + +<p>'No, no news, ma'am.'</p> + +<p>'Oh yes, ma'am, on Friday night.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, ma'am, first thing Saturday.'</p> + +<p>'Yes, it is, ma'am—very strange, ma'am.'</p> + +<p>And then there was silence. He was writing, she +knew, on the pad provided by Wemyss for the purpose.</p> + +<p>This was the most trying part of Twite's duties. +Any message had to be written down and left on the +hall table, complete with the time of its delivery, for +Wemyss to see when he came in at night. Twite was +not a facile writer. Words confused him. He was +never sure how they were spelt. Also he found it very +difficult to remember what had been said, for there was +a hurry and an urgency about a voice on the telephone +that excited him and prevented his giving the message +his undivided attention. Besides, when was a message +not a message? Wemyss's orders were to write down +messages. Suppose they weren't messages, must he +still write? Was this, for instance, a message?</p> + +<p>He thought he had best be on the safe side, and +laboriously wrote it down.</p> + +<blockquote><p>Miss Henwissel rang up sir to know if you was come +and if so when you was coming and what orders we ad +and said it was very strange 12.15.</p></blockquote> + +<p>He had only just put this on the table and was about +to descend to his quiet shades when off the thing started +again.</p> + +<p>This time it was Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'Back to-night late as usual,' he said.</p> + +<p>'Yes sir,' said Twite. 'There's just been a——'</p> + +<p>But he addressed emptiness.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Miss Entwhistle, after a period of reflection, +was ringing up Strorley 19. The voice of Chesterton, +composed and efficient, replied; and the effect of her +replies was to make Miss Entwhistle countermand lunch +and pack a small bag and go to Paddington.</p> + +<p>Trains to Strorley at that hour were infrequent and +slow, and it wasn't till nearly five that she drove down +the oozy lane in the station cab and, turning in at the +white gate, arrived at The Willows. That sooner or +later she would have to arrive at The Willows now that +she was related to it by marriage was certain, and she +had quite made up her mind, during her four weeks' +peace since the wedding, that she was going to dismiss +all foolish prejudices against the place from her mind +and arrive at it, when she did arrive, with a stout heart +and an unclouded countenance. After all, there was +much in that <i>mot</i> of her nephew's: 'Somebody has died +everywhere.' Yet, as the cab heaved her nearer to the +place along the oozy lane, she did wish that it wasn't +in just this house that Lucy lay in bed. Also she had +misgivings at being there uninvited. In a case of serious +illness naturally such misgivings wouldn't exist; but +the maid's voice on the telephone had only said +Mrs. Wemyss had a cold and was staying in bed, and +Mr. Wemyss had gone up to London by the usual train. +It couldn't be much that was wrong, or he wouldn't +have gone. Hadn't she, she thought uneasily as she +found herself uninvited within Wemyss's gates, perhaps +been a little impulsive? Yet the idea of that child +alone in the sinister house——</p> + +<p>She peered out of the cab window. Not at all +sinister, she said, correcting herself severely; all most +neat. Perfect order. Shrubs as they should be. Strong +railings. Nice cows.</p> + +<p>The cab stopped. Chesterton came down the steps +and opened its door. Nice parlourmaid. Most normal.</p> + +<p>'How is Mrs. Wemyss?' asked Miss Entwhistle.</p> + +<p>'About the same I believe, ma'am,' said Chesterton; +and inquired if she should pay the man.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle paid the man, and then proceeded +up the steps followed by Chesterton carrying her bag. +Fine steps. Handsome house.</p> + +<p>'Does she know I'm coming?'</p> + +<p>'I believe the housemaid did mention it, ma'am.'</p> + +<p>Nice roomy hall. With a fire it might be quite +warm. Fine windows. Good staircase.</p> + +<p>'Do you wish for tea, ma'am?'</p> + +<p>'No thank you. I should like to go up at once, if +I may.'</p> + +<p>'If you please, ma'am.'</p> + +<p>At the turn of the stairs, where the gong was, Miss +Entwhistle stood aside and let Chesterton precede her. +'Perhaps you had better go and tell Mrs. Wemyss I am +here,' she said.</p> + +<p>'If you please, ma'am.'</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle waited, gazing at the gong with the +same benevolence she had brought to bear on everything +else. Fine gong. She also gazed at the antlers on the +wall, for the wall continued to bristle with antlers right +up to the top of the house. Magnificent collection.</p> + +<p>'If you please, ma'am,' said Chesterton, reappearing, +tiptoeing gingerly to the head of the stairs.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle went up. Chesterton ushered her +into the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle knew Lucy was small, but not how +small till she saw her in the treble bed. There really did +appear to be nothing of her except a little round head. +'Why, but you've shrunk!' was her first exclamation.</p> + +<p>Lucy, who was tucked up to her chin by Lizzie, +besides having a wet bandage encased in flannel round +her throat, could only move her eyes and smile. She +was on the side of the bed farthest from the door, and +Miss Entwhistle had to walk round it to reach her. +She was still hoarse, but not as voiceless as when Wemyss +left in the morning, for Lizzie had been diligently plying +her with things like hot honey, and her face, as her eyes +followed Miss Entwhistle's approach, was one immense +smile. It really seemed too wonderful to be with Aunt +Dot again; and there was a peace about being ill, a +relaxation from strain, that had made her quiet day, +alone in bed, seem sheer bliss. It was so plain that she +couldn't move, that she couldn't do anything, couldn't +get up and go in trains, that her conscience was at rest +in regard to Everard; and she lay in the blessed silence +after he left, not minding how much her limbs ached +because of the delicious tranquillity of her mind. The +window was open, and in the garden the birds were +busy. The wind had dropped. Except for the birds +there was no sound. Divine quiet. Divine peace. The +luxury of it after the week-end, after the birthday, after +the honeymoon, was extraordinary. Just to be in bed by +oneself seemed an amazingly felicitous condition.</p> + +<p>'Lovely of you to come,' she said hoarsely, smiling +broadly and looking so unmistakably contented that +Miss Entwhistle, as she bent over her and kissed her hot +forehead, thought, 'It's a success. He's making her +happy.'</p> + +<p>'You darling little thing,' she said, smoothing back +her hair. 'Fancy seeing you again like this!'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Lucy, heavy-eyed and smiling. 'Lovely,' +she whispered, 'to see you. Tea, Aunt Dot?'</p> + +<p>It was evidently difficult for her to speak, and her +forehead was extremely hot.</p> + +<p>'No, I don't want tea.'</p> + +<p>'You'll stay?'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Miss Entwhistle, sitting down by the +pillow and continuing to smooth back her hair. 'Of +course I'll stay. How did you manage to catch such a +cold, I wonder?'</p> + +<p>She was left to wonder, undisturbed by any explanations +of Lucy's. Indeed it was as much as Lucy could +manage to bring out the most necessary words. She +lay contentedly with her eyes shut, having her hair +stroked back, and said as little as possible.</p> + +<p>'Everard—' said Miss Entwhistle, stroking gently, +'is he coming back to-night?'</p> + +<p>'No,' whispered Lucy contentedly.</p> + +<p>Aunt Dot stroked in silence.</p> + +<p>'Has your temperature been taken?' she asked +presently.</p> + +<p>'No,' whispered Lucy contentedly.</p> + +<p>'Oughtn't you—' after another pause 'to see a +doctor?'</p> + +<p>'No,' whispered Lucy contentedly. Delicious, simply +delicious, to lie like that having one's hair stroked back +by Aunt Dot, the dear, the kind, the comprehensible.</p> + +<p>'So sweet of you to come,' she whispered again.</p> + +<p>Well, thought Miss Entwhistle as she sat there softly +stroking and watching Lucy's face of complete content +while she dozed off even after she was asleep the +corners of her mouth still were tucked up in a smile—it +was plain that Everard was making the child happy. +In that case he certainly must be all that Lucy had +assured her he was, and she, Miss Entwhistle, would +no doubt very quickly now get fond of him. Of course +she would. No doubt whatever. And what a comfort, +what a relief, to find the child happy. Backgrounds +didn't matter where there was happiness. Houses, +indeed. What did it matter if they weren't the sort +of houses you would, left to yourself, choose so long as +in them dwelt happiness? What did it matter what +their past had been so long as their present was +illuminated by contentment? And as for furniture, +why, that only became of interest, of importance, when +life had nothing else in it. Loveless lives, empty lives, +filled themselves in their despair with beautiful furniture. +If you were really happy you had antlers.</p> + +<p>In this spirit, while she stroked and Lucy slept, +Miss Entwhistle's eye, full of benevolence, wandered +round the room. The objects in it, after her own small +bedroom in Eaton Terrace and its necessarily small +furniture, all seemed to her gigantic. Especially the +bed. She had never seen a bed like it before, though +she had heard of such beds in history. Didn't Og the +King of Bashan have one? But what an excellent +plan, for then you could get away from each other. +Most sensible. Most wholesome. And a certain bleakness +about the room would soon go when Lucy's little +things got more strewn about,—her books, and photographs, +and pretty dressing-table silver.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle's eye arrived at and dwelt on the +dressing-table. On it were two oval wooden-backed +brushes without handles. Hairbrushes. Men's. Also +shaving things. And, hanging over one side of the +looking-glass, were three neckties.</p> + +<p>She quickly recovered. Most friendly. Most companionable. +But a feeling of not being in Lucy's room +at all took possession of her, and she fidgeted a little. +With no business to be there whatever, she was in a +strange man's bedroom. She averted her eyes from +Wemyss's toilet arrangements, they were the last +things she wanted to see; and, in averting them, they +fell on the washstand with its two basins and on an +enormous red-brown indiarubber sponge. No such +sponge was ever Lucy's. The conclusion was forced +upon her that Lucy and Everard washed side by side.</p> + +<p>From this, too, she presently recovered. After all, +marriage was marriage, and you did things in marriage +that you would never dream of doing single. She +averted her eyes from the washstand. The last thing +she wanted to do was to become familiar with Wemyss's +sponge.</p> + +<p>Her eyes, growing more and more determined in +their benevolence, gazed out of the window. How the +days were lengthening. And really a beautiful look-out, +with the late afternoon light reflected on the hills +across the river. Birds, too, twittering in the garden,—everything +most pleasant and complete. And such a nice +big window. Lots of air and light. It reached nearly +to the floor. Two housemaids at least, and strong ones, +would be needed to open or shut it,—ah no, there were +cords. A thought struck her: This couldn't be the +room, that couldn't be the window, where——</p> + +<p>She averted her eyes from the window, and fixed +them on what seemed to be the only satisfactory resting-place +for them, the contented face on the pillow. Dear +little loved face. And the dear, pretty hair,—how +pretty young hair was, so soft and thick. No, of course +it wasn't the window; that tragic room was probably +not used at all now. How in the world had the child +got such a cold. She could hear by her breathing that +her chest was stuffed up, but evidently it wasn't worrying +her, or she wouldn't in her sleep look so much pleased. +Yes; that room was either shut up now and never used, +or—she couldn't help being struck by yet another +thought—it was a spare room. If so, Miss Entwhistle +said to herself, it would no doubt be her fate to sleep +in it. Dear me, she thought, taken aback.</p> + +<p>But from this also she presently recovered; and +remembering her determination to eject all prejudices +merely remarked to herself, 'Well, well.' And, after a +pause, was able to add benevolently, 'A house of varied +interest.'</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XXVII</h2> + + +<p>Later on in the dining-room, when she was reluctantly +eating the meal prepared for her—Lucy still slept, or +she would have asked to be allowed to have a biscuit +by her bedside—Miss Entwhistle said to Chesterton, +who attended her, Would she let her know when Mr. +Wemyss telephoned, as she wished to speak to him.</p> + +<p>She was feeling more and more uneasy as time passed +as to what Everard would think of her uninvited presence +in his house. It was natural; but would he think so? +What wasn't natural was for her to feel uneasy, seeing +that the house was also Lucy's, and that the child's +face had hardly had room enough on it for the width +of her smile of welcome. There, however, it was,—Miss +Entwhistle felt like an interloper. It was best to face +things. She not only felt like an interloper but, in +Everard's eyes, she was an interloper. This was the +situation: His wife had a cold—a bad cold, but not +anything serious; nobody had sent for his wife's aunt; +nobody had asked her to come; and here she was. If +that, in Everard's eyes, wasn't being an interloper Miss +Entwhistle was sure he wouldn't know one if he saw one.</p> + +<p>In her life she had read many books, and was familiar +with those elderly relatives frequently to be met in +them, and usually female, who intrude into a newly +married <i>ménage</i> and make themselves objectionable to +one of the parties by sympathising with the other one. +There was no cause for sympathy here, and if there ever +should be Miss Entwhistle would certainly never +sympathise except from a neutral place. She wouldn't +come into a man's house, and in the very act of being +nourished by his food sympathise with his wife; she +would sympathise from London. Her honesty of +intention, her single-mindedness, were, she knew, complete. +She didn't feel, she knew she wasn't, in the +least like these relatives in books, and yet as she sat +in Everard's chair—obviously it was his; the upholstered +seat was his very shape, inverted—she was afraid, +indeed she was certain, he would think she was one +of them.</p> + +<p>There she was, she thought, come unasked, sitting +in his place, eating his food. He usedn't to like her; +would he like her any the better for this? From a +desire not to have meals of his she had avoided tea, +but she hadn't been able to avoid dinner, and with each +dish set before her—dishes produced surprisingly, as +she couldn't but observe, at the end of an arm thrust +to the minute through a door—she felt more and more +acutely that she was in his eyes, if he could only see her, +an interloper. No doubt it was Lucy's house too, but +it didn't feel as if it were, and she would have given +much to be able to escape back to London that night.</p> + +<p>But whatever Everard thought of her intrusion she +wasn't going to leave Lucy. Not alone in that house; +not to wake up to find herself alone in that house. +Besides, who knew how such a chill would develop? +There ought of course to have been a doctor. When +Everard rang up, as he would be sure to the last thing +to ask how Lucy was, she would go to the telephone, +announce her presence, and inquire whether it wouldn't +be as well to have a doctor round in the morning.</p> + +<p>Therefore she asked Chesterton to let her know when +Mr. Wemyss telephoned; and Chesterton, surprised, +for it was not Wemyss's habit to telephone to The +Willows, all his communications coming on postcards, +paused just an instant before replying, 'If you please, +ma'am.'</p> + +<p>Chesterton wondered what Wemyss was expected to +telephone about. It wouldn't have occurred to her +that it might be about the new Mrs. Wemyss's health, +because he had not within her recollection ever telephoned +about the health of a Mrs. Wemyss. Sometimes +the previous Mrs. Wemyss's health gave way enough +for her to stay in bed, but no telephoning from London +had in consequence taken place. Accordingly she +wondered what message could be expected.</p> + +<p>'What time would Mr. Wemyss be likely to ring +up?' asked Miss Entwhistle presently, more for the sake +of saying something than from a desire to know. She +was going to that telephone, but she didn't want to, +she was in no hurry for it, it wasn't impatience to meet +Wemyss's voice making her talk to Chesterton; what +was making her talk was the dining-room.</p> + +<p>For not only did its bareness afflict her, and its +glaring light, and its long empty table, and the way +Chesterton's footsteps echoed up and down the +uncarpeted floor, but there on the wall was that poor +thing looking at her, she had no doubt whatever as to +who it was standing up in that long slim frock looking +at her, and she was taken aback. In spite of her determination +to like all the arrangements, it did seem to her +tactless to have her there, especially as she had that trick +of looking so very steadily at one; and when she turned +her eyes away from the queer, suppressed smile, she +didn't like what she saw on the other wall either,—that +enlarged old man, that obvious progenitor.</p> + +<p>Having caught sight of both these pictures, which +at night were much more conspicuous than by day, +owing to the brilliant unshaded lighting, Miss Entwhistle +had no wish to look at them again, and carefully looked +either at her plate or at Chesterton's back as she hurried +down the room to the dish being held out at the end +of the remarkable arm; but being nevertheless much +disturbed by their presence, and by the way she knew +they weren't taking their eyes off her however carefully +she took hers off them, she asked Chesterton what time +Wemyss would be likely to telephone merely in order +to hear the sound of a human voice.</p> + +<p>Chesterton then informed her that her master never +did telephone to The Willows, so that she was unable +to say what time he would.</p> + +<p>'But,' said Miss Entwhistle, surprised, 'you have a +telephone.'</p> + +<p>'If you please, ma'am,' said Chesterton.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle didn't like to ask what, then, the +telephone was for, because she didn't wish to embark +on anything even remotely approaching a discussion of +Everard's habits, so she wondered in silence.</p> + +<p>Chesterton, however, presently elucidated. She +coughed a little first, conscious that to volunteer a +remark wasn't quite within her idea of the perfect +parlourmaid, and then she said, 'It's owing to local +convenience, ma'am. We find it indispensable in the +isolated situation of the 'ouse. We gives our orders +to the tradesmen by means of the telephone. Mr. +Wemyss installed it for that purpose, he says, and +objects to trunk calls because of the charges and the +waste of Mr. Wemyss's time at the other end, ma'am.'</p> + +<p>'Oh,' said Miss Entwhistle.</p> + +<p>'If you please, ma'am,' said Chesterton.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle said nothing more. With her eyes +fixed on her plate in order to avoid those other eyes, +she wondered what she had better do. It was half-past +eight, and Everard hadn't rung up. If he were +going to be anxious enough not to mind the trunk-call +charge he would have been anxious enough before +this. That he hadn't rung up showed he regarded +Lucy's indisposition as slight. What, then, would he +say to her uninvited presence there? Nothing, she was +afraid, that would be really hospitable. And she had +just eaten a pudding of his. It seemed to curdle up +within her.</p> + +<p>'No, <i>no</i> coffee, thank you,' she said hastily, on +Chesterton's inquiring if she wished it served in the +library. She had had dinner because she couldn't help +herself, urged to it by the servants, but she needn't +proceed to extras. And the library,—wasn't it in the +library that Everard was sitting the day that poor +smiling thing ... yes, she remembered Lucy telling +her so. No, she would not have coffee in the library.</p> + +<p>But now about telephoning. Really the only thing +to do, the only way of dignity, was to ring him up. +Useless waiting any more for him to do it; evidently he +wasn't going to. She would ring him up, tell him she +was there, and ask—she clung particularly to the doctor +idea, because his presence would justify hers if the +doctor hadn't better look in in the morning.</p> + +<p>Thus it was that, sitting quiet in their basement, +the Twites were startled about nine o'clock that evening +by the telephone bell. It sounded more uncanny than +ever up there, making all that noise by itself in the +dark; and when, hurrying up anxiously to it, Twite +applied his ear, all that happened was that an extremely +short-tempered voice told him to hold on.</p> + +<p>Twite held on, listening hard and hearing nothing.</p> + +<p>'Say 'Ullo, Twite,' presently advised Mrs. Twite +from out of the anxious silence at the foot of the kitchen +stairs.</p> + +<p>''Ullo,' said Twite half-heartedly.</p> + +<p>'Must be a wrong number,' said Mrs. Twite, after +more silence. ''Ang it up, and come and finish your +supper.'</p> + +<p>A very small voice said something very far away. +Twite strained every nerve to hear. He hadn't yet had +to face a trunk call, and he thought the telephone was +fainting.</p> + +<p>''Ullo?' he said anxiously, trying to make the word +sound polite.</p> + +<p>'It's a wrong number,' said Mrs. Twite, after further +waiting. ''Ang it up.'</p> + +<p>The voice, incredibly small, began to talk again, and +Twite, unable to hear a word, kept on saying with +increasing efforts to sound polite, ''Ullo?'Ullo?'</p> + +<p>''Ang it up,' said Mrs. Twite, who from the bottom +of the stairs was always brave.</p> + +<p>'That's what it is,' said Twite at last, exhausted. +'It's a wrong number.' And he went to the writing-pad +and wrote:</p> + +<blockquote><p>A wrong number rang up sir believed to be a lady 9.10.</p></blockquote> + +<p>So Miss Entwhistle at the other end was defeated, +and having done her best and not succeeded she decided +to remain quiescent, at any rate till the morning. +Quiescent and uncritical. She wouldn't worry; she +wouldn't criticise; she would merely think of Everard +in those terms of amiability which were natural to her.</p> + +<p>But while she was waiting for the call in the cold +hall there had been a moment when her fixed benevolence +did a little loosen. Chesterton, seeing that she shivered, +had suggested the library for waiting in, where she said +there was a fire, but Miss Entwhistle preferred to be cold +in the hall than warm in the library; and standing in +that bleak place she saw a line of firelight beneath a +door, which she then knew must be the library. +Accordingly she then also knew that Lucy's bedroom was +exactly above the library, for looking up she could see +its door from where she stood; so that it was out of +that window.... Her benevolence for a moment did +become unsteady. He let the child sleep there, he +made the child sleep there....</p> + +<p>She soon, however, had herself in hand again. Lucy +didn't mind, so why should she? Lucy was asleep there +at that moment, with a look of complete content on her +face. But there was one thing Miss Entwhistle decided +she would do: Lucy shouldn't wake up by any chance +in the night and find herself in that room alone,—window +or no window, she would sleep there with her.</p> + +<p>This was a really heroic decision, and only love for +Lucy made it possible. Apart from the window and +what she believed had happened at it, apart from the +way that poor thing's face in the photograph haunted +her, there was the feeling that it wasn't Lucy's bedroom +at all but Everard's. It was oddly disagreeable to +Miss Entwhistle to spend the night, for instance, with +Wemyss's sponge. She debated in the spare-room when +she was getting ready for bed—a small room on the +other side of the house, with a nice high window-sill—whether +she wouldn't keep her clothes on. At +least then she would feel more strange, at least she +would feel less at home. But how tiring. At her age, +if she sat up all night—and in her clothes no lying down +could be comfortable—she would be the merest rag next +morning, and quite unable to cope on the telephone with +Everard. And she really must take out her hairpins; +she couldn't sleep a wink with them all pressing on her +head. Yet the familiarity of being in that room among +the neckties without her hairpins.... She hesitated, +and argued, and all the while she was slowly taking out +her hairpins and taking off her clothes.</p> + +<p>At the last moment, when she was in her nightgown +and her hair was neatly plaited and she was looking the +goodest of tidy little women, her courage failed her. +No, she couldn't go. She would stay where she was, +and ring and ask that nice housemaid to sleep with Mrs. +Wemyss in case she wanted anything in the night.</p> + +<p>She did ring; but by the time Lizzie came Miss +Entwhistle, doubting the sincerity of her motives, had +been examining them. Was it really the neckties? +Was it really the sponge? Wasn't it, at bottom, really +the window?</p> + +<p>She was ashamed. Where Lucy could sleep she could +sleep. 'I rang,' she said, 'to ask you to be so kind +as to help me carry my pillow and blankets into Mrs. +Wemyss's room. I'm going to sleep on the sofa there.'</p> + +<p>'Yes ma'am,' said Lizzie, picking them up. 'The +sofa's very short and 'aid, ma'am. 'Adn't you better +sleep in the bed?'</p> + +<p>'No,' said Miss Entwhistle.</p> + +<p>'There's plenty of room, ma'am. Mrs. Wemyss +wouldn't know you was in it, it's such a large bed.'</p> + +<p>'I will sleep on the sofa,' said Miss Entwhistle.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XXVIII</h2> + + +<p>In London Wemyss went through his usual day, except +that he was kept longer than he liked at his office by +the accumulation of business and by having a prolonged +difference of opinion, ending in dismissal, with a typist +who had got out of hand during his absence to the +extent of answering him back. It was five before he +was able to leave—and even then he hadn't half finished, +but he declined to be sacrificed further—and proceed +as usual to his club to play bridge. He had a great +desire for bridge after not having played for so long, +and it was difficult, doing exactly the things he had +always done, for him to remember that he was married. +In fact he wouldn't have remembered if he hadn't felt +so indignant; but all day underneath everything he +did, everything he said and thought, lay indignation, +and so he knew he was married.</p> + +<p>Being extremely methodical he had long ago divided +his life inside and out into compartments, each strictly +separate, each, as it were, kept locked till the proper +moment for its turn arrived, when he unlocked it and +took out its contents,—work, bridge, dinner, wife, sleep, +Paddington, The Willows, or whatever it was that it +contained. Having finished with the contents, the +compartment was locked up and dismissed from his +thoughts till its turn came round again. A honeymoon +was a great shake-up, but when it occurred he arranged +the date of its cessation as precisely as the date of its +inauguration. On such a day, at such an hour, it would +come to an end, the compartments would once more be +unlocked, and regularity resumed. Bridge was the one +activity which, though it was taken out of its compartment +at the proper time, didn't go into it again with any +sort of punctuality. Everything else, including his wife, +was locked up to the minute; but bridge would stay +out till any hour. On each of the days in London, the +Mondays to Fridays, he proceeded punctually to his +office, and from thence punctually to his club and bridge. +He always lunched and dined at his club. Other men, +he was aware, dined not infrequently at home, but the +explanation of that was that their wives weren't Vera.</p> + +<p>The moment, then, that Wemyss found himself once +more doing the usual things among the usual surroundings, +he felt so exactly as he used to that he wouldn't +have remembered Lucy at all if it hadn't been for that +layer of indignation at the bottom of his mind. Going +up the steps of his club he was conscious of a sense of +hard usage, and searching for its cause remembered +Lucy. His wife now wasn't Vera, and yet he was to +dine at his club exactly as if she were. His wife was +Lucy; who, instead of being where she ought to be, +eagerly awaiting his return to Lancaster Gate—it was one +of his legitimate grievances against Vera that she didn't +eagerly await—she was having a cold at Strorley. And +why was she having a cold at Strorley? And why +was he, a newly-married man, deprived of the +comfort of his wife and going to spend the evening +exactly as he had spent all the evenings for months +past?</p> + +<p>Wemyss was very indignant, but he was also very +desirous of bridge. If Lucy had been waiting for him he +would have had to leave off bridge before his desire for +it had been anything like sated,—whatever wives one +had they shackled one,—and as it was he could play +as long as he wanted to and yet at the same time remain +justly indignant. Accordingly he wasn't nearly as +unhappy as he thought he was; not, at any rate, till the +moment came for going solitary to bed. He detested +sleeping by himself. Even Vera had always slept with +him.</p> + +<p>Altogether Wemyss felt that he had had a bad day, +what with the disappointment of its beginning, and the +extra work at the office, and no decent lunch 'Positively +only time to snatch a bun and a glass of milk,' +he announced, amazed, to the first acquaintance he met +in the club. 'Just fancy, only time to snatch——' but +the acquaintance had melted away and losing rather +heavily at bridge, and going back to Lancaster Gate to +find from the message left by Twite that that annoying +aunt of Lucy's had cropped up already.</p> + +<p>Usually Wemyss was amused by Twite's messages, +but nothing about this one amused him. He threw +down the wrong number one impatiently,—Twite was +really a hopeless imbecile; he would dismiss him; but +the other one he read again. 'Wanted to know all +about us, did she. Said it was very strange, did she. +Like her impertinence,' he thought. She had lost no +time in cropping up, he thought. Of how completely +Miss Entwhistle had, in fact, cropped he was of course +unaware.</p> + +<p>Yes, he had had a bad day, and he was going to have +a lonely night. He went upstairs feeling deeply hurt, +and winding his watch.</p> + +<p>But after much solid sleep he felt better; and at +breakfast he said to Twite, who always jumped when +he addressed him, 'Mrs. Wemyss will be coming up +to-day.'</p> + +<p>Twite's brain didn't work very fast owing to the way +it spent most of its time dormant in a basement, and +for a moment he thought—it startled him that his +master had forgotten the lady was dead. Ought he to +remind him? What a painful dilemma.... However, +he remembered the new Mrs. Wemyss just in time +not to remind him, and to say 'Yes sir,' without too +perceptible a pause. His mind hadn't room in it to +contain much, and it assimilated slowly that which it +contained. He had only been in Wemyss's service +three months before the Mrs. Wemyss he found there +died. He was just beginning to assimilate her when +she ceased to be assimilatable, and to him and his wife +in their quiet subterraneous existence it had seemed as +if not more than a week had passed before there was +another Mrs. Wemyss. Far was it from him to pass +opinions on the rapid marriages of gentlemen, but he +couldn't keep up with these Mrs. Wemysses. His mind, +he found, hadn't yet really realised the new one. He +knew she was there somewhere, for he had seen her +briefly on the Saturday morning, and he knew she +would presently begin to disturb him by needing meals, +but he easily forgot her. He forgot her now, and +consequently for a moment had the dreadful thought +described above.</p> + +<p>'I shall be in to dinner,' said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'Yes sir,' said Twite.</p> + +<p>Dinner. There usedn't to be dinner. His master +hadn't been in once to dinner since Twite knew him. +A tray for the lady, while there was a lady; that was +all. Mrs. Twite could just manage a tray. Since the +lady had left off coming up to town owing to her +accident, there hadn't been anything. Only quiet.</p> + +<p>He stood waiting, not having been waved out of the +room, and anxiously watching Wemyss's face, for he +was a nervous man.</p> + +<p>Then the telephone bell rang.</p> + +<p>Wemyss, without looking up, waved him out to it +and went on with his breakfast; and after a minute, +noticing that he neither came back nor could be heard +saying anything beyond a faint, propitiatory ''Ullo,' +called out to him.</p> + +<p>'What is it?' Wemyss called out.</p> + +<p>'I can't hear, sir,' Twite's distressed voice answered +from the hall.</p> + +<p>'Fool,' said Wemyss, appearing, table-napkin in hand.</p> + +<p>'Yes sir,' said Twite.</p> + +<p>He took the receiver from him, and then the Twites—Mrs. +Twite from the foot of the kitchen stairs and Twite +lingering in the background because he hadn't yet been +waved away—heard the following:</p> + +<p>'Yes yes. Yes, speaking. Hullo. Who is it?'</p> + +<p>'What? I can't hear. What?'</p> + +<p>'Miss who? En—oh, good-morning, How distant +your voice sounds.'</p> + +<p>'What? Where? <i>Where</i>?'</p> + +<p>'Oh really.'</p> + +<p>Here the person at the other end talked a great deal.</p> + +<p>'Yes. Quite. But then you see she wasn't.'</p> + +<p>More prolonged talk from the other end.</p> + +<p>'What? She isn't coming up? Indeed she is. +She's expected. I've ordered——'</p> + +<p>'What? I can't hear. The doctor? You're sending +for the doctor?'</p> + +<p>'I daresay. But then you see I consider it isn't.'</p> + +<p>'I daresay, I daresay. No, of course I can't. +How can I leave my work——'</p> + +<p>'Oh, very well, very well. I daresay. No doubt. +She's to come up for all that as arranged, tell her, and +if she needs doctors there are more of them here anyhow +than—what? Can't possibly?'</p> + +<p>'I suppose you know you're taking a great deal upon +yourself unasked——'</p> + +<p>'What? What?'</p> + +<p>A very rapid clear voice cut in. 'Do you want +another three minutes?' it asked.</p> + +<p>He hung up the receiver with violence. 'Oh, damn +the woman, damn the woman,' he said, so loud that the +Twites shook like reeds to hear him.</p> + +<p>At the other end Miss Entwhistle was walking away +lost in thought. Her position was thoroughly +unpleasant. She disliked extraordinarily that she should +at that moment contain an egg and some coffee which +had once been Wemyss's. She would have breakfasted +on a cup of tea only, if it hadn't been that Lucy was +going to need looking after that day, and the looker-after +must be nourished. As she went upstairs again, +a faint red spot on each cheek, she couldn't help +being afraid that she and Everard would have to +exercise patience before they got to be fond of each +other. On the telephone he hardly did himself justice, +she thought.</p> + +<p>Lucy hadn't had a good night. She woke up suddenly +from what was apparently a frightening dream soon +after Miss Entwhistle had composed herself on the +sofa, and had been very restless and hot for a long time. +There seemed to be a great many things about the room +that she didn't like. One of them was the bed. Probably +the poor little thing was bemused by her dream +and her feverishness, but she said several things about +the bed which showed that it was on her mind. Miss +Entwhistle had warmed some milk on a spirit-lamp +provided by Lizzie, and had given it to her and soothed +her and petted her. She didn't mention the window, for +which Miss Entwhistle was thankful; but when first +she woke up from her frightening dream and her aunt +hurried across to her, she had stared at her and actually +called her Everard—her, in her meek plaits. When this +happened Miss Entwhistle made up her mind that the +doctor should be sent for the first thing in the morning. +About six she tumbled into an uncomfortable sleep +again, and Miss Entwhistle crept out of the room and +dressed. Certainly she was going to have a doctor +round, and hear what he had to say; and as soon as she +was strengthened by breakfast she would do her duty +and telephone to Everard.</p> + +<p>This she did, with the result that she returned to +Lucy's room with a little red spot on each cheek; and +when she looked at Lucy, still uneasily sleeping and +breathing as though her chest were all sore, the idea +that she was to get up and travel to London made the +red spots on Miss Entwhistle's cheeks burn brighter. +She calmed down, however, on remembering that +Everard couldn't see how evidently poorly the child +was, and told herself that if he could he would be all +tenderness. She told herself this, but she didn't believe +it; and then she was vexed that she didn't believe it. +Lucy loved him. Lucy had looked perfectly pleased +and content yesterday before she became so ill. One +mustn't judge a man by his way with a telephone.</p> + +<p>At ten o'clock the doctor came. He had been in +Strorley for years, and was its only doctor. He was +one of those guests who used to dine at The Willows +in the early days of Wemyss's possession of it. Occasionally +he had attended the late Mrs. Wemyss; and +the last time he had been in the house was when he was +sent for suddenly on the day of her death. He, in +common with the rest of Strorley, had heard of Wemyss's +second marriage, and he shared the general shocked +surprise. Strorley, which looked such an unconscious +place, such a torpid, unconscious riverside place, was +nevertheless intensely sensitive to shocks, and it hadn't +at all recovered from the shock of that poor Mrs. Wemyss's +death and the very dreadful inquest, when the fresh +shock of another Mrs. Wemyss arriving on the scene +made it, as it were, reel anew, and made it reel worse. +Marriage so quickly on the heels of that terrible death? +The Wemysses were only week-enders and summer +holiday people, so that it wasn't quite so scandalous to +have them in Strorley as it would have been if they were +unintermittent residents, yet it was serious enough. +That inquest had been in all the newspapers. To have +a house in one's midst which produced doubtful coroner's +verdicts was a blot on any place, and the new Mrs. +Wemyss couldn't possibly be anything but thoroughly +undesirable. Of course no one would call on her. +Impossible. And when the doctor was rung up and +asked to come round, he didn't tell his wife where he was +going, because he didn't wish for trouble.</p> + +<p>Chesterton—how well he remembered Chesterton; +but after all, it was only the other day that he was there +last—ushered him into the library, and he was standing +gloomily in front of the empty grate, looking neither to +the right nor to the left for he disliked the memories +connected with the flags outside the window, and wishing +he had a partner because then he would have sent him +instead, when a spare little lady, bland and pleasant, +came in and said she was the patient's aunt. An educated +little lady; not at all the sort of relative he would +have expected the new Mrs. Wemyss to have.</p> + +<p>There was a general conviction in Strorley that +the new Mrs. Wemyss must have been a barmaid, a +typist, or a nursery governess,—was, that is, either very +bold, very poor, or very meek. Else how could she have +married Wemyss? And this conviction had reached and +infected even the doctor, who was a busy man off whom +gossip usually slid. When, however, he saw Miss +Entwhistle he at once was sure that there was nothing +in it. This wasn't the aunt of either the bold, the poor, +or the meek; this was just a decent gentlewoman. +He shook hands with her, really pleased to see her. +Everybody was always pleased to see Miss Entwhistle, +except Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'Nothing serious, I hope?' asked the doctor.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle said she didn't think there was, +but that her nephew——</p> + +<p>'You mean Mr. Wemyss?'</p> + +<p>She bowed her head. She did mean Mr. Wemyss. +Her nephew. Her nephew, that is, by marriage.</p> + +<p>'Quite,' said the doctor.</p> + +<p>Her nephew naturally wanted his wife to go up and +join him in London.</p> + +<p>'Naturally,' said the doctor.</p> + +<p>And she wanted to know when she would be fit to go.</p> + +<p>'Then let us go upstairs and I'll tell you,' said the +doctor.</p> + +<p>This was a very pleasant little lady, he thought as +he followed her up the well-known stairs, to have become +related to Wemyss immediately on the top of all that +affair. Now he would have said himself that after such +a ghastly thing as that most women——</p> + +<p>But here they arrived in the bedroom and his sentence +remained unfinished, because on seeing the small +head on the pillow of the treble bed he thought, 'Why, +he's married a child. What an extraordinary thing.'</p> + +<p>'How old is she?' he asked Miss Entwhistle, for +Lucy was still uneasily sleeping; and when she told +him he was surprised.</p> + +<p>'It's because she's out of proportion to the bed,' +explained Miss Entwhistle in a whisper. 'She doesn't +usually look so inconspicuous.'</p> + +<p>The whispering and being looked at woke Lucy, +and the doctor sat down beside her and got to business. +The result was what Miss Entwhistle expected: she +had a very violent feverish cold, which might turn into +anything if she were not kept in bed. If she were, +and with proper looking after, she would be all right +in a few days. He laughed at the idea of London.</p> + +<p>'How did you come to get such a violent chill?' +he asked Lucy.</p> + +<p>'I don't—know,' she answered.</p> + +<p>'Well, don't talk,' he said, laying her hand down +on the quilt—he had been holding it while his sharp +eyes watched her—and giving it a brief pat of farewell. +'Just lie there and get better. I'll send something for +your throat, and I'll look in again to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle went downstairs with him feeling +as if she had buckled him on as a shield, and would be +able, clad in such armour, to face anything Everard +might say.</p> + +<p>'She likes that room?' he asked abruptly, pausing +a moment in the hall.</p> + +<p>'I can't quite make out,' said Miss Entwhistle. +'We haven't had any talk at all yet. It was from that +window, wasn't it, that——?'</p> + +<p>'No. The one above;'</p> + +<p>'The one above? Oh really.'</p> + +<p>'Yes. There's a sitting-room. But I was thinking +whether being in the same bed—well, good-bye. Cheer +her up. She'll want it when she's better. She'll feel +weak. I'll be round to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>He went out pulling on his gloves, followed to the +steps by Miss Entwhistle.</p> + +<p>On the steps he paused again. 'How does she like +being here?' he asked.</p> + +<p>'I don't know,' said Miss Entwhistle. 'We haven't +talked at all yet.'</p> + +<p>She looked at him a moment, and then added, 'She's +very much in love.'</p> + +<p>'Ah. Yes. Really. I see. Well, good-bye.'</p> + +<p>He turned to go.</p> + +<p>'It's wonderful, wonderful,' he said, pausing once +more.</p> + +<p>'What is wonderful?'</p> + +<p>'What love will do.'</p> + +<p>'It is indeed,' agreed Miss Entwhistle, thinking of all +it had done to Lucy.</p> + +<p>He seemed as if he were going to say something more, +but thought better of it and climbed into his dogcart +and was driven away.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XXIX</h2> + + +<p>Two days went by undisturbed by the least manifestation +from Wemyss. Miss Entwhistle wrote to him on +each of the afternoons, telling him of Lucy's progress +and of what the doctor said about her, and on each of +the evenings she lay down on the sofa to sleep feeling +excessively insecure, for how very likely that he would +come down by some late train and walk in, and then +there she would be. In spite of that, she would have +been very glad if he had walked in, it would have +seemed more natural; and she couldn't help wondering +whether the little thing in the bed wasn't thinking so +too. But nothing happened. He didn't come, he +didn't write, he made no sign of any sort. 'Curious,' +said Miss Entwhistle to herself; and forbore to criticise +further.</p> + +<p>They were peaceful days. Lucy was getting better +all the time, though still kept carefully in bed by the +doctor, and Miss Entwhistle felt as much justified in +being in the house as Chesterton or Lizzie, for she was +performing duties under a doctor's directions. Also +the weather was quiet and sunshiny. In fact, there +was peace.</p> + +<p>On Thursday the doctor said Lucy might get up for +a few hours and sit on the sofa; and there, its asperities +softened by pillows, she sat and had tea, and through +the open window came the sweet smells of April. The +gardener was mowing the lawn, and one of the smells +was of the cut grass; Miss Entwhistle had been out +for a walk, and found some windflowers and some +lovely bright green moss, and put them in a bowl; +the doctor had brought a little bunch of violets out +of his garden; the afternoon sun lay beautifully on +the hills across the river; the river slid past the end +of the garden tranquilly; and Miss Entwhistle, pouring +out Lucy's tea and buttering her toast, felt that she +could at that moment very nearly have been happy, +in spite of its being The Willows she was in, if there +hadn't, in the background, brooding over her day and +night, been that very odd and disquieting silence of +Everard's.</p> + +<p>As if Lucy knew what she was thinking, she +said—it was the first time she had talked of him—'You +know, Aunt Dot, Everard will have been fearfully +busy this week, because of having been away so +long.'</p> + +<p>'Oh of course,' agreed Miss Entwhistle with much +heartiness. 'I'm sure the poor dear has been run off +his legs.'</p> + +<p>'He didn't—he hasn't——'</p> + +<p>Lucy flushed and broke off.</p> + +<p>'I suppose,' she began again after a minute, 'there's +been nothing from him? No message, I mean? On +the telephone or anything?'</p> + +<p>'No, I don't think there has—not since our talk the +first day,' said Miss Entwhistle.</p> + +<p>'Oh? Did he telephone the first day?' asked Lucy +quickly. 'You never told me.'</p> + +<p>'You were asleep nearly all that day. Yes,' said +Miss Entwhistle, clearing her throat, 'we had a—we +had quite a little talk.'</p> + +<p>'What did he say?'</p> + +<p>'Well, he naturally wanted you to be well enough +to go up to London, and of course he was very sorry +you couldn't.'</p> + +<p>Lucy looked suddenly much happier.</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Miss Entwhistle, as though in answer +to the look.</p> + +<p>'He hates writing letters, you know, Aunt Dot,' +Lucy said presently.</p> + +<p>'Men do,' said Miss Entwhistle. 'It's very curious,' +she continued brightly, 'but men <i>do</i>.'</p> + +<p>'And he hates telephoning. It was wonderful for +him to have telephoned that day.'</p> + +<p>'Men,' said Miss Entwhistle, 'are very funny about +some things.'</p> + +<p>'To-day is Thursday, isn't it,' said Lucy. 'He +ought to be here by one o'clock to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle started. 'To-morrow?' she repeated. +'Really? Does he? I mean, ought he? +Somehow I had supposed Saturday. The week-end +somehow suggests Saturdays to me.'</p> + +<p>'No. He—we,' Lucy corrected herself, 'come down +on Fridays. He's sure to be down in time for lunch.'</p> + +<p>'Oh is he?' said Miss Entwhistle, thinking a great +many things very quickly. 'Well, if it is his habit,' +she went on, 'I am sure too that he will. Do you +remember how we set our clocks by him when he came +to tea in Eaton Terrace?'</p> + +<p>Lucy smiled, and the remembrance of those days +of love, and of all his dear, funny ways, flooded her heart +and washed out for a moment the honeymoon, the +birthday, everything that had happened since.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle couldn't but notice the unmistakable +love-look. '<i>Oh</i> I'm so glad you love each other +so much,' she said with all her heart. 'You know, +Lucy, I was afraid that perhaps this house——'</p> + +<p>She stopped, because adequately to discuss The +Willows in all its aspects needed, she felt, perfect health +on both sides.</p> + +<p>'Yes, I don't think a house matters when people +love each other,' said Lucy.</p> + +<p>'Not a bit. Not a bit,' agreed Miss Entwhistle. +Not even, she thought robustly, when it was a house +with a recent dreadful history. Love—she hadn't herself +experienced it, but what was an imagination for +except to imagine with?—love was so strong an armour +that nothing could reach one and hurt one through it. +That was why lovers were so selfish. They sat together +inside their armour perfectly safe, entirely untouchable, +completely uninterested in what happened to the rest of +the world. 'Besides,' she went on aloud, 'you'll alter it.'</p> + +<p>Lucy's smile at that was a little sickly. Aunt Dot's +optimism seemed to her extravagant. She was unable +to see herself altering The Willows.</p> + +<p>'You'll have all your father's furniture and books +to put about,' said Aunt Dot, continuing in optimism. +'Why, you'll be able to make the place really quite—quite——'</p> + +<p>She was going to say habitable, but ate another +piece of toast instead.</p> + +<p>'Yes, I expect I'll have the books here, anyhow,' +said Lucy. 'There's a sitting-room upstairs with room +in it.'</p> + +<p>'Is there?' said Miss Entwhistle, suddenly very +attentive.</p> + +<p>'Lots of room. It's to be my sitting-room, and the +books could go there. Except that—except that——'</p> + +<p>'Except what?' asked Miss Entwhistle.</p> + +<p>'I don't know. I don't much want to alter that +room. It was Vera's.'</p> + +<p>'I should alter it beyond recognition,' said Miss +Entwhistle firmly.</p> + +<p>Lucy was silent. She felt too flabby, after her three +days with a temperature, to engage in discussion with +anybody firm.</p> + +<p>'That's to say,' said Miss Entwhistle, 'if you like +having the room at all. I should have thought——'</p> + +<p>'Oh yes, I like having the room,' said Lucy, +flushing.</p> + +<p>Then it was Miss Entwhistle who was silent; and +she was silent because she didn't believe Lucy really +could like having the actual room from which that +unfortunate Vera met her death. It wasn't natural. +The child couldn't mean it. She needed feeding up. +Perhaps they had better not talk about rooms; not +till Lucy was stronger. Perhaps they had better not +talk at all, because everything they said was bound in +the circumstances to lead either to Everard or Vera.</p> + +<p>'Wouldn't you like me to read aloud to you a little +while before you go back to bed?' she asked, when +Lizzie came in to clear away the tea-things.</p> + +<p>Lucy thought this a very good idea. 'Oh do, Aunt +Dot,' she said; for she too was afraid of what talking +might lead to. Aunt Dot was phenomenally quick. +Lucy felt she couldn't bear it, she simply couldn't bear +it, if Aunt Dot were to think that perhaps Everard.... +So she said quite eagerly, 'Oh do, Aunt Dot,' and not +until she had said it did she remember that the books +were locked up, and the key was on Everard's watch-chain. +Then she sat looking up at Aunt Dot with a +startled, conscience-stricken face.</p> + +<p>'What is it, Lucy?' asked Miss Entwhistle, wondering +why she had turned red.</p> + +<p>Just in time Lucy remembered that there were Vera's +books. 'Do you mind very much going up to the +sitting-room?' she asked. 'Vera's books——'</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle did mind very much going up to +the sitting-room, and saw no reason why Vera's books +should be chosen. Why should she have to read Vera's +books? Why did Lucy want just those, and look so +odd and guilty about it? Certainly the child needed +feeding up. It wasn't natural, it was unwholesome, +this queer attraction she appeared to feel towards Vera.</p> + +<p>She didn't say anything of this, but remarked that +there was a room called the library in the house which +suggested books, and hadn't she better choose something +from out of that,—go down, instead of go up.</p> + +<p>Lucy, painfully flushed, looked at her. Nothing +would induce her to tell her about the key. Aunt Dot +would think it so ridiculous.</p> + +<p>'Yes, but Everard——' she stammered. 'They're +rather special books—he doesn't like them taken out +of the room——'</p> + +<p>'Oh,' said Miss Entwhistle, trying hard to avoid +any opinion of any sort.</p> + +<p>'But I don't see why you should go up all those +stairs, Aunt Dot darling,' Lucy went on. 'Lizzie will, +won't you, Lizzie? Bring down some of the books—any +of them. An armful.'</p> + +<p>Lizzie, thus given <i>carte blanche</i>, brought down the +six first books from the top shelf, and set them on the +table beside Lucy.</p> + +<p>Lucy recognised the cover of one of them at once, +it was <i>Wuthering Heights</i>.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle took it up, read its title in silence, +and put it down again.</p> + +<p>The next one was Emily Brontë's collected poems.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle took it up, read its title in silence, +and put it down again.</p> + +<p>The third one was Thomas Hardy's <i>Time's Laughing-Stocks</i>.</p> + + +<p>Miss Entwhistle took it up, read its title in silence, +and put it down again.</p> + +<p>The other three were Baedekers.</p> + +<p>'Well, I don't think there's anything I want to read +here,' she said.</p> + +<p>Lizzie asked if she should take them away then, and +bring some more; and presently she reappeared with +another armful.</p> + +<p>These were all Baedekers.</p> + +<p>'Curious,' said Miss Entwhistle.</p> + +<p>Then Lucy remembered that she, too, beneath her +distress on Saturday when she pulled out one after the +other of Vera's books in her haste to understand her, +to get comfort, to get, almost she hoped, counsel, had +felt surprise at the number of Baedekers. The greater +proportion of the books in Vera's shelves were guide-books +and time-tables. But there had been other things,—'If +you were to bring some out of a different part of +the bookcase,' she suggested to Lizzie; who thereupon +removed the Baedekers, and presently reappeared with +more books.</p> + +<p>This time they were miscellaneous, and Miss Entwhistle +turned them over with a kind of reverential +reluctance. That poor thing; this day last year she +was probably reading them herself. It seemed sacrilege +for two strangers.... Merciful that one couldn't see +into the future. What would the poor creature have +thought of the picture presented at that moment,—the +figure in the blue dressing-gown, sitting in the middle +of all the things that had been hers such a very little +while before? Well, perhaps she would have been glad +they weren't hers any longer, glad that she had finished, +was done with them. These books suggested such +tiredness, such a—yes, such a wish for escape.... +There was more Hardy,—all the poems this time in +one volume. There was Pater—<i>The Child in the House</i> +and <i>Emerald Uthwart</i>—Miss Entwhistle, familiar with +these, shook her head: that peculiar dwelling on death +in them, that queer, fascinated inability to get away +from it, that beautiful but sick wistfulness no, she +certainly wouldn't read these. There was a book called +<i>In the Strange South Seas</i>; and another about some +island in the Pacific; and another about life in the +desert; and one or two others, more of the flamboyant +guide-book order, describing remote, glowing places....</p> + +<p>Suddenly Miss Entwhistle felt uncomfortable. She +put down the book she was holding, and folded her +hands in her lap and gazed out of the window at the +hills on the other side of the river. She felt as if she +had been prying, and prying unpardonably. The books +people read,—was there ever anything more revealing? +No, she refused to examine Vera's books further. And +apart from that horrible feeling of prying upon somebody +defenceless, upon somebody pitiful, she didn't +wish to allow the thought these books suggested to +get any sort of hold on her mind. It was essential, +absolutely essential, that it shouldn't. And if Lucy +ever——</p> + +<p>She got up and went to the window. Lucy's eyes +followed her, puzzled. The gardener was still mowing the +lawn, working very hard at it as though he were working +against time. She watched his back, bent with hurry +as he and the boy laboriously pushed and pulled the +machine up and down; and then she caught sight of +the terrace just below, and the flags.</p> + +<p>This was a dreadful house. Whichever way one +looked one was entangled in a reminder. She turned +away quickly, and there was that little loved thing in +her blue wrapper, propped up on Vera's pillows, watching +her with puzzled anxiety. Nothing could harm that +child, she was safe, so long as she loved and believed +in Everard; but suppose some day—suppose gradually—suppose +a doubt should creep into her mind whether +perhaps, after all, Vera's fall ... suppose a question +should get into her head whether perhaps, after all, +Vera's death——?</p> + +<p>Aunt Dot knew Lucy's face so well that it seemed +absurd to examine it now, searching for signs in its +features and expression of enough character, enough +nerves, enough—this, if there were enough of it, might +by itself carry her through—sense of humour. Yes, she +had a beautiful sweep of forehead; all that part of her +face was lovely—so calm and open, with intelligent, +sweet eyes. But were those dear eyes intelligent +enough? Was not sweetness really far more manifest +in them than intelligence? After that her face went +small, and then, looking bigger than it was because of +her little face, was her kind, funny mouth. Generous; +easily forgiving; quick to be happy; quick to despair,—Aunt +Dot, looking anxiously at it, thought she saw +all this in the shape of Lucy's mouth. But had the +child strength? Had she the strength that would be +needed equally—supposing that doubt and that question +should ever get into her head—for staying or for +going; for staying or for running ... oh, but running, +running, for her very <i>life</i>....</p> + +<p>With a violent effort Miss Entwhistle shook herself +free from these thoughts. Where in heaven's name +was her mind wandering to? It was intolerable, this +tyranny of suggestion in everything one looked at here, +in everything one touched. And Lucy, who was watching +her and who couldn't imagine why Aunt Dot should +be so steadfastly gazing at her mouth, naturally asked, +'Is anything the matter with my face?'</p> + +<p>Then Miss Entwhistle managed to smile, and came +and sat down again beside the sofa. 'No,' she said, +taking her hand. 'But I don't think I want to read +after all. Let us talk.'</p> + +<p>And holding Lucy's hand, who looked a little afraid +at first but soon grew content on finding what the talk +was to be about, she proceeded to discuss supper, and +whether a poached egg or a cup of beef-tea contained +the greater amount of nourishment.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XXX</h2> + + +<p>Also she presently told her, approaching it with caution, +for she was sure Lucy wouldn't like it, that as Everard +was coming down next day she thought it better to go +back to Eaton Terrace in the morning.</p> + +<p>'You two love-birds won't want me,' she said gaily, +expecting and prepared for opposition; but really, as +the child was getting well so quickly, there was no +reason why she and Everard should be forced to begin +practising affection for each other here and now. Besides, +in the small bag she brought there had only been a +nightgown and her washing things, and she couldn't +go on much longer on only that.</p> + +<p>To her surprise Lucy not only agreed but looked +relieved. Miss Entwhistle was greatly surprised, and +also greatly pleased. 'She adores him,' she thought, +'and only wants to be alone with him. If Everard +makes her as happy as all that, who cares what he is +like to me or to anybody else in the world?'</p> + +<p>And all the horrible, ridiculous things she had been +thinking half an hour before were blown away like so +many cobwebs.</p> + +<p>Just before half-past seven, while she was in her +room on the other side of the house tidying herself +before facing Chesterton and the evening meal she +had reduced it to the merest skeleton of a meal, but +Chesterton insisted on waiting, and all the usual ceremonies +were observed—she was startled by the sound +of wheels on the gravel beneath the window. It could +only be Everard. He had come.</p> + +<p>'Dear me,' said Miss Entwhistle to herself,—and she +who had planned to be gone so neatly before his arrival!</p> + +<p>It would be idle to pretend that she wasn't very much +perturbed,—she was; and the brush with which she +was tidying her pretty grey hair shook in her hand. +Dinner alone with Everard,—well, at least let her be +thankful that he hadn't arrived a few minutes later +and found her actually sitting in his chair. What +would have happened if he had? Miss Entwhistle, +for all her dismay, couldn't help laughing. Also, she +encouraged herself for the encounter by remembering +the doctor. Behind his authority she was secure. She +had developed, since Tuesday, from an uninvited visitor +into an indispensable adjunct. Not a nurse; Lucy +hadn't at any moment been positively ill enough for a +nurse; but an adjunct.</p> + +<p>She listened, her brush suspended. There was no +mistaking it: it was certainly Everard, for she heard +his voice. The wheels of the cab, after the interval +necessary for ejecting him, turned round again on the +drive, crunching much less, and went away, and presently +there was his well-known deliberate, heavy tread coming +up the uncarpeted staircase. Thank God for bedrooms, +thought Miss Entwhistle, fervently brushing. Where +would one be without them and bathrooms,—places of +legitimate lockings-in, places even the most indignant +host was bound to respect?</p> + +<p>Now this wasn't the proper spirit in which to go down +and begin getting fond of Everard and giving him the +opportunity of getting fond of her, as she herself presently +saw. Besides, at that very moment Lucy was probably +in his arms, all alight with joyful surprise, and if +he could make Lucy so happy there must be enough of +good in him to enable him to fulfil the very mild requirements +of Lucy's aunt. Just bare pleasantness, bare +decency would be enough. She stoutly assured herself of +her certainty of being fond of Everard if only he would +let her. Sufficiently fond of him, that is; she didn't +suppose any affection she was going to feel for him +would ever be likely to get the better of her reason.</p> + +<p>Immediately on Wemyss's arrival the silent house +had burst into feverish life. Doors banged, feet ran; +and now Lizzie came hurrying along the passage, and +knocked at the door and told her breathlessly that +dinner would be later not for at least another half +hour, because Mr. Wemyss had come unexpectedly, +and cook had to——</p> + +<p>She didn't finish the sentence, she was in such a +hurry to be off.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle, her simple preparations being complete, +had nothing left to do but sit in one of those +wicker work chairs with thin, hard, cretonne-covered +upholstery, which are sometimes found in inhospitable +spare-rooms and wait.</p> + +<p>She found this bad for her <i>morale</i>. There wasn't +a book in the room, or she would have distracted her +thoughts by reading. She didn't want dinner. She +would have best liked to get into the bed she hadn't +yet slept once in, and stay there till it was time to go +home, but her pride blushed scarlet at such a cowardly +desire. She arranged herself, therefore, in the chair, +and, since she couldn't read, tried to remember something +to say over to herself instead, some poem, or +verse of a poem, to take her attention off the coming +dinner; and she was shocked to find, as she sat there +with her eyes shut to keep out the light that glared +on her from the middle of the ceiling, that she could +remember nothing but fragments: loose bits floating +derelict round her mind, broken spars that didn't even +belong, she was afraid, to any really magnificent whole. +How Jim would have scolded her,—Jim who forgot +nothing that was beautiful.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin: 2.5em 8em;">By nature cool, in pious habits bred,</span><br /> +<span style="margin: 2.5em 8em;">She looked on husbands with a virgin's dread....</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Now where did that come from? And why should it +come at all?</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin: 2.5em 8em;">Such was the tone and manners of them all</span><br /> +<span style="margin: 2.5em 8em;">No married lady at the house would call....</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>And that, for instance? She couldn't remember ever +having read any poem that could contain these lines, +yet she must have; she certainly hadn't invented them.</p> + +<p>And this,—an absurd German thing Jim used to +quote and laugh at:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin: 2.5em 8em;">Der Sultan winkt, Zuleika schweigt,</span><br /> +<span style="margin: 2.5em 8em;">Und zeigt sich gänzlich abgeneigt....</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Why should a thing like that rise now to the surface +of her mind and float round on it, while all the noble +verse she had read and enjoyed, which would have been +of such use and support to her at this juncture, was +nowhere to be found, not a shred of it, in any corner +of her brain?</p> + +<p>What a brain, thought Miss Entwhistle, disgusted, +sitting up very straight in the wickerwork chair, her +hands folded in her lap, her eyes shut; what a +contemptible, anæmic brain, deserting her like this, only +able to throw up to the surface when stirred, out of +all the store of splendid stuff put so assiduously into +it during years and years of life, couplets.</p> + +<p>A sound she hadn't yet heard began to crawl round +the house, and, even while she wondered what it was, +increased and increased till it seemed to her at last as +if it must fill the universe and reach to Eaton Terrace.</p> + +<p>It was that gong. Become active. Heavens, and +what activity. She listened amazed. The time it went +on! It went on and on, beating in her ears like the +crack of doom.</p> + +<p>When the three great final strokes were succeeded +by silence, she got up from her chair. The moment had +come. A last couplet floated through her brain,—her +brain seemed to clutch at it:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin: 2.5em 8em;">Betwixt the stirrup and the ground</span><br /> +<span style="margin: 2.5em 8em;">She mercy sought, she mercy found....</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Now where did that come from? she asked herself +distractedly, nervously passing one hand over her +already perfectly tidy hair and opening the door with +the other.</p> + +<p>There was Wemyss, opening Lucy's door at the +same moment.</p> + +<p>'Oh how do you do, Everard,' said Miss Entwhistle, +advancing with all the precipitate and affectionate +politeness of one who is greeting not only a host but a +nephew.</p> + +<p>'Quite well thank you,' was Everard's slightly +unexpected reply; but logical, perfectly logical.</p> + +<p>She held out her hand and he shook it, and then proceeded +past her to her bedroom door, which she had left +open, and switched off the light, which she had left on.</p> + +<p>'Oh I'm sorry,' said Miss Entwhistle.</p> + +<p>'That,' she thought, 'is one to Everard.'</p> + +<p>She waited for his return, and then walked, followed +by him in silence, down the stairs.</p> + +<p>'How do you find Lucy?' she asked when they +had got to the bottom. She didn't like Everard's +silences; she remembered several of them during that +difference of opinion he and she had had about where +Christmas should be spent. They weighed on her; +and she had the sensation of wriggling beneath them +like an earwig beneath a stone, and it humiliated her to +wriggle.</p> + +<p>'Just as I expected,' he said. 'Perfectly well.'</p> + +<p>'Oh no—not perfectly well,' exclaimed Miss Entwhistle, +a vision of the blue-wrapped little figure sitting +weakly up against the pillows that afternoon before +her eyes. 'She is better to-day, but not nearly well.'</p> + +<p>'You asked me what I thought, and I've told you,' +said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>No, it wouldn't be an impulsive affection, hers and +Everard's, she felt; it would, when it did come, be the +result of slow and careful preparation,—line upon line, +here a little and there a little.</p> + +<p>'Won't you go in?' he asked; and she perceived +he had pushed the dining-room door open and was +holding it back with his arm while she, thinking this, +lingered.</p> + +<p>'That,' she thought, 'is another to Everard,'—her +second bungle; first the light left on in her room, now +keeping him waiting.</p> + +<p>She hurried through the door, and then, vexed with +herself for hurrying, walked to her chair with almost +an excess of deliberation.</p> + +<p>'The doctor——' she began, when they were in their +places, and Chesterton was hovering in readiness to +snatch the cover off the soup the instant Wemyss had +finished arranging his table-napkin.</p> + +<p>'I wish to hear nothing about the doctor,' he +interrupted.</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle gave herself pains to be undaunted, +and said with almost an excess of naturalness, 'But +I'd like to tell you.'</p> + +<p>'It is no concern of mine,' he said.</p> + +<p>'But you're her husband, you know,' said Miss +Entwhistle, trying to sound pleasant.</p> + +<p>'I gave no orders,' said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'But he had to be sent for. The child——'</p> + +<p>'So you say. So you said on the telephone. And +I told you then you were taking a great deal on yourself, +unasked.'</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle hadn't supposed that any one ever +talked like this before servants. She now knew that +she had been mistaken.</p> + +<p>'He's your doctor,' said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'My doctor?'</p> + +<p>'I regard him entirely as your doctor.'</p> + +<p>'I wish, Everard,' said Miss Entwhistle politely, +after a pause, 'that I understood.'</p> + +<p>'You sent for him on your own responsibility, +unasked. You must take the consequences.'</p> + +<p>'I don't know what you mean by the consequences,' +said Miss Entwhistle, who was getting further and further +away from that beginning of affection for Everard to +which she had braced herself.</p> + +<p>'The bill,' said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'Oh,' said Miss Entwhistle.</p> + +<p>She was so much surprised that she could only +ejaculate just that. Then the idea that she was +in the act of being nourished by Wemyss's soup +seemed to her so disagreeable that she put down +her spoon.</p> + +<p>'Certainly if you wish it,' she said.</p> + +<p>'I do,' said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>The conversation flagged.</p> + +<p>Presently, sitting up very straight, refusing to take +any notice of the variety and speed of the thoughts +rushing round inside her and determined to behave as if +she weren't minding anything, she said in a very clear +little voice which she strove to make sound pleasant, +'Did you have a good journey down?'</p> + +<p>'No,' said Wemyss, waving the soup away.</p> + +<p>This as an answer, though no doubt strictly truthful, +was too bald for much to be done with it. Miss Entwhistle +therefore merely echoed, as she herself felt +foolishly, 'No?'</p> + +<p>And Wemyss confirmed his first reply by once more +saying, 'No.'</p> + +<p>The conversation flagged.</p> + +<p>'I suppose,' she then said, making another effort, +'the train was very full.'</p> + +<p>As this was not a question he was silent, and allowed +her to suppose.</p> + +<p>The conversation flagged.</p> + +<p>'Why is there no fish?' he asked Chesterton, who +was offering him cutlets.</p> + +<p>'There was no time to get any, sir,' said Chesterton.</p> + +<p>'He might have known that,' thought Miss Entwhistle.</p> + +<p>'You will tell the cook that I consider I have not +dined unless there is fish.'</p> + +<p>'Yes sir,' said Chesterton.</p> + +<p>'Goose,' thought Miss Entwhistle.</p> + +<p>It was easier, and far less nerve-racking, to regard him +indulgently as a goose than to let oneself get angry. He +was like a great cross schoolboy, she thought, sitting there +being rude; but unfortunately a schoolboy with power.</p> + +<p>He ate the cutlets in silence. Miss Entwhistle +declined them. She had missed her chance, she thought, +when the cab was beneath her window and all she had +to do was to lean out and say, 'Wait a minute.' But +then Lucy,—ah yes, Lucy. The minute she thought +of Lucy she felt she absolutely must be friends with +Everard. Incredible as it seemed to her, and always +had seemed from the first, that Lucy should love him, +there it was,—she did. It couldn't be possible to love +him without any reason. Of course not. The child +knew. The child was wise and tender. Therefore +Miss Entwhistle made another attempt at resuscitating +conversation.</p> + +<p>Watching her opportunity when Chesterton's back +was receding down the room towards the outstretched +arm at the end, for she didn't mind what Wemyss said +quite so acutely if Chesterton wasn't looking, she said +with as natural a voice as she could manage, 'I'm very +glad you've come, you know. I'm sure Lucy has been +missing you very much.'</p> + +<p>'Lucy can speak for herself,' he said.</p> + +<p>Then Miss Entwhistle concluded that conversation +with Everard was too difficult. Let it flag. She couldn't, +whatever he might feel able to do, say anything that +wasn't polite in the presence of Chesterton. She +doubted whether, even if Chesterton were not there, +she would be able to; and yet continued politeness +appeared in the face of his answers impossible. She +had best be silent, she decided; though to withdraw +into silence was of itself a humiliating defeat.</p> + +<p>When she was little Miss Entwhistle used to be +rude. Between the ages of five and ten she frequently +made faces at people. But not since then. Ten +was the latest. After that good manners descended +upon her, and had enveloped her ever since. Nor had +any occasion arisen later in her life in which she had +even been tempted to slough them. Urbane herself, +she dwelt among urbanities; kindly, she everywhere +met kindliness. But she did feel now that it might, +if only she could so far forget herself, afford her solace +were she able to say, straight at him, 'Wemyss.'</p> + +<p>Just that word. No more. For some reason she +was dying to call him Wemyss without any Mr. She +was sure that if she might only say that one word, +straight at him, she would feel better; as much relieved +as she did when she was little and made faces.</p> + +<p>Dreadful; dreadful. She cast down her eyes, overwhelmed +by the nature of her thoughts, and said No +thank you to the pudding.</p> + +<p>'It is clear,' thought Wemyss, observing her silence +and her refusal to eat, 'where Lucy gets her sulking from.'</p> + +<p>No more words were spoken till, dinner being over, +he gave the order for coffee in the library.</p> + +<p>'I'll go and say good-night to Lucy,' said Miss +Entwhistle as they got up.</p> + +<p>'You'll be so good as to do nothing of the sort,' +said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'I—beg your pardon?' inquired Miss Entwhistle, +not quite sure she could have heard right.</p> + +<p>At this point they were both just in front of Vera's +portrait on their way to the door, and she was looking +at each of them, impartially strangling her smile.</p> + +<p>'I wish to speak to you in the library,' said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'But suppose I don't wish to be spoken to in the +library?' leapt to the tip of Miss Entwhistle's tongue.</p> + +<p>There, however, was Chesterton,—checking, calming.</p> + +<p>So she said, instead, 'Do.'</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XXXI</h2> + + +<p>She hadn't been into the library yet. She knew the +dining-room, the hall, the staircase, Lucy's bedroom, +the spare-room, the antlers, and the gong; but she +didn't know the library. She had hoped to go away +without knowing it. However, she was not to be +permitted to.</p> + +<p>The newly-lit wood fire blazed cheerfully when they +went in, but its amiable light was immediately quenched +by the electric light Wemyss switched on at the door. +From the middle of the ceiling it poured down so strongly +that Miss Entwhistle wished she had brought her sun-shade. +The blinds were drawn, and there in front of the +window was the table where Everard had sat writing—she +remembered every word of Lucy's account of it +on that July afternoon of Vera's death. It was now +April; still well over three months to the first anniversary +of that dreadful day, and here he was married +again, and to, of all people in the world, her Lucy. +There were so many strong, robust-minded young +women in the world, so many hardened widows, so +many thick-skinned persons of mature years wanting a +comfortable home, who wouldn't mind Everard because +they wouldn't love him and therefore wouldn't feel,—why +should Fate have ordered that it should just be +her Lucy? No, she didn't like him, she couldn't like +him. He might, and she hoped he was, be all Lucy +said, be wonderful and wholesome and natural and all +the rest of it, but if he didn't seem so to her what, as +far as she was concerned, was the good of it?</p> + +<p>The fact is that by the time Miss Entwhistle got into +the library she was very angry. Even the politest +worm, she said to herself, the most conciliatory, sensible +worm, fully conscious that wisdom points to patience, +will nevertheless turn on its niece's husband if trodden +on too heavily. The way Wemyss had ordered her +not to go up to Lucy.... Particularly enraging to +Miss Entwhistle was the knowledge of her weak position, +uninvited in his house.</p> + +<p>Wemyss, standing on the hearthrug in front of the +blaze, filled his pipe. How well she knew that attitude +and that action. How often she had seen both in her +drawing-room in London. And hadn't she been kind +to him? Hadn't she always, when she was hostess +and he was guest, been hospitable and courteous? +No, she didn't like him.</p> + +<p>She sat down in one of the immense chairs, and had +the disagreeable sensation that she was sitting down +in Wemyss hollowed out. The two little red spots +were brightly on her cheekbones,—had been there, +indeed, ever since the beginning of dinner.</p> + +<p>Wemyss filled his pipe with his customary deliberation, +saying nothing. 'I believe he's enjoying himself,' +flashed into her mind. 'Enjoying being in a temper, +and having me to bully.'</p> + +<p>'Well?' she asked, suddenly unbearably irritated.</p> + +<p>'Oh it's no good taking that tone with me,' he said, +continuing carefully to fill his pipe.</p> + +<p>'Really, Everard,' she said, ashamed of him, but also +ashamed of herself. She oughtn't to have let go her grip +on herself and said, 'Well?' with such obvious irritation.</p> + +<p>The coffee came.</p> + +<p>'No thank you,' said Miss Entwhistle.</p> + +<p>He helped himself.</p> + +<p>The coffee went.</p> + +<p>'Perhaps,' said Miss Entwhistle in a very polite +voice when the door had been shut by Chesterton, +'you'll tell me what it is you wish to say.'</p> + +<p>'Certainly. One thing is that I've ordered the cab +to come round for you to-morrow in time for the early +train.'</p> + +<p>'Oh thank you, Everard. That is most thoughtful,' +said Miss Entwhistle. 'I had already told Lucy, when +she said you would be down to-morrow, that I would +go home early.'</p> + +<p>'That's one thing,' said Wemyss, taking no notice +of this and going on carefully filling his pipe. 'The +other is, that I don't wish you to see Lucy again, either +to-night or before you go.'</p> + +<p>She looked at him in astonishment. 'But why +not?' she asked.</p> + +<p>'I'm not going to have her upset.'</p> + +<p>'But my dear Everard, don't you see it will upset +her much more if I don't say good-bye to her? It +won't upset her at all if I do, because she knows I'm +going to-morrow anyhow. Why, what will the child +think?'</p> + +<p>'Oblige me by allowing me to be the best judge of +my own affairs.'</p> + +<p>'Do you know I very much doubt if you're that,' +said Miss Entwhistle earnestly, really moved by his +inability to perceive consequences. Here he had got +everything, everything to make him happy for the rest +of his life,—the wife he loved adoring him, believing in +him, blotting out by her mere marrying him every +doubt as to the exact manner of Vera's death, and all +he had to do was to be kind and ordinarily decent. +And poor Everard—it was absurd of her to mind for +him, but she did in fact at that moment mind for him, +he seemed such a pathetic human being, blindly bent +on ruining his own happiness—would spoil it all, +inevitably smash it all sooner or later, if he wasn't able +to see, wasn't able to understand....</p> + +<p>Wemyss considered her remark so impertinent that +he felt he would have been amply justified in requesting +her to leave his house then and there, dark or no dark, +train or no train. And so he would have done, if he +hadn't happened to prefer a long rather than a short +scene.</p> + +<p>'I didn't ask you into my library to hear your opinion +of my character,' he said, lighting his pipe.</p> + +<p>'Well then,' said Miss Entwhistle, for there was too +much at stake for her to allow herself either to be silenced +or goaded, 'let me tell you a few things about Lucy's.'</p> + +<p>'About Lucy's?' echoed Wemyss, amazed at such +effrontery. 'About my wife's?'</p> + +<p>'Yes,' said Miss Entwhistle, very earnestly. 'It's the +sort of character that takes things to heart, and she'll +be miserable—miserable, Everard, and worry and worry +if I just disappear as you wish me to without a word. +Of course I'll go, and I promise I'll never come again +unless you ask me to. But don't, because you're angry, +insist on something that will make Lucy extraordinarily +unhappy. Let me say good-night to her now, and +good-bye to-morrow morning. I tell you she'll be +terribly worried if I don't. She'll think'—Miss Entwhistle +tried to smile—'that you've turned me out. And +then, you see, if she thinks that, she won't be able——' +Miss Entwhistle hesitated. 'Well, she won't be able +to be proud of you. And that, my dear Everard—' +she looked at him with a faint smile of deprecation and +apology that she, a spinster, should talk of this—'gives +love its deepest wound.'</p> + +<p>Wemyss stared at her, too much amazed to speak. +In his house.... In his own house!</p> + +<p>'I'm sorry,' she said, still more earnestly, 'if this annoys +you, but I do want—I really do think it is very important.'</p> + +<p>There was then a silence during which they looked +at each other, he at her in amazement, she at him trying +to hope,—hope that he would take what she had said +in good part. It was so vital that he should understand, +that he should get an idea of the effect on Lucy +of just that sort of unkind, even cruel behaviour. His +own happiness was involved as well. Tragic, tragic for +every one if he couldn't be got to see....</p> + +<p>'Are you aware,' he said, 'that this is my house?'</p> + +<p>'Oh Everard——' she said at that, with a movement of despair.</p> + +<p>'Are you aware,' he continued, 'that you are talking +to a husband of his wife?'</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle said nothing, but leaning her head +on her hand looked at the fire.</p> + +<p>'Are you aware that you thrust yourself into my +house uninvited directly my back was turned, and have +been living in it, and would have gone on indefinitely +living in it, without any sanction from me unless I had +come down, as I did come down, on purpose to put an +end to such an outrageous state of affairs?'</p> + +<p>'Of course,' she said, 'that is one way of describing it.'</p> + +<p>'It is the way of every reasonable and decent person,' +said Wemyss.</p> + +<p>'Oh no,' said Miss Entwhistle. 'That is precisely +what it isn't. But,' she added, getting up from the +chair and holding out her hand, 'it is your way, and +so I think, Everard, I'll say good-night. And good-bye +too, for I don't expect I'll see you in the morning.'</p> + +<p>'One would suppose,' he said, taking no notice of +her proffered hand, for he hadn't nearly done, 'from your +tone that this was your house and I was your servant.'</p> + +<p>'I assure you I could never imagine it to be my +house or you my servant.'</p> + +<p>'You made a great mistake, I can tell you, when you +started interfering between husband and wife. You +have only yourself to thank if I don't allow you to +continue to see Lucy.'</p> + +<p>She stared at him.</p> + +<p>'Do you mean,' she said, after a silence, 'that you +intend to prevent my seeing her later on too? In +London?'</p> + +<p>'That, exactly, is my intention.'</p> + +<p>Miss Entwhistle stared at him, lost in thought; but +he could see he had got her this time, for her face had +gone visibly pale.</p> + +<p>'In that case, Everard,' she said presently, 'I think +it my duty——'</p> + +<p>'Don't begin about duties. You have no duties in +regard to me and my household.'</p> + +<p>'I think it my duty to tell you that from my knowledge +of Lucy——'</p> + +<p>'Your knowledge of Lucy! What is it compared to +mine, I should like to know?'</p> + +<p>'Please listen to me. It's most important. From my +knowledge of her, I'm quite sure she hasn't the staying +power of Vera.'</p> + +<p>It was now his turn to stare. She was facing him, +very pale, with shining, intrepid eyes. He had got her +in her vulnerable spot he could see, or she wouldn't be +so white, but she was going to do her utmost to annoy +him up to the last.</p> + +<p>'The staying power of——?' he repeated.</p> + +<p>'I'm sure of it. And you must be wise, you must +positively have the wisdom to take care of your own +happiness——'</p> + +<p>'Oh good God, you preaching woman!' he burst +out. 'How dare you stand there in my own house talking +to me of Vera?'</p> + +<p>'Hush,' said Miss Entwhistle, her eyes shining +brighter and brighter in her white face. 'Listen to me. +It's atrocious that I should have to, but nobody ever +seems to have told you a single thing in your life. You +don't seem to know anything at all about women, +anything at all about human beings. How could you +bring a girl like Lucy—any young wife—to this house? +But here she is, and it still may be all right because she +loves you so, if you take care, if you are tender and +kind. I assure you it is nothing to me how angry you +are with me, or how completely you separate me from +Lucy, if only you are kind to her. Don't you realise, +Everard, that she may soon begin to have a baby, and +that then she——'</p> + +<p>'You indelicate woman! You incredibly indecent, +improper——'</p> + +<p>'I don't in the least mind what you say to me, but +I tell you that unless you take care, unless you're +kinder than you're being at this moment, it won't be +anything like fifteen years this time.'</p> + +<p>He repeated, staring, 'Fifteen years this time?'</p> + +<p>'Yes. Good-bye.'</p> + +<p>And she was gone, and had shut the door behind +her before her monstrous meaning dawned on him.</p> + +<p>Then, when it did, he strode out of the room after her.</p> + +<p>She was going up the stairs very slowly.</p> + +<p>'Come down,' he said.</p> + +<p>She went on as if she hadn't heard him.</p> + +<p>'Come down. If you don't come down at once I'll +fetch you.'</p> + +<p>This, through all her wretchedness, through all her +horror, for beating in her ears were two words over and +over again, <i>Lucy, Vera</i>—<i>Lucy, Vera</i> struck her as so +absurd, the vision of herself, more naturally nimble, +going on up the stairs just out of Wemyss's reach, with +him heavily pursuing her, till among the attics at the +top he couldn't but run her to earth in a cistern, that +she had great difficulty in not spilling over into a +ridiculous, hysterical laugh.</p> + +<p>'Very well then,' she said, stopping and speaking in +a low voice so that Lucy shouldn't be disturbed by +unusual sounds, 'I'll come down.' And shining, quivering +with indomitableness, she did.</p> + +<p>She arrived at the bottom of the stairs where he was +standing and faced him. What was he going to do? +Take her by the shoulders and turn her out? Not a +sign, not the smallest sign of distress or fear should he +get out of her. Fear of him in relation to herself was +the last thing she would condescend to feel, but fear for +Lucy—for Lucy.... She could very easily have cried +out because of Lucy, entreated to be allowed to see her +sometimes, humbled herself, if she hadn't gripped hold +of the conviction of his delight if she broke down, of +his delight at having broken her down, at refusing. +The thought froze her serene.</p> + +<p>'You will now leave my house,' said Wemyss through +his teeth.</p> + +<p>'Without my hat, Everard?' she inquired mildly.</p> + +<p>He didn't answer. He would gladly at that moment +have killed her, for he thought he saw she was laughing +at him. Not openly. Her face was serious and her voice +polite; but he thought he saw she was laughing at him, +and beyond anything that could happen to him he hated +being defied.</p> + +<p>He walked to the front door, reached up and undid +the top bolt, stooped down and undid the bottom bolt, +turned the key, took the chain off, pulled the door open, +and said, 'There now. Go. And let this be a lesson +to you.'</p> + +<p>'I am glad to see,' said Miss Entwhistle, going out +on to the steps with dignity, and surveying the stars +with detachment, 'that it is a fine night.'</p> + +<p>He shut and bolted and locked and chained her out, +and as soon as he had done, and she heard his footsteps +going away, and her eyes were a little accustomed to +the darkness, she went round to the back entrance, +rang the bell, and asked the astonished tweeny, who +presently appeared, to send Lizzie to her; and when +Lizzie came, also astonished, she asked her to be so +kind as to go up to her room and put her things in her +bag and bring her her hat and cloak and purse.</p> + +<p>'I'll wait here in the garden,' said Miss Entwhistle, +'and it would be most kind, Lizzie, if you were rather +quick.'</p> + +<p>Then, when she had got her belongings, and Lizzie +had put her cloak round her shoulders and tried to +express, by smoothings and brushings of it, her understanding +and sympathy, for it was clear to Lizzie and to +all the servants that Miss Entwhistle was being turned +out, she went away; she went away past the silent house, +through the white gate, up through the darkness of the +sunken oozy lane, out on to the road where the stars +gave light, across the bridge, into the village, along the +road to the station, to wait for whatever train should +come.</p> + +<p>She walked slower and slower.</p> + +<p>She was extraordinarily tired.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>XXXII</h2> + + +<p>Wemyss went back into the library, and seeing his +coffee still on the chimney-piece he drank it, and then +sat down in the chair Miss Entwhistle had just left, and +smoked.</p> + +<p>He wouldn't go up to Lucy yet; not till he was sure +the woman wasn't going to try any tricks of knocking +at the front door or ringing bells. He actually, so +inaccurate was his perception of Miss Entwhistle's character +and methods, he actually thought she might +perhaps throw stones at the windows, and he decided +to remain downstairs guarding his premises till this +possibility became, with the lapse of time, more remote.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the fury of his indignation at the things +she had said was immensely tempered by the real satisfaction +he felt in having turned her out. That was the +way to show people who was master, and meant to be +master, in his own house. She had supposed she could +do as she liked with him, use his house, be waited on +by his servants, waste his electric light, interfere between +him and his wife, say what she chose, lecture him, +stand there and insult him, and he had showed her +very quickly and clearly that she couldn't. As to her +final monstrous suggestion, it merely proved how +completely he had got her, how accurately he had hit +on the punishment she felt most, that she should have +indulged in such ravings. The ravings of impotence, +that's what that was. For the rest of his life, he +supposed, whenever people couldn't get their own way +with him, were baffled by his steadfastness and +consequently became vindictive, they would throw that old +story up against him. Let them. It wouldn't make +him budge, not a hair's-breadth, in any direction he +didn't choose. Master in his own house,—that's what +he was.</p> + +<p>Curious how women invariably started by thinking +they could do as they liked with him. Vera had thought +so, and behaved accordingly; and she had been quite +surprised, and even injured, when she discovered she +couldn't. No doubt this woman was feeling considerably +surprised too now; no doubt she never dreamt +he would turn her out. Women never believed he +would do the simple, obvious thing. And even when +he warned them that he would, as he could remember +on several occasions having warned Vera—indeed, it +was recorded in his diary—they still didn't believe it. +Daunted themselves by convention and the fear of what +people might think, they imagined that he would be +daunted too. Then, when he wasn't, and it happened, +they were surprised; and they never seemed to see that +they had only themselves to thank.</p> + +<p>He sat smoking and thinking a long time, one ear +attentive to any sounds which might indicate that Miss +Entwhistle was approaching hostilely from outside. +Chesterton found him sitting like that when she came +in to remove the coffee cup, and she found him still +sitting like that when she came in an hour later with +his whisky.</p> + +<p>It was nearly eleven before he decided that the danger +of attack was probably over; but still, before he went +upstairs, he thought it prudent to open the window and +step over the sill on to the terrace and just look round.</p> + +<p>All was as quiet as the grave. It was so quiet that +he could hear a little ripple where the water was split +by a dead branch as the river slid gently along. There +were stars, so that it was not quite dark; and although +the April air was moist it was dry under foot. A +pleasant night for a walk. Well, he would not grudge +her that.</p> + +<p>He went along the terrace, and round the clump of +laurustinus bushes which cloaked the servants' entrance, +to the front of the house.</p> + +<p>Empty. Nobody still lingering on the steps.</p> + +<p>He then proceeded as far as the white gate, holding +her capable of having left it open on purpose,—'In order +to aggravate me,' as he put it to himself.</p> + +<p>It was shut.</p> + +<p>He stood leaning on it a minute listening, in case she +should be lurking in the lane.</p> + +<p>Not a sound.</p> + +<p>Satisfied that she had really gone, he returned to +the terrace and re-entered the library, fastening the +window carefully and pulling down the blind.</p> + +<p>What a relief, what an extraordinary relief, to have +got rid of her; and not just for this once, but for good. +Also she was Lucy's only relation, so there were no more +of them to come and try to interfere between man and +wife. He was very glad she had behaved so outrageously +at the end saying that about Vera, for it justified him +completely in what he had done. A little less bad +behaviour, and she would have had to be allowed to +stay the night; still a little less, and she would have +had to come to The Willows again, let alone having a +free hand in London to influence Lucy when he was at +his club playing bridge and unable to look after her. +Yes; it was very satisfactory, and well worth coming +down day earlier for.</p> + +<p>He wound up his watch, standing before the last +glimmerings of the fire, and felt quite good-humoured +again. More than good-humoured,—refreshed and +exhilarated, as though he had had a cold bath and a +thorough rub-down. Now for bed and his little Love. +What simple things a man wanted,—only his woman +and peace.</p> + +<p>Wemyss finished winding his watch, stretched himself, +yawned, and then went slowly upstairs, switching +off the lights as he went.</p> + +<p>In the bedroom there was a night-light burning, and +Lucy had fallen asleep, tired of waiting for Aunt Dot to +come and say good-night, but she woke when he came in.</p> + +<p>'Is that you, Aunt Dot?' she murmured, even +through her sleepiness sure it must be, for Everard +would have turned on the light.</p> + +<p>Wemyss, however, didn't want her to wake up and +begin asking questions, so he refrained from turning +on the light.</p> + +<p>'No, it's your Everard,' he said, moving about on +tiptoe. 'Sh-sh, now. Go to sleep again like a good +little girl.'</p> + +<p>Through her sleepiness she knew that voice of his; +it meant one of his pleased moods. How sweet of +him to be taking such care not to disturb her ... dear +Everard ... he and Aunt Dot must have made friends +then ... how glad she was ... wonderful little Aunt +Dot ... before dinner he was angry, and she had +been so afraid ... afraid ... what a relief ... how +glad....</p> + +<p>But Lucy was asleep again, and the next thing she +knew was Everard's arm being slid under her shoulders +and she being drawn across the bed and gathered to +his breast.</p> + +<p>'Who's my very own baby?' she heard him saying; +and she woke up just enough sleepily to return his kiss.</p> + + +<p>THE END</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 34366 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |