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diff --git a/old/34366-8.txt b/old/34366-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4f54145 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/34366-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9260 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Vera, by Elisabeth von Arnim + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Vera + +Author: Elisabeth von Arnim + +Release Date: November 18, 2010 [EBook #34366] +[Last updated: December 7, 2022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERA *** + + + + +Produced by Laura McDonald at http://www.girlebooks.com +and Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org + + + + + +VERA + + + +BY THE AUTHOR OF "ELIZABETH AND HER GERMAN GARDEN" + + + +MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED + +ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON + +1921 + + + +I + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Her father. Dead. For ever. + +She said the words over to herself. They meant nothing. + +She was going to be alone. Without him. Always. + +She said the words over to herself. They meant nothing. + +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. + +What a beautiful day it was; and so hot. He loved heat. They were lucky +in the weather.... + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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----' + +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.... + +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. + +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----' + +He began to stammer because of her eyes. 'I--I'm horribly thirsty--the +heat----' + +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. + +'Would it be much bother----' began Wemyss again; and then his situation +overwhelmed him. + +'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.' + +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. + +'Are you so hot?' she asked, really seeing him for the first time. + +'Yes, I'm hot,' said Wemyss. 'But it isn't that. I've had a +misfortune--a terrible misfortune----' + +He paused, overcome by the remembrance of it, by the unfairness of so +much horror having overtaken him. + +'Oh, I'm sorry,' said Lucy vaguely, still miles away from him, deep in +indifference. 'Have you lost anything?' + +'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----' + +His voice shook again with his unhappiness, with his astonishment at his +unhappiness. + +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. + +'I would gladly have let you come in,' she said, 'if you had come +yesterday, but to-day my father died.' + +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. + +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.' + +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.' + +And still covering her hands with one of his, with the other he +unlatched the gate and walked in. + + + + +II + + +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. + +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. + +'I'll fetch the water,' she said when they got to the seat. + +'No. Sit down,' said Wemyss. + +She sat down. So did he, letting her hand go. It dropped on the seat, +palm upwards, between them. + +'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----' + +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 _unlikely_. 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. + +She stirred uneasily. It wasn't a dream. It was real. + +'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. + +'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----' + +This was certainly a dream, thought Lucy. Things didn't happen like this +when one was awake,--grotesque things. + +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? + +He was saying in a tormented voice that he was Wemyss. + +'You are Wemyss,' she repeated gravely. + +It made no impression on her. She didn't mind his being Wemyss. + +'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!' + +'Why was your name on posters?' said Lucy. + +She didn't want to know; she asked mechanically, her ear attentive only +to the sounds from the open windows of the room upstairs. + +'Don't you read newspapers here?' was his answer. + +'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.' + +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----' + +'The inquest?' repeated Lucy. + +Again she turned her head and looked at him. 'Has your trouble anything +to do with death?' + +'Why, you don't suppose anything else would reduce me to the state I'm +in?' + +'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?' + +'It was my wife,' said Wemyss. + +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. + +Lucy watched him, leaning forward a little on both hands. 'Tell me about +it,' she said presently, very gently. + +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---- + +'Yes,' said Lucy, comprehendingly and gravely, 'yes--I know----' + +--had never had anything to do with--well, with calamities, he told her +the story. + +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---- + +The remembrance of it was too grievous to him. He couldn't go on. + +'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----' + +'She wasn't ill at all,' cried Wemyss. 'She just--died.' + +'Oh like father!' exclaimed Lucy, roused now altogether. It was she now +who laid her hand on his. + +Wemyss seized it between both his, and went on quickly. + +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---- + +'Oh don't--oh don't----' gasped Lucy. + +'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----' + +'Oh, don't--oh----' + +'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.' + +He hurt her hand, he gripped it so hard. + +'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.' + +'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. + +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.... + +'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----' + +'Oh--oh----' said Lucy, shrinking. What could she do, what could she say +to help him, to soften at least these dreadful memories? + +'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.' + +'The cause of death?' echoed Lucy. 'But--she fell.' + +'Whether it were an accident or done on purpose.' + +'Done on----?' + +'Suicide.' + +'Oh----' + +She drew in her breath quickly. + +'But--it wasn't?' + +'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.' + +He banged his knee with his free hand. His voice was full of indignant +tears. + +'Then why did the jury----' + +'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.' + +'Oh, how terrible--how terrible for you,' breathed Lucy, her eyes on +his, her mouth twitching with sympathy. + +'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. + +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. + +'Is life all--only death?' she breathed, her horror-stricken eyes on +his. + +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. + +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. + +'Here's somebody coming to speak to you,' said Wemyss, for Lucy was +sitting with her back to the path. + +She started and looked round. + +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. + +'The gentleman's quite ready, miss,' she said softly. + + + + +III + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'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. + +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. + +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. + +'Oh,' she murmured, 'how _good_ you are----' + +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 _The Times_, 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. + +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.... + +'How _good_ you are!' she said to Wemyss, her red eyes filling. 'What +would I have done without you?' + +'But what would I have done without _you_?' 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. + +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. + +'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.' + +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. + +And Lucy said, How was it possible to misunderstand him, to +misunderstand any one so transparently good, so evidently kind? + +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---- + +'Who is Vera?' asked Lucy. + +'My wife.' + +'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----' + +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. + +'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.' + +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. + +'How old are you?' he asked suddenly, turning to her and scrutinising +the delicate faint outline of her face against the night. + +'Twenty-two,' said Lucy. + +'You might just as easily be twelve,' he said, 'except for the sorts of +things you say.' + +'It's my hair,' said Lucy. 'My father liked--he liked----' + +'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.' + +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. + +'Good-night,' she said, when he had lit her candle for her, 'good-night, +and--God bless you.' + +'God bless _you_' said Wemyss solemnly, holding her hand in his great +warm grip. + +'He has,' said Lucy. 'Indeed He has already, in sending me you.' And she +smiled up at him. + +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. + +'Do that again,' he said, staring at her, still holding her hand. + +'Do what?' asked Lucy. + +'Smile,' said Wemyss. + +Then she laughed; but the sound of it in the silent, brooding house was +shocking. + +'_Oh_,' she gasped, stopping short, hanging her head appalled by what it +had sounded like. + +'Remember you're to go to sleep and not think of anything,' Wemyss +ordered as she went slowly upstairs. + +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. + + + + +IV + + +All this, however, came to an end next day when towards evening Miss +Entwhistle, Lucy's aunt, arrived. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +_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...._ + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'Who is that?' asked the man who was helping Miss Entwhistle up the +cliff. + +'Oh, a _very_ 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----' + +'Wemyss? I don't remember coming across him with Jim.' + +'Oh, one of his--his _oldest_--f--fr--friends,' sobbed poor Miss +Entwhistle, got completely out of control. + +Wemyss, continuing in his rôle of chief mourner, was the only person who +was asked to spend the evening up at the bereaved house. + +'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----' + +And neither Wemyss nor Lucy felt equal to explanation. + +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. + +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. + +'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----' + +Here Miss Entwhistle was interrupted by a sob, and had to put down her +spoon. + +'--taken,' she finished after a moment, during which the other two sat +silent. + +'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.' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'Not at all,' said Wemyss, whose mind on that point was clear. + +'No sir,' said the parlourmaid, nodding sympathetically. 'No sir.' + +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. + +Wemyss listened, sipping the comforting drink and smoking a cigar. + +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---- + +The parlourmaid paused, her eye anxiously on the window. Wemyss sat +staring at her. + +'Did you say fried soles?' he asked, staring at her. + +'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.' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'I choked,' he said, wiping his eyes, which indeed were very wet. + +'Choked?' repeated Miss Entwhistle anxiously. 'We heard a most strange +noise----' + +'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. + +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. + +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. + +'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. + +'With me or with Lucy?' asked Miss Entwhistle. + +By this time they both hung on his possible wishes, and watched him with +the devout attentiveness of a pair of dogs. + +'With you and with Lucy,' said Wemyss, smiling at the upturned faces. He +felt very conscious of being the male, of being in command. + +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. + +'Shall we go into the drawing-room?' asked Miss Entwhistle. + +'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. + +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. + +'This little girl,' he began, 'must get the roses back into her cheeks.' + +'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. + +'How do you propose to set about it?' asked Wemyss. + +'Time,' gulped Miss Entwhistle. + +'Time?' + +'And patience. We must wait we must both wait p-patiently till time has +s-softened----' + +She hastily pulled out her handkerchief. + +'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.' + +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. + +'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----' + +She broke off and wiped her eyes. + +'Perhaps,' she finished, 'you haven't ever loved anybody very--very +particularly and lost them.' + +'Oh,' breathed Lucy at that, and moved still closer to him. + +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. + +But there was Lucy's little hand, so clinging, so understanding, +nestling in his. It soothed him. + +There was a pause. Then he said, very gravely, 'My wife died only a +fortnight ago.' + +Miss Entwhistle was crushed. 'Ah,' she cried, 'but you must forgive +me----' + + + + +V + + +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. + +'What, in August?' exclaimed Wemyss. + +Yes, they would be quiet there, and indeed they were both worn out and +only wished for solitude. + +'Then why not stay here?' asked Wemyss, who now considered Lucy's aunt +selfish. 'This is solitary enough, in all conscience.' + +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. + +'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. + +'You must come and see us in London and help us to feel heroic,' said +Miss Entwhistle, with a watery smile. + +'But I can come and see you much better and easier if you're here,' +persisted Wemyss. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Wemyss shut his mouth tight at this and said nothing. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'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. + +'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----' + +Miss Entwhistle put up her hand and stroked Lucy's arm. + +'If you weren't in this hurry to go away you'd have had more time and +done it comfortably,' said Wemyss. + +'Oh, but I don't want more time,' said Lucy quickly. + +'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. + +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. + +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.... + +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? + +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! + +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. + +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. + +He got across the road in one stride. 'Lucy!' he exclaimed. 'You? Why +didn't you call me? We've wasted half an hour----' + +'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! + +Then her face went grave again. 'I've finished father's things now,' she +said, 'and so I came to look for you.' + +'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?' + +'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.' + +'Not without you. I'm nothing without you,' said Wemyss; and his eyes, +as he searched hers, were full of tears. + +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 _had_ +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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.... + +'Lucy,' he said, 'look at me----' + +She lifted her head. He loosed her hands, and put his arms round her +shoulders. + +'Look at me,' he said; for though she had lifted her head she hadn't +lifted her eyes. + +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. + +'Lucy----' he said again. + +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. + + + + +VI + + +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. + +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.' + +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. + +'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.' + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + + + + +VII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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 _bouleversée_, 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + + When God shuts the door He opens the window. + +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. + +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. + +'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----' + +'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.' + +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--_she_ believes +in me all right!' + + + + +VIII + + +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. + +'What is Mr. Wemyss?' asked Miss Entwhistle unexpectedly that evening, +just as they were going to bed. + +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. + +'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. + +'Yes. What is he besides being a widower?' said Miss Entwhistle. 'We +know he's that, but it is hardly a profession.' + +'I--don't think I know,' said Lucy, looking and feeling very stupid. + +'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. + +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?' + +This unnerved Lucy. If she had stared stupidly at her aunt at the other +question she stared aghast at her at this one. + +'What did she die of?' she repeated, flushing. + +'Yes. What illness was it?' asked her aunt, continuing to pin. + +'It--wasn't an illness,' said Lucy helplessly. + +'Not an illness?' + +'I--believe it was an accident.' + +'An accident?' said Miss Entwhistle, taking the hairpin out of her mouth +and in her turn staring. 'What sort of an accident?' + +'I think a rather serious one,' said Lucy, completely unnerved. + +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? + +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. + +'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. + +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. + +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. + +'Positively without having had any lunch at all,' repeated Wemyss, +looking at them with a face full of astonished aggrievement at the mere +recollection. + +'Ah,' said Miss Entwhistle, leaning across to him, 'don't let us revive +sad memories.' + +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. + +He turned impatiently to Lucy, and addressed his next remark to her. But +in another moment there was her aunt again. + +'Mr. Wemyss,' she said, 'I've been dying to ask you----' + +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 _was_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Wemyss thought this intelligent of the aunt. He had no objection to +being taken for an admiral; they were an honest, breezy lot. + +Placated, he informed her that he was on the Stock Exchange. + +'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.' + +'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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?' + +This settled things. Lucy felt she could bear no more of these shocks. A +clean breast was the only thing left for her. + +'Aunt Dot,' she stammered--Miss Entwhistle's Christian name was +Dorothy,--'I'd like--I've got--I want to tell you----' + +'After breakfast,' said Miss Entwhistle briskly. 'We shall need lots of +time, and to be undisturbed. We'll go up into the drawing-room.' + +And immediately she began talking about other things. + +Was it possible, thought Lucy, her eyes carefully on her toast and +butter, that Aunt Dot suspected? + + + + +IX + + +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 +_see_? It's just _because_ 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 _use_ to the world of somebody +good and fine being left to die or go mad? Aunt Dot, what's the _use_?' + +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. + +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. + +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 +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---- + +'But that's _why_--that's _why_,' Lucy cried when Miss Entwhistle said +this. 'He _had_ to forget, or die himself. It was beyond what anybody +could bear and stay sane----' + +'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.' + +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. + +'Those grey trousers,' she murmured. + +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.... + +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. + +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? + +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 _would_ want to +withdraw---- + +'Ah, but don't you _see_,' 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.' + +'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. + +'Oh,' almost moaned Lucy at that, and her head drooped in a sudden +fatigue. + +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----' + +And she kissed her hot face tenderly, holding it close to her own. + +'But if I could only make you _see_,' said Lucy, clinging to her, tears +in her voice. + +'But I do see that you love him very much,' said Miss Entwhistle gently, +again very tenderly kissing her. + +That afternoon when Wemyss appeared at five o'clock, it being his +bi-weekly day for calling, he found Lucy alone. + +'Why, where----? How-----?' he asked, peeping round the drawing-room as +though Miss Entwhistle must be lurking behind a chair. + +'I've told,' said Lucy, who looked tired. + +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.' + +'Yes, but----' began Lucy faintly. She was, however, so much muffled and +engulfed that her voice didn't get through. + +'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?' + +'Yes, but----' began Lucy again. + +'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.' + +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. + +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?' + +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. + +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. + +Meanwhile Miss Entwhistle was spending a diligent afternoon in the +newspaper room of the British Museum. She was reading _The Times_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She said she wanted Sloane Street. + +He was unable to believe it, and tried to reason with her, but she sat +firm in her place and persisted. + +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. + +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. + + + + +X + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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 _do_ +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 _great_ +dear.' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'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. + +And the friend, made brief of speech by wisdom, said: 'Nothing.' + +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?' + +To which the widow, whose wisdom was more ripe than comforting, replied +disappointingly: 'One.' + +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?' + +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.' + + + + +XI + + +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. + +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. + +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."' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'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. + +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? + +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. + +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 _The Times_ 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. + +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? + +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. + +'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, _"Il aurait fallu mitrailler cette +canaille."_ We're not simple enough.' + +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. + +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. + +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.' + +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. + +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. + +'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. + +'You can't separate unity,' remarked Wemyss comfortably. + +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. + +'Now, Lucy, that's pure Wemyss,' they would say. 'For heaven's sake say +something of your own.' + +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. + +'I had hoped you would join us,' she said. 'Must you really go away?' + +'But----' began Wemyss, incredulous, doubting his ears. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'But Lucy----' Wemyss having stared speechless at her aunt, turned to +her. 'But of course we must spend Christmas together.' + +'Oh yes,' said Lucy, leaning forward, 'of course----' + +'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.' + +'We hoped,' said Miss Entwhistle, 'you would join us here.' + +'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.' + +'Oh, Everard--have you actually ordered turkeys?' said Lucy. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'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. + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'You haven't answered my question,' said Wemyss, slowly filling his +pipe. + +'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---- + +'I think,' she said, getting up and speaking very gently, 'you'll like +to be alone together now.' And she crossed to the door. + +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.' + +Then she went out. + +'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!' + +And he put out his arms and drew her to him. + + + + +XII + + +But Christmas was spent after all at Eaton Terrace, and they lived on +Wemyss's turkeys and plum puddings for a fortnight. + +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. + +'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. + +'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. + +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---- + +'Oh yes, I know--but----' Lucy tried to interrupt. + +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. + +'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----' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'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. + +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. + +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. + +And then he explained about his birthday. + +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?' + +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. + +'Baby, oh, baby!' she said, rubbing her cheek up and down his coat. + +'Who's another baby?' he asked, breathless but beaming. + +Such was their conversation. + +But poor Aunt Dot.... + +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.' + +'Are they going to run away?' wondered Miss Entwhistle presently. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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. + +'Is it possible they're going to run away?' she wondered; and so much +reduced was she that she very nearly hoped so. + + + + +XIII + + +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 _en route_ 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.' + +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? + +She clutched at this straw. 'What is to-morrow?' she stammered, scarlet +with fright and guilt. + +And her aunt made herself perfectly clear by replying, 'Your wedding.' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'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.' + +'"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 _is_ 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.' + +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. + +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.' + +'Oh, Aunt Dot!' laughed Lucy, turning to hug her once more. + +'Oh, Aunt Dot!' laughed Wemyss, vigorously shaking her hand. + +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 _is_ a--a dear.' + + + + +XIV + + +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. + +'Baby,' she would say, feebly struggling, and smiling a little wearily. + +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. + +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. + +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 _élan_. + +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, '_The tea +would taste of blood_.' + +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. + +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? + +'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----?' + +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. + +'Change my room? What room?' he asked. + +'Your--the room you and--the room you slept in.' + +'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. + +'Oh, I don't know,' said Lucy, taking refuge in stroking his hand. 'I +only thought----' + +An inkling of what was in her mind penetrated into his, and his voice +went grave. + +'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?' + +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. + +'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?' + +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?' + +'Yes,' said Lucy. 'But----' + +'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----' + +He stopped, struck by what he had said. + +'I think that was rather amusing--don't you?' he asked, suddenly +smiling. + +'Oh yes--very,' said Lucy eagerly, smiling too, delighted that he should +switch off from solemnity. + +He kissed her again,--this time a real kiss, on her funny, charming +mouth. + +'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----' + +'Oh, I'm _that_ all right,' laughed Lucy. + +'Then you share my room. None of these damned new-fangled notions for +me, young woman.' + +'Oh, but I didn't mean----' + +'What? Another but?' he exclaimed, pouncing down on to her mouth and +stopping it with an enormous kiss. + +'_Monsieur et Madame se refroidiront_,' said the woman, turning round +and drawing her shawl closer over her chest as a gust of chilly wind +swept over the terrace. + +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 _père et fille_ when +first she admitted them, but was soon aware of their real relationship. +'_Il doit être bien riche_,' had been her conclusion. + +'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.' + +'But we needn't go and look at them all,' said Lucy. + +'Oh yes we must. We've arranged to.' + +'But Everard----' began Lucy, following after him as he followed after +the conductress, who had a way of darting out of sight round corners. + +'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.' + +'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. + +'Why, you know we can't leave before the 3rd of April,' said Wemyss, +over his shoulder. 'It's all settled.' + +'But can't it be unsettled?' + +'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. + +She had discovered that my dear was a term of rebuke. + +'Oh yes--of course,' she said hastily, 'I forgot about your birthday.' + +At that Wemyss stared at her harder than ever; incredulously, in fact. +Forgot about his birthday? _Lucy_ 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. + +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. + +'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.' + +'Lucy! Escaped your memory? The day to which you owe your husband?' + +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. + +To her consternation, after a moment's further stare he turned his back +on her without a word and walked on. + +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. + +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. + +'Oh, Everard,' she murmured at last, withdrawing her arm, giving up, +'don't spoil our day.' + +Spoil their day? He? That finished it. + +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. + +'I can't live,' sobbed Lucy, 'I can't live--if you don't go on loving +me--if we don't understand----' + +'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.' + +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. + + + + +XV + + +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. + +'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 _is_ 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?' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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--_very_ +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. + +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--_very_ much!' + +'Is it possible,' she thought, 'that I am abject?' + +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. + +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.... + +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. + + + + +XVI + + +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. + +'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.' + +'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. + +'No,' said Wemyss, annoyed. 'It ought not have been called The Cows.' + +'No--of course I didn't mean that,' she said hastily. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'Like blood,' said Lucy to herself; and was immediately ashamed. + +'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----' + +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. + +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. + +'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. + +'Yes. I'll take you round the garden after lunch,' said Wemyss. 'We'll +go in now.' + +'And--and laurustinus. I love laurustinus----' + +'Yes. Vera planted that. It has done very well. Come in now----' + +'And--look, what are those bare things without any leaves yet?' + +'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. + +There she was, then, actually inside The Willows. The door was shut +behind her. She looked about her shrinkingly. + +They were in a roomy place with a staircase in it. + +'The hall,' said Wemyss, standing still, his arm round her. + +'Yes,' said Lucy. + +'Oak,' said Wemyss. + +'Yes,' said Lucy. + +He gazed round him with a sigh of satisfaction at having got back to it. + +'All oak,' he said. 'You'll find nothing gimcrack about _my_ house, +little Love. Where are those flowers?' he added, turning sharply to the +parlourmaid. 'I don't see my yellow flowers.' + +'They're in the dining-room, sir,' said the parlourmaid. + +'Why aren't they where I could see them the first thing?' + +'I understood the orders were they were always to be on the +breakfast-table, sir.' + +'Breakfast-table! When there isn't any breakfast?' + +'I understood----' + +'I'm not interested in what you understood.' + +Lucy here nervously interrupted, for Everard sounded suddenly very +angry, by exclaiming, 'Antlers!' and waving her unpinned-down arm in the +direction of the---- + +'Yes,' said Wemyss, his attention called off the parlourmaid, gazing up +at his walls with pride. + +'What a lot,' said Lucy. + +'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.' + +'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. + +'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.' + +This sudden end to his remarks startled Lucy, and she repeated in her +surprise--for there still stood the parlourmaid 'Kiss you?' + +'I haven't had my birthday kiss yet.' + +'Why, the very first thing when you woke up----' + +'Not my real birthday kiss in my own home.' + +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? + +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. + +She started. + +'Oh Everard--what is it?' she asked nervously. + +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. + +'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. + +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.' + +This time he was quickly placated because of his excitement at getting +home. 'Nobody can hurt me as you can,' was all he said. + +'Oh but as though I ever, ever mean to,' she breathed, her arm round his +neck. + +Meanwhile the parlourmaid looked on. + +'Why doesn't she go?' whispered Lucy, making the most of having got his +ear. + +'Certainly not,' said Wemyss out loud, raising his head. 'I might want +her. Do you like the hall, little Love?' + +'_Very_ much,' she said, loosing him. + +'Don't you think it's a very fine staircase?' + +'_Very_ fine,' she said. + +He gazed about him with pride, standing in the middle of the Turkey +carpet holding her close to his side. + +'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.' + +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. + +'Plate glass,' he said. + +'Yes,' said Lucy; and something in his voice made her add in a tone of +admiration, 'Fancy.' + +Looking at the window they had their backs to the stairs. Suddenly she +heard footsteps coming down them from the landing above. + +'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. + +'Who's what?' asked Wemyss. 'You do think it's a jolly window, don't +you, little Love?' + +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. + +'Lunch,' said Wemyss. 'Come along--but isn't it a jolly window, little +Love?' + +'_Very_ jolly.' + +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. + +'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----' + +But what he was going to say about Vera was drowned this time in the +increasing fury of the gong. + +'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. + +'Eh?' shouted Wemyss. + +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?' + +Wemyss took out his watch. + +'She will in another fifty seconds,' he said. + +Lucy's mouth and eyebrows became all inquiry. + +'It is beaten for exactly two and a half minutes before every meal,' he +explained. + +'Oh?' said Lucy. 'Even when we're visibly collected?' + +'She doesn't know that.' + +'But she saw us.' + +'But she doesn't know it officially.' + +'Oh,' said Lucy. + +'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. + +'_Very_ fine,' said Lucy, who was thoroughly convinced there wasn't a +finer, more robust gong in existence. + +'There. Time's up,' he said, as three great strokes were followed by a +blessed silence. + +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.' + +'It's wonderful,' said Lucy. + +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. + +'I like a long table,' said Wemyss to this. 'It looks so hospitable.' + +'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.' + +'People? You don't mean to say you want people already?' + +'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.' + +'Well, that's what I thought,' said Wemyss, mollified. 'I know all I +want is you.' + +(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.) + +'What lovely kingcups!' she said aloud. + +'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.' + +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---- + +'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, _do_ you mean now?' + +'I can't think,' said Lucy timidly, for she had offended him again, and +this time she couldn't even remotely imagine how. + + + + +XVII + + +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. + +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. + +He gazed at her solemnly, thinking this, while the plates were being +changed. + +'What is it, Everard?' Lucy asked anxiously. + +'I'm only thinking that I love you,' he said, laying his hand on hers. + +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. + +'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. + +The library.... + +'Can't we--don't we--have coffee in the hall?' asked Lucy, getting up +slowly. + +'No,' said Wemyss, who had paused before an enlarged photograph that +hung on the wall between the two windows, enlarged to life size. + +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. + +'Look,' he said to the parlourmaid, pointing. + +The parlourmaid looked. + +'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.' + +'Lizzie----' began the parlourmaid. + +'Don't put it on to Lizzie.' + +The parlourmaid ceased putting it on to Lizzie and was dumb. + +'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.' + +'Is that your father?' asked Lucy, hurrying to his side and offering no +opinion about dusting. + +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. + +'How long has he been there?' she asked, looking up into Wemyss's +father's displeased eyes which looked straight back into hers. + +'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.' + +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. + +It was Vera. She knew at once; and if she hadn't she would have known +the next minute, because he told her. + +'Vera,' he said, in a matter-of-fact tone, as it were introducing them. + +'Vera,' repeated Lucy under her breath; and she and Vera--for this +photograph too followed one about with its eye--stared at each other. + +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. + +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.... + +'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?' + +'Oh, a _very_ 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. + +'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 _you_ +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.' + +'Oh, a _hundred_ times better,' said Lucy. + +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.... + +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. + +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. + +'What is it, little Love?' asked Wemyss. + +'Kiss me,' she said; and he laughed and kissed her, but hastily, because +he wanted her to go on admiring the view. + +She still, however, held up her face. 'Kiss my eyes,' she whispered, +keeping them shut. 'They're tired----' + +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. + +'Oh, I love you, love you----' murmured Lucy, clinging to him, making +secret vows of sensibleness, of wholesomeness, of a determined, +unfailing future simplicity. + +'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. + +'Oh--wonderful!' murmured Lucy, opening her eyes and gazing into his. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'Why did you jump so?' he asked. 'You gave me such a start. I couldn't +think what was the matter.' + +'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.' + +'Caught us?' + +'Being so particularly affectionate.' + +'I like that,' said Wemyss. 'Fancy feeling guilty because you're being +affectionate to your own husband.' + +'Oh, well,' laughed Lucy, 'don't forget I haven't had him long.' + +'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.' + +'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?' + +'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.' + +'But it crept much worse when I heard the things you said to her.' + +'Nonsense. These people have to be kept in order. What did the woman +mean by coming in like that?' + +'Why, you told her to bring us coffee.' + +'But I didn't tell her to make an infernal noise by dropping spoons all +over the place.' + +'That was because she got just as great a fright when she saw us as I +did when I heard her.' + +'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.' + +'I feel _very_ 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 _too_ simple.' + +Wemyss roared, and forgot how near he was getting to being hurt. 'You +simple! You're the most complicated----' + +'No I'm not. I've got the untutored mind and uncontrolled emotions of a +savage. That's really why I jumped.' + +'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.' + +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----' + +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. + +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?' + +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? + +'I believe you're asleep' said Wemyss, looking down at the face on his +breast. + +'Sound,' said Lucy, smiling, her eyes shut. + +'My baby.' + +'My Everard.' + + + + +XVIII + + +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. + +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. + +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.' + +'Of course,' said Wemyss. + +'Why but then nobody can get at them.' + +'Precisely.' + +'But----' + +'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. + +'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. + +'All the better,' said Wemyss. '_I_ don't want anybody to read my books.' + +Lucy laughed, though she was dismayed inside. 'Oh Everard--' she said, +'not even me?' + +'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.' + +'But--I shall be afraid I may be disturbing you.' + +'People who love each other can't ever disturb each other.' + +'That's true,' said Lucy. + +'And they shouldn't ever be afraid of it.' + +'I suppose they shouldn't,' said Lucy. + +'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. + +'Macaulay, Dickens, Scott, Thackeray, British Poets, English Men of +Letters, _Encyclopædia Britannica_--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?' + +'_Very_ well,' said Lucy, eyeing the shelves doubtfully. + +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. + +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 _no_ 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---- + +With a quick shiver she grabbed at her thoughts and caught them just in +time. + +'Do you like Macaulay?' she asked, lingering in front of the bookcase, +for he was beginning to move her off towards the door. + +'I haven't read him,' said Wemyss, still moving her. + +'Which of all these do you like best?' she asked, holding back. + +'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.' + +'But what will you do with me, who don't play bridge?' + +'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.' + +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! + +'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?' + +'Dying,' said Lucy, going up the oak staircase with a stout, determined +heart. + +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---- + +Lucy made a violent lunge after her thoughts and strangled them. + +Meanwhile Wemyss had shut the door and was standing looking at her +without moving. + +'Well?' he said. + +She turned to him nervously, her eyes still wide with the ridiculous +things she had been thinking. + +'Well?' he said again. + +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---- + +'Well?' was all Wemyss said when her words came to an end. + +'What is it, Everard?' + +'I'm waiting,' he said. + +'Waiting?' + +'For my kiss.' + +She ran to him. + +'Yes,' he said, when she had kissed him, looking down at her solemnly, +'_I_ don't forget these things. _I_ don't forget that this is the first +time my own wife and I have stood together in our very own bedroom.' + +'But Everard I didn't forget--I only----' + +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.' + +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?' + +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. + +'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 _accustomed_ to Vera....' + +'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. + +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.' + +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. + +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. + +'Yes,' said Wemyss, addressing the girl in the glass. + +'No you don't,' she said. 'But I'll tell you. You've married the +completest of fools.' + +'Now what has the little thing got into its head this time?' he said, +kissing her hair, and watching himself doing it. + +'Everard, you must help me,' she murmured, holding his face tenderly +against hers. 'Please, my beloved, help me, teach me----' + +'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. + +'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.' + + + + +XIX + + +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. + +'Well I'm damned,' he said, giving it a great shove. + +'Why?' asked Lucy nervously. + +'Come in, come in,' he said impatiently, pressing the door open and +pulling her through. + +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. + +'That slattern Lizzie!' he exclaimed, striding across to the fireplace +and putting his finger on the bell-button and keeping it there. + +'What has she done?' asked Lucy, standing where he had left her just +inside the door. + +'Done? Can't you see?' + +'You mean'--she could hardly get herself to mention the fatal +thing--'you mean--the window?' + +'On a day like this!' + +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. + +'Won't you wear it out?' she asked, after some moments of nothing +happening and Wemyss still ringing. + +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. + +'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?' + +He didn't answer, and went on ringing. + +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. + +'I'll shut it,' she said, taking a step forward. + +She was arrested by Wemyss's voice. 'Confound it!' he cried. 'Can't you +leave it alone?' + +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. + +'Don't interfere,' he said, very loud. + +She was frozen where she stood. + +'Tiresome woman,' he said, still ringing. + +She looked at him. He was looking at her. + +'Who?' she breathed. + +'You.' + +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---- + +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. + +'I'm sorry, sir,' she panted, her hand on her chest, 'I was changing my +dress----' + +'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!' + +'Oh--oh----' gasped Lucy, stretching out her hands as though to keep +something off, 'I think I--I think I'll go downstairs----' + +And before Wemyss realised what she was doing, she had turned and +slipped through the door Lizzie was struggling with and was gone. + +'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. + +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. + +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 _would_ he think--oh, +where was that handle? + +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. + +'Everard! Everard!' Lucy cried, beating on the door with both hands, +'I'm here--out here--let me in--Everard! Everard!' + +But he evidently heard nothing, for his footsteps went away again. + +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? + +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. + +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 _much_.... Oh, how lunatic of her to have +misunderstood! + +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. + +'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----' + +Her voice died away; she had seen his face. + +He stooped to bolt the lower bolt. + +'Don't be angry, darling Everard,' she whispered, laying her arm on his +stooping shoulder. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +He had locked her out. + + + + +XX + + +Her hand slid slowly off the knob. She stood quite still. How _could_ +he.... And she knew now that he had bolted the front door knowing she +was out in the rain. How _could_ 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.... + +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.... + +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 +_couldn't_ be like it, it _couldn't_ be true that he didn't love her. +Yet if he did love her, how could he ... how could he.... + +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. + +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 _knew_, 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.... + +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.... + +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 _only, only_ Vera weren't +dead! But her mind lived on--her mind was in that room, in every +littlest thing in it---- + +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. + +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. + +'Lumme!' exclaimed Lizzie, whose origin and bringing-up had been +obscure. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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 +_really_ touch that. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +She knocked at the library door. + +Wemyss's voice said, 'Come in.' + +So he had unlocked it. So he had hoped she would come. + +He didn't, however, look round. He was sitting with his back to the door +at the writing-table in the window, writing. + +'I want my flowers in here,' he said, without turning his head. + +So he had rung. So he thought it was the parlourmaid. So he hadn't +unlocked the door because he hoped she would come. + +But his flowers,--he wanted his birthday flowers in there because they +were all that were left to him of his ruined birthday. + +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. + +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. + +'Good God!' he exclaimed, jumping up. + +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. + +'I've come to tell you--I've come to tell you----' she began. + +Then she faltered, for his mouth was a mere hard line. + +'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----' + +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: _Pomp and Circumstance_. + +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.' + +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.' + +Then he went out. + +Lucy stood looking at the door. Sexual allurements? What did he mean? +Did he think--did he mean---- + +She flushed suddenly, and gripping her blanket tight about her she too +marched to the door, her eyes bright and fixed. + +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. + +'Lumme!' once more exclaimed Lizzie, who seemed marked down for shocks; +and dropped a hairbrush and a shoe. + +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. + +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. + +'Thank you _very_ much for everything,' she said earnestly. + +'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.' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Loneliness. + +She lifted her head and looked round the room. + +No, she wasn't lonely. There was still---- + +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.... + + + + +XXI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +From habit he stooped and ran his eye up its gaiters. + +All buttoned. + +Stay--no; one buttonhole gaped. + +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? + +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. + +She appeared just as time was up and his finger was moving towards the +bell again. + +'Look at that piano-leg,' said Wemyss. + +The parlourmaid, not knowing which leg, looked at all three so as to be +safe. + +'What do you see?' he asked. + +The parlourmaid was reluctant to say. What she saw was piano-legs, but +she felt that wasn't the right answer. + +'What do you _not_ see?' Wemyss asked, louder. + +This was much more difficult, because there were so many things she +didn't see; her parents, for instance. + +'Are you deaf, woman?' he inquired. + +She knew the answer to that, and said it quickly. 'No sir,' she said. + +'Look at that piano-leg, I say,' said Wemyss, pointing with his pipe. + +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. + +'What do you see?' he asked. 'Or, rather, what do you not see?' + +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. + +'Don't you see there's a button off?' + +The parlourmaid, on looking closer, did see that, and said so. + +'Isn't it your business to attend to this room?' + +She admitted that it was. + +'Buttons don't come off of themselves,' Wemyss informed her. + +The parlourmaid, this not being a question, said nothing. + +'Do they?' he asked loudly. + +'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---- + +She, however, merely said, 'No sir.' + +'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----' + +He pointed his finger straight at her and paused. 'Do you follow me?' he +asked sternly. + +The parlourmaid hastily reassembled her wandering thoughts. 'Yes sir,' +she said. + +'Therefore some one unauthorised has unbuttoned the cover, and some one +unauthorised has played on the piano. Do you understand?' + +'Yes sir,' said the parlourmaid. + +'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----' + +'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.' + +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. + +He told her so. + +'Yes sir,' she said. + +'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.' + +'Yes sir,' said the parlourmaid. + +He walked to the window and stood staring at the wild afternoon. She +remained motionless where she was. + +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. + +'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.... + +He thrust his hands into his pockets and turned away with a jerk from +the window. + +There, standing motionless, was the parlourmaid. + +'What? You still here?' he exclaimed. 'Why the devil don't you go and +fetch that button?' + +'I understood your orders was none of us is to leave rooms without your +permission, sir.' + +'You'd better be quick then,' he said, looking at his watch. 'I gave you +five minutes, and three of them have gone.' + +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. + +'There's the wages,' the cook reminded her. + +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. + +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.... + + + + +XXII + + +The first thing he saw when he opened the door of the room at the top of +the house was the fire. + +A fire. He hadn't ordered a fire. He must look into that. That officious +slattern Lizzie---- + +Then, before he had recovered from this, he had another shock. Lucy was +on the hearthrug, her head leaning against the sofa, sound asleep. + +So that's what she had been doing,--just going comfortably to sleep, +while he---- + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +His mouth hardened still more. He pulled the arm-chair up and sat down +noisily in it, his eyes cold with resentment. + +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. +_Wuthering Heights_. 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. + +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. + +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.... + +Only love filled Lucy after the deep, restoring sleep. 'Dearest one,' +she murmured drowsily, smiling at him, without changing her position. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'We?' said Wemyss. 'Did you say we?' + +'Yes,' said Lucy, her cheek against his knee. 'We've been wasting time.' + +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.' + +'Well, _I've_ been silly then,' she said, lifting her head and smiling +up at him. + +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. + +'I've been very silly,' she said earnestly. + +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. + +'Do you realise what you've done?' he asked. + +'Yes,' said Lucy. 'And I'm so sorry. Won't we kiss and be friends?' + +'Not yet, thank you. I must be sure first that you understand how +deliberately wicked you've been.' + +'Oh, but I haven't been deliberately wicked!' exclaimed Lucy, opening +her eyes wide with astonishment. 'Everard, how can you say such a +thing?' + +'Ah, I see. You are still quite impenitent, and I am sorry I came up.' + +He undid her arm from round his knees, put her on one side, and got out +of the chair. Rage swept over him again. + +'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.' + +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. + +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. + +She pushed her hair nervously behind her ears with both hands. 'I'm sick +of quarrels,' she said. + +'So am I,' said Wemyss, going towards the door thrusting his pipe into +his pocket. 'You've only got yourself to thank for them.' + +She didn't protest. It seemed useless. She said, 'Forgive me, Everard.' + +'Only if you apologise.' + +'Yes.' + +'Yes what?' He paused for her answer. + +'I do apologise.' + +'You admit you've been deliberately wicked?' + +'Oh yes.' + +He continued towards the door. + +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----' + +'Then what do you mean by saying "Oh yes," in that insolent manner?' + +'Did it seem insolent? I didn't mean--oh, I'm so tired of this----' + +'I daresay. You'll be tireder still before you've done. _I_ don't get +tired, let me tell you. You can go on as long as you choose,--it won't +affect me.' + +'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----' + +He at least stood still and looked at her. + +'And do believe I'm so, so sorry----' + +He relented. He wanted, extraordinarily, to kiss her. 'I'll accept it if +you assure me it is so,' he said. + +'And do, do let's be happy. It's your birthday----' + +'As though I've forgotten that.' + +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. + +'No,' said Lucy truthfully, 'I don't think I do.' + +'You'll have to learn.' + +'Yes,' said Lucy; and sighed faintly. + +'You mustn't wound such love.' + +'No,' said Lucy. 'Don't let us wound each other ever any more, darling +Everard.' + +'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.' + +'Yes,' said Lucy. 'Kiss me, won't you, Everard? Else I shan't know we're +really friends.' + +He took her head in his hands, and bestowed a solemn kiss of pardon on +her brow. + +She tried to coax him back to cheerfulness. 'Kiss my eyes too,' she +said, smiling at him, 'or they'll feel neglected.' + +He kissed her eyes. + +'And now my mouth, please, Everard.' + +He kissed her mouth, and did at last smile. + +'And now won't we go to the fire and be cosy?' she asked, her arm in +his. + +'By the way, who ordered the fire?' he inquired in his ordinary voice. + +'I don't know. It was lit when I came up. Oughtn't it to have been?' + +'Not without orders. It must have been that Lizzie. I'll ring and find +out----' + +'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.' + +'Well, whose fault is it we haven't been alone together all this time?' +he asked. + +'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. + +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. + +'How my own Love spoils things,' he said, shaking his head at her with +fond solemnity when they were settled in the chair. + +And Lucy, very cautious now, only said gently, 'But I never _mean_ to.' + + + + +XXIII + + +She sat after that without speaking on his knee, his arms round her, her +head on his breast. + +She was thinking. + +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. + +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 _really_ 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. + +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. + +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 _was_ her heart. + +'What are you thinking of?' asked Wemyss, who having finished with her +shoulder noticed how quiet she was. + +She could tell him truthfully; a moment sooner and she couldn't have. 'I +was thinking,' she said, 'that you are my heart.' + +'Take care of your heart then, won't you?' said Wemyss. + +'We both will,' said Lucy. + +'Of course,' said Wemyss. 'That's understood. Why state it?' + +She was silent a minute. Then she said, 'Isn't it nearly tea-time?' + +'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.' + +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. + +She put her arm through his. She longed to say, 'Please don't scold +her.' + +'Take care,' he said, his eyes on his watch. 'Don't shake me----' + +She asked what he was doing. + +'Timing her,' he said. 'Sh--sh--don't talk. I can't keep count if you +talk.' + +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? + +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. + +'Did you ring, sir?' inquired Lizzie, opening the door. + +'Why is tea late?' + +'It's in the library, sir.' + +'Kindly attend to my question. I asked why tea was late.' + +'It wasn't late to begin with, sir,' said Lizzie. + +'Be so good as to make yourself clear.' + +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. + +'I'm afraid I don't follow you. Do you?' he asked, turning to Lucy. + +She started. 'Yes,' she said. + +'Really. Then you are cleverer than I am,' said Wemyss. + +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.' + +'And pray by whose orders was it in the library?' + +'I couldn't say, sir. Chesterton----' + +'Don't put it on to Chesterton.' + +'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.' + +'Send Chesterton,' said Wemyss. + +Lizzie disappeared with the quickness of relief. Lucy, with a nervous +little movement, stooped and picked up _Wuthering Heights_, which was +still lying face downward on the floor. + +'Yes,' said Wemyss. 'I like the way you treat books.' + +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.' + +'I'm not going into the library. I'm going to have tea here. Why should +I have tea in the library?' + +'I only thought as it was there----' + +'I suppose I can have tea where I like in my own house?' + +'But of course. Well, then, I'll go and get a handkerchief and come back +here.' + +'You can do that some other time. Don't be so restless.' + +'But I--I _want_ a handkerchief this minute,' said Lucy. + +'Nonsense; here, have mine,' said Wemyss; and anyhow it was too late to +escape, for there in the door stood Chesterton. + +She was the parlourmaid. Her name has not till now been mentioned. It +was Chesterton. + +'Why is tea in the library?' Wemyss asked. + +'I understood, sir, tea was always to be in the library,' said +Chesterton. + +'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.' + +This floored Chesterton. Her ignorance of the right answer was complete. +She therefore said nothing, and merely stood. + +But he didn't let her off. 'Would it?' he asked suddenly. + +'No sir,' she said, dimly feeling that 'Yes sir' would land her in +difficulties. + +'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?' + +'Since half-past four, sir.' + +'Then you will make fresh tea, and you will make fresh toast, and you +will cut fresh bread and butter.' + +'Yes sir.' + +'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.' + +'Yes sir.' + +She waited. + +He waved. + +She went. + +'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? +_Aren't_ they a set, little Love?' + +'I--don't know,' said Lucy nervously. + +'You don't know!' + +'I mean, I don't know them yet. How can I know them when I've only just +come?' + +'You soon will, then. A lazier set of careless, lying----' + +'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.' + +'You can see what it is. It's a picture.' + +'Yes. But where's the place?' + +'I've no idea. It's one of Vera's. She didn't condescend to explain it.' + +'You mean she painted it?' + +'I daresay. She was always painting.' + +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.... + +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. + +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.... + +'It's somewhere abroad,' she said, after a silence. + +'I daresay,' said Wemyss. + +'Used you to travel much?' she asked, still examining the picture, +fascinated. + +'She refused to.' + +'She refused to?' echoed Lucy, turning round. + +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. + +'Why did she refuse?' she asked, wondering. + +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.' + +Lucy stood looking at him. 'Yes,' she said, 'she does seem +extraordinarily near, doesn't she. This room is full----' + +'Now Lucy I'll have none of that. Come here.' + +He held out his hand. She crossed over obediently and took it. + +He pulled her close and ruffled her hair. He was in high spirits again. +His encounters with the servants had exhilarated him. + +'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. + +Chesterton, bringing in the tea, arrived in the middle of a jump. + + + + +XXIV + + +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. + +'Put it in the window,' said Wemyss, jerking his head towards the +writing-table. + +'Oh----' began Lucy quickly; and stopped. + +'What's the matter?' asked Wemyss. + +'Won't it--be draughty?' + +'Nonsense. Draughty. Do you suppose I'd tolerate windows in my house +that let in draughts?' + +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 +_Household Accounts_ in dark lettering on its cover. + +Wemyss watched her while she arranged the tea-things. + +'Take care, now--take care,' he said, when a cup rattled in its saucer. + +Chesterton, who had been taking care, took more of it; and _le trop_ +being _l'ennemi du bien_ she was so unfortunate as to catch her cuff in +the edge of the plate of bread and butter. + +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. + +'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 _told_ her +to be careful.' + +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. + +'You will fetch a cloth,' said Wemyss. + +'Yes sir.' + +'And you will cut more bread and butter.' + +'Yes sir.' + +'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?' + +'To fetch a handkerchief. I must have a handkerchief, Everard. I can't +for ever use yours.' + +'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?' + +He then resumed and concluded his observations to Chesterton. 'They +shall be stopped out of your wages. That,' he said, 'will teach you.' + +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.' + +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. + +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. + +'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----' + +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. + +'Not yet,' he said briefly. + +She wondered. 'Not yet?' she repeated. + +'I'm waiting for the bread and butter.' + +'But won't the tea get cold?' + +'No doubt. And it'll be entirely that fool's fault.' + +'But----' began Lucy, after a silence. + +'Buts again?' + +'I was only thinking that if we had it now it wouldn't be cold.' + +'She must be taught her lesson.' + +Again she wondered. 'Won't it rather be a lesson to us?' she asked. + +'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_ didn't ask her +to throw the bread and butter on the floor, did I?' + +And as she said nothing, he asked again. 'Did I?' he asked. + +'No,' said Lucy. + +'Well then,' said Wemyss. + +They waited in silence. + +Chesterton arrived. She put the fresh bread and butter on the table, and +then wiped the floor with a cloth she had brought. + +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.' + +'Yes sir,' said Chesterton, removing the teapot. + +A line of a hymn her nurse used to sing came into Lucy's head when she +saw the teapot going. It was: + + What various hindrances we meet-- + +and she thought the next line, which she didn't remember, must have +been: + + Before at tea ourselves we seat. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'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----' + +There was Chesterton again, bearing the toast-rack balanced on the tip +of a respectful ringer. + +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. + +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. + +'Yes sir,' said Chesterton. + +She waited. + +He waved. + +She went. + +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. + +'What? What?' asked Lucy startled, also staring at the tea-tray. + +'Why, the sugar.' + +'Oh, I'll call her back--she's only just gone----' + +'Sit down, Lucy.' + +'But she's just outside----' + +'Sit _down_, I tell you.' + +Lucy sat. + +Then she remembered that neither she nor Everard ever had sugar in their +tea, so naturally there was no point in calling Chesterton back. + +'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.' + +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. + +In due course Lizzie appeared. It seemed that the rule was that this +particular bell should be answered by Lizzie. + +'Chesterton,' said Wemyss. + +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. + +'Yes sir?' she said. + +Wemyss took no notice, and went on drinking his tea. + +Chesterton stood. + +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.... + +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.' + +He took no notice, and went on eating bread and butter. + +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? + +'I think----' she stammered, flushing, for she was now very timid +indeed, 'you've forgotten the sugar, Chesterton.' + +'Will you not interfere!' exclaimed Wemyss very loud, putting down his +cup with a bang. + +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. + +'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----' + +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.' + +And she thought desperately, 'The only thing to be done with marriage is +to let it wash over one.' + + + + +XXV + + +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. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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.' + +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. + +'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. + +Lucy said it was a very fine room. + +'You'll remember to put the cover on properly when you've finished +playing the piano, won't you,' he said. + +'Yes I will,' said Lucy. 'Only I don't play,' she added, remembering she +didn't. + +'That's all right then,' he said, relieved. + +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. + +'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?' + +'Mine,' said Lucy. + +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. + +'Ah, my Lucy,' he said fondly, 'little waster of happiness--isn't it +better simply to love your Everard than make him unhappy?' + +'Much better,' said Lucy, blinking. + +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. + +'No,' said Lucy. + +'How's the head?' he said. + +'Better,' she said. + +'Who's got a forgiving husband?' he said. + +'I have,' she said. + +'Smile at me,' he said. + +She smiled at him. + +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. + +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. '_Souvent femme +varie_,' floated vaguely across her tired brain. She ate her soup +sitting all crooked with fatigue ... life was exactly like a dream.... + +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. + +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.' + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +At dinner her cheeks were very red and her eyes very bright. + +'Who's my pretty little girl,' said Wemyss, struck by her. + +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. + +'Who's my pretty little girl,' he said again, laying his hand on hers, +while Chesterton looked down her nose. + +Then he noticed she had a knitted scarf round her shoulders, and he +said, 'Whatever have you got that thing on in here for?' + +'I'm cold,' said Lucy. + +'Cold! Nonsense. You're as warm as a toast. Feel my hand compared to +yours.' + +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.' + +'I suppose it is,' agreed Lucy; and assured him her colds were all over +in twenty-four hours. + +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---- + +Lucy agreed, and said she didn't suppose it was anything really, and she +was sure she would be all right in the morning. + +'Yes--and you know we catch the early train up,' said Wemyss. 'Leave +here at nine sharp, mind.' + +'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. + +'All right,' said Wemyss, getting up briskly. 'I'll come too.' + + + + +XXVI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'What an untruth you told me,' he exclaimed, 'about not having a cold in +the morning!' + +She again said something husky. It was evident she had a very tiresome +sore throat. + +'It's getting on for half-past seven,' said Wemyss. 'We've got to leave +the house at nine sharp, mind.' + +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. + +'Well,' he said, sitting up in bed and looking down at her, 'I hope +you're pleased with the result of your behaviour.' + +But it was no use saying things to somebody who merely made husky +noises. + +He got out of bed and jerked up the blinds. 'Such a beautiful day, too,' +he said indignantly. + +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. + +'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 _any_ case, Lucy, I expect you to-morrow.' + +She opened her eyes and looked at him languidly. + +'Do you hear?' he said. + +She made a husky noise. + +'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 _Times_ +the proper attention in the train for thinking of it. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +'No, ma'am, not yet, ma'am.' + +'I couldn't say, ma'am.' + +'No, no news, ma'am.' + +'Oh yes, ma'am, on Friday night.' + +'Yes, ma'am, first thing Saturday.' + +'Yes, it is, ma'am--very strange, ma'am.' + +And then there was silence. He was writing, she knew, on the pad +provided by Wemyss for the purpose. + +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? + +He thought he had best be on the safe side, and laboriously wrote it +down. + + 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. + +He had only just put this on the table and was about to descend to his +quiet shades when off the thing started again. + +This time it was Wemyss. + +'Back to-night late as usual,' he said. + +'Yes sir,' said Twite. 'There's just been a----' + +But he addressed emptiness. + +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. + +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 _mot_ 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---- + +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. + +The cab stopped. Chesterton came down the steps and opened its door. +Nice parlourmaid. Most normal. + +'How is Mrs. Wemyss?' asked Miss Entwhistle. + +'About the same I believe, ma'am,' said Chesterton; and inquired if she +should pay the man. + +Miss Entwhistle paid the man, and then proceeded up the steps followed +by Chesterton carrying her bag. Fine steps. Handsome house. + +'Does she know I'm coming?' + +'I believe the housemaid did mention it, ma'am.' + +Nice roomy hall. With a fire it might be quite warm. Fine windows. Good +staircase. + +'Do you wish for tea, ma'am?' + +'No thank you. I should like to go up at once, if I may.' + +'If you please, ma'am.' + +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. + +'If you please, ma'am.' + +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. + +'If you please, ma'am,' said Chesterton, reappearing, tiptoeing gingerly +to the head of the stairs. + +Miss Entwhistle went up. Chesterton ushered her into the bedroom, +closing the door softly behind her. + +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. + +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. + +'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.' + +'You darling little thing,' she said, smoothing back her hair. 'Fancy +seeing you again like this!' + +'Yes,' said Lucy, heavy-eyed and smiling. 'Lovely,' she whispered, 'to +see you. Tea, Aunt Dot?' + +It was evidently difficult for her to speak, and her forehead was +extremely hot. + +'No, I don't want tea.' + +'You'll stay?' + +'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?' + +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. + +'Everard--' said Miss Entwhistle, stroking gently, 'is he coming back +to-night?' + +'No,' whispered Lucy contentedly. + +Aunt Dot stroked in silence. + +'Has your temperature been taken?' she asked presently. + +'No,' whispered Lucy contentedly. + +'Oughtn't you--' after another pause 'to see a doctor?' + +'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. + +'So sweet of you to come,' she whispered again. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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---- + +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. + +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.' + + + + +XXVII + + +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. + +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. + +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 _ménage_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +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.' + +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. + +'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. + +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. + +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. + +Chesterton then informed her that her master never did telephone to The +Willows, so that she was unable to say what time he would. + +'But,' said Miss Entwhistle, surprised, 'you have a telephone.' + +'If you please, ma'am,' said Chesterton. + +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. + +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.' + +'Oh,' said Miss Entwhistle. + +'If you please, ma'am,' said Chesterton. + +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. + +'No, _no_ 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. + +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. + +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. + +Twite held on, listening hard and hearing nothing. + +'Say 'Ullo, Twite,' presently advised Mrs. Twite from out of the anxious +silence at the foot of the kitchen stairs. + +''Ullo,' said Twite half-heartedly. + +'Must be a wrong number,' said Mrs. Twite, after more silence. ''Ang it +up, and come and finish your supper.' + +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. + +''Ullo?' he said anxiously, trying to make the word sound polite. + +'It's a wrong number,' said Mrs. Twite, after further waiting. ''Ang it +up.' + +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?' + +''Ang it up,' said Mrs. Twite, who from the bottom of the stairs was +always brave. + +'That's what it is,' said Twite at last, exhausted. 'It's a wrong +number.' And he went to the writing-pad and wrote: + + A wrong number rang up sir believed to be a lady 9.10. + +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. + +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.... + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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.' + +'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?' + +'No,' said Miss Entwhistle. + +'There's plenty of room, ma'am. Mrs. Wemyss wouldn't know you was in it, +it's such a large bed.' + +'I will sleep on the sofa,' said Miss Entwhistle. + + + + +XXVIII + + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.' + +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. + +'I shall be in to dinner,' said Wemyss. + +'Yes sir,' said Twite. + +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. + +He stood waiting, not having been waved out of the room, and anxiously +watching Wemyss's face, for he was a nervous man. + +Then the telephone bell rang. + +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. + +'What is it?' Wemyss called out. + +'I can't hear, sir,' Twite's distressed voice answered from the hall. + +'Fool,' said Wemyss, appearing, table-napkin in hand. + +'Yes sir,' said Twite. + +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: + +'Yes yes. Yes, speaking. Hullo. Who is it?' + +'What? I can't hear. What?' + +'Miss who? En--oh, good-morning, How distant your voice sounds.' + +'What? Where? _Where_?' + +'Oh really.' + +Here the person at the other end talked a great deal. + +'Yes. Quite. But then you see she wasn't.' + +More prolonged talk from the other end. + +'What? She isn't coming up? Indeed she is. She's expected. I've +ordered----' + +'What? I can't hear. The doctor? You're sending for the doctor?' + +'I daresay. But then you see I consider it isn't.' + +'I daresay, I daresay. No, of course I can't. How can I leave my +work----' + +'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?' + +'I suppose you know you're taking a great deal upon yourself +unasked----' + +'What? What?' + +A very rapid clear voice cut in. 'Do you want another three minutes?' it +asked. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +'Nothing serious, I hope?' asked the doctor. + +Miss Entwhistle said she didn't think there was, but that her nephew---- + +'You mean Mr. Wemyss?' + +She bowed her head. She did mean Mr. Wemyss. Her nephew. Her nephew, +that is, by marriage. + +'Quite,' said the doctor. + +Her nephew naturally wanted his wife to go up and join him in London. + +'Naturally,' said the doctor. + +And she wanted to know when she would be fit to go. + +'Then let us go upstairs and I'll tell you,' said the doctor. + +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---- + +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.' + +'How old is she?' he asked Miss Entwhistle, for Lucy was still uneasily +sleeping; and when she told him he was surprised. + +'It's because she's out of proportion to the bed,' explained Miss +Entwhistle in a whisper. 'She doesn't usually look so inconspicuous.' + +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. + +'How did you come to get such a violent chill?' he asked Lucy. + +'I don't--know,' she answered. + +'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.' + +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. + +'She likes that room?' he asked abruptly, pausing a moment in the hall. + +'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----?' + +'No. The one above;' + +'The one above? Oh really.' + +'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.' + +He went out pulling on his gloves, followed to the steps by Miss +Entwhistle. + +On the steps he paused again. 'How does she like being here?' he asked. + +'I don't know,' said Miss Entwhistle. 'We haven't talked at all yet.' + +She looked at him a moment, and then added, 'She's very much in love.' + +'Ah. Yes. Really. I see. Well, good-bye.' + +He turned to go. + +'It's wonderful, wonderful,' he said, pausing once more. + +'What is wonderful?' + +'What love will do.' + +'It is indeed,' agreed Miss Entwhistle, thinking of all it had done to +Lucy. + +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. + + + + +XXIX + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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.' + +'Oh of course,' agreed Miss Entwhistle with much heartiness. 'I'm sure +the poor dear has been run off his legs.' + +'He didn't--he hasn't----' + +Lucy flushed and broke off. + +'I suppose,' she began again after a minute, 'there's been nothing from +him? No message, I mean? On the telephone or anything?' + +'No, I don't think there has--not since our talk the first day,' said +Miss Entwhistle. + +'Oh? Did he telephone the first day?' asked Lucy quickly. 'You never +told me.' + +'You were asleep nearly all that day. Yes,' said Miss Entwhistle, +clearing her throat, 'we had a--we had quite a little talk.' + +'What did he say?' + +'Well, he naturally wanted you to be well enough to go up to London, and +of course he was very sorry you couldn't.' + +Lucy looked suddenly much happier. + +'Yes,' said Miss Entwhistle, as though in answer to the look. + +'He hates writing letters, you know, Aunt Dot,' Lucy said presently. + +'Men do,' said Miss Entwhistle. 'It's very curious,' she continued +brightly, 'but men _do_.' + +'And he hates telephoning. It was wonderful for him to have telephoned +that day.' + +'Men,' said Miss Entwhistle, 'are very funny about some things.' + +'To-day is Thursday, isn't it,' said Lucy. 'He ought to be here by one +o'clock to-morrow.' + +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.' + +'No. He--we,' Lucy corrected herself, 'come down on Fridays. He's sure +to be down in time for lunch.' + +'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?' + +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. + +Miss Entwhistle couldn't but notice the unmistakable love-look. '_Oh_ +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----' + +She stopped, because adequately to discuss The Willows in all its +aspects needed, she felt, perfect health on both sides. + +'Yes, I don't think a house matters when people love each other,' said +Lucy. + +'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.' + +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. + +'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----' + +She was going to say habitable, but ate another piece of toast instead. + +'Yes, I expect I'll have the books here, anyhow,' said Lucy. 'There's a +sitting-room upstairs with room in it.' + +'Is there?' said Miss Entwhistle, suddenly very attentive. + +'Lots of room. It's to be my sitting-room, and the books could go there. +Except that--except that----' + +'Except what?' asked Miss Entwhistle. + +'I don't know. I don't much want to alter that room. It was Vera's.' + +'I should alter it beyond recognition,' said Miss Entwhistle firmly. + +Lucy was silent. She felt too flabby, after her three days with a +temperature, to engage in discussion with anybody firm. + +'That's to say,' said Miss Entwhistle, 'if you like having the room at +all. I should have thought----' + +'Oh yes, I like having the room,' said Lucy, flushing. + +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. + +'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. + +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. + +'What is it, Lucy?' asked Miss Entwhistle, wondering why she had turned +red. + +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----' + +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. + +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. + +Lucy, painfully flushed, looked at her. Nothing would induce her to tell +her about the key. Aunt Dot would think it so ridiculous. + +'Yes, but Everard----' she stammered. 'They're rather special books--he +doesn't like them taken out of the room----' + +'Oh,' said Miss Entwhistle, trying hard to avoid any opinion of any +sort. + +'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.' + +Lizzie, thus given _carte blanche_, brought down the six first books +from the top shelf, and set them on the table beside Lucy. + +Lucy recognised the cover of one of them at once, it was _Wuthering +Heights_. + +Miss Entwhistle took it up, read its title in silence, and put it down +again. + +The next one was Emily Brontë's collected poems. + +Miss Entwhistle took it up, read its title in silence, and put it down +again. + +The third one was Thomas Hardy's _Time's Laughing-Stocks_. + + +Miss Entwhistle took it up, read its title in silence, and put it down +again. + +The other three were Baedekers. + +'Well, I don't think there's anything I want to read here,' she said. + +Lizzie asked if she should take them away then, and bring some more; and +presently she reappeared with another armful. + +These were all Baedekers. + +'Curious,' said Miss Entwhistle. + +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. + +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--_The +Child in the House_ and _Emerald Uthwart_--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 _In the Strange South Seas_; 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.... + +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---- + +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. + +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----? + +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 +_life_.... + +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?' + +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.' + +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. + + + + +XXX + + +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. + +'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. + +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?' + +And all the horrible, ridiculous things she had been thinking half an +hour before were blown away like so many cobwebs. + +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. + +'Dear me,' said Miss Entwhistle to herself,--and she who had planned to +be gone so neatly before his arrival! + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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---- + +She didn't finish the sentence, she was in such a hurry to be off. + +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. + +She found this bad for her _morale_. 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. + + By nature cool, in pious habits bred, + She looked on husbands with a virgin's dread.... + +Now where did that come from? And why should it come at all? + + Such was the tone and manners of them all + No married lady at the house would call.... + +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. + +And this,--an absurd German thing Jim used to quote and laugh at: + + Der Sultan winkt, Zuleika schweigt, + Und zeigt sich gänzlich abgeneigt.... + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + + Betwixt the stirrup and the ground + She mercy sought, she mercy found.... + +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. + +There was Wemyss, opening Lucy's door at the same moment. + +'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. + +'Quite well thank you,' was Everard's slightly unexpected reply; but +logical, perfectly logical. + +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. + +'Oh I'm sorry,' said Miss Entwhistle. + +'That,' she thought, 'is one to Everard.' + +She waited for his return, and then walked, followed by him in silence, +down the stairs. + +'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. + +'Just as I expected,' he said. 'Perfectly well.' + +'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.' + +'You asked me what I thought, and I've told you,' said Wemyss. + +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. + +'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. + +'That,' she thought, 'is another to Everard,'--her second bungle; first +the light left on in her room, now keeping him waiting. + +She hurried through the door, and then, vexed with herself for hurrying, +walked to her chair with almost an excess of deliberation. + +'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. + +'I wish to hear nothing about the doctor,' he interrupted. + +Miss Entwhistle gave herself pains to be undaunted, and said with almost +an excess of naturalness, 'But I'd like to tell you.' + +'It is no concern of mine,' he said. + +'But you're her husband, you know,' said Miss Entwhistle, trying to +sound pleasant. + +'I gave no orders,' said Wemyss. + +'But he had to be sent for. The child----' + +'So you say. So you said on the telephone. And I told you then you were +taking a great deal on yourself, unasked.' + +Miss Entwhistle hadn't supposed that any one ever talked like this +before servants. She now knew that she had been mistaken. + +'He's your doctor,' said Wemyss. + +'My doctor?' + +'I regard him entirely as your doctor.' + +'I wish, Everard,' said Miss Entwhistle politely, after a pause, 'that I +understood.' + +'You sent for him on your own responsibility, unasked. You must take the +consequences.' + +'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. + +'The bill,' said Wemyss. + +'Oh,' said Miss Entwhistle. + +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. + +'Certainly if you wish it,' she said. + +'I do,' said Wemyss. + +The conversation flagged. + +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?' + +'No,' said Wemyss, waving the soup away. + +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?' + +And Wemyss confirmed his first reply by once more saying, 'No.' + +The conversation flagged. + +'I suppose,' she then said, making another effort, 'the train was very +full.' + +As this was not a question he was silent, and allowed her to suppose. + +The conversation flagged. + +'Why is there no fish?' he asked Chesterton, who was offering him +cutlets. + +'There was no time to get any, sir,' said Chesterton. + +'He might have known that,' thought Miss Entwhistle. + +'You will tell the cook that I consider I have not dined unless there is +fish.' + +'Yes sir,' said Chesterton. + +'Goose,' thought Miss Entwhistle. + +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. + +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. + +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.' + +'Lucy can speak for herself,' he said. + +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. + +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.' + +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. + +Dreadful; dreadful. She cast down her eyes, overwhelmed by the nature of +her thoughts, and said No thank you to the pudding. + +'It is clear,' thought Wemyss, observing her silence and her refusal to +eat, 'where Lucy gets her sulking from.' + +No more words were spoken till, dinner being over, he gave the order for +coffee in the library. + +'I'll go and say good-night to Lucy,' said Miss Entwhistle as they got +up. + +'You'll be so good as to do nothing of the sort,' said Wemyss. + +'I--beg your pardon?' inquired Miss Entwhistle, not quite sure she could +have heard right. + +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. + +'I wish to speak to you in the library,' said Wemyss. + +'But suppose I don't wish to be spoken to in the library?' leapt to the +tip of Miss Entwhistle's tongue. + +There, however, was Chesterton,--checking, calming. + +So she said, instead, 'Do.' + + + + +XXXI + + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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 cheek-bones,--had been there, +indeed, ever since the beginning of dinner. + +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.' + +'Well?' she asked, suddenly unbearably irritated. + +'Oh it's no good taking that tone with me,' he said, continuing +carefully to fill his pipe. + +'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. + +The coffee came. + +'No thank you,' said Miss Entwhistle. + +He helped himself. + +The coffee went. + +'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.' + +'Certainly. One thing is that I've ordered the cab to come round for you +to-morrow in time for the early train.' + +'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.' + +'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.' + +She looked at him in astonishment. 'But why not?' she asked. + +'I'm not going to have her upset.' + +'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?' + +'Oblige me by allowing me to be the best judge of my own affairs.' + +'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.... + +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. + +'I didn't ask you into my library to hear your opinion of my character,' +he said, lighting his pipe. + +'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.' + +'About Lucy's?' echoed Wemyss, amazed at such effrontery. 'About my +wife's?' + +'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.' + +Wemyss stared at her, too much amazed to speak. In his house.... In his +own house! + +'I'm sorry,' she said, still more earnestly, 'if this annoys you, but I +do want--I really do think it is very important.' + +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.... + +'Are you aware,' he said, 'that this is my house?' + +'Oh Everard----' she said at that, with a movement of despair. + +'Are you aware,' he continued, 'that you are talking to a husband of his +wife?' + +Miss Entwhistle said nothing, but leaning her head on her hand looked at +the fire. + +'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?' + +'Of course,' she said, 'that is one way of describing it.' + +'It is the way of every reasonable and decent person,' said Wemyss. + +'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.' + +'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.' + +'I assure you I could never imagine it to be my house or you my +servant.' + +'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.' + +She stared at him. + +'Do you mean,' she said, after a silence, 'that you intend to prevent my +seeing her later on too? In London?' + +'That, exactly, is my intention.' + +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. + +'In that case, Everard,' she said presently, 'I think it my duty----' + +'Don't begin about duties. You have no duties in regard to me and my +household.' + +'I think it my duty to tell you that from my knowledge of Lucy----' + +'Your knowledge of Lucy! What is it compared to mine, I should like to +know?' + +'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.' + +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. + +'The staying power of----?' he repeated. + +'I'm sure of it. And you must be wise, you must positively have the +wisdom to take care of your own happiness----' + +'Oh good God, you preaching woman!' he burst out. 'How dare you stand +there in my own house talking to me of Vera?' + +'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----' + +'You indelicate woman! You incredibly indecent, improper----' + +'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.' + +He repeated, staring, 'Fifteen years this time?' + +'Yes. Good-bye.' + +And she was gone, and had shut the door behind her before her monstrous +meaning dawned on him. + +Then, when it did, he strode out of the room after her. + +She was going up the stairs very slowly. + +'Come down,' he said. + +She went on as if she hadn't heard him. + +'Come down. If you don't come down at once I'll fetch you.' + +This, through all her wretchedness, through all her horror, for beating +in her ears were two words over and over again, _Lucy, Vera_--_Lucy, +Vera_ 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. + +'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. + +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. + +'You will now leave my house,' said Wemyss through his teeth. + +'Without my hat, Everard?' she inquired mildly. + +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. + +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.' + +'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.' + +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. + +'I'll wait here in the garden,' said Miss Entwhistle, 'and it would be +most kind, Lizzie, if you were rather quick.' + +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. + +She walked slower and slower. + +She was extraordinarily tired. + + + + +XXXII + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He went along the terrace, and round the clump of laurustinus bushes +which cloaked the servants' entrance, to the front of the house. + +Empty. Nobody still lingering on the steps. + +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. + +It was shut. + +He stood leaning on it a minute listening, in case she should be lurking +in the lane. + +Not a sound. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Wemyss finished winding his watch, stretched himself, yawned, and then +went slowly upstairs, switching off the lights as he went. + +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. + +'Is that you, Aunt Dot?' she murmured, even through her sleepiness sure +it must be, for Everard would have turned on the light. + +Wemyss, however, didn't want her to wake up and begin asking questions, +so he refrained from turning on the light. + +'No, it's your Everard,' he said, moving about on tiptoe. 'Sh-sh, now. +Go to sleep again like a good little girl.' + +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.... + +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. + +'Who's my very own baby?' she heard him saying; and she woke up just +enough sleepily to return his kiss. + + +THE END + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Vera, by Elisabeth von Arnim + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERA *** + +***** This file should be named 34366-8.txt or 34366-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/3/6/34366/ + +Produced by Laura McDonald at http://www.girlebooks.com +and Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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