“Get in, children,” commanded their father. “Noel, my dear boy, we can give you a lift, but pray get in — we must not keep the horses standing. What a terrible night!”
Crouched into a corner of the carriage, with Pamela half asleep on her lap, Alex was conscious of the relief of the darkness and the swift motion of the wheels.
Noel was next her, and in the sudden sense of almost childish terror and loneliness that possessed her, Alex sought instinctive comfort and reassurance in the unavoidable contact. She leant against his shoulder in the shelter of the dark, closely-packed carriage, and was sorry when Clevedon Square was reached at last, and she found herself obliged to descend.
“Good-night — thanks most awfully,” said Noel at the door. “Good-night, Alex. I say, I’m afraid you were frightfully jammed up in the corner there — I’m so sorry, but I simply couldn’t move.”
XIII
Decision
On making up her mind that she must break off her engagement, Alex, unaware, took the bravest decision of her life.
She was being true to an instinctive standard, in which she herself only believed with part of her mind, and which was absolutely unknown to any of those who made up her surroundings.
She hardly knew, however, that she had taken any resolution in her many wakeful nights and discontented days, until the moment when she actually put it into execution. She wrote no eloquent letter, entered into no elaborate explanation such as would have seemed to her, after the manner of her generation, theoretically indispensable to the situation.
She blurted out three bald words which struck upon her own hearing with a sense of extreme shock the moment they were uttered.
“It’s no use.”
Noel looked hard at her for a moment, and then did not pretend to misunderstand her meaning.
“What, us being engaged?”
His intuitive comprehension, of which Alex had received so little proof ever before, might be unflattering, but it struck her with immense relief.
“Yes.”
They gazed at each other in silence for a few moments, and Alex was furious with herself for a phrase sprung from nowhere that reiterated itself in her brain as she looked at Noel’s handsome, inexpressive face— “Fish-like flaccidity....”
And again and again “Fish-like flaccidity.”
They were in the drawing-room at Clevedon Square, and Noel, as though seeking to relieve his obvious embarrassment by moving, got up and walked across the room to the window.
“Of course, I’ve felt for some time that you weren’t very happy about it all, and naturally — if you feel like that....”
All the seething disappointment and wounded vanity and aching loneliness that had tortured her since the very first moments of her engagement to Noel Cardew, rushed back on Alex, but she sought vainly for words in which to convey any part of her feelings to him.
It would be like trying to explain some abstruse principle of science to a little child. The sense of the utter uselessness of any attempt at making clear to him the reasons which were chaotic even to herself, paralysed Alex’ utterance.
“I don’t think it’s any use going on,” she repeated feebly.
“You’re perfectly free,” Noel assured her scrupulously; “and though, of course, I — I — I — you — we — it would be—” He broke off, very red.
Alex wished vaguely that it was possible for them to talk it all out quite frankly and dispassionately with one another, but the hard, crystalline detachment of the generation that was to follow theirs, had as yet no place in the scheme of things known to Noel and Alex.
They made awkward, conventional phrases to one another.
“Naturally,” the boy said with an effort, “the whole blame must rest with me.”
“Oh, no, I’ll tell father and mother that I wanted to — to — break it off.”
Alex stopped, conscious that she could not think of anything else to say.
But rather to her surprise, it appeared that Noel had something else to say.
He faced her with hands thrust into his pockets, his hair and little, fair moustache and his brown eyes looking very light indeed contrasted with his flushed face.
“Of course, you’re absolutely free, as I said, only I must say, Alex, that you’re making rather a mistake. Every one was awfully pleased about it, and we’ve known each other since we were kids — since you were a kid, at any rate — and a broken engagement — well, of course, I don’t want to say anything, naturally, but it does put a girl in a — a — well, in what’s called rather an invidious position. Especially when it isn’t as though there was any particular reason for it.”
“The principal reason—” Alex began faintly, not altogether certain of what it was that she was about to say.
“You see, I always thought we should hit it off together so well. We always did as kids — when you were a kid, I mean,” Noel explained. “We always seemed to like the same things, and have a good deal in common.”
“I don’t think that you liked any of the things I cared about especially,” Alex said, with a flash of spirit.
“What does that matter?” Noel demanded naïvely, “so long as one of us likes the things that the other does? It would be exactly the same thing.”
Alex had never told herself, and was therefore quite unable to tell Noel, that she had never liked anything particularly, except his liking for her, which she had striven almost frenziedly to gain and retain by means of an artificially-stimulated display of sympathetic interest in his enthusiasms.
“There’s another thing — I don’t know whether I ought to say it to you, quite — but, of course, after one’s — well, married — there’s a lot more one has in common, naturally.”
“Yes,” said Alex forlornly. She quite believed it.
There was an awkward silence.
“Are you angry, Noel?”
She did not think he was at all angry, or very violently moved in any way, but she asked the question from an instinctive desire to hear from him any expression of his real feelings.
He replied stiffly, “Not at all. Of course, it’s much better that you should say all this in time ... as I say, I’ve felt for some time that you weren’t particularly cheerful. But I must say, Alex, I’m dashed if I know why.”
“I don’t know why, exactly — except that I — I don’t feel as if we — really — cared enough for one another—”
Alex spoke with a pause between each word, blushing scarlet, as though it really cost her a physical effort to break through the barrier of reserve that she had been taught so relentlessly should always be erected between her own soul and the naked truth of her own sensations and intimate convictions.
Noel blushed too and Alex felt that he was shocked, which increased her own self-contempt almost unbearably.
“Naturally, if I hadn’t—” he left a blank to supply the words, “I shouldn’t have asked you to be engaged to me. I must say, Alex, I think you’re rather exacting, you know.”
Alex quivered from head to foot, as though he had insulted her most brutally. She, who had shrunk, with a genuine dread that had surprised herself, from Noel’s few, shyly-uttered endearments, and had found so entire a lack of response in herself to his occasionally-attempted displays of tenderness, to be accused of having been exacting!
She did not for an instant realize, what even Noel faintly surmised, that she had indeed been exacting, of a romantic fervour which she was as incapable ‘of inspiring as he of bestowing; from which, had it existed, the outward expressions of love would have leapt spontaneously, supremely appropriate, and necessary to them both.
In the mental chaos and muddle of their extreme youth, they looked at one another confused and bewildered, almost like two children suddenly conscious of the magnitude of their own naughtiness.
Noel said, rather proudly, as though one of the children suddenly tried to appear grown-up:
“You must allow me to undertake the distressing t
ask of — breaking it to — them.”
Alex almost shuddered, so acute was her own apprehension of the disclosure to her father and mother.
“I shall tell mother at once,” she said, lacking the courage even to mention Sir Francis.
It was typical of the whole time and circumstances of their brief engagement that both Noel, and, in a lesser degree, Alex, had looked upon the relation into which they had entered as one in which their parents held the stakes and were of primary concern. They themselves were only puppets for whom strings were pulled, so as to cause certain vibrations and reactions over which they had no personal control.
This belief, unformulated by either, and entirely characteristic of a late Victorian generation, was, perhaps, that which they held most in common.
Alex even wondered whether she ought to wait and speak to Lady Isabel before taking the next step which she had in mind, but her desire to try and raise their trivial, shamefaced parting to a higher level by one dramatic touch, was too strong for her.
She slowly pulled the diamond engagement-ring off her finger, and handed it to him.
“Oh, I say,” stammered Noel. He looked miserably undecided, and she knew that he was wondering whether he could not ask her to keep it just the same.
But in the end he slipped it into his pocket, after balancing it undecidedly for a moment in the palm of his hand.
She sat on the sofa, her left hand feeling strangely bare, unweighted by the heavy, glittering hoop, and Noel looked out of the window.
“I think I shall go abroad,” he announced suddenly, and with mingled relief and mortification, Alex detected the sound of satisfaction latent in his voice. She felt that he thought himself to be doing the proper thing in the circumstances, and the sting inflicted on her pride by his acquiescence in their parting, though she had expected nothing else, gave her the sudden impulse necessary to rise and cross the room until she stood beside him at the window.
“Please forgive me, Noel.”
“Oh, there’s nothing to forgive,” he returned hastily. “Of course, if you feel like that, it’s all over.”
He looked at her steadily and Alex felt the suspicion rush over her that he was trying obliquely to convey a warning to her that if she dismissed him now, it would be of no use to recall him later.
Alex felt passionately that in the depths of his stubborn vanity lay the truest presentment of himself that Noel would ever show her. If there was another side to his personality — and she was dimly willing to believe it for all her utter ignorance of him — the power to call it forth did not dwell in her.
Her momentary feeling of anger gave way to humiliation, and she half held out her hand.
“Good-bye, Noel,” she said humbly.
As though to atone for the lack of feeling in his tone, Noel wrung her hand until it hurt her, as he replied automatically: “Good-bye, Alex.”
“I suppose we shall never meet again,” thought Alex, with all the finality of youth, and felt dazed as she saw him open the door.
Mechanically, she rang the bell in order that the servants downstairs might know that he was leaving, and come into the hall to find his hat and stick and to open the door for him.
Lady Isabel had instilled into Alex that it was part of her responsibility in grown-up life to ring the bell for departing guests, as unostentatiously as possible, at just the right moment, and every time that she remembered to do it, she always felt rather proud of herself.
This time she thought:
“It’s the last time Noel will ever be in this room with me. He is going right out of my life.”
She was quite unconsciously trying to awaken in herself an anguish of regret that might yet justify her to herself in recalling her lover.
If he turns round at the door and says, “Alex!” She tried to cheat herself with a hope that was yet not a hope.
Noel turned at the door.
In a solemn, magnanimous voice he said:
“Alex! I don’t want you to feel — ever — that you need reproach yourself, whatever any one may say. Remember that, if” — he suddenly looked like a rather frightened little boy— “if there’s a great fuss.”
Then the door closed very quietly behind him, and Alex heard him go downstairs slowly.
It seemed to her that Noel’s farewell had plumbed the final depth of his inadequacy.
Presently she sank into an armchair before the fire, and tried to visualize the effects of her own action.
She was principally conscious of a certain amazement, that a step which seemed likely to have such far-reaching consequences should have been so largely the result of sudden impulse. She had not thought the night before of breaking off her engagement. It had all happened very quickly in a few minutes, when the sense of tension which had hung round her intercourse with Noel had suddenly seemed to reach an unbearable pitch, so that something had snapped. Was this how Important Things happened to one through life?
Alex felt that she could not believe it.
But a broken engagement — could there be anything more important, more desperate? Alex felt with melancholy satisfaction that at least it was real life, as she had always imagined it, full of drama and tragedy. With, of course, a glory of happiness as final climax, that would make up for everything.... More physically tired than she knew, Alex abandoned herself dreamily to the old, idle visions of the wonderful, perfect love that should come to crown her life. There was no faint, latent sense of disloyalty to Noel now, in returning to her old dreams, that had been hers in one form or another ever since her childish ideal of a perfect friend who would always understand, and yet love one just the same.
It was with a violent start that Alex came back to reality again. She had dismissed Noel Cardew, had given him back his beautiful diamond engagement-ring, and now she would have to tell her father and mother, with no better reason to adduce than her own caprice.
She felt sick with fright.
She remembered Sir Francis’s silent but unmistakable pride and pleasure in his engaged daughter, and Lady Isabel’s additional display of affection, and even of deference to Alex’ taste in choosing her frocks and hats, and her own sense of having at last atoned to them both for her unsatisfactory childhood and lack of any conspicuous social success, such as they had coveted for her.
Alex, cowering in her chair now, wondered how she could face them. Her only shred of comfort lay in the remembrance that Lady Isabel had said to her:
“My darlin’, I’m so thankful to know you are marrying for love.”
Alex, in bitter bewilderment, remembered those words again and again in the days which followed.
No one reproached her, she heard hardly a word of blame, and the most severe censure spoken to her was in her mother’s soft voice, far more distressed than angry.
“But, Alex, do you know what people say, about a girl who’s behaved as you have? That she’s a vulgar jilt, neither more nor less. To throw over a young man after being engaged to him for four weeks, with no reason except a capricious fit.... Oh, my darling, why couldn’t you have asked me first? To go and give him back that lovely ring, and hurt and insult him.... Of course, he’ll never come back. Your father says how well he’s behaved, poor boy.... Alex, Alex, what shall I do with you?”
Tears were running down her pretty face, so slightly lined even now.
Alex cried too, from pity for her mother and wretched, undefined remorse, and a growing conviction that in acting on her own distorted impulse she had once more involved herself, and, far worse, others, in far-reaching and disastrous consequences.
“Thank Heaven, we hadn’t announced the engagement, but, of course, it will all get about — things always do. And there’s nothing worse for a girl than to get that sort of reputation, especially when she’s not — not tremendously sought after, or pretty or anything.”
Lady Isabel had never before come so near to an avowal that her eldest daughter’s career had proved a disappointment to her, and Alex in
the admission, rightly gauged the extent of her mother’s dismay.
“Why did you do it, Alex?”
Alex tried haltingly to explain, but she could only say:
“I — I felt I didn’t care for him enough.”
“But you hadn’t had time to find out! You accepted him when he proposed, so you must have been quite ready to like him then, and you’d only been engaged for four weeks. How could you tell — a little thing like you?” wailed Lady Isabel.
“Oh, Alex, if you’d only come to me about it first — I could have explained it all to you — girls often get fancies about being in love.”
“I thought you wanted me to marry for love. You said so,” sobbed Alex.
“Of course, I don’t want you to marry without it. But it’s the love that comes after marriage that really counts — and a boy you’d known all your life, practically — that we all liked — you could have been ideally happy, Alex.” Lady Isabel looked at her almost resentfully.
“I don’t know what will happen to you, my darling, I don’t indeed. I sometimes think you are just as headstrong and exaggerated as when you were a little girl. And, Alex, I don’t like even to say such a thing to you — but — there’s never been any one but Noel, and I’m afraid this isn’t the sort of thing that makes any man.... Nothing puts them off more — and no wonder.”
Alex thought momentarily of Queenie, but she knew that was different. In the supreme object of woman, to attract, Queenie stood in a class apart. Nothing that Queenie could ever do would ever rob her of the devotion that was hers, wherever she chose to claim it, by mysterious right of attraction.
From her father, Alex heard very little. She was left, in her abnormal sensitiveness, to measure his disappointment and mortification by his very silence.
Feeling again like the naughty little girl who had been responsible for Barbara’s fall from the balusters, and had been sent to Sir Francis for sentence, she listened, in a silence that was broken only by the sobs that she could hardly control, to his few, measured utterances.
Collected Works of E M Delafield Page 105