The House of Defence v. 1

by E. F. Benson

  CHAPTER V.

  The epidemic of typhoid up at Achnaleesh, which had begun so suddenlyand violently, had ceased with the same suddenness, and from the firstday that no fresh case was reported no fresh case occurred at all. Therewas every reason to be satisfied with this vanishing trick of the germ,though the manner of its vanishing was as inexplicable as itsappearance. Typhoid, in other words, had appeared without the source ofinfection being traced, and had disappeared again with the samemysteriousness. It had gone like one of Thurso's headaches, as if thetap had been turned off, and after the ball he had shown no sign that hethought he ought to go back North again. This quite fell in with hiswife's wishes, which she had not thought good to express to him, forshe desired for many reasons that he should be here in London with herfor awhile, and the principal of these had been that she was aware thatpeople were "wondering" about herself and Villars. Though there wasnothing to wonder about, she still preferred that people should not doso, and Thurso's presence would act as a sort of extinguisher to theseguttering flames. The memory of the world, she knew, was in general veryshort. The events of one week are quite sufficient to put out of itshead anything that may or may not have occurred the week before; butwhen it does happen really to have got tight hold of something, whethertrue or imaginary, its memory has the tiresome tenaciousness of achild's. You may change the subject, point out of the window, rattlewith toys, or expose bright objects to view, but the world, like achild, though it may give a distracted attention to these lures for amoment or two, soon gets a glassy eye again, and repeats, "But whatabout----" The world was doing just that now, and she felt that Thurso'spresence gave a better chance of solid distraction than any brightobjects that she could dangle before it.

  The ball, for instance, had been an object positively dazzling in itsbrightness, and though it differed in kind even from other functionswhich the outside observer might think to be similar, she wanted morethan that, though the hugeness of its success could not fail to gratifyeven one who was so accustomed to succeed. Other functions might haveall London assembled in no less beautiful a house, dancing to theidentical band, with everybody in tiaras and garters; but it was quiteobvious to those who knew that Lady Thurso had hit the very top notethat time, the note that is only struck once in a season. What the topnote was it was impossible to say, just as it is impossible to say whythe same ingredients can make two perfectly different puddings, exceptthat in both cases it depends on the cook. The same people probably hadbeen to twenty other balls, and danced to the same music, and said thesame things, but inscrutably, though certainly, it was _the_ ball of theyear, and competition was futile. That new feature--the staircase ofwild-flowers--might have had something infinitesimal to do with it; thatglorious dining-room, not turned upside down and smothered in flowers,might have helped, for the chic of not decorating a room at all, butletting it remain as it appeared when nothing was going on, so thatapparently you could have this kind of entertainment without fuss orpreparation of any kind, was undeniable. Yet, again, nobody could turnher staircase into a country lane without thought. So the upshot wasthat Lady Thurso alone knew exactly how to do it: what to keepunadorned, as if she was going to dine alone; what to decorate, and howto decorate it; what to say, how to look, what to wear. She looked, itmay be remarked, magnificent, and wore no jewels at all. Nobody hithertohad thought of that. All her guests outshone her, and she outshone themall. That, perhaps, was a vibration in the top note, which in any casewas as clear as a musical glass.

  But much as the ball was talked about, she knew that Rudolf Villars andshe were talked about more. Wherever people met together during thesubsequent week--and just at this time of the year there was nowherethat they did not meet--the ball had to be mentioned, but like acorollary came the question, "Is he still devoted to her?" And thenumber of comments on that, the interpretations, the conjectures, theinferences, would have made any of those myriad women whose ideal is tobe talked about in that kind of way satisfied to live or die happilyever afterwards. Unfortunately, Catherine Thurso did not claim kinshipwith such. It gave her not the smallest pleasure to know that asituation (or want of it) that concerned her should be the one thingthat everybody else discussed as if it concerned them. Had she, when shemet Villars again at the bazaar, only felt, "Can it be he? I shouldnever have known him," she would not have troubled her head about whatanybody else might be saying. But she had not enjoyed that dispassionateattitude. Instead, something within her, independent of her own control,had said "Rudolf," just as she had said it twelve years ago. Twelveyears ago the volume of her emotional chronicles had been closed with asnap. Now that ambiguous book was reopened again on the very page atwhich it had been cut short. The vague girlish excitement, trouble andjoy was presented to her notice again; but now it was presented, not inthat dim light, but in the blaze and illumination of her womanhood.Passion had not been awake in her then, the potential fire stillsmouldered under the damped coals of immaturity; but now those hadpassed away, a fire was ready to spring up, a fire of retarded dawn,with the splendour of noonday waiting on it. Was it really so? Alreadyshe feared to ask herself that question, for fear of the answer to it.

  The pretence of playing at being strangers, when at the bazaar she hadcalled him "Your Excellency," had broken down with singularcompleteness. That very night at her house he had established a footingof old friendship, to which, in bare justice, he was perfectly entitled.She could not defend herself against that, she could not resent it, evenif she had wished to do so. Years ago he had loved her, and had askedher to marry him, and if that does not entitle a man to take theattitude of an old friend, when next relations of any sort are resumed,there is nothing in the world that does. Also--and this was no minorpoint--she had half accepted him, and then thrown him over. Neither bylook nor word did he appear to cast that up against her now, and shecould not, in response to his generosity, deny him the standing of afriend.

  Yet though he had but claimed, tacitly, but by a right that she couldnot dispute, the privilege of friendship, she knew that he implied muchmore. She knew quite well that he still loved her. There was no questionabout it in her mind, and it disquieted her. But the love of other menhad not disturbed the serenity of her own _insouciance_, and the factthat this man did told her that he was not as others.

  It was characteristic of her and of the worldly wisdom with which shealways ordered her life that she crammed into the week that followed herball engagements which would ordinarily have taken even her ten days toget through. She had seen at once that a question of some importancewould some time have to be answered, and having made up her mind whather answer would be, she also made it impossible for herself, as far aswas in her power, to leave herself leisure for reconsidering it. Shehad, as has been said, no real moral code to refer it to. She had beenborn, as we must suppose many people are, without a moral sense, and herupbringing and environment had not generated it. She did not, forinstance, refrain from stealing owing to the wickedness of so doing, butmerely because it was mean and nasty, like going about with dirtygloves. And as regards other points, no sense of morality dictated herdecision now. To put it baldly and blankly, as she did to herself, herewas a man who had loved her twelve years ago, and, she felt certain,still loved her; while she, on her side, was stirred again as she wasstirred twelve years ago. Only now she was Thurso's wife.

  Worldly wisdom, however, said much more than this to her. Her firstimpulse to treat him with formality was clearly mistaken. If she did nottreat him with the friendliness that was so undoubtedly his due, theworld would certainly say that she was cold to him in public only to bewarm in private; and from the point of view of the world, theconclusion, though actually false, would surely be accredited.Obviously, the proper attitude, since he desired to be treated as afriend, was to do so. It was here that Thurso's presence in London wasdesirable. The whole affair was delicate, and if he was somewhere inCaithness, where there might be typhoid or there might not, it gave thegossips far more excuse for raging fur
iously together. There was nodoubt that she would see a good deal of Rudolf Villars during this monthor two of London; her husband should, therefore, see a good deal of himtoo.

  * * * * *

  She had a charming place on the Thames, just below Maidenhead, left herby her mother, a low, rambling, creeper-covered house, with one foot inthe river, one in the garden. Here she often entertained from Saturdaytill Monday, not with any mistaken notion that it was a rest, after thebustle and fatigue of London, to get into the tranquillity ofThames-side, but in order to bustle more than ever. London, it was true,was sufficiently busy, but in London one was not in evidence, anyhow,until eleven or so in the morning; and while in London, also, even ifthere were people in the house, they looked after themselves, and needonly be given their beds and their food. But at Bray the bustle beganearlier, since, as this was the country, everyone thought it necessaryto play a round of golf, or row wildly on the Thames, before the daybegan at all; while nobody ever went to bed till nearly morning, sincein the country nobody need get up. Thurso and Maud were going to motordown with her on Saturday afternoon, but as Maud had not appeared at thetime appointed, it was to be taken for granted that she was doing otherthings, and would find her way down on her own account. Catherine, onthe other hand, like most busy people, was punctual to the minute.

  "Well, she's not here," she said, as she stepped into the car, "and,really, we can't wait, Thurso. Unless we start now, people will getthere before we do, and that is never considered quite polite."

  "No, it's as well to be in one's house if one has asked people to stayin it," he remarked, "though they probably get on beautifully withoutone."

  He got in after her, but stood for a moment with his hand on the door,as if wanting to give Maud another minute. Her eye happened to fall onit, and she saw it was trembling. The next moment he sat down, caughther eye, and looked away again, flushing a little. There was somethingaimlessly furtive about all this which was unlike him. But all this weekshe had been a little uneasy about him; he had seemed nervous, easilystartled, uncertain of himself. And as they started, though caresseswere not frequent between them, she laid her ungloved hand on his.

  "Thurso, old boy," she said, "are you well? There is nothing the matterwith you?"

  He started at her touch, and withdrew his hand.

  "I beg your pardon," he said, "but your rings are so cold. Yes, I amperfectly well. I don't know why you ask."

  "Because you don't look very well," she said. "Maud told me you had hadseveral very bad headaches up in the North."

  "I had; but this is rather ancient history, is it not? It has notoccurred to you to inquire about them during the last ten days."

  "Maud only told me this morning," she said.

  "I have had no return of them since I came to town."

  The footman had got up by the chauffeur, and the big Napier car bubbledand whirred to itself a moment, and then slid noiselessly off, withrapid but smooth acceleration of its pace, over the dry street. It waschecked for a moment at the corner into Piccadilly, poised like ahovering hawk, and then glided into the street. The road-way was veryfull, but, dancing elastically on its springs, it flicked in and out ofthe congested traffic with the precision of a fish steering its waybetween clumps of waving water-weed. It seemed, indeed, more like asentient animal, a fine-mouthed horse, or some trained setter, than amachine, or as if intelligence and discernment, a brain that thought andcalculated and obeyed, lived in that long painted bonnet, rather thanmerely pistons and cylinders and all the crack-named apparatus of itsmechanism. It slackened its speed before one would have thought that anyblock in the traffic ahead was discernible, as if scenting the need fromfar off; it cut in and out of moving cabs and omnibuses, as if possessedof occult knowledge with regard to the pace they were going, and whatlay invisible ahead of them; it foresaw impediments to its free movementthat seemed as if they could not be foreseen, and conjectured openingsthat appeared inconjecturable. But all down Piccadilly, all downKnightsbridge, Thurso seemed unaccountably nervous. He could hardly sitstill, but kept shifting and fidgeting in his seat, frowning andstarting and grasping the side of the car, and once even calling out tothe chauffeur, who, in fact, was one in a thousand for combinedcarefulness and speed, bidding him go more quietly through the jostle oftraffic. This, again, was quite unlike him, though like what he had beenfor the last ten days, and his wife, seeming not to watch, watched himnarrowly, but without comment. But when it came to his calling a warningto the inimitable Marcel, who would sooner have flayed all the skin offhis own hands than let another vehicle scrape one grain of paint off thesplash-board of his beloved car, she could not help protesting. Besides,it looked so silly to jump about like that.

  "Dear Thurso," she said, "what is the matter? He is driving perfectlycarefully."

  Thurso frowned, still looking anxiously at the road in front, and spokewith unveiled irritation.

  "He is driving recklessly, it seems to me," he said. "As if it matteredwhether we saved five minutes on the road. But women are never contenttill they've had some smash. That was simply the result of wanting toget in front of a cab now, instead of waiting two seconds."

  This, again, was quite unlike him. His tone and his words distinctlylacked courtesy, and "Hamlet" without the Prince was not less like theplay than was Thurso when he forgot his manners like her husband. Shewas always ready to account for any failing, whether of omission orcommission, by physical causes, and Thurso's rudeness she unhesitatinglyput down to his not feeling well. But in that case it would surely bebetter both for him and her if he did not continue a mode of progressionthat made him jumpy.

  "If you are nervous," she said, "let us cross the Park, and put you downat Paddington. You can take the train."

  "That is absurd," he said shortly.

  They went on in silence for a little, and Thurso made an immense effortto pull himself together, or, at any rate, the effort seemed to him tobe immense. But he knew that lately the effort to do anything he did notfeel inclined to do had been enormously increased. Those moments ofquickened consciousness which were his seemed to make his brain in theintervals more lethargic, less able to give orders. He knew quite wellthat his nerves were out of order, and though it was true that, sincecoming to town, as he had just told his wife, he had had no return ofhis neuralgia, he had for the last ten days always silenced itsthreatenings, sometimes even before such threatening was reallyperceptible, by a liberal use of that divine drug which never failed. Hebelieved, too, if he thought about it, that he was taking larger dosesthan those prescribed, and knew that he was intentionally absent-mindedwhen he poured out his draught. Nor had he taken it only for anodynicpurposes; more than once or twice--he could not say how many times, butcertainly less than fifty--he had taken it for the pure pleasure of itseffects. He knew he had begun to be dragged into the habit, as a manwhose clothes are caught between revolving cogwheels is dragged in,unless by a superhuman effort he can break loose. It was not that he didnot struggle against it, but he struggled with mental reservations. Twodays ago, for instance, he had resolved not to touch it for forty-eighthours, promising himself, as a reward for his abstinence, a pleasanthour or two when he got down to Bray. After that, so he had planned, hewould continue to break free from it by a carefully graduated course.His next treat should be three days afterwards; after that there shouldbe abstention for four days. For he was rather frightened already athis previous indulgence, and at the greed with which he longed for it.During the last week in Scotland he had taken it every day, andsometimes twice. Sometimes he said to himself that it suited him.Perhaps he was abnormal, but it made him feel so well, so alive. Then,again, he would recognise the danger that lay in front of him, and vowedto set about the task of breaking from the habit. But it must be done bydegrees; he already could make no larger resolve than that. But that hedid resolve. The interval between his treats should become longer andlonger, until he craved no more. Craved! How he craved now! It was thatwhich ma
de him so nervous and irritable. But he must have that one fulldose when he got down to Bray. He had promised himself that, and he feltas if it were almost a duty to perform that promise.

  Meantime, whatever in his brain was lethargic and inert, some sense ofcunning and precaution was always strong, and he knew that it was mostimportant that Catherine should not think that there was anything wrong.So before the pause after his last rather snappish reply had made itimpossible to refer back, he spoke again in a different tone.

  "You must forgive me for speaking rudely just now," he said, "and I amsure that Marcel is really careful. But I had the most dreadfully tryingtime up in Scotland, and those horrible headaches did not make thingseasier. As a matter of fact, I saw Dr. Symes when I was there, and hetold me I was on edge. But he did not attach the least importance to it.He said the best thing I could do was to come down here and amusemyself, and forget all about the typhoid."

  That, again, was true as far as it went, but no further. Dr. Symes hadsaid these things with regard to his neuralgia: he had not pronounced onthe cure for it.

  "But there's no harm in seeing a doctor," she said, "and telling him allyou feel and all you do. Then he tells you to avoid curried prawns, andyou pay only two guineas."

  He laughed.

  "I have better uses for even so small a sum," he said, while his mindsaid to itself: "Two guineas' worth of laudanum! Two guineas' worth oflaudanum!"

  "But it's so much better to be told if there's anything wrong," shesaid, "and so nice to be told that there isn't."

  "But I am sure of that, without being told," said he.

  The house at Bray was long and low and rambling, straggling down at onepoint to the very edge of the river, but for the most part standing inthe middle of flower-beds and short-turfed lawn and stiff yew-hedges cutinto fantastic shapes, which screened the customs of its inhabitantsfrom the population in boats, so that the Sunday afternoon crowd couldnot, as in most of the river-side houses, see exactly who was there,what they had for tea, who smoked and slept, who read, and who playedcroquet. Indeed, had it not been for this impenetrable barrier ofthick-set foliage, what they had for breakfast, lunch, and dinner wouldhave been equally public property; for Lady Thurso had built a big openpavilion on the terrace just above the river, where, when the day washot, her party took all their meals. Another pavilion nearer the houseserved as a drawing-room, card-room, or smoking-room, and on a fineSunday nobody more than set foot in the house itself from breakfast tillbed-time. A dozen guests or so were all that the house would hold, butif, as often happened, people proposed themselves when the sleepingaccommodation was already commanded, it was possible to get beds forthem at a neighbouring hotel. To-day, however, there was to be nosleeping out; it was doubtful, indeed, whether the house itself would befull. Maud was certainly coming; Count Villars, Alice Yardly, and herhusband, were also certainties, as were Jim Raynham and Ruby Majendie,who had proposed to each other--Lady Thurso never could find out who"began"--on the night of her ball; and a couple of American cousinsbrought their number up to ten.

  Catherine hardly knew whether or no she was glad that she had so small aparty. For once, it is true, she would have a fairly quiet Sunday; but,worried as she was, not only about this private emotional history of herown, but also (though she told herself this was causeless) about herhusband, she was not sure whether it would not have been a greater restto have plenty of superficial arrangements to make, and plenty of peoplewho did not touch her inner life to amuse. She did not at all believe inthinking about things unless some practical step was to be the outcomeof thought, in which case you got an instant dividend for yourinvestment; but if thought was to end in nothing, your dividend wascomposed of worry only. However, even with these few people in thehouse, she could manage to keep herself fairly well occupied. TheAmerican cousins, too, a plain and elderly millionaire, very dyspepticand intensely mournful, with his wife, who was young, voluble, andcarried about with her pails, as it were, of gross and fulsome flattery,with which she industriously daubed everybody who was in the least worthdaubing, would certainly want--especially in view of Thurso'sirritability--a little careful management. She almost wished she had notinvited them, but she inherited from her mother that idea of Americanhospitality which makes all other hospitality appear niggardly incomparison, and did not consider she had done her duty by even the mostundesirable cousins if she only asked them to dinner. "Cousins must beasked to stay, even if crossing-sweepers," was the line on which shewent. These particular cousins, she acknowledged to herself, wererather trying, but she acknowledged it to nobody else.

  In spite of the desirability of arriving before your guests, Silas P.Morton and Theodosia, whom her husband always addressed in full as"Theodosia," giving each syllable its due value, had arrived beforethem, and met them hospitably at the front-door.

  "Why, if this doesn't tickle me to death!" exclaimed Theodosia, "toreceive you at your own house, Catherine! And how are you, Lord Thurso?"

  Thurso stifled a wish that something would tickle Theodosia to death,and she proceeded.

  "My! what a beautiful motor! Why, if it isn't cunning! Silas and I gothere just half an hour ago, and your servants brought us tea right awayout on the lawn, and made us ever so much at home. But, as I'm for eversaying to everybody, 'Catherine is just perfect, and everything she hasis just perfect--her husband, her servants, her motor-car, and hercrackers.' You should have seen Silas tackle the crackers! Don't I telleverybody so, Silas?"

  When Theodosia was present there was never any fear of awkwardsilences--awkward speeches were the only possibilities; but she coveredup every awkward speech so quickly with another that none of themmattered much. She was usually talking when somebody else was talking,and always when nobody else was.

  "Don't you tell everybody what, Theodosia?" inquired her husband.

  "Why, that Catherine is just perfect. But Englishmen are so perfect,too, that I guess it's right for perfect American girls to marry them.Why, your ball the other night! I thought I knew something about balls,but Catherine's ahead of me there, though we've had some bright eveningsin New York. I guess you're proud of your wife, Lord Thurso, and Iguess she's proud of you."

  This was all very pleasant, and it was not only a salute-explosion ofgeniality on the part of Theodosia; she exploded all the time like aquick-firing gun. She was never sick or sorry, or tired or silent; shewas always bright, and a contemplative mind might seriously wonderwhether anything known to occur in this uncertain world would make herstop talking. She talked all the time that she was in a dentist's chair,even though her speech was impeded by pads and gags and creosote; andshe had once talked without intermission through a railway accident, noteven stopping to scream. At intervals the voice of her husband said"Theodosia!" like a clock striking, but the ticking went on all thesame.

  "And if that isn't the cunningest yew-hedge I ever saw," she said, "witha door cut right through the middle of it as if it was a wall; andthere's the river just beyond with the boats, like people on theside-walk. Lord Thurso, can you see the river from where you aresitting? Silas, change places with Lord Thurso, because I want him tosee the river through the door in the yew-hedge. My! look at thatbug--what do you call it? Oh yes, butterfly--sitting right here on thearm of my chair! Isn't it tame! The bugs in America aren't half so tameas that: they hustle more; but I think it's English not to hustle somuch. You eat your tea without hustling, too, Lord Thurso. I call thatthe true British tranquillity, and I just adore it. Don't I, Silas?"

  Catherine, however, distinctly hustled over her tea, and got up. It wasshe who had asked Theodosia here, and she did not for a moment repenthaving done so; but she began to foresee that it would be necessary toprovide Theodosia with relays of companions who should take her for aseries of walks, and "rides" in the punt (as Theodosia would say), andother rides in motors, if she wanted to save her Saturday to Mondayfrom utter shipwreck. She thanked Heaven Maud was coming, who handledloquacious people so serenely, and listened, or appea
red to, to theirimpossible conversation with an interest that was quite marvellous.Clearly, also, it was by a direct dispensation of Providence that AliceYardly was to be of this party, for Alice also asked for nothing morethan to be allowed to talk without intermission. Theodosia talked ofthings she saw--the river, the road, the bug, the yew-hedge; her eyessupplied unfailing topics of conversation to her tongue. While Alicetalked with the same incessantness of things you could not see--faithand healing, and false claims of mortal mind. Between them they wouldcover the whole ground. And both of them were perfectly happy sittingopposite anybody else who might talk simultaneously, as long as he askedno question which interrupted the flow of their volubility. Clearly,then, Providence intended that Alice and Theodosia should be paired,like blessed sirens, and keep up a perpetual flow of conversation towhich nobody else need listen.

  But at present Maud had not arrived, so she took Theodosia down to theriver, and "punted her around," as that lady's phrase went. Catherinepunted around, so she felt, as she had never punted before; she wouldhave punted to Oxford, if necessary, to keep this appreciative lady awayfrom the house till Maud or Alice Yardly arrived, either of whom werecapable of tackling her. Protective instincts governed those unusualphysical activities. She was responsible for the advent of Theodosia;she was therefore responsible for keeping Theodosia away from Thurso.

  So it was not till seven had clanged from the church tower at Maidenheadthat she turned the punt homewards, and found on arrival that everybodyhad come, and that everybody had gone to dress. She herself was adresser of abnormal quickness, and found she had still nearly half anhour to spare after she had seen Theodosia safely to her room. So,instead of wasting it alone, she went to talk to Maud. The latter wasbetwixt and between, with a hovering maid, and a river of hair makingPactolus down her back. The highest geniality flowed on the other side.

  "Dearest Catherine," she said, "I know it was too awful of me, but, ofcourse, you didn't wait. Everything has been late to-day--at least, Ihave--and I was late for lunch, and things were amusing, and as I hadtold my maid to take my traps, and other people were going down toTaplow, I came down with them, and was dropped here. Isn't the countrylooking too divine! Of course, Thurso came with you. We broke down--younever heard such a bang--and serve me right. Do stop and talk to me forfive minutes, because I know you dress like summer lightning. How manymaids surround you? Three, is it? What fun it was all last week! You dogive your relations and connections a good time. Please wear yoursmartest to-night--jewels and all. It is so chic to be smart in thecountry and shabby in London. And it's an old-established custom for youto smoke a cigarette while I am dressing, before it's time for you todress. There's half an hour yet."

  Catherine lit a cigarette, and, catching Maud's eye, nodded in thedirection of her maid and spoke in French.

  "Send her away for a few minutes," she said.

  Maud gave a giggle of laughter.

  "What a bad language to choose," she said, "because Hortense isFrench--aren't you, Hortense? Will you go away, please, and come backwhen her ladyship goes away?"

  Then Maud turned to her sister-in-law.

  "Now, Catherine, what is it?" she asked.

  "Well, first, do be very kind to me, Maud, and take Theodosia away onall possible occasions, so that she gets on Thurso's nerves as little asmay be."

  Maud brought a long plait of hair round her shoulder and held it in hermouth for a moment.

  "Then I know what you want to talk about," she said. "Theodosia first:I'm on; and afterwards?"

  "Of course you know. Thurso's nerves. He was fearfully jumpy all the waydown. He made efforts, but you don't have to make efforts if you arewell, do you? He was rather rude, too, which is so unlike him. He is notrude when he is well. You told me he had bad attacks of neuralgia up inScotland."

  "Yes, day after day," said Maud.

  She paused a moment, wondering whether she had better say that which wason the tip of her tongue. Then she decided to do so. After all, it washer brother's wife to whom she was talking, and the matter was one thatclearly concerned her. Even more than that, she was talking toCatherine, to whose wisdom, above that of, perhaps, all others, shefelt it natural to confide perplexity or trouble.

  "He had got to get through the day's work," she said, "and to enable himto do so, to get relief from this horrible pain, he took laudanum, whichhad been prescribed for him, rather freely. I allow that before the endI was more anxious about that than about his neuralgia. I think he oughtto get the limits laid down by a doctor. It can't be right for anybodyto take that sort of drug absolutely at his own discretion."

  "Ah! but his headaches have ceased," said Catherine. "He told me therehad been no return of them since he came to town."

  "I am very glad," said Maud, "because--well, it can't be a good thing toget in the habit of taking that stuff, though while he was up inScotland and the neuralgia was so bad he had to get relief somehow. Butif his headaches have ceased, I suppose one need not be anxious anymore."

  Catherine heard a certain hesitation in her voice, and saw the same inher face.

  "You are not telling me quite all," she said. "I think you had better.You are afraid of something more. If your fears are groundless, there isno harm done; if they have foundation, it is best for me to know. Ofcourse I guess what it is."

  Maud put down her brush, and turned to her sister-in-law.

  "Yes; I expect you guess quite correctly. It is this: He has begun totake it for its own sake--for the sake of its effects. Coming up in thetrain he thought I was asleep, and I saw him--yes, I spied on him if youlike--I saw him go to his bag, take out the bottle, and have a dose. Hehad no headache; he was never better. He wanted the effects of it. Itwas a big dose, too--double the ordinary one, I should say. He did notmeasure it. I think he did the same thing up in Scotland."

  Catherine got up, and looked out of the window in silence for awhile.

  "You did perfectly right to tell me, Maud. Thank you," she said. "But itis hell--damnation, you know. What do you advise?"

  "Get him to see a doctor."

  "He won't. I suggested it to-day. And one doesn't want to lose any time;the pace accelerates so quickly on that awful road. Poor Thurso! Ofcourse it is desirable that I should appear to find out what you havetold me for myself--find out, that is to say, that he is taking thisdrug."

  "You may say I told you, if necessary," said Maud. "What are you goingto do?"

  "I can't make any plan yet. I must see."

  Catherine left the room, and went down the passage to her own. Outsideher husband's dressing-room, next hers, was standing his valet, and asudden thought occurred to her.

  "Is his lordship dressed, do you know?" she asked.

  "No, my lady. His lordship told me he would call me when he began," saidthe man.

  She went to the door, tapped, and entered.

  "Flynn told me you were not dressing yet," she said, "though both youand I will be late if we don't begin."

  "I waited till I heard you come to your room," he said. "What is it?"

  "Only I am afraid you must take in Alice Yardly and have Theodosia nextyou. I am sorry: it is the upper and nether millstones. But we'll changeabout to-morrow."

  Thurso was lying on his sofa, doing nothing, and with no book or papernear him; nor did he look as if he had been sleeping. His eyes werebright and alert. He looked radiantly happy and cheerful; it was not thesame man who had frowned and started all the way down in the car.

  "Why should we change about to-morrow?" he said. "I delight in Theodosiaand I adore Alice. Her extraordinary silliness makes me feel wise in myown conceit, and conceited in my own wisdom. Is it really dressing-time?How tiresome! Don't let us dine till nine to-morrow. It is absurd diningbefore in the summer. One oughtn't to lose a minute of this heavenlytwilight hour by doing anything in it."

  Catherine had walked to the open window by which his sofa was drawn up;and was observing him closely. He stretched himself with theluxuriousness of some bas
king animal as he spoke, and she saw he had acigarette in each hand, both of which were burning.

  "Is that a new plan?" she said, "smoking two cigarettes at once?"

  "Yes, so far as I am concerned; but it's not original. Don't youremember the Pirate King in 'Peter Pan' smokes two--or was itthree?--cigars together, because he is such an astounding swell? My God!what a play! It put the clock back thirty years. The moral is that youcan't have too much of a good thing. You should lay your pleasures onthick, not thin; butter your cake on both sides, and put jam on the top.I am awfully happy to-night. It was an excellent idea of yours to comedown here. How wonderful the light is! how good everything smells!"

  He was speaking with a sort of purr of sensuous enjoyment, though thewords were clear and unblurred. She had seen him like this once before,when in the spring he had sought relief from an attack of pain withlaudanum. She thought then that it was the mere cessation of it whichcaused that ecstasy; now she knew what it was, and her heart sank.

  His long, lazy stretch turned him a little on the sofa, so that he facedher as she stood by the window, with the rosy evening light flooding herface.

  "And, my God! how beautiful you are, Catherine!" he said. "You are madefor worship and immortality. There never was a woman so wonderful asyou."

  Catherine pulled herself together, called up her courage. Something mustbe done.

  "Thurso, let us leave my charms for a moment," she said. "Tell me, haveyou had any headache to-day? I hope not."

  "Headache! No. I've forgotten what headaches are like."

  "Then, why have you been taking that stuff--laudanum, opium, whatever itis? Oh, it's so dangerous!"

  "I--I haven't. What do you mean?" he said, stumbling over the words.

  She caught sight of a small medicine-glass on his washing-stand, andtook it up and smelled it.

  "Where is the use of saying that?" she asked, holding it out to him.

  He got up quickly, ashamed for a moment of having lied to her, but moreashamed of his stupidity in not being more careful; but when she came inhe was so uplifted and vivified by the drug that he had been off hisguard. But his shame was infinitesimal compared to his anger with her.She had spoiled, smashed up all his happiness by her interference.Instead of that wonderful sense of well-being and complete physical andmental contentment, he felt now only furiously angry with her. Whatright had she to break in upon him like this, making him lie to her,which he hated, and making his lie instantly detected?

  "And where is the use of your interfering like this?" he cried. "Youhave spoiled it all now: you have robbed me of it, and it was mine! Itwould serve you right if I took another dose now, straight away, and didnot come down. You know nothing at all about it. I was an absolutemartyr to that neuralgia up in Scotland, and I began--yes, I didbegin--to get into the habit of taking this. But I am breaking myself ofit; you didn't know that. Till this evening I had not taken any for twodays, and after that I was not going to take any more for three days,and after that not for four. You seem to think.... I don't know whatyou think."

  She felt at that moment more tenderly towards him than she had felt foryears. His weakness--his voluble, incoherent weakness--his childishexcuses, touched her. There was something almost woundingly pathetic,too, in his graduated resolves, as if a habit could be cured that way.His anger roused no resentment in her, and she spoke appealingly, fullof pity.

  "Oh, Thurso, you don't know what a dangerous thing you are doing," shesaid--"indeed, you don't. The very fact that you do it makes you unableto see what you do. Be a man, and don't think about two days, or threedays, or four days, but stop it now at once. The longer it goes on, themore difficult it will be to break it. Give me the bottle, or whateverit is, like a good fellow, and let me throw it away. You will be gladyou have done so every day of your life afterwards. Please, I entreatyou."

  His anger died out as she spoke, for the effect of the drug was still onhim, enhancing his enjoyment of the light and the country fragrance, andenhancing the glory of her superb beauty as she pleaded with him. Shehad not resented the angry things he had said to her: that was fine ofher, and fine she always was, and she was not contemptuous of the lie hehad babbled and stuttered over. She seemed not to remember it, and thatwas generous. Above all, his craving for the drug was satisfied for themoment, and, so he added somewhere very secretly, he could always getsome more. Nor was his will yet entirely enslaved, and all his best selftold him that she was right beyond any question or possibility ofargument.

  He hesitated only a moment, then unlocked his despatch-box and took outa half-empty bottle. The sight of it made his desire flicker into flameagain; but, after all, he had fully intended to take no more for threedays. Then he swept that away also. His will for the time was set onbreaking the habit now and at once. He held it out to her.

  "Yes; you are right," he said. "Here it is. Don't despise me if you canhelp it, Cathy."

  The use of the shortened name touched her, too.

  "Oh, my dear, don't talk of that," she said; "and thank you mostawfully, Thurso. You will never regret this."

  She went to the window and poured the brown fluid out among the leavesof the creepers, with a little shudder at the stale, sickly smell of it.Then she flung the bottle into the shrubbery.

  "I ought to thank you," he said; "and I do."

  * * * * *

  The evening was extraordinarily warm and windless, and though they haddinner in the open pavilion in the garden, Mr. Silas P. Morton only sentfor the second thickest of his black-and-white plaids to put round hisvenerable shoulders as a precaution against chills, and after dinner abridge-table was started for the occupation of the Americans and Jim andRuby, while the others preferred for the present to wander about in thedeepening dusk. The light still lingered in the west and beneath it thesteely grey of the river smouldered with the reflected sunshine that thesky still retained. Moths hovered over the huddled fragrance of the dimgarden-beds, emerging every now and then from the darkness into thebright light cast by the lamps in the pavilion where the little partyhad dined, and the veiled odours of night began to steal onto theair--the odours of tobacco-plant and night-stocks, of dewy foliage, ripehayfields, and damp earth, which are so far more delicate and suggestivethan the trumpet-blown fragrance of the day. Though crimson stilllingered in the west, overhead the steel-blue of night was darkeningfast, and minute stars were beginning to be lit. From the rest of theworld the colour had already faded: it was an etching, a marvellousmezzotint of black-and-white.

  Catherine, when they rose from the table, found Villars by her side, ina manner that irresistibly implied that he meant to have a stroll withher, and leaving the others--Maud had already towed Alice Yardly out ofThurso's immediate neighbourhood, and was listening to a fearfullyinterminable account of Mrs. Eddy's relation to Phineas P. Quimby--theywent down through the door cut in the yew-hedge, which had so rousedTheodosia's enthusiasm, to stroll along the river-front and catch thelast of the evening light. Opposite, on the other bank of the river, atent was pitched, and outside it three or four young men were seated,having supper at a tablecloth spread on the grass, and lit by a coupleof Chinese lanterns. Their fire for cooking burned bravely on the riveredge, and the smell of aromatic wood-smoke was wafted across to them.It all looked exquisitely simple and uncomplicated. Catherine ratherenvied that, for her own life just now seemed involved and ravelled; shedid not feel confidence in the future. Indeed, she was not sure whethereven the next ten minutes would be quite easy, for woman of the worldthough she was, and conversational engineer, skilled at directing theflow of talk into the channels in which she wished it to run, she feltvaguely nervous with her companion. At dinner he had been the polished,suggestive talker, but it had seemed to her all the time as if he wastalking from the surface only, saying the quick, glib things that cameso easily to him. And now, when they had separated themselves from theothers, she found her impression had been correct.

  "It was so good of you to
ask me here," he said, "quietly, like this;for it means that you admit me again to friendship and intimacy withyou--at least, so I take it."

  He struck a match to light his cigarette, holding it in the screen ofhis hollowed hands, so that the flame illuminated his face very vividly.He had changed extraordinarily little: his dark eyes still had thesparkle of fire and youth in them, and their corners were still unseamedand unwrinkled. His face had grown neither stout nor attenuated; hishair was still untouched by grey, and a plume of it hung, as she hadalways remembered it, a little apart and over his forehead. He woreneither moustache nor beard, and a very short upper lip separated hislarge and essentially masculine mouth from a thin, aquiline nose. Then,as he flicked his match away, he threw back his head with the gestureshe knew so well.

  "Or is that presumptuous of me?" he asked. "I charge you to tell methat, and not let me go on being presumptuous unwittingly."

  She laughed.

  "It is not in the least presumptuous," she said. "I ask the whole worldto a ball or a big party, since it does not matter who is there, owingto the crowd. But here in the country I ask only the people I want tosee, or for some reason have got to see--you are not among thelatter--and the more one wants to see of them, the smaller is theparty."

  "You encourage me," he said. "It is kind of you. Now, my dear lady, wehave not seen each other for some time, and though old history istiresome, I do want to know one thing. Never mind the history, theevents, but sum it up for me. Are you happy? Have you been happy?"

  She paused a moment. He had a right to know that too.

  "Yes, immensely happy," she said with all honestness--"at least, my lifesuits me, which, I suppose, implies happiness. I am--what is the cantphrase?--in harmony with my environment. And--and you?"

  The moment she had asked it she questioned her wisdom in doing so. Itgave him, if he chose, a sort of opportunity.

  "Ah, well, I have been hard-working and ambitious," he said, "and I havegot what I wanted. I suppose one should be content with that. Diplomacysuits me; London suits me; a third thing, indeed, suits me."

  "And that?" she asked.

  "What you have just so kindly promised me--your friendship. I place itfirst, I think, not third."

  She laughed again, still a little nervously, and conscious of adetermination not to let the conversation get more intimate than this.But for the moment it was out of her hands, for he went on in that cool,quiet voice, separating each word from its neighbours, giving to eachits individual value.

  "People who have once been friends," he said, "and after an intervalcome together again, often make a great mistake in wondering andworrying about the past. Please do not suspect me of such a stupidity; Iam more than content to take up the present, just as it is, fragrantwith the promise of your friendship, and fragrant with the knowledgethat you have been, and are, happy. I would have given my whole life, asyou know, to make you that, and now that it has come to you without anyeffort on my part, why, let us rejoice over the economy of my energy."

  They had come to the end of the path by the river, where an ironworkgate gave onto the highroad outside, and paused a moment beforeretracing their steps. A big yellow moon had risen over the trees to theeast, so that while the western part of the sky still glowed withsunset, the east was flooded with that cold white flame that turns everycolour into ivory or ebony. And this strange effect was reproduced onhis face, for the warmth of the west shone on one cheek, while on theother was the white coldness of the moon. And fantastically enough shefelt herself for the moment reading his words in this double light. Theyseemed capable of two interpretations.

  But instantly she told herself that she was utterly unjustified in sucha conjecture. His words had been absolutely guileless, nor had she thesmallest cause for interpreting them otherwise. What she had done was toread into them the knowledge that twelve years ago she had treated himshabbily, and now credited him with an impulse of revenge. Yet shefeared him a little. Beneath his quiet, kind words there was somethingwhite-hot and keen-edged. As he had said, he wanted things and got them.What, then, did he want of her? He had told her--her friendship.

  It was like him, too, like his consummate cleverness, which it requiredcleverness to perceive at all, so subtle and natural was it, to saythese strong and serious things about her happiness and herfriendship--things which he must know would remain in her mind--and thenround off the sentence with a pure triviality about the economy ofenergy. It gave her, however--as, no doubt, he meant it to do, since hehad said his say--an opportunity for altering the direction of theconversation without abrupt transition.

  "I really don't know if one ought to rejoice in economy of energy," shesaid, as they turned to walk back. "There is such an enormous lot ofenergy in the world, and I think there would be less trouble if it wasscarcer. I know I have quite as much as I have any use for. I shouldfind more of it embarrassing."

  "You are admirable," he said. "I believe there is never a scheme to helpand relieve distress brought before you to which you do not give realsupport--not the mere buttress of your name, but your time, your pains,your energy. But, you see, you economise energy in other directions."

  "What directions?" she asked.

  "Emotional. You never worry, do you? You never regret, you never allowpassion of any sort to master and exhaust you."

  This, again, was rather more intimate than she liked, yet, somehow, shedid not resent it. Perhaps it would be truer to say that she could notresent it, for in his very gentleness there was inherent a strength thatmade resentment futile. You might as well resent the slow, grindingmovement of a glacier. In any case, it would do no good to resent it,and Catherine always set her face against purposeless attitudes.

  "No; I don't think I worry much," she said. "But, then, I am very happy.I have little to worry about."

  Then suddenly she told herself that she was being afraid of this man,and to her next words she summoned her courage, asserting herselfagainst him, announcing her independence.

  "And certainly I do not often regret," she said. "People talk of destinyas if it was a force outside themselves. If I thought that, no doubt Ishould often regret the dealings of destiny with me. But I don't, for inalmost all important decisions--the things that really make one'slife--destiny is nothing more nor less than one's own will. And my willisn't weak, I think."

  "I am sure it is not," said he. "But what if the destiny or will ofanother comes into conflict with yours?"

  "Oh, then one has to fight," said she.

  "In all your battles, then," said he, "may success ever attend the mostdeserving!"

  She laughed.

  "That is ambiguous. That may be a curse, not a blessing, on my arms."

  "You think, then, that I am so disloyal as to be able to imagine eventhat anyone is more deserving than you?" he asked.

  Again he was a little flowery. Her effort had done her good, and shecould tell herself that he was even a little fruity.

  "You still delight in phrases, I see," she observed.

  "In sincere ones," he answered.

  * * * * *

  They joined the others after this, finding that the millionaire cousin,to his infinite chagrin, had lost seven-and-sixpence, and not long afterCatherine suggested adjournment to the women of the party. She herself,for some reason, felt really rather tired, though she had been freshenough at dinner, and went upstairs immediately and to bed. But sleep,in spite of, or perhaps in consequence of her tiredness, did not sooncome to her, and first one thing, then another, held her back fromcrossing the drowsy borderland. Now it would be the thought of Thursothat pulled her back into waking consciousness, and the perplexedwonder as to what was the wise step to take about him. You could notplay with drugs like that; it was safer to play with loaded guns. Yet hehad allowed her to throw that bottle away: his will was his ownstill.... Then her mind took a swift excursion forward into the eventsof next week. It was crammed from end to end, and she must go up to townquite early on
Monday. She was glad it was full; she would have no timefor thought. She did not want to think.... Then she turned on her sideand proceeded to do so.

  Why had Rudolf Villars come back to trouble the busy tranquillity of herlife? He had said that he had come back--it amounted to that--to resumehis friendship with her. But what if she could not give it him--what iffriendship was not the word for her with regard to him? She felt quitesure he still loved her--had never ceased to love her. And for herself?No one else had ever affected her as he did. She felt all she had felttwelve years ago. She resented that; she rebelled against it. Her will,she had asserted, was her destiny; but what if it came into conflict, ashe had said, with another will? She was afraid of him, too, or was it ofherself that she was afraid?

  And he had changed so little! Youthful violence, perhaps, had gone, butthe strength of a man had taken its place. If only he had aged in bodyeven!

  Round and round in her head went the incessant wheel of thought. Shethought of Thurso again, and of the danger in which he stood; shethought of a hundred things, and then she thought of Rudolf Villarsagain. She could almost hear his voice in her ears.

  She had drawn back her curtains, leaving only the blind to cover thewide-open windows, and the moon outside shone full on it, making thefurniture and details of her room vividly visible. The walls werewhite, the sofas and chairs were white also, and on her dressing-tableglimmered the silver of the mirror-frame and the silver handles ofbrushes and toilet articles. How much or how little, she thought, thesecommon-place, familiar things might mean! How external sights and soundsand objects could be soaked with emotion, and how, again, they could bejust like dry sponges, hard and gritty almost to the touch, dead andfossilised! And all she saw here, in this her bedchamber, was no morethan dry sponge; no wine or liquor of love had soaked into those things.All her life, but once for a few short weeks, she had been without it,and how much she had missed she was now unwillingly and rebelliouslybeginning to guess. 'Arry and 'Arriet in the street, who shouted songsand changed hats, were so infinitely richer than she, in spite of allthat was hers--her position, her gifts, her beauty. All these shouldhave been just the trappings and embellishment of the chariot in whichLove rode. Without Love they were nothing--odds and ends, fit for ajumble sale. Once, it is true, she had seen the chariot of Love readyfor her, but she had turned back from it, though her foot was on thestep. She had been very young; she could not guess how all-important washer choice, and at that age her mother's will rather than her own hadbeen her destiny. But now again she felt sure the chariot was coming toher. What she had rejected before was to be offered her again.

  Yet still her will was her destiny, and sooner than play with thesethoughts or admit argument about them, she got up, meaning to read abook till sleep came to her. The book she wanted was on the table in thewindow, and before she lit a candle she crossed the room to get it. Theclock on her mantelpiece had just chimed two, and a light shone fromunder the chink of the door on the left that led to Thurso'sdressing-room, so that she knew he was awake still. Also, from outsideshe heard the subdued crunch of gravel under the heel of someone whostill loitered in the air of this still summer night. And then below hisbreath someone outside--the loiterer, no doubt--began whistling aplaintive Hungarian folk-tune that she had not heard for years. Butthat--that untutored little melody was soaked and dripping with emotionfor her.

  * * * * *

  The step passed on round to the door that opened into the garden, andshe heard it no more. But she did not, even though she had found herbook, care to read, but, gently drawing up the blind, she sat at theopen window. The moon had swung to its zenith, and a huge flood of whitelight was poured on the shrubbery where she had thrown the bottle, andon the lawn and flower-beds; and she sat there long, drinking in theserenity of the cloudless night.

  Then the sound of another step, quick but stealthy, came to her ears,and next moment she saw Thurso crossing the path to the shrubbery. Hestruck a match, and seemed by its light to be searching eagerly forsomething. Eventually he found it, and, emerging again, held it up inthe moonlight. There was a drop or two still remaining in the bottle,and, turning it upside down, he let them trickle into his mouth.

  END OF VOL. I.

  * * * * *

  PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER.

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