The Regent

by Arnold Bennett

  II

  Nellie came into the dining-room two minutes after her husband. AsEdward Henry had laboriously counted these two minutes almost secondby second on the dining-room clock, he was very tired of waiting. Hissecret annoyance was increased by the fact that Nellie took off herwhite apron in the doorway and flung it hurriedly on to the table-traywhich, during the progress of meals, was established outside thedining-room door. He did not actually witness this operation ofundressing, because Nellie was screened by the half-closed door;but he was entirely aware of it. He disliked it, and he had alwaysdisliked it. When Nellie was at work, either as a mother or asthe owner of certain fine silver ornaments, he rather enjoyed thewonderful white apron, for it suited her temperament; but as the headof a household with six thousand pounds a year at its disposal, heobjected to any hint of the thing at meals. And to-night he objectedto it altogether. Who could guess from the homeliness of their familylife that he was in a position to spend a hundred pounds a week andstill have enough income left over to pay the salary of a town clerkor so? Nobody could guess; and he felt that people ought to be ableto guess. When he was young he would have esteemed an income ofsix thousand pounds a year as necessarily implicating feudal state,valets, castles, yachts, family solicitors, racing-stables, countysociety, dinner-calls and a drawling London accent. Why should hiswife wear an apron at all? But the sad truth was that neither his wifenor his mother ever _looked_ rich, or even endeavoured to look rich.His mother would carry an eighty-pound sealskin as though she hadpicked it up at a jumble sale, and his wife put such simplicityinto the wearing of a hundred-and-eighty pound diamond ring that itsexpensiveness was generally quite wasted.

  And yet, while the logical male in him scathingly condemned thisfeminine defect of character, his private soul was glad of it, forhe well knew that he would have been considerably irked by thecomplexities and grandeurs of high life. But never would he haveadmitted this.

  Nellie's face, as she sat down, was not limpid. He understood naughtof it. More than twenty years had passed since they had first met--heand a wistful little creature--at a historic town-hall dance. Hecould still see the wistful little creature in those placid and purefeatures, in that buxom body; but now there was a formidable, capableand experienced woman there too. Impossible to credit that the wistfullittle creature was thirty-seven! But she was! Indeed, it was verydoubtful if she would ever see thirty-eight again. Once he had had themost romantic feelings about her. He could recall the slim flexibilityof her waist, the timorous melting invitation of her eyes. And now ...Such was human existence!

  She sat up erect on her chair. She did not apologize for being late.She made no inquiry as to his neuralgia. On the other hand, she wasnot cross. She was just neutral, polite, cheerful, and apparentlyconscious of perfection. He strongly desired to inform her of theexact time of day, but his lips would not articulate the words.

  "Maud," she said with divine calm to the maid who bore in the bakedYork ham under its silver canopy, "you haven't taken away that brushthat's in the passage."

  (Another illustration of Nellie's inability to live up to six thousandpounds a year; she would always refer to the hall as the "passage!")

  "Please'm, I did, m'm," replied Maud, now as conscious of perfectionas her mistress. "He must have took it back again."

  "Who's 'he?'" demanded the master.

  "Carlo, sir." Upon which triumph Maud retired.

  Edward Henry was dashed. Nevertheless, he quickly recovered hispresence of mind and sought about for a justification of his previousverdict upon the negligence of five women.

  "It would have been easy enough to put the brush where the dogcouldn't get at it," he said. But he said this strictly to himself. Hecould not say it aloud. Nor could he say aloud the words "neuralgia,""three hundred and forty-one pounds," any more than he could say"late."

  That he was in a peculiar mental condition is proved by the fact thathe did not remark the absence of his mother until he was putting hershare of baked ham on to a plate.

  He thought: "This is a bit thick, this is!" meaning the extremelateness of his mother for the meal. But his only audible remark wasa somewhat impatient banging down of the hot plate in front of hismother's empty chair.

  In answer to this banging Nellie quietly began:

  "Your mother--"

  (He knew instantly, then, that Nellie was disturbed about something orother. Mother-in-law and daughter-in-law lived together under oneroof in perfect amity. Nay, more, they often formed powerful andunscrupulous leagues against him. But whenever Nellie was disturbed,by no matter what, she would say "your mother" instead of merely"mother!" It was an extraordinary subtle, silly and effective way ofputting him in the wrong.)

  "Your mother is staying upstairs with Robert."

  Robert was the eldest child, aged eight.

  "Oh!" breathed Edward Henry. He might have inquired what the nurse wasfor; he might have inquired how his mother meant to get her tea. Buthe refrained, adding simply, "What's up now?"

  And in retort to his wife's "your," he laid a faint emphasis on theword "now," to imply that those women were always inventing some freshimaginary woe for the children.

  "Carlo's bitten him--in the calf," said Nellie, tightening her lips.

  This, at any rate, was not imaginary.

  "The kid was teasing him as usual, I suppose?" he suggested.

  "That I don't know," said Nellie. "But I know we must get rid of thatdog."

  "Serious?"

  "Of course we must," Nellie insisted, with an inadvertent heat, whichshe immediately cooled.

  "I mean the bite."

  "Well--it's a bite right enough."

  "And you're thinking of hydrophobia, death amid horrible agony, and soon."

  "No, I'm not," she said stoutly, trying to smile.

  But he knew she was. And he knew also that the bite was a trifle. Ifit had been a good bite she would have made it enormous; she wouldhave hinted that the dog had left a chasm in the boy's flesh.

  "Yes, you are," he continued to twit her, encouraged by her attempt ata smile.

  However, the smile expired.

  "I suppose you won't deny that Carlo's teeth may have been dirty? He'salways nosing in some filth or other," she said challengingly, in ameasured tone of sagacity. "And there may be blood-poisoning."

  "Blood fiddlesticks!" exclaimed Edward Henry.

  Such a nonsensical and infantile rejoinder deserved no answer, andit received none. Shortly afterwards Maud entered and whispered thatNellie was wanted upstairs. As soon as his wife had gone Edward Henryrang the bell.

  "Maud," he said, "bring me the _Signal_ out of my left-hand overcoatpocket."

  And he defiantly finished his meal at leisure, with the news of theday propped up against the flower-pot, which he had set before himinstead of the dish of ham.