by Elinor Glyn
XIV
Josiah had been too much fatigued on his machinery hunt with Mr.Clutterbuck R. Tubbs. They had lunched too richly, he said, and stoodabout too long, and so all the Sunday he was peevish and fretful, andrequired Theodora's constant attention. She must sit by his bedside allthe morning, and drive round and round all the afternoon.
He told her she was not looking well. These excursions did not suiteither of them, and he would be glad to get to England.
He asked a few questions about Versailles, and Theodora vouchsafed nounnecessary information. Nor did she tell him of her father'sgood-fortune. The widow had expressly asked her not to. She wished it toappear in the New York _Herald_ first of all, she said. And they couldhave a regular rejoicing at the banquet on Monday night.
"Men are all bad," she had told Theodora during their ante-dinner chat."Selfish brutes most of them; but nature has arranged that we happen towant them, and it is not for me to go against nature. Your father is agentleman and he keeps me from yawning, and I have enough money to beable to indulge that and whatever other caprices I may have acquired; soI think we shall be happy. But a man in the abstract--don't amount tomuch!" And Theodora had laughed, but now she wondered if ever she wouldthink it was true. Would Hector ever appear in the light of a capriceshe could afford, to keep her from yawning? Could she ever truly say,"He don't amount to much!" Alas! he seemed now to amount to everythingin the world.
The unspeakable flatness of the day! The weariness! The sense of allbeing finished! She did not even allow herself to speculate as to whatHector was doing with himself. She must never let her thoughts turn thatway at all if she could help it. She must devote herself to Josiah andto getting through the time. But something had gone out of her lifewhich could never come back, and also something had come in. She wasawake--she, too, had lived for one moment like in _Jean d'Agreve_--andit seemed as if the whole world were changed.
Captain Fitzgerald did not appear all day, so the Sunday was composedof unadulterated Josiah. But it was only when Theodora was alone at lastlate at night, and had opened wide her windows and again looked out onthe moon, that a little cry of anguish escaped her, and she rememberedshe would see Hector to-morrow at the dinner-party. See him casually, asthe rest of the guests, and this is how it would be forever--for everand ever.
* * * * *
Lord Bracondale had passed what he termed a dog's day. He had goneracing, and there had met, and been bitterly reproached by, Esclarmondede Chartres for his neglect.
_Qu'est-ce qu'il a eu pour toute une semaine?_
He had important business in England, he said, and was going off atonce; but she would find the bracelet she had wished for waiting for herat her apartment, and so they parted friends.
He felt utterly revolted with all that part of his life.
He wanted nothing in the world but Theodora. Theodora to worship andcherish and hold for his own. And each hour that came made all else seemmore empty and unmeaning.
Just before dinner he went into the widow's sitting-room. She wasalone, Marie had said in the passage--resting, she thought, but madamewould certainly see milord. She had given orders for him to be admittedshould he come.
"Now sit down near me, beau jeune homme," Mrs. McBride commanded fromthe depths of her sofa, where she was reclining, arrayed in exquisitebillows of chiffon and lace. "I have been expecting you. It is notbecause I have been indulging in a little sentiment myself that my eyesare glued shut--you have a great deal to confess--and I hope we have notdone too much harm between us."
Hector wanted sympathy, and there was something in the widow'sdirectness which he felt would soothe him. He knew her good heart. Hecould speak freely to her, too, without being troubled by anover-delicacy of _mauvaise honte_, as he would have been with anEnglishwoman. It would not have seemed sacrilege to the widow to discusswith him--who was a friend--the finest and most tender sentiments of herown, or any one else's, heart. He drew up a _bergere_ and kissed herhand.
"I have been behaving like a damned scoundrel," he said.
"My gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. McBride, with a violent jerk into asitting position. "You don't say--"
Then, for the first time for many years, a deep scarlet blush overspreadHector's face, even up to his forehead--as he realized how she had readhis speech--how most people of the world would have read it. He got upfrom his chair and walked to the window.
"Oh, good God!" he said, "I don't mean that."
The widow fell back into her pillows with a sigh of relief.
"I mean I have deliberately tried to make her unhappy, and I havesucceeded--and myself, too."
"That is not so bad then," and she settled a cushion. "Becauseunhappiness is only a thing for a time. You are crazy for the moon, andyou can't get it, and you grieve and curse for a little, and then a newmoon arises. What else?"
"Well, I want you to sympathize with me, and tell me what I had betterdo. Shall I go back to England to-morrow morning, or stay for thedinner-party?"
"You got as far, then, as telling each other you loved each othermadly--and are both suffering from broken hearts, after one week'sacquaintance."
"Don't be so brutal!" pleaded Hector.
And she noticed that his face looked haggard and changed. So her shrewd,kind eyes beamed upon him.
"Yes, I dare say it hurts; but having broken up your cake, you can't goon eating it. Why, in Heaven's name, did you let affairs get to aclimax?"
"Because I am mad," said Hector, and he stretched out his arms. "Icannot tell you how much I love her. Haven't you seen for yourself whata darling she is? Every dear word she speaks shows her beautiful soul,and it all creeps right into my heart. I worship her as I might anangel, but I want her in my arms."
Mrs. McBride knew the English. They were not emotional or _poseurs_ likesome other nations, and Hector Bracondale was essentially a man of theworld, and rather a whimsical cynic as well. So to see him thus movedmust mean great things. She was guilty, too, for helping to create thesituation. She must do what she could for him, she felt.
"You should pull yourself together, mon cher Bracondale," she said; "itis not like you to be limp and undecided. You had better stay for theparty, and make yourself behave like a gentleman, and how you mean tocontinue. We have passed the days when 'Oh no, we never mention him' isthe order, and 'never meeting,' and that sort of thing. You are bound tomeet unless you go into the wilds. And you must face it and try toforget her."
"I can never forget her," he said, in a deep voice; "but, as you say, Imust face it and do my best."
"You see," continued the widow, "the girl has only been married a year,and her husband is the most unattractive human being you could findalong a sidewalk of miles; but he is her husband, anyway, and she mayhave children."
Hector clinched his hands in a convulsive movement of anguish and rage.
"And you must realize all these possibilities, and settle a path foryourself and stick to it."
"Oh, I couldn't bear that!" he said. "It would be better I should takeher away myself now, to-day."
"You will do no such thing!" said the widow, sternly, and she sat upagain. "You forget I am going to marry her father, and I shall look uponher as my daughter and protect her from wolves--do you hear? And what ismore, she is too good and true to go with you. She has a backbone ifyou haven't; and she'll see it her duty to stick to that lump ofmiddle-class meat she is bound to--and she'll do her best, if shesuffers to heart-break. It is she, the poor, little white dove, that youand I have wounded between us, that I pity, not you--great, strong man!"
Mrs. McBride's eyes flashed.
"Oh, you are all the same, you Englishmen. Beasts to kill and women tosubjugate--the only aims in life!"
"Don't!" said Hector. "I am not the animal you think me. I worshipTheodora, and I would devote my life and its best aims to secure herhappiness and do her honor; but don't you see you have drawn a picturethat would drive any man mad--"
"I said
you had to face the worst, and I calculate the worst for youwould be to see her with some little Browns along. My! How it makes youwince! Well, face it then and be a man."
He sat for a moment, his head buried in his hands--then--
"I will," he said, "I will do what I can; but oh, when you have thechance you will be good to her, won't you, dear friend?"
"There, there!" said the widow, and she patted his hand. "I had toscold you, because I see you have got the attack very badly and onlystrong measures are any good; but you know I am sorry for you both, andfeel dreadfully, because I helped you to it without enough thought as toconsequences."
There was silence for a few minutes, and she continued to stroke hishand.
"Dominic has run down to Dieppe to see those daughters of his," shesaid, presently, "and won't be back to-night. I meant to be all aloneand meditate and go to bed early; but you can dine with me, if you wish,up here, and we will talk everything over. Our plans for the future, Imean, and what will be best to do; I kind of feel like yourmother-in-law, you know." Which sentence comforted him.
This woman was his friend, and so kind of heart, if sometimes a littleplain-spoken.
* * * * *
And late that night he wrote to Theodora.
"My darling," he began. "I must call you that even though I have noright to. _My_ darling--I want to tell you these my thoughts to-night,before I see you to-morrow as an ordinary guest at your dinner-party. Iwant you to know how utterly I love you, and how I am going to do mybest with the rest of my life to show you how I honor you and reveredyou as an angel, and something to live for and shape my aims to beworthy of the recollection of that hour of bliss you granted me. Dearestlove, does it not give you joy--just a little--to remember those momentsof heaven? I do not regret anything, though I am all to blame, for Iknew from the beginning I loved you, and just where love would lead us.But it was not until I saw the peep into your soul, when you neverreproached me, that I began to understand what a brute I had been--howunworthy of you or your love. Darling, I don't ask you to try and forgetme--indeed, I implore you not to do so. I think and believe you are ofthe nature which only loves once in a lifetime, and I am world-worn andexperienced enough to know I have never really loved before. Howpassionately I do now I cannot put into words. So let us keep our lovesacred in our hearts, my darling, and the knowledge of it will comfortand soothe the anguish of separation. Beloved one, I am always thinkingof you, and I want to tell you my vision of heaven would be to possessyou for my wife. My happiest dream will always be that you are there--atBracondale--queen of my home and my heart, darling. _My_ darling! Buthowever it may be, whether you decide to chase away every thought of meor not, I want you to know I will go on worshipping you, and doing myutmost to serve you with my life.--For ever and ever your devotedlover."
And then he signed it "Hector," and not "Bracondale."
The widow had promised to give it into Theodora's own hand on themorrow.
He added a postscript:
"I want you to meet my mother and my sister in London. Will you let mearrange it? I think you will like Anne. And oh, more than all I want youto come to Bracondale. Write me your answer that I may have your wordsto keep always."
* * * * *
Mrs. McBride came round in the morning to the private hotel in theAvenue du Bois, to ask the exact time of the dinner-party, she said. Shewanted to see for herself how things were going. And the look inTheodora's eyes grieved her.
"I am afraid it has gone rather deeply with her," she mused. "Now whatcan I do?"
Theodora was unusually sweet and gentle, and talked brightly of howglad she was for her father's happiness, and of their plans aboutEngland; but all the time Jane McBride was conscious that the somethingwhich had made her eyes those stars of gracious happiness waschanged--instead there was a deep pathos in them, and it made heruncomfortable.
"I wish to goodness I had let well alone, and not tried to give her ahappy day," she said to herself.
Just before leaving, she slipped Hector's letter into Theodora's hand."Lord Bracondale asked me to give you this, my child," she said, and shekissed her. "And if you will write the answer, will you post it to himto the Ritz."
All over Theodora there rushed an emotion when she took the letter. Herhands trembled, and she slipped it into the bodice of her dress. Shewould not be able to read it yet. She was waiting, all ready dressed,for Josiah to enter any moment, to take their usual walk in the Bois.
Then she wondered what would the widow think of her action, slipping itinto her dress--but it was done now, and too late to alter. And theireyes met, and she understood that her future step-mother was wide awakeand knew a good many things. But the kind woman put her arm round herand kissed her soft cheek.
"I want you to be my little daughter, Theodora," she said. "And if youhave a heartache, dear, why I have had them, too--and I'd like tocomfort you. There!"