Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated)

by William Somerset Maugham

  “Oh no, don’t send out for it,” said Mrs. Railing, in tones of entreaty, “I could never forgive myself.”

  “But I assure you it’s no trouble at all. And I should very much like to taste it.”

  “Well, then, threepennyworth is ample,” answered Mrs. Railing, with a nervous glance at her daughter.

  “You’re much better without it, ma,” said she.

  “Come, come, you mustn’t grudge your mother a little treat now and then,” cried their host.

  “And it’s a real treat for me, I can tell you,” Mrs. Railing assured him.

  Canon Spratte stretched out his arm, and with a dramatic gesture pointed to the door.

  “Threepennyworth of gin, Ponsonby.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  With noiseless feet Ponsonby vanished from the room. Mrs. Railing turned amiably to Lady Sophia.

  “That’s what I like about London, there always is a public-house round the corner.”

  “Ma, do mind what you’re saying.”

  Mrs. Railing did not like these frequent interruptions, and was about to make a somewhat heated rejoinder, when Lord Spratte joined in the conversation.

  “I quite agree with Mrs. Railing, I think it’s most convenient.”

  “Oh, do you?” said Louise, aggressively. “And may I ask if you have ever studied the teetotal question?”

  “Not I!”

  “And you’re a hereditary legislator,” she answered, looking him up and down with disdain. She fixed the peer with an argumentative eye. “I should just like to have a few words with you about the House of Lords. I’m a Radical and a Home Ruler. The House of Lords must go.”

  “Bless you, I’ll part from it without a tear.”

  “Now, what I want to know is what moral right have you to rule over me?”

  “My dear lady, if I rule over you it is entirely unawares,” replied Lord Spratte, in the most deprecating way.

  Miss Railing tossed her head with an impatient gesture.

  “I’m not concerned with you personally. To you as an individual I am absolutely indifferent.”

  “Don’t say that. Why should you ruthlessly crush my self-esteem?”

  “I wish to discuss the matter with you as a member of a privileged class,” rejoined Miss Railing, with flashing eye, digging the ferule of her umbrella emphatically into the carpet. “Now, so far as I can see you are utterly ignorant of all the great social questions of the day.”

  “Utterly!” he agreed.

  “What do you know about the Housing of the Working Classes?”

  “Nothing!”

  “What do you know about Secondary Education?”

  “Nothing!”

  “What do you know about the Taxation of Ground Rents?”

  “Nothing!” answered Lord Spratte for the third time. “And what’s more, I’m hanged if I want to.”

  Miss Railing sprang to her feet, waving her umbrella as though herself about to lead an attack on the Houses of Parliament.

  “And yet you are a member of the Upper Chamber. Just because you’re a lord, you have power to legislate over millions of people with ten times more knowledge, more ability, and more education than yourself.”

  “Capital! Capital!” cried Canon Spratte, vastly amused. “You rub it in. A good straight talking-to is just what he wants!”

  “And how do you spend your time, I should like to know. Do you study the questions of the hour? Do you attempt to fit yourself for the task entrusted to you by the anachronism of a past age?”

  “I wish you’d put that umbrella down,” answered Lord Spratte. “It makes me quite nervous.”

  Miss Railing angrily threw that instrument of menace on a chair.

  “I’ll be bound you spend your days in every form of degrading pursuit. At race-meetings, and billiards, and gambling.”

  “Capital! Capital!” cried the Canon.

  Then Ponsonby returned bearing on a silver tray, engraved magnificently with the arms and supporters of the Sprattes, a liqueur bottle.

  “Ah, here is the gin!”

  But Mrs. Railing had an affection for synonyms and a passion for respectability. A spasm of outraged sensibility passed over her honest face.

  “Oh, my lord, don’t call it gin. It sounds so vulgar. When my poor ‘usband was alive I used to say to ‘im: ‘Captain, I won’t have it called gin in my ‘ouse.’ I always used to call my ‘usband the captain, although he was only first mate. I wish you could ‘ave seen him. If any one ‘ad said to me: ‘Mrs. Railing, put your ‘and on a fine, ‘andsome, ‘ealthy man,’ I should ‘ave put my ‘and on James Samuel Railing. And would you believe it, before he was thirty-five he was no more.”

  “Very sad!” said the Canon.

  “Oh, and ‘e was a dreadful sight before ‘e died. You should have seen his legs.”

  “Ma!”

  “Leave me alone, Louie,” answered Mrs. Railing, somewhat incensed. “Do you think I’ve never been in a gentleman’s house before? You’re always naggin’.”

  “No, I’m not, ma.”

  “Don’t contradict, Louie. I won’t ‘ave it.”

  But Canon Spratte interposed with soft words.

  “Won’t you have a little more — white satin?”

  “No, thank you, my lord, I don’t think I could stand it,” said Mrs. Railing, quickly regaining her composure. “You made the first dose rather strong, and we’ve got to get ‘ome, you know.”

  “I think we ought to be trotting, ma,” said her daughter.

  “P’raps we ought. We’ve got a long way to go.”

  “We’d better take the train, ma.”

  “Oh, let’s go in a ‘bus, my dear,” answered Mrs. Railing. “I like riding in ‘buses, the conductors are so good-looking, and such gentlemen. Why, the other day I got into conversation with the conductor, and would you believe it, he made me drink a drop of beer with ‘im at the end of the journey. Oh, he was a nice young man!”

  “Ma!”

  “Well, my dear, so ‘e was. And ‘e’s none the worse for being a ‘bus conductor. They earn very good money, and ‘e told me ‘e was a married man, so I don’t see no ‘arm in it.”

  “Come on, ma, or we shall never get off,” said Miss Railing.

  “Well, good-bye, my lord. And thank you.”

  Canon Spratte shook hands with them both very warmly.

  “So kind of you to come all this way. We’ve thoroughly enjoyed your visit.”

  But when the door was closed behind the visitors utter silence fell upon every one in the room. Winnie looked silently in front of her, and silently Lord Spratte and Lady Sophia watched her. The Canon went to a window and glanced at the retreating figure of Mrs. Railing. He drummed on the panes and softly hummed to himself:

  “For I’m no sailor bold,

  And I’ve never been upon the sea;

  And if I fell therein, it’s a fact I couldn’t swim,

  And quickly at the bottom I should be.”

  Winnie got up suddenly, and without a word left the room. The Canon smiled quietly. He sat down and wrote a note to Wroxham asking him to tea on the following afternoon.

  XIII

  THE fates always behaved handsomely to Theodore Spratte. He was not surprised when Lady Sophia announced at luncheon next day that she meant to spend the afternoon at the Academy. The Canon expressed his regret that he would not enjoy the privilege of her society at tea, but proposed that he and Winnie should have it quite cosily by themselves. Ponsonby received private instructions that no one but Lord Wroxham should be admitted.

  “And after his lordship has been here about five minutes, Ponsonby, I wish you to call me away.”

  When Canon Spratte gave this order he looked straight into the butler’s eyes to frown down any expression of surprise; but Ponsonby replied without moving a muscle.

  “Very well, sir.”

  He turned to leave the room, and as he did so, thinking the Canon could not see, solemnly winked at the port
rait of Josiah, Lord Chancellor of England. For a moment Canon Spratte thought it must be an optical delusion, for that vast, heavy face remained impassive. Yet he would have sworn that Ponsonby’s right lid descended slowly with a smooth and wary stealthiness. The Canon said no word, and when the butler at last disappeared smiled quietly to himself.

  “Ponsonby is really a very remarkable character.”

  It was not often that Canon Spratte exerted himself when there was none but his family to admire his conversation, but on this occasion he took the greatest pains. No human being is more difficult to entertain than a young girl, and it was a clear proof of his talent that he could charm his own daughter. Winnie was listless and depressed. She shuddered still when she thought of the Railings. Their visit had precisely the effect which the Canon intended, and she was ashamed. She had seen Bertram that morning; and, perhaps owing to the sleepless night she had passed, his conversation had seemed less inspiring than usual. He was much interested in a strike which was then proceeding in Germany, and he bored her a little. One or two of his Radical theories sounded preposterous in her ears, and they had a short argument in which he proved to her that her ideas were silly and prejudiced. Once or twice Winnie had caught in his voice almost the same dictatorial manner which his sister Louise had assumed when she rated Lord Spratte. Winnie left him with a certain feeling of irritation.

  But the Canon, though he knew nothing of this, took care not to refer to Railing. He drew her into a conversation on the subjects which he knew most interested her. He used every art to flatter and amuse. He told her new stories. He ridiculed comically the people he had dined with on the previous evening, and such was his gift of mimicry she could not help but laugh. His urbanity and worldly wisdom were notorious, and he had been invited to adjust some social difficulty. He now asked her advice on the point, and holding apparently an opinion contrary to hers, allowed her to convince him.

  “I think there’s a great deal in what you say, Winnie. It’s extraordinary that the most experienced man never catches the point of such matters so accurately as a woman.”

  Winnie smiled with pleasure, for her father’s commendation was rare enough to be valuable. Forgetting her own troubles, she enlarged upon the topic; and he, making now and then some apposite remark, listened with gratifying attention.

  “Upon my word, I think you’re quite right,” he said at last, as though completely persuaded. “I shall do exactly as you suggest.”

  It was not wonderful that Winnie thought him the most remarkable of men. Then he turned to other things. He talked of his own plans and his ambitions. He knew very well that nothing compliments a young woman more than for a man of middle age to discuss with her his dearest aspirations; and Winnie felt that she had entered for the first time thoroughly into her father’s life.

  At length Ponsonby announced the expected visitor.

  “Ah, my dear boy, I’m so pleased to see you,” cried the Canon, springing to his feet with agility.

  Wroxham, shyly, hesitating a little, offered his hand to Winnie.

  “You must think me a dreadful bore,” he said, blushing pleasantly, “I’m always coming.”

  “Nonsense!” interrupted his host, with great heartiness. “We’re always delighted to see you. I want you to look upon the Vicarage as your second home.”

  Shortly afterwards, according to his orders, Ponsonby appeared again. He spoke in an undertone to the Canon, who at once got up.

  “I must ask you to excuse me for a few minutes,” he said, turning to Wroxham. “I have a parishioner waiting to see me — a very sad case. A poor woman who lost her husband a little while ago; and she’s looking out for number two, and can’t find him. A clergyman’s time is never his own.”

  “Oh, pray don’t mind me,” said Wroxham.

  “I shall be back in five minutes. Don’t go before I see you. Winnie will do her best not to bore you.”

  He went out. Wroxham stepped forward to Winnie, who was pretending to alter the arrangement of flowers in a vase.

  “I’m glad your father has left us alone, Winnie,” he said, fixing his pince-nez more firmly. “I so seldom get a chance of speaking to you.”

  Winnie did not reply but pulled to pieces a marguerite.

  “What does it come to?” he asked.

  For a moment, not thinking of the old fancy, she made no answer; but then, remembering, held out the stalk with one remaining petal, and smiled.

  “He loves me not.”

  “It’s not true. He loves you passionately. He always will.”

  With a sigh Winnie threw away the flower.

  “Won’t you speak to me, Winnie?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  He took her hand kindly, and looked into her eyes, trying to discover her thoughts, trying from sheer force of his own love, to make her tender.

  “Oh, Harry, I’m so unhappy,” she murmured at last. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Can’t you love me, Winnie?” he asked, drawing her towards him. “Did you mean it when you told me never to hope?”

  “I said that only a week ago, didn’t I?”

  “You didn’t mean it?”

  She tore herself from him almost violently.

  “Oh, I utterly despise myself.”

  “But why? Why?”

  She looked for a long while into his pleasant clear blue eyes, as though she sought to read his very heart.

  “I wonder if you really care for me?”

  “I love you with all my being,” he cried, eagerly, finding in his ardent love a new eloquence. “You are all I care for in the world. You’re my very life. Ah, yes, I love you with all my heart and soul.”

  Winnie did not answer immediately, but smiled happily. When she spoke there was in her voice the tremor of tears.

  “I think I like to hear you say that.”

  “Ah, Winnie.”

  He held out his hands appealingly.

  “I’m so miserable,” she sighed, remembering again the events of the previous days. “I want some one so badly to care for me.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s the matter? I may be able to do something.”

  “It is kind of you to be nice to me,” she smiled, almost tenderly. “You’re far nicer than I ever thought you.”

  “Why do you torture me like this?” he cried, passionately. “Winnie, say you love me.”

  There was a silence. Then with a blush Winnie put her hand on his arm. A new soft look came into her eyes.

  “Do you remember when I first saw you? You came here with Lionel from Eton. And you were dreadfully shy.”

  “But we became great friends, didn’t we?”

  “How angry you used to get when I beat you at tennis.”

  “Oh, you never did — except when I let you.”

  “That’s what you always said, but I never believed it.”

  Wroxham laughed boyishly, feeling on a sudden absurdly happy. He saw that Winnie was yielding, and yet he hardly dared to think his good fortune true.

  “And do you remember how I used to punt you up and down the river in the holidays?” he said.

  “How frightened I was when you fell in!”

  “Oh, you fibber!” he cried, with a joyful smile. “You shrieked and roared with laughter!”

  Winnie, with a little laugh, turned to the sofa. Raising her eyelashes, she looked at Wroxham with the glance that she well knew set him all aflame.

  “I’m so tired,” she murmured.

  She sat down, and he, sitting beside her, took her hand. She made no effort to withdraw it.

  “What lovely days those were!” she said. “But we used to quarrel dreadfully, usen’t we?”

  “Only for the pleasure of making it up.”

  “Do you think so? You used to make me jealous by talking to other little girls.”

  “Oh, never!” he cried, shaking his head, firmly. “It was always you. You were so awfully flirtatious.”

  Winnie smil
ed and looked down at his hand. It held hers as though it would never again let it go.

  “I wonder when you first began to like me?” she asked.

  “I’ve never liked you. I’ve always loved you, passionately.”

  “Always? Even when I wore a pig-tail and square-toed boots?”

  “Always! And I always shall,” he cried, boldly putting his arm round her waist. She leaned against it as though it were a comforting support. “And I can’t live without you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You didn’t mean it when you said you couldn’t love me?” he murmured, vehemently.

  She looked straight into his eyes for a moment, smiling, and slightly bent towards him.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  “My dearest!”

  Quickly, eagerly, he took her in his arms and kissed her lips.

  “Say you’ll marry me, Winnie?”

  “I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

  “Kiss me. I love you.”

  Blushing, she put her lips to his, and the soft pressure made him tremble with delight. He seized her hands and kissed them in passionate gratitude, repeatedly. For a while they sat in silence. Winnie, all confused, was trying to realize what she had done; but Wroxham was overwhelmed with joy.

  Then the Canon’s voice was heard on the stairs, singing to himself; and Winnie quickly tore herself from her lover.

  “La donna è mobile,” sang the Canon, coming in; “Tra-la-la-la-la Tra-la-la-la-la.” He started when he saw the young couple sitting self-consciously in opposite corners of the sofa. “Hulloa, I thought you must have gone! I was detained longer than I expected.”

  “May I tell him?” asked Wroxham.

  “Yes!”

  “Canon Spratte, I want to tell you that Winnie has just promised to be my wife.”

  “What!” cried the Canon. “Capital! Capital! My dear fellow, I’m delighted to hear it. You know I couldn’t have wanted a better son-in-law. My dear child!”

  He opened his arms and Winnie hid her face on his bosom. He kissed her affectionately, and then with sincere warmth shook hands with Wroxham.

  “All’s well that ends well,” he cried. “I knew she was devoted to you, my boy. Trust me for knowing a woman’s character.”