by J. M. Barrie
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE LITTLE GODS RETURN WITH A LADY
Grizel's clear, searching eyes, that were always asking for the truth,came back to her, and I seem to see them on me now, watching lest Ishirk the end.
Thus I can make no pretence (to please you) that it was a new Tommy atlast. We have seen how he gave his life to her during those eighteenmonths, but he could not make himself anew. They say we can do it, soI suppose he did not try hard enough; but God knows how hard he tried.
He went on trying. In those first days she sometimes asked him, "Didyou do it out of love, or was it pity only?" And he always said it waslove. He said it adoringly. He told her all that love meant to him,and it meant everything that he thought Grizel would like it to mean.When she ceased to ask this question he thought it was because he hadconvinced her.
They had a honeymoon by the sea. He insisted upon it with boyisheagerness, and as they walked on the links or sat in their room hewould exclaim ecstatically: "How happy I am! I wonder if there wereever two people quite so happy as you and I!"
And if he waited for an answer, as he usually did, she might smilelightly and say: "Few people have gone through so much."
"Is there any woman in the world, Grizel, with whom you would changeplaces?"
"No, none," she said at once; and when he was sure of it, but neveruntil he was sure, he would give his mind a little holiday; and then,perhaps, those candid eyes would rest searchingly upon him, but alwayswith a brave smile ready should he chance to look up.
And it was just the same when they returned to Double Dykes, whichthey added to and turned into a comfortable home--Tommy trying tobecome a lover by taking thought, and Grizel not letting on that itcould not be done in that way. She thought it was very sweet of him totry so hard--sweeter of him than if he really had loved her, thoughnot, of course, quite so sweet to her. He was a boy only. She knewthat, despite all he had gone through, he was still a boy. And boyscannot love. Oh, who would be so cruel as to ask a boy to love?
That Grizel's honeymoon should never end was his grand ambition, andhe took elaborate precautions against becoming a matter-of-facthusband. Every morning he ordered himself to gaze at her with rapture,as if he had wakened to the glorious thought that she was his wife.
"I can't help it, Grizel; it comes to me every morning with the sameshock of delight, and I begin the day with a song of joy. You make theworld as fresh and interesting to me as if I had just broken like achicken through the egg shell." He rose at the earliest hours. "Sothat I can have the longer day with you," he said gaily.
If when sitting at his work he forgot her for an hour or two hereproached himself for it afterwards, and next day he was morecareful. "Grizel," he would cry, suddenly flinging down his pen, "youare my wife! Do you hear me, madam? You hear, and yet you can sitthere calmly darning socks! Excuse me," he would say to his work,"while I do a dance."
He rose impulsively and brought his papers nearer her. With a tablebetween them she was several feet away from him, which was more, hesaid, than he could endure.
"Sit down for a moment, Grizel, and let me look at you. I want towrite something most splendiferous to-day, and I am sure to find it inyour face. I have ceased to be an original writer; all the purplepatches are cribbed from you."
He made a point of taking her head in his hands and looking long ather with thoughts too deep for utterance; then he would fall on hisknees and kiss the hem of her dress, and so back to his book again.
And in time it was all sweet to Grizel. She could not be deceived, butshe loved to see him playing so kind a part, and after some sadness towhich she could not help giving way, she put all vain longings aside.She folded them up and put them away like the beautiful linen, so thatshe might see more clearly what was left to her and how best to turnit to account.
He did not love her. "Not as I love him," she said to herself,--"notas married people ought to love; but in the other way he loves medearly." By the "other way" she meant that he loved her as he lovedElspeth, and loved them both just as he had loved them when all threeplayed in the Den.
"He would love me if he could." She was certain of that. She decidedthat love does not come to all people, as is the common notion; thatthere are some who cannot fall in love, and that he was one of them.He was complete in himself, she decided.
"Is it a pity for him that he married me? It would be a pity if hecould love some other woman, but I am sure he could never do that. Ifhe could love anyone it would be me, we both want it so much. He doesnot need a wife, but he needs someone to take care of him--all menneed that; and I can do it much better than any other person. Had henot married me he never would have married; but he may fall ill, andthen how useful I shall be to him! He will grow old, and perhaps itwon't be quite so lonely to him when I am there. It would have been apity for him to marry me if I had been a foolish woman who asked formore love than he can give; but I shall never do that, so I think itis not a pity.
"Is it a pity for me? Oh, no, no, no!
"Is he sorry he did it? At times, is he just a weeny bit sorry?" Shewatched him, and decided rightly that he was not sorry the weeniestbit. It was a sweet consolation to her. "Is he really happy? Yes, ofcourse he is happy when he is writing; but is he quite contented atother times? I do honestly think he is. And if he is happy now, howmuch happier I shall be able to make him when I have put away all myselfish thoughts and think only of him."
"The most exquisite thing in human life is to be married to one wholoves you as you love him." There could be no doubt of that. But shesaw also that the next best thing was the kind of love this boy gaveto her, and she would always be grateful for the second best. In herprayers she thanked God for giving it to her, and promised Him to tryto merit it; and all day and every day she kept her promise. Therecould not have been a brighter or more energetic wife than Grizel. Theamount of work she found to do in that small house which his devotionhad made so dear to her that she could not leave it! Her gaiety! Hermasterful airs when he wanted something that was not good for him! Theartfulness with which she sought to help him in various matterswithout his knowing! Her satisfaction when he caught her at it, asclever Tommy was constantly doing! "What a success it has turned out!"David would say delightedly to himself; and Grizel was almost asjubilant because it was so far from being a failure. It was onlysometimes in the night that she lay very still, with little wells ofwater on her eyes, and through them saw one--the dream of woman--whomshe feared could never be hers. That boy Tommy never knew why she didnot want to have a child. He thought that for the present she wasafraid; but the reason was that she believed it would be wicked whenhe did not love her as she loved him. She could not be sure--she hadto think it all out for herself. With little wells of sadness on hereyes, she prayed in the still night to God to tell her; but she couldnever hear His answer.
She no longer sought to teach Tommy how he should write. That quaintdesire was abandoned from the day when she learned that she haddestroyed his greatest work. She had not destroyed it, as we shallsee; but she presumed she had, as Tommy thought so. He had tried toconceal this from her to save her pain, but she had found it out, andit seemed to Grizel, grown distrustful of herself, that the man whocould bear such a loss as he had borne it was best left to write as hechose.
"It was not that I did not love your books," she said, "but that Iloved you more, and I thought they did you harm."
"In the days when I had wings," he answered, and she smiled. "Anyfeathers left, do you think, Grizel?" he asked jocularly, and turnedhis shoulders to her for examination.
"A great many, sir," she said, "and I am glad. I used to want to pullthem all out, but now I like to know that they are still there, for itmeans that you remain among the facts not because you can't fly, butbecause you won't."
"I still have my little fights with myself," he blurted out boyishly,though it was a thing he had never meant to tell her, and Grizelpressed his hand for telling her what she already knew so well.
The new book, of course, was "The Wandering Child." I wonder whetherany of you read it now? Your fathers and mothers thought a great dealof that slim volume, but it would make little stir in an age in whichall the authors are trying who can say "damn" loudest. It is but areverie about a child who is lost, and his parents' search for him interror of what may have befallen. But they find him in a wood singingjoyfully to himself because he is free; and he fears to be cagedagain, so runs farther from them into the wood, and is running still,singing to himself because he is free, free, free. That is really all,but T. Sandys knew how to tell it. The moment he conceived the idea(we have seen him speaking of it to the doctor), he knew that it wasthe idea for him. He forgot at once that he did not really care forchildren. He said reverently to himself, "I can pull it off," and, aswas always the way with him, the better he pulled it off the more heseemed to love them.
"It is myself who is writing at last, Grizel," he said, as he read itto her.
She thought (and you can guess whether she was right) that it was thebook he loved rather than the children. She thought (and you can guessagain) that it was not his ideas about children that had got into thebook, but hers. But she did not say so; she said it was the sweetestof his books to her.
I have heard of another reading he gave. This was after thepublication of the book. He had gone into Corp's house one Sunday, andGavinia was there reading the work to her lord and master, whilelittle Corp disported on the floor. She read as if all the words meantthe same thing, and it was more than Tommy could endure. He read forher, and his eyes grew moist as he read, for it was the most exquisiteof his chapters about the lost child. You would have said that no oneloved children quite so much as T. Sandys. But little Corp would notkeep quiet, and suddenly Tommy jumped up and boxed his ears. He thenproceeded with the reading, while Gavinia glowered and Corp seniorscratched his head.
On the way home he saw what had happened, and laughed at the humour ofit, then grew depressed, then laughed recklessly. "Is it SentimentalTommy still?" he said to himself, with a groan. Seldom a week passedwithout his being reminded in some such sudden way that it wasSentimental Tommy still. "But she shall never know!" he vowed, and hecontinued to be half a hero.
His name was once more in many mouths. "Come back and be made of morethan ever!" cried that society which he had once enlivened. "Come andhear the pretty things we are saying about you. Come and make theprettier replies that are already on the tip of your tongue; for oh,Tommy, you know they are! Bring her with you if you must; but don'tyou think that the nice, quiet country with the thingumbobs all inbloom would suit her best? It is essential that you should run up tosee your publisher, is it not? The men have dinners for you if youwant them, but we know you don't. Your yearning eyes are on theladies, Tommy; we are making up theatre-parties of the old entrancingkind; you should see our new gowns; please come back and help us toput on our cloaks, Tommy; there is a dance on Monday--come and sit itout with us. Do you remember the garden-party where you said--Well,the laurel walk is still there; the beauties of two years ago arestill here, and there are new beauties, and their noses are slightlytilted, but no man can move them; ha, do you pull yourself together atthat? We were always the reward for your labours, Tommy; your booksare move one in the game of making love to us; don't be afraid that weshall forget it is a game; we know it is, and that is why we suit you.Come and play in London as you used to play in the Den. It is all youneed of women; come and have your fill, and we shall send you backrefreshed. We are not asking you to be disloyal to her, only to leaveher happy and contented and take a holiday."
He heard their seductive voices, they danced around himin numbers.]
He heard their seductive voices. They danced around him in numbers,for they knew that the more there were of them the better he would bepleased; they whispered in his ear and then ran away looking overtheir shoulders. But he would not budge.
There was one more dangerous than the rest. Her he saw before theothers came and after they had gone. She was a tall, incredibly slightwoman, with eyelashes that needed help, and a most disdainful mouthand nose, and she seemed to look scornfully at Tommy and then standwaiting. He was in two minds about what she was waiting for, and oftenhe had a fierce desire to go to London to find out. But he never went.He played the lover to Grizel as before--not to intoxicate himself,but always to make life sunnier to her; if she stayed longer withElspeth than the promised time, he became anxious and went in searchof her. "I have not been away an hour!" she said, laughing at him,holding little Jean up to laugh at him. "But I cannot do without youfor an hour," he answered ardently. He still laid down his pen to gazewith rapture at her and cry, "My wife!"
She wanted him to go to London for a change, and without her, and hisheart leaped into his mouth to prevent his saying No; yet he said it,though in the Tommy way.
"Without you!" he exclaimed. "Oh, Grizel, do you think I could findhappiness apart from you for a day? And could you let me go?" And helooked with agonized reproach at her, and sat down, clutching hishead.
"It would be very hard to me," she said softly; "but if the change didyou good----"
"A change from you! Oh, Grizel, Grizel!"
"Or I could go with you?"
"When you don't want to go!" he cried huskily. "You think I could askit of you!"
He quite broke down, and she had to comfort him. She was smilingdivinely at him all the time, as if sympathy had brought her to loveeven the Tommy way of saying things. "I thought it would be sweet toyou to see how great my faith in you is now," she said.
This was the true reason why generous Grizel had proposed to him togo. She knew he was more afraid than she of Sentimental Tommy, and shethought her faith would be a helping hand to him, as it was.
He had no regard for Lady Pippinworth. Of all the women he had dalliedwith, she was the one he liked the least, for he never liked where hecould not esteem. Perhaps she had some good in her, but the good inher had never appealed to him, and he knew it, and refused to harbourher in his thoughts now; he cast her out determinedly when she seemedto enter them unbidden. But still he was vain. She came disdainfullyand stood waiting. We have seen him wondering what she waited for; butthough he could not be sure, and so was drawn to her, he took it asacknowledgment of his prowess and so was helped to run away.
To walk away would be the more exact term, for his favourite method ofexorcising this lady was to rise from his chair and take a long walkwith Grizel. Occasionally if she was occupied (and a number of dutiesour busy Grizel found to hand!) he walked alone, and he would not lethimself brood. Someone had once walked from Thrums to the top of theLaw and back in three hours, and Tommy made several gamesome attemptsto beat the record, setting out to escape that willowy woman, soonwalking her down and returning in a glow of animal spirits. It was onone of these occasions, when there was nothing in his head butambition to do the fifth mile within the eleven minutes, that hesuddenly met her Ladyship face to face.
We have now come to the last fortnight of Tommy's life.