VI.
Two thoughts ran through his head, shooting in and out and to and froamong his complex sensations of pleasure. The first was that he hadnever been in such a fix before, despite his enterprising habits. Andthe second was that neither Elsie April nor anybody else connected withhis affairs in London had ever asked him whether he was married, norassumed by any detail of behaviour towards him that there existed thepossibility of his being married. Of course he might, had he chosen,have informed a few of them that a wife and children possessed him, butthen, really, would not that have been equivalent to attaching a labelto himself "Married"?--a procedure which had to him the stamp ofprovinciality.
Elsie April said nothing. And as she said nothing he was obliged to saysomething, if only to prove to both of them that he was not a meretongue-tied provincial. He said:
"You know I feel awfully out of it here in this society of yours!"
"Out of it?" she exclaimed, and her voice thrilled as she resented hisself-depreciation.
"It's over my head--right over it!"
"Now, Mr. Machin," she said, dropping somewhat that rich, low voice, "Iquite understand that there are some things about the society you don'tlike, trifles that you're inclined to laugh at. _I_ know that. Many ofus know it. But it can't be helped in an organisation like ours. It'seven essential. Don't be too hard on us. Don't be sarcastic."
"But I'm not sarcastic!" he protested.
"Honest?" She turned to him quickly. He could descry her face in thegloom, and the forward bend of her shoulders, and the backward sweep ofher arms resting on the seat, and the straight droop of her Egyptianshawl from her inclined body.
"Honest!" he solemnly insisted.
The exchange of this single word was so intimate that it shifted theirconversation to a different level--a level at which each seemed to beassuring the other that intercourse between them could never be aughtbut utterly sincere thenceforward, and that indeed in future they wouldconstitute a little society of their own, ideal in its organisation.
"Then you're too modest," she said decidedly. "There was no one hereto-night who's more respected than you are. No one! Immediately Ifirst spoke to you--I daresay you don't remember that afternoon at theGrand Babylon Hotel--I knew you weren't like the rest. And don't I knowthem? Don't I know them?"
"But how did you know I'm not like the rest?" asked Edward Henry. Theline which she was taking had very much surprised him, and charmed him.The compliment, so serious and urgent in tone, was intensely agreeable,and it made an entirely new experience in his career. He thought: "Oh!There's no mistake about it. These London women are marvellous!They're just as straight and in earnest as the best of our little lotdown there. But they've got something else. There's no comparison!"The unique word to describe the indescribable floated into his head:"Scrumptuous!" What could not life be with such semi-divine creatures?He dreamt of art drawing-rooms softly shaded at midnight. And hisattitude towards even poetry was modified.
"I knew you weren't like the rest," said she, "by your look; by the wayyou say everything you _do_ say. We all know it. And I'm sure you'refar more than clever enough to be perfectly aware that we all know it.Just see how everyone looked at you to-night!"
Yes, he had in fact been aware of the glances.
"I think I ought to tell you," she went on, "that I was rather unfair toyou that day in talking about my cousin--in the taxi. You were quiteright to refuse to go into partnership with her. She thinks so too.We've talked it over, and we're quite agreed. Of course it did seemhard--at the time, and her bad luck in America seemed to make it worse.But you were quite right. You can work much better alone. You musthave felt that instinctively--far quicker than we felt it."
"Well," he murmured, confused, "I don't know--"
Could this be she who had too openly smiled at his skirmish with anartichoke?
"Oh, Mr. Machin," she burst out, "you've got an unprecedentedopportunity, and, thank Heaven, you're the man to use it! We're allexpecting so much from you, and we know we sha'n't be disappointed."
"D'ye mean the theatre?" he asked, alarmed as it were amid risingwaters.
"The theatre," said she gravely. "You're the one man that can saveLondon. No one _in_ London can do it! ... _You_ have the happiness ofknowing what your mission is, and of knowing too that you are equal toit. What good fortune! I wish I could say as much for myself. I wantto do something! I try! But what can I do? Nothing--really! You've noidea of the awful loneliness that comes from a feeling of inability."
"Loneliness!" he repeated. "But surely--" He stopped.
"Loneliness," she insisted. Her little chin was now in her little hand,and her dim face upturned.
And suddenly a sensation of absolute and marvellous terror seized EdwardHenry. He was more afraid than he had ever been--and yet once or twicein his life he had felt fear. His sense of true perspective--one of hismost precious qualities--returned. He thought: "I've got to get out ofthis." Well, the door was not locked. It was only necessary to turnthe handle, and security lay on the other side of the door! He had butto rise and walk. And he could not. He might just as well have beenmanacled in a prison-cell. He was under an enchantment.
"A man," murmured Elsie, "a man can never realise the loneliness--" Sheceased.
He stirred uneasily.
"About this play," he found himself saying.
And yet why should he mention the play in his fright? He pretended tohimself not to know why. But he knew why. His instinct had seen in thetopic of the play the sole avenue of salvation.
"A wonderful thing, isn't it?"
"Oh, yes," he said; and then, most astonishingly to himself, added:"I've decided to do it."
"We knew you would," she said calmly. "At any rate I did.... You'llopen with it of course."
"Yes," he answered desperately, and proceeded, with the mostextraordinary bravery: "If you'll act in it."
Immediately on hearing these last words issue from his mouth he knewthat a fool had uttered them, and that the bravery was mere rashness;for Elsie's responding gesture reinspired him afresh with the exquisiteterror which he had already begun to conjure away.
"You think Miss Euclid ought to have the part," he added quickly, beforeshe could speak.
"Oh, I do!" cried Elsie positively and eagerly. "Rose will do simplywonders with that part. You see she can speak verse. I can't. I'mnobody. I only took it because--"
"Aren't you anybody?" he contradicted. "Aren't you anybody? I can justtell you--"
There he was again, bringing back the delicious terror! An astoundingsituation!
But the door creaked. The babble from the stage invaded the room. Andin a second the enchantment was lifted from him. Several peopleentered. He sighed, saying within himself to the disturbers:
"I'd have given you a hundred-pound piece if you'd been five minutessooner."
And yet simultaneously he regretted their arrival. And, more curiousstill, though he well remembered the warning words of Mr. Seven Sachsconcerning Elsie April, he did not consider that they were justified.She had not been a bit persuasive ... only...
The Old Adam: A Story of Adventure Page 41