CHAPTER X
PARENTAL EFFUSIONS
"Well, May," said Lady Dashwood, leaning back into her corner andspeaking in a voice of satisfaction, "we've done our duty, I hope, andnow, if you don't mind, we'll go on doing our duty and pay some calls. Iought to call at St. John's and Wadham, and also go into the suburbs.I've asked Mr. Bingham to dinner--just by ourselves, of course. Do youknow what his nickname is in Oxford?"
May did not know.
"It is: 'It depends on what you mean,'" said Lady Dashwood.
"Oh!" said May. "Yes, in the Socratic manner."
"I dare say," said Lady Dashwood. "What did you think of the Hardings?"
May said she didn't know.
"They are a type one finds everywhere," said Lady Dashwood.
The afternoon passed slowly away. It was the busy desolation of thecity, a willing sacrifice to the needs of war, that made both May andLady Dashwood sit so silently as they went first to Wadham, and then,round through the noble wide expanse of Market Square opposite St.John's. Then later on out into the interminable stretch of villasbeyond. By the time they returned to the Lodgings the grey afternoonlight had faded into darkness.
"Any letters?" asked Lady Dashwood, as Robinson relieved them of theirwraps.
Yes, there were letters awaiting them, and they had been put on thetable in the middle of the hall; there was a wire also. The wire wasfrom the Warden, saying that he would not be back to dinner.
"He's coming later," said Lady Dashwood, aloud. "Late, May!"
"Oh!" said May Dashwood.
There was a letter for Gwen. It was lying by itself and addressed in hermother's handwriting. She laid her hand upon it and hurried up to herroom.
Lady Dashwood went upstairs slowly to the drawing-room. "H'm, one fromBelinda," she said to herself, "asking me to keep Gwen longer, Isuppose, on some absurd excuse! Well, I won't do it; she shall go onMonday."
She turned up the electric light and seated herself on a couch at oneside of the fire. She glanced through the other letters, leaving the onefrom Belinda to the last.
"Now, what does the creature want?" she said aloud, and at the sound ofher own voice, she glanced round the room. She had taken for grantedthat May had been following behind her and had sat down, somewhere,absorbed in her letters. There was no one in the room and the door wasclosed. She opened the letter and began to read:
"My dear Lena,
"I am a bit taken by surprise at Gwen's news! How rapidly it must have happened! But I have no right to complain, for it sounds just like a real old-fashioned love at first sight affair, and I can tell by Gwen's letter that she knows her own mind and has taken a step that will bring her happiness. Well, I suppose there is nothing that a mother can do--in such a case--but to be submissive and very sweet about it!"
Lady Dashwood's hand that held the letter was trembling, and her eyesshifted from the lines. She clung to them desperately, and read on:
"I must try and not be jealous of Dr. Middleton. I must be very 'dood.' But just at the moment it is rather sudden and overpowering and difficult to realise. I had always thought of my little Gwen, with her great beauty and attractiveness, mated to some one in the big world; but perhaps it was a selfish ambition (excusable in a mother), for the Fates had decreed otherwise, and one must say 'Kismet!' I long to come and see you all. It is impossible for me to get away to-morrow, but I could come on Saturday. Would that suit you? It seems like a dream--a very real dream of happiness for Gwen and for--I suppose I must call him 'Jim.' And I must (though I shouldn't) congratulate you on so cleverly getting my little treasure for your brother. I know how dear he is to you.
"Yours affectionately,
"Belinda Scott."
Lady Dashwood laid the letter on her knees and sat thinking, with thepulses in her body throbbing. A dull flush had come into her cheeks, andjust below her heart was a queer, empty, weak feeling, as if she had hadno food for a long, long while.
She moved at last and stood upon her feet.
"I will not bear it," she said aloud.
Her voice strayed through the empty room. The face of the portraitstared out remorselessly at her with its cynical smile. All the worldhad become cynical and remorseless. Lady Dashwood moved to the door andwent into the corridor. She passed Gwen's room and went to MayDashwood's. There she knocked on the door. May's voice responded. Shehad already begun to dress.
"Aunt Lena!" she exclaimed softly, as Lady Dashwood closed the doorbehind her without a word and came forward to the fireplace, "what hashappened?"
Lady Dashwood held towards her a letter. "Read that," she said, and thenshe turned to the fire and leaned her elbow on the mantelpiece andclasped her hot brow in her hands. She did not look at the tall slightfigure with its aureole of auburn hair near her, and the serious sweetface reading the letter. What she was waiting for was--help--help in herdire need--help! She wanted May to say, "This can't be, must not be. _I_can help you"; and yet, as the silence grew, Lady Dashwood knew thatthere was no help coming--it was absurd to expect help.
May Dashwood stood quite still and read the letter through. She read ittwice, and yet said nothing.
"Well!" said Lady Dashwood, her voice muffled. As no reply came, sheglanced round. "You have read the letter?" she asked.
"Yes," said May, "I've read it," and she laid the letter on themantelpiece. There was a curious movement of her breathing--as ifsomething checked it; otherwise her face was calm and she showed noemotion.
"What's to be done?" demanded Lady Dashwood.
"Nothing can be done," said May, and she spoke breathlessly.
"Nothing!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood. "May!"
"Nothing, not if it is his wish," said May Dashwood, and she cleared herthroat and moved away.
"If he knew, it would not be his wish," said Lady Dashwood. "If he knewabout the other letter; if he knew what those women were like! Ofcourse," she went on, "men are such fools, that he might think he wasrescuing her from Belinda! But," she burst out suddenly, yet veryquietly, "can't he see that Gwen has no moral backbone? Can't he seethat she's a lump of jelly? No, he can't see anything;" then she turnedround again to the fire. "Society backs up fraud in marriage. Peoplewill palm off a girl who drinks or who shows signs of inherited insanitywith the shamelessness of horse-dealers. 'The man must look out forhimself,' they say. Very well," said Lady Dashwood, pulling herself upto her full height, "I am going to do--whatever can be done." But shedid not _feel_ brave.
May had walked to the dressing-table and was taking up brushes andputting them down again without using them. She took a stopper out of abottle, and then replaced it.
Lady Dashwood stood looking at her, looking at the bent head silently.Then she said suddenly: "This letter was posted when?" She suddenlybecame aware that the envelope was missing. She had thrown it into thefire in the drawing-room or dropped it. It didn't matter--it was writtenlast night. "Gwen must have posted her news at the latest yesterdaymorning by the first post. Then when could it have happened? He neversaw her for a moment between dinner on Monday, when you arrived, andwhen she must have posted her letter." Lady Dashwood stared at herniece. "It must have happened before you arrived."
"No," said May. "He must have _written_--you see;" and she turned roundand looked straight at Lady Dashwood for the first time since she readthat letter.
"Written that same night, Monday, after Mr. Boreham left?"
May moved her lips a moment and turned away again.
"I don't believe it," said Lady Dashwood.
"If it is his wish--if he is in love," said May slowly, "you can donothing!"
"He is not in love with her," said Lady Dashwood, with a short bitterlaugh. "If she speaks to me about it before his return, I--well, I shallknow what to say. But she won't speak; she knows I read the firstsentences of her mother's letter, and bein
g the daughter of hermother--that is, having no understanding of 'honour'--she will take forgranted that I read more--that I read that letter through."
May remained silent. Just then the dressing gong sounded, and LadyDashwood went to the door.
"May, I am going to dress," she said. "I shall fight this affair; for ifit hadn't been for me, Jim would still be a free man."
May looked at her again fixedly.
"What shall you say to Lady Belinda?" she asked.
"I shall say nothing to Belinda--just now," said Lady Dashwood. "Theletter may be--a lie!"
"Suppose she comes on Saturday?" said May.
Lady Dashwood's eyes flickered. "She can't come on Saturday," she saidslowly. "There is no room for her, while you are here; the otherbedrooms are not furnished. You"--here Lady Dashwood's voice becamestrangely cool and commanding--"you stay here, May, till Monday! I mustgo and dress."
May did not reply. Lady Dashwood paused to listen to her silence--asilence which was assent, and then she left the room as rapidly andquietly as she had entered.
Outside, the familiar staircase looked strange and unsympathetic, liketerritory lost to an enemy and possessed by that enemy--ruined anddistorted to some disastrous end. Some disastrous end! The word "end"made Lady Dashwood stop and to think about it. Would this engagementthat threatened to end in marriage, affect her brother's career inOxford?
It might! He might find it impossible to be an efficient Warden, ifGwendolen was his wife! There was no telling what she might not do tomake his position untenable.
Lady Dashwood went up the short stair that led to the other bedrooms.She passed Gwendolen's door. What was the girl inside that room thinkingof? Was she triumphant?
Had Lady Dashwood been able to see within that room, she would havefound Gwendolen moving about restlessly. She had thrown her hat andoutdoor things on the bed and was vaguely preparing to dress for dinner.Mrs. Potten had not said one word about asking her to come onMonday--not one word; but it didn't matter--no, not one little bit!Nothing mattered now!
A letter lay on her dressing-table. From time to time Gwendolen came upto the dressing-table and glanced at the letter and then glanced at herown face in the mirror.
The letter was as follows:--
"My Darling little girl,
"What you tell me puts me in a huge whirl of surprise and excitement. I suppose I am a very vain mother when I say that I am not one little bit astonished that Dr. Middleton proposes to marry you. But you must not imagine for a moment that I think you were foolish in listening to his offer. For many reasons, a very young pretty girl is safer under the protection and care of a man a good deal older than herself. Dr. Middleton in his prominent position in Oxford would not promise to share his life and his home with you unless he really meant to make you very, very happy, darling. May your future life as mistress of the Lodgings be a veritable day-dream. Tell him how much I long to come; but I can't till Saturday as I have promised to help Bee with a concert on Friday; it is an engagement of honour, and you know one must play up trumps. I rush this off to the post. My love, darling,
"Your own
"Mother."
Gwen had found a slip of paper folded in the letter, on which waswritten in pencil, "Of course you are engaged. Dr. Middleton is pledgedto you. Tear up this slip of paper as soon as you have read it, and givemy letter to you to the Warden to read. This is all-important. Let meknow when you have given it to him."
Gwen had read and had burned the slip of paper, and had even poked theashes well into the red of the fire.
When that was done, she had walked about the room excitedly.
How was it possible to dress quietly when the world had suddenly becomeso dreadfully thrilling? So, after all her doubt and despair, after allher worry, she was engaged. It was all right! All she had to do was togive her mother's letter to the Warden and the matter was concluded. Shewas going to be Mrs. Middleton, and mistress of the Lodgings. Howthrilling! How splendid it was of her mother to make it so plain andeasy! And yet, how was she to put the letter into the Warden's hands?What was she to say when she handed the letter to him?
When Louise appeared to attend to Gwen's dress, she found that younglady fastening up her black tresses with hands that showed suppressedexcitement, and her eyes and cheeks were glowing.
She turned and glanced at Louise. "I'm late, as usual, I suppose," shesaid and laughed.
"Mademoiselle has the appearance of being _tres gaie ce soir_," saidLouise.
"Oh, not particularly," said Gwen; "only my hair won't go right; it's abeast, and refuses," and she laughed again.
When she was Mrs. Middleton she would have a maid of her own, not aFrench maid. They were a nuisance, and looked shabby. Yes, she daredthink of being engaged and of being married. It wasn't a dream: it wasall real. She would buy a dog, a small little thing, and she would tieits front hair with a big orange bow and carry it about in her armseverywhere. It would be lovely to be dressed in a filmy tea-gown withthe dog in her arms, and she would rise to meet callers and say, "I'm sosorry--the Warden isn't at home; but you know how busy he is," etc.,etc., and the men who called would pull the dog's ears and say "Luckybeggar!" and she would scold them for hurting her darling, darling pet,and she would sit in the best place in the Chapel, wearing the mostcunning hats, and she would appear not to see that she was beingadmired.
In this land of fairy dreams the Warden hovered near as a vague shadowypresence: he was there, but only as a name is over a shop window,something that marks its identity but has little to do with the delightsto be bought within.
And why shouldn't she imagine all this? There was the letter to be givento the Warden--that must be done first. She must think that over.Louise's presence suggested a plan. Suppose the Warden came home so latethat she didn't see him? She would write a tiny note and put hermother's letter within it, and send it down to the library by Louise.That would be far easier than speaking to him. So much easier did itseem to Gwen, that she determined to go to bed very early, so that sheshould escape meeting the Warden.
And what should she write in her little note?
How exciting the world was; how funny it was going down into thedrawing-room and meeting Lady Dashwood and Mrs. Dashwood, both lookingso innocent, knowing nothing of the great secret! How funny it was goingdown to the great solemn dining-room, entered by its double doors--herdining-room--and sitting at table, thinking all the time that the wholehouse really belonged to her, and that she would in future sit in LadyDashwood's chair! How deliciously exciting, indeed! All the plate andglass on the table was really hers. Old Robinson and young Robinson werereally her servants. What a shock for Lady Dashwood when she found out!Gwen's eyes were luminous as she looked round the table. How envioussome people would be of her! Mrs. Dashwood would not be pleased! For allher clever talk, Mrs. Dashwood had not done much. What a bustle therewould be when the secret was discovered, when the Warden announced: "Iam engaged to Miss Scott, Miss Gwendolen Scott!" How young, how awfullyyoung to be a Warden's wife! What an excitement!
During dinner, Lady Dashwood told Robinson to keep up a good fire in thelibrary, as the Warden would probably arrive at about a quarter toeleven.
That decided Gwen. She would go to bed at ten, and that would give hertime to write her little note and get it taken to the library before theWarden arrived home. He would find it there, awaiting him.
Dinner passed swiftly, though the two ladies were rather dull andsilent. Gwen had so much to think of that she ate almost without knowingthat she was eating. When they went upstairs to the drawing-room, thetime went much more slowly, for there was nothing to do. Lady Dashwoodand Mrs. Dashwood both took up books, and seemed to sink back into thevery depths of their chairs, and disappear. It was very dismal. PerhapsLady Dashwood hadn't read _that_ letter all through. Anyhow she had notbeen able to interfere. T
hat was clear!
Gwen went and fetched the book on Oxford, and read half a page of it,and when she had mastered that, she discovered that she had read itbefore. So she was no farther on for all her industry. How slowly thehands of the clock on the mantelpiece moved; how interminable the timewas! Everybody was so silent that the clock could be heard ticking. ThatLady Dashwood hadn't been able to interfere and make mischief with theWarden, showed how little power she had after all.
At last the clock struck ten, and Gwen got up from her chair.
"Ten," said Mrs. Dashwood, and she raised her face from her book.
"Ten," said Lady Dashwood.
"Yes, ten," said Gwendolen. "I think I'll go to bed, Lady Dashwood, ifyou don't mind."
"Do, my dear," said Lady Dashwood.
The girl stood up before her, slim and straight as an arrow. Both womensat and looked at her, and she glanced at both of them in silence. Hervery beauty stung Lady Dashwood and made her eyes harden as she lookedat the girl. What were May Dashwood's thoughts as she, too, leaning backin her large chair, looked at the dark hair and the flushed cheeks, thewhite brow and neck, the radiant pearly prettiness of eighteen!
Gwen was conscious that they were examining her; that they knew she waspretty--they could not deny her prettiness. She felt a glow of pride inher youth and in her power--her power over a man who commanded othermen. And this drawing-room was hers. She glanced at the portrait overthe fireplace.
"Mr. Thing-um-bob," she said dimpling, "is looking very sly thisevening."
May Dashwood took up her book again and turned over a few pages, as ifshe had lost her place. Lady Dashwood did not smile or speak. Gwen madea movement nearer to Lady Dashwood.
"Good night," she said. She seemed to have a sudden intention of bendingdown, perhaps to kiss Lady Dashwood. Vague thoughts possessed the girlthat this rather incomprehensible and imposing elderly woman, who woresuch nice rings, was going to be a relation of hers. Would she be hersister-in-law? How funny to have anybody so old for a sister-in-law! Itwas a good thing she had, after all, so little influence over Dr.Middleton.
"Good night, Gwen," said Lady Dashwood, without appearing to notice thegirl's movement towards her. "Sleep well, child," she added and sheturned her head towards May Dashwood.
Gwen hesitated a brief moment, and then walked away. "I always sleepwell," she said, with a laugh. "I once thought it would be so nice towake up in the night, because one would know how comfy one was. But Idid wake once--for about a quarter of an hour--and I soon got tired andhated it!"
At the door she turned and said, "Good night, Mrs. Dashwood. I quiteforgot--how rude of me!"
"Good night," said May.
The door closed.
Lady Dashwood stared deeply at her book, and then raised her eyessuddenly to her niece.
May had risen from her chair. "Do you mind, dear Aunt Lena, if I go offtoo?" She came close to Lady Dashwood and laid a caressing hand on hershoulder.
Lady Dashwood looked up into her face, and May was startled at theexpression of suffering in the eyes.
"Go, dear, if you want to! I shall stay up--till he comes in. Yes, go,May!"
"You won't feel lonely?" said May, and she sighed without knowing thatshe did so.
"No," said Lady Dashwood.
May bent down and kissed her aunt's brow. It was burning hot. Shecaressed her cheek with her hand, then kissed her again and went out. AsMay met the cooler air of the staircase, she murmured to herself, "I'm acoward to leave her alone--alone when she is so wretched. Oh, what acoward I am!"
She shivered as she went up the stairs, and as soon as she was in herown room she put up the lights, and then she locked the door, and havingdone this she took off her dress and put on her dressing-gown. She satdown by the fire. How was she to stay on here till Monday: how was sheto endure it? It would be intolerable! May groaned aloud. What right hadshe to call it intolerable? What had happened to her? What wasdemoralising her, turning her strength into weakness? What was it thathad entered into her soul and was poisoning its health and destroyingits purpose?
A few days ago and she had been steadily pursuing her work. She had beenstifling her sorrow, and filling the vacancy of her life with voluntarylabour. Having no child of her own, she had been filling her empty armswith the children of other women. She had fed and nursed and lovedbabies that would never call her "Mother." She had had no time to thinkof herself--no time for regrets--for self-pity. And now, suddenly, herheart that had been quieted and comforted, her heart that had seemedquieted and comforted, her heart dismissed all this tender and sacredwork and cried for something else--cried and would not be appeased. Shefelt as if all that she had believed fixed and certain in herself and inher life, was shaken and might topple over, and in the disaster hersoul might be destroyed. She was appalled at herself.
No, no; she must wrestle with this sin, with this devil of self; shemust fight it!
She got up from her chair and went to the dressing-table. There she tookup with a trembling hand a little ivory case, and going back to her seatshe opened it reverently and looked at the face of her boy husband.There he was in all the bloom of his twenty and six years. It was ayoung pleasant face. And he had been such a comrade of her childhood andgirlhood. But strangely enough he had never seen the gulf wideningbetween them as she grew into a woman older than her years and he into aman, young for his years; boyish in his view of life, mentally immature.He was quite unconscious that he never met the deeper wants of hernature; those depths meant nothing to him. There had been a tacitunderstanding between them from their childhood that they should marry;an understanding encouraged by their parents. When at last May found outher mistake; that this bondage was irksome and her heart unsatisfied, hehad suddenly thrown the responsibility of his happiness, of his verylife, upon her shoulders, not by threats of vengeance on himself, but byfalling from his usual buoyant cheerfulness into a state ofuncomplaining despondency.
May had had more than her share of men's admiration. Her piquancy andready sympathy more even than her good looks attracted them. But she hadgone on her way heart whole, and meanwhile she could not endure to seeher old comrade unhappy.
They became formally engaged and he returned to his old carelesscheerfulness. He was no longer a pathetic object, and she was a littledisappointed and yet ashamed of her disappointment. Why should she havevague "wants" in her nature--these luxuries of the pampered soul? Theface she now gazed upon, figured in the little ivory frame, was of aman, not over-wise, a man who was occupied with the enjoyment of life,yet without sinister motives. During those brief six months of marriedlife, he had leant upon her, delighted and yet amused at her sternervirtues; and yet this man, not strong, not wise, when the call of dutycame, when that ancient call to manhood, the call to rise up and meetthe enemy, when that call came, he went out not shrinking, but with allhonourable eagerness and fearlessness to offer his life. And his lifewas taken.
So that he whom in life she had never looked to for moral help, hadbecome to her--in death--something sacred and unapproachable. In herfirst fresh grief she had asked herself bitterly what she--in her youngwomanhood--had ever offered to humanity? Nothing at all comparable tohis sacrifice! Had she ever offered anything at all? Had she not, fromgirlhood, taken all the joys that life put in her way, and taken themfor granted?
She had been aware of an underworld of misery, suffering and vice, hadseen glimpses of it, heard its sounds breaking in upon her serenity. Shehad, like the travelling Levite, observed, noted, and had gone about herown business. So with passionate self-reproach she had thrown herselfinto work among the neglected children of the poor, and had tried tostill the clamour of her conscience and fill the emptiness of her heart.
And until now, that life had absorbed her and satisfied her--until now!
"I am not worthy to look upon your face," she murmured, and she closedthe ivory case, letting it fall upon her lap. She hid her face in herhands. Oh, why had she during those six months of marriage patron
isedhim in her thoughts? Why had she told him he was "irresponsible,"jestingly calling him "her son," and now after his death, was she toadd a further injustice and become unfaithful to his memory--the memoryof her boy, who would never return?
Sharp, burning tears oozed up painfully between her eyelids. She triedto pray, and into her whole being came a profound silent sense ofself-abasement, absorbing her as if it were a prayer.