CHAPTER XXV
CONFESSIONS
What stung Gwendolen, what made her smart almost beyond endurance, wasthat she had exchanged the Warden for an umbrella. The transaction hadbeen simple, and sudden, and inevitable. The Warden was in London, afree man, and there was the umbrella in the corner of the room, hers. Itwas looking at her, and she had not paid for it. The bill would be sentto the Lodgings, the bill for the umbrella and the gloves. The billwould be re-directed and would reach her--bills always did reach one,however frequently one changed one's address. Private letters sometimesgot misdirected and mislaid, but never bills. Friends sometimes say, "Wecouldn't write because we didn't know your address." Tradespeople neversay this, they don't omit to send their bills merely because they don'tknow your address. If they don't know your address, they search for it!
The pure imbecility of her behaviour at Christ Church about thatten-shilling note was now apparent to Gwendolen. She could not think,now, how she could have done anything so inconceivably silly, and souseless as to put herself in the power of Mrs. Potten. She would never,never in all her life, do such a thing again. Another time, when hard upand needing something necessary, she would borrow, or she would gostraight to the shop and order "the umbrella" (as after all, she haddone), and she would take the sporting chance of being able to pay thebill some time. But never would she again touch notes or coins thatbelonged to people she knew, and especially those belonging to Mrs.Potten! Oh, what a wickedly cruel punishment she had to bear, merelybecause she had had a sort of joke about ten shillings belonging to Mrs.Potten.
One thing she would never forgive as long as she lived, and that wasMrs. Potten's meanness. She would never forget the way in which Mrs.Potten took advantage of her by getting her into Potten End alone, withnobody to protect her.
First of all Mrs. Potten had pretended to be merely sorry. Then shespoke about Mr. Harding and Mr. Bingham being witnesses and made thewhole thing appear as a sort of crime, and then she ended up withsaying: "The Warden must not be kept in ignorance of all this! That isout of the question. He has a right to know." That came as an awfulshock to Gwendolen, and made her burst into tears.
"Are you afraid, child, he will break off the engagement?" was all thatMrs. Potten said, and then the horrid old woman asked all sorts ofhorrid questions, and wormed out all kinds of things: that the Wardenhad not actually said he was in love, that he had scarcely spoken to herfor three days, and that he had not said "good-bye" that morning when heleft for London. How Mrs. Potten had managed to sneak it out of herGwendolen did not know, but Mrs. Potten gave her no time to think ofwhat she was saying, and being so much upset and so much afraid of Mrs.Potten lots of things came out. And yet all the time she knew thingswere going wrong because of the wicked look on Mrs. Potten's face.
However, Gwendolen had all through stuck to it (and it was the truth)that she had never intended to do more than "sort of joke" with thenote, and this Mrs. Potten simply wouldn't understand. And when she,Gwendolen, promised, on her honour, to make it "all right," by wiring toher mother to send her a postal order for ten shillings by return, Mrs.Potten sprang like a tiger on her: "Why wire for it? Why not return itnow?" Oh, the whole thing was awful!
After this Mrs. Potten's voice had changed to ice, and she put on aperfectly beastly tone.
"Gwendolen, you shock me beyond words, and oblige me to take a verydecided step in the matter."
Then she stopped, and Gwendolen could recall that horrible moment ofsuspense. Then came words that made Gwendolen shudder to think of.
"I have a very great respect for the position of a Warden--it is aposition of trust; and I have also personally a very great respect forthe Warden of King's. I give you an alternative. Break off yourengagement with him at once, quietly, or I shall make this little affairof the note known in Oxford, so that the Warden will have to break theengagement off. Which alternative do you choose?"
The very words repeated themselves over and over in Gwendolen's memory,and she flung herself on her bed and gave way to a passion of tears. No,she would never forgive Mrs. Potten.
When the bell sounded for dinner, Gwendolen struggled off the bed andwent to look at herself in the glass. She couldn't possibly godownstairs looking like that, even if she were dressed. Yet pangs ofhunger seized Gwendolen. She had eaten one wretched little slice ofbread and butter at Potten End, moistening it with her tears, and nowshe wanted food. Several minutes passed.
"They won't care even if I'm dead," moaned Gwendolen, and she listened.
A knock came at her door, and Louise entered.
"If mademoiselle has a headache would she like to have some dinnerbrought up to her?"
"Yes, thanks," said Gwendolen, and she kept her face away from thedirection of the door so that Louise could not see it.
"What would mademoiselle like? Some soup?"
Oh, how wretched it all was! And when all might have been so different!And soup--only soup!
"I don't care," said Gwendolen, "some sort of dinner--any dinner."
"Ah, dinner!" said Louise.
When she had gone, Gwendolen tied two handkerchiefs together andfastened them round her forehead to look as if she had aheadache--indeed, she had a headache--and a heartache too!
Presently dinner was brought up, and Gwendolen ate it in loneliness andsadness. She did not leave anything. She had thought of leaving some ofthe meat, but decided against it. After she had finished, and it hadbeen cleared away, she had sat looking at the fire for a few minuteswith eyes that were sore from weeping. Then she got up and began toundress. Life was a miserable thing! She got into bed and laid her hothead down on the cool pillow and tried not to think. But she listened toevery sound that passed her door. It was horrible to be alone andforgotten. She had asked to be left alone, but she had not meant to bealone so long. Then there suddenly sprang into her mind the recollectionof the strange form she thought she had seen in the library. She reallyhad thought she had seen him. Were such things true?
What about the disaster? Perhaps it was _her_ disaster he had come towarn _her_ about and that was why _she_ saw him. Perhaps God sent him!This thought thrilled her whole being, and she lay very still. PerhapsGod had meant to tell _her_ that she must be careful, and she had notbeen careful. But then how could she have guessed?
Gwendolen had been confirmed only two years ago. She remembered that thepreparation for confirmation had been a bore, and yet had given her apleasant sensation of self-approbation, because she was serving God in amanner peculiarly agreeable to Him by being in the right Church,especially now in these times of unbelief and neglect of religion. Shehad a pleasant feeling that there were a great many people disobeyingHim; and that heaps of priggish people who fussed about livinggoody-goody lives, were not really approved of by Him, because theydidn't go to church or only went to wrong churches.
Then she recalled the afternoon when she was confirmed. She was atschool and there were other girls with her, and the old bishop preachedto them, and went on and on and on so long, and was so dull thatGwendolen ceased to listen. But she had gone through it all, and hadfelt very happy to have it over. She felt safe in God's keeping. But nowshe was alone and miserable, and felt strangely unprotected by God, asif God didn't care!
Was that strange form she had seen in the library sent not by God but bythe devil to frighten her? If the Warden had been in the house she wouldhave felt less frightened, only now--now she was so horribly alone. Evenif he had been in the house, though she couldn't speak to him, she wouldhave been less frightened.
Gwendolen listened for footsteps in the corridor--would any one come toher? Why had she spoken to Lady Dashwood as if she didn't want to bedisturbed? Suppose nobody came? And what about the devil? Should shering?
At last, unable to bear herself and her thoughts any longer she rosefrom her bed and put on her dressing-gown. She opened her door andpeeped out into the corridor. There was just a glimpse of light, andshe could see pretty clearly from end to end. She could hear
whatsounded like a person near the head of the staircase. Gwendolen dartedforwards towards the curtained end of the corridor. But when she reachedthe curtain she saw old Robinson going down the staircase.
Gwendolen went back a few steps along the corridor and returned to herroom. She pushed the door open. It was too silent and too empty, itfrightened her. Should she ring the bell? If she rang the bell whatwould she say? The dinner had been cleared away. What should she ask forif she rang?
With a groan of despair she went outside again and again listened.Somebody was approaching the corridor. Somebody was coming into thecorridor. She stood where she was. It was Mrs. Dashwood who was coming.She had mounted the steps, and here she was walking towards her.Gwendolen stood still and waited.
May saw the figure of the girl, clutching her dressing-gown round her,and staring with large distended eyes like a hunted animal.
"What is it?" asked May. "Do you feel ill, Gwen?"
"Oh!" said the girl, with a shiver, "I'm so glad you've come! I can't gointo my bedroom alone. Oh, I am so wretched!"
"I'll take you into your bedroom," said May, and she led Gwen in andclosed the door behind them.
"You were in bed," she said. "Get in again and I will straighten youup." She helped Gwendolen to take off her dressing-gown.
"You can't stay with me a little?" demanded Gwen, and her lips trembled."I've such a headache."
The handkerchiefs were still bound round her head, and were making herhot and uncomfortable.
"Poor Gwen!" said May. "Yes, I'll stay a little. I dare say someEau-de-Cologne would help your headache to go."
"I haven't got any. I've only got scent," said Gwen, as she stepped intobed.
"I have some," said May. "I'll go and fetch it. I'll be back in amoment."
Gwendolen sat up in bed, drawing the clothes up to her neck, waiting.The moment she was alone in the room, the room seemed so dismal, and thesolitude alarming. There was always the devil----
"Sitting up?" said May, when she came back with the Eau-de-Cologne inher hand.
Gwendolen sank down in the bed. How comforting it was to have Mrs.Dashwood waiting on her and talking about her and being sympathetic. Shehad always loved Mrs. Dashwood. She was so sweet. Now, if only, only shehad not made that horrible blunder, she would have had the wholehousehold waiting on her, talking about her and being sympathetic! Oh!
May brought a chair to the bed, and began to smooth the dark hair awayfrom Gwen's face.
"I think you would be cooler with those handkerchiefs off," she said. "Ican't get to your forehead very well with the Eau-de-Cologne."
Gwen signified her consent with a deep sigh, and May slipped the bandageoff and put it away on the dressing-table.
Then she dabbed some of the Eau-de-Cologne softly on to the girl'sforehead.
"I suppose you _know_," whispered Gwen, as the scent of the perfume cameinto her nostrils.
"Yes," said May.
"I hope the servants don't know," groaned Gwen.
"I don't think any one knows, but just ourselves," said May, in asoothing voice; "and no one but ourselves need know about it."
"Oh, it's horrible!" groaned Gwen again. "I can't bear it!"
"It is hard to bear," said May, as she smoothed the girl's brow.
After a little silence Gwendolen suddenly said--
"You don't believe in that ghost?"
"The ghost?" said May, a little surprised at this sudden deviation fromthe cause of Gwendolen's grief.
"You thought it was silly?" said Gwen, tentatively.
"Not silly, but fanciful," said May.
Gwendolen moved her head. "I think I was; but I still see him, and Idon't want to. I have begun to think about him, now, this evening. I hadforgotten before----"
"You must make up your mind not to think of it. It isn't a real person,Gwen."
Gwendolen still kept her head slightly round towards May Dashwood,though she had her eyes closed so as not to interfere with the movementsof May's hand on her brow.
"Do you think the devil does things?" she asked in an awed voice.
May hesitated for a moment and then said: "We do things, and some of uscall it the devil doing things."
"Then you don't believe in the devil?" asked Gwendolen, opening hereyes.
"I don't think so, Gwen," said May. "But God I am sure of."
Gwendolen lay still for a little while. She was thinking now of hertroubles.
"You don't do any wrong things?" asked Gwendolen, tentatively.
"We all do wrong things," said May.
"I mean wrong things that people make a fuss about," said Gwendolen,thinking of Mrs. Potten, and the drawing-room at Potten End.
"Some things are more wrong than others," said May. "It depends uponwhether they do much harm or not."
Gwendolen pondered. This was a new proof of Mrs. Potten's meanness. Whatshe, Gwen, had done had harmed nobody practically.
"I'm miserable!" she burst out.
"Poor Gwen!" murmured May.
Gwendolen lay still. Her heart was full. When she had once left theLodgings, and was at Mrs. Potten's she would be among enemies. Now,here, at least she had one friend--some one who was not mean and didn'tscold. She must speak to this one kind friend--she would tell hertroubles. She must have some one to confide in.
"I didn't want to break off the engagement," she said at last, unable tokeep her thoughts much longer to herself.
"You didn't want to!" said May gently. It was scarcely a question, butit drew Gwendolen to an explanation of her words.
"Mrs. Potten made me," she said.
"No one could make you," said May, quietly. "Could they?"
"She did," said Gwen, with a burst of tears. "I wanted to make it allright, and she wouldn't let me. If only I could have seen the Warden, hewould have taken my side, perhaps," and here Gwen's voice became lessemphatic. "But Mrs. Potten simply made me. She was determined. She hatesme. I can't bear her."
"Had you done absolutely nothing to make her so determined?" asked Maywondering.
"Nothing--except a little joke----" began Gwen. "It was merely a sort ofa joke."
"A joke!" said May, and her voice was very low and strange.
The umbrella standing in the corner of the room in the shadow seemed tomake faces at Gwen. Why hadn't she put the horrid thing in the wardrobe?
"It was only meant as a sort of joke," she repeated, and then theoverwhelming flood of bitter memory coming upon her, she yielded to herinstinct and poured out to May, bit by bit, a broken garbled history ofthe whole affair--a story such as Belinda and Co. would tell--a storymade, unconsciously, all the more sordid and pitiful because it wasobviously not the whole truth.
And this was a story told by one who might have been the Warden's wife!May went on soothing the girl's hair and brow with her hand.
"And Mrs. Potten wouldn't let me make it all right. She refused to letme, though I begged her to, and gave her my word of honour," wept Gwen,indignantly. Then she suddenly said, "Oh, the fire's going out andperhaps you're cold!" for she was fearful lest her visitor would leaveher. "When my dinner was taken away too much coal was put on my fire,and I was too miserable to make a fuss."
"I'm not cold," said May. "But I will stir up the fire." She rose fromher chair and went to the fire, and poked it up into a blaze.
"I'm afraid, Gwen, that you couldn't make it all right with Mrs. Potten,except by----"
"By what?" asked Gwen, becoming suddenly excited. "If only Dr. Middletonhad not been away, I might have borrowed from him. Do you mean that?"
"No," said May, with a profound sigh, as she came back to the bedside."It was a question of honour, don't you see? You couldn't have made itright, except by being horrified at what you had done and feeling thatyou could never, never make it right! Do you understand what I mean?"
Gwen was trying to understand.
"That would have made Mrs. Potten worse," she said hoarsely.
"No," said May, with a quiet emphasis on the
word. "If you had reallybeen terribly unhappy about your honour, Mrs. Potten would havesympathised! Don't you see what I mean?"
"But how could I be so terribly unhappy about such a mere accident?"protested Gwen, tearfully. "I might have returned the money. I verynearly did twice, only somehow I didn't. It just seemed to happen likethat, and it was such a little affair."
May sat down again and put her cool hand on the girl's brow. It was nouse talking about honour to the child. To Belinda and Co. honour was,what was expected of you by people who were in the swim, and if Mrs.Potten had made no discovery, or had forgiven it when it was made,Gwendolen's "honour" would have remained bright and untarnished. Thatwas Gwendolen's sense of the moral situation! Her vision went nofurther. Still May's silence was disturbing. Gwendolen felt that she hadnot been understood, and that she was being reproved by that silence,though the reproof was gentle, very different from the kind of reproofthat would probably be administered by her mother. On the other hand,the reproof was not merited.
"Would you," said Gwendolen, with a gulp in her throat, "would you spoilsomebody's whole life because they took some trifle that nobody reallymissed or wanted, intending to give it back, only didn't somehow get theopportunity? Would you?"
"Your whole life isn't spoiled," said May. "If you take what hashappened very seriously you may make your life more honourable in thefuture than it has been. Don't you see that if what you had done had notbeen discovered you might have gone on doing these things all yourlife. That would have spoiled your life!"
"But my engagement!" moaned Gwen. "I shall have to go to that horridStow, unless mother has got an invitation for me, and mother will be soupset. She'll be so angry!"
What could May say to give the girl any real understanding of her ownresponsibilities? Was she to drift about like a leaf in the wind,without principles, with no firm basis upon which she could stand andtake her part in the struggle of human life?
What was to be done?
May did her best to put her thoughts into the plainest, simplest words.She had to begin at the beginning, and speak as to a child. As she wenton May discovered that one thing, and one thing only, really impressedGwen, and that was the idea of courage. Coward as she was, she did graspthat courage was of real value. Gwen had a faint gleam of the meaning ofhonour, when it was a question of courage, and upon this one string Mayplayed, for it gave a clear note, striking into the silence of the poorgirl's moral nature.
She got the girl to promise that she would try and take the misfortuneof her youth with courage and meet the future bravely. She even inducedGwendolen then and there to pray for more courage, moral and physical,and she did not leave her till she had added also a prayer for help inthe future when difficulties and temptations were in her path. They werevague words, "difficulties and temptations," and May knew that, but itis not possible in half an hour to straighten the muddle of many yearsof Belinda and Co.
"Have courage," she said at last, "I must go, Gwen. Good-night," and Maystooped down to kiss the dark head on the pillow. "God protect you; Godhelp you!"
"Good-night," sighed Gwen; "I'll try and go to sleep. But couldyou--could you put that umbrella into the wardrobe and poke up the fireagain to make a little light?"
And May put the umbrella away in the wardrobe and poked up the fire.