CHAPTER XXX
THE END OF BELINDA AND CO.
Lady Dashwood professed to be very much better the next morning when Maylooked in to see how she had slept.
"I'm a new woman," she said to May; "I slept till seven, and then, mydear, I began to think, and what do you think my thoughts were?"
May shook her head. "You thought it was Sunday morning."
"Quite true," said Lady Dashwood; "I heard the extra bells going onround us. No, what I was thinking of was, what on earth Marian Pottendid with Gwendolen yesterday afternoon. I'm quite sure she will havemade her useful. I can picture Marian making her guest put on a bigapron and some old Potten gloves and taking her out into the garden togather beans. I can picture them gathering beans till tea-time. Marianis sure to be storing beans, and she wouldn't let the one aged gardenershe has got left waste his time on gathering beans. I can see Marianraking the pods into a heap and setting fire to the heap. I imaginedthat after tea Gwendolen played the 'Reverie' by Slapovski. Afterdinner: 'Patience.'"
May pondered.
"And now. May," said Lady Dashwood, looking tired in spite of her theorythat she had become a new woman, "it's a lovely day; even Louise allowsthat the sun is shining, and I can't have you staying indoors on myaccount. I won't allow you in my bedroom to-day. I shall be very busy."
"No!" said May, reproachfully. "I shall not allow business."
"I'm just going to write a letter to my dear old John, whom I've treatedshamefully for a week, only sending him a scrawl on half a page. Now, Iwant you to go to church, or else for a walk. I can tell you what thedoctor says when you come back."
May said neither "Yes" nor "No." She laughed a little and went out ofthe room.
In the breakfast-room the Warden was already there. They greeted eachother and sat down together, and talked strict commonplaces till themeal was over. He did not ask May what she was going to do, neither didshe ask him any questions. They both were following a line of actionthat they thought was the right one. Neither intended meeting the otherunless circumstances compelled the meeting; circumstances likebreakfast, lunch and dinner. It was clear to both of them that, excepton these occasions, they had no business with each other. The Warden wasclear about it because he was a man still ashamed.
May was clear that she had no business to see the Warden except whennecessity occasioned it, because each moment made her more unfaithful tothe memory of the dead, to the memory of the dead man who could nolonger claim her, who had given away his all at the call of duty and whohad no power to hold her now. So she, too, being honourably proud, feltashamed in the presence of the Warden.
All that morning was wasted. The doctor did not come, and May spent thetime waiting for him. Lady Dashwood sat up in bed and wrote anapparently interminable letter to her husband. Whenever May appeared shesaid: "Go away, May!" and then she looked long and wistfully at herniece.
Two or three men came to lunch and went into the library afterwards withthe Warden, and May went to her Aunt Lena's room.
"The doctor won't come now till after three, May, so you must go out, oryou will really grieve me," said Lady Dashwood. "Jim will take you out.He came in just after you left me before lunch, and I told him you wouldgo out."
"You are supposed to be resting," said May, "and I can't have you makingarrangements, dear Aunt Lena. I shall do exactly what I please, andshall not even tell you what I please to do. I do believe," she added,as she shook up the pillows, "that in the next world, dear, you willwant to make plans for God, and that will get you into serious trouble."
Lady Dashwood sighed deeply. "Oh dear, oh dear," she said, "I suppose Imust go on pretending I'm ill."
May shook her head at her and pulled down the blinds, and left her inthe darkness suitable for repose.
The Warden had not mentioned a walk. Perhaps he hadn't found anopportunity with those men present! Should she go for a walk alone? Shefound herself dressing, putting on her things with a feverish haste.Then she took off her coat and sat down, and took her hat off and heldit on her knees.
She thought she heard the sound of a voice in the corridor outside, andshe put on her hat with trembling fingers and caught up the coat andscarf and her gloves.
She went out into the corridor and found it empty and still. She went tothe head of the stairs. There was no sound coming from the library. Buteven if the Warden were still there with the other men, she might nothear any sounds of their talk. They might be there or they might not. Itwas impossible to tell.
Perhaps he had gone to look for her in the drawing-room and, finding noone there, had gone out.
The drawing-room door was open. She glanced in. The room was empty, ofcourse, and the afternoon sunshine was coming in through the windows,falling across the floor towards the fireplace. It would soon creep upto the portrait over the fireplace.
May waited several minutes, walking about the room and listening, andthen she went out and closed the door behind her. She went down thestaircase into the hall, opened the front door very slowly and went out.
An indescribable loneliness seized her as she walked over the gravelledcourt to the gates. The afternoon sunshine was less friendly than rainand bitter wind. She took the road to the parks, meeting the signs ofthe war that had obliterated the old Sunday afternoons of Oxford in thedays of peace. Here was suffering, a deliberate preparation for moresuffering. Did all this world-suffering make her small personal griefany less? Yes, it did; it would help her to get over the dreary space oftime, the days, months, years till she was a grey-haired woman and wasresigned, having learned patience and even become thankful!
Once she thought she saw the figure of the Warden in the distance, andthen her heart beat suffocatingly, but it was not he. Once she thoughtshe saw Bingham walking with some other man. He rounded the walk by theriver and--no, it was not Mr. Bingham--the face was different. She beganasking herself questions that had begun to disturb her. Was the realtragedy of the Warden's engagement to him not the discovery thatGwendolen was silly and weak, but that she was not honourable? Had hesuspected something of the kind before he received that letter? Wasn'tit a suspicion of the kind that had made him speak as he did in thedrawing-room after they had returned from Christ Church? Might he nothave been contented with Gwendolen if she had been straight and true,however weak and foolish? Was he the sort of man who demands sympathyand understanding from friends, men and women, but something verydifferent from a wife? Was the Warden one of those men who prefer a wifeto be shallow because they shrink from any permanent demand being madeupon their moral nature or their intellect? Perhaps the Warden craved awife who was thoughtless, and, choosing Gwendolen, was disappointed inher, solely because he found she was not trustworthy. That suspicion wasa bitter one. Was it an unjust suspicion?
As May walked, the river beside her slipped along slowly under themelancholy willows. The surface of the water was laden with fallenleaves and the wreckage of an almost forgotten summer. It was strangelysad, this river!
May turned away and began walking back to the Lodgings. There was adeepening sunshine in the west, a glow was coming into the sky. Oh, thesadness of that glorious sunset!
May was glad to hide away from it in the narrow streets. She was glad toget back to the court and to enter the darkened house, and yet there wasno rest for her there. Soon, very soon, she would say good-bye to thiscalm secluded home and go out alone into the wilderness!
She walked straight to her room and took off her things, and then wentinto Lady Dashwood's room. Louise was arranging a little table for teabetween the bed and the windows.
"Well!" cried Lady Dashwood. "So you have had a good walk!"
"It was a lovely afternoon," said May. She looked out of the window andcould see the colour of the sunset reflected on the roof opposite.
Lady Dashwood watched Louise putting a cloth on the table, and remarkedthat "poor Jim" would be having tea all alone!
"I think the Warden is out," said May, as she stood at the window.
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"Oh!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood, but at that moment the doctor was usheredinto the room. He apologised for coming so late in the day, he had beenpressed with work. "I'm perfectly well," said Lady Dashwood; "I don'tneed a doctor, you are simply wasted on me. I can come down to dinner."
There was no doubt that she was better. The doctor admitted it andpraised her, but he refused to let her get up till the next day, andthen only for tea in the drawing-room; and, strange to say, LadyDashwood did not argue the point, merely remarking that she wasn't surewhether she could be trusted to remain in bed. She wouldn't promise thatshe could be trusted.
When the doctor left May slipped out with him, and they went along thecorridor together.
"How much better is she?" she asked. "Is she really on the road to beingquite well?"
"She's all right," said the doctor, as they went down the staircase,"but she mustn't be allowed to get as low as she was yesterday, or therewill be trouble."
"And," said May, "what about me?" and she explained to him that she wasonly in Oxford on a visit and had work in London that oughtn't to beleft.
"Has she got a good maid?" asked the doctor.
"An excitable Frenchwoman, but otherwise useful." They were at the frontdoor now.
"And you really ought to go to-morrow?"
"I ought," said May, and her heart seemed to be sinking low down--lowerand lower.
"Very well," said the doctor, "I suppose we must let you go, Mrs.Dashwood," and as he spoke he pulled the door wide open. "Here is theWarden!" he said.
There was the Warden coming in at the gate. May was standing so thatshe could not see into the court. She started at the doctor's remark.
"I'll speak to him," he said, and, bowing, he went down the steps,leaving the door open behind him. May turned away and walked upstairs.She wouldn't have to tell the Warden that she was going to-morrow; thedoctor would tell him, of course. Would he care?
She went back to the bedroom, and Lady Dashwood looked round eagerly ather, but did not ask her any questions.
"Now, dear, pour out the tea," she said. "The doctor was a greatinterruption. My dear May, I wish I wasn't such an egotist."
"You aren't," said May, sitting down and pouring out two cups of tea.
"I am," said Lady Dashwood.
"Why?" asked May.
"Well, you see," said Lady Dashwood, "I was terribly upset about Belindaand Co., because Belinda and Co. had pushed her foot in at my frontdoor, or rather at Jim's front door; but she's gone now, as far as I'mpersonally concerned. She's a thing of the past. But, and here it comes,Belindas are still rampant in the world, and there are male as well asfemale Belindas; and I bear it wonderfully. I shall quite enjoy a cup oftea. Thanks, darling."
"If anybody were to come and say to you," said May, looking deeply intoher cup, "'Will you join a Society for the painless extermination ofBelindas--Belindas of both classes--Belindas in expensive furs, andtattered Belindas,' wouldn't you become a member, or at least give aguinea?"
Lady Dashwood smiled a little. "Dear May, how satirical you are withyour poor old aunt!"
"I'm not satirical," said May.
"I'm afraid," groaned Lady Dashwood, "it's mainly because we thinkthings will be made straight in the next world that we don't do enoughhere. Now, I haven't that excuse, May, because you know I never havelooked forward to the next world. Somehow I can't!"
Something in her aunt's voice made May look round at her.
"Don't be sorrowful, dear," she said.
"Now that I've slanged Belinda," murmured Lady Dashwood, "I've begun tothink about my own short-comings."
"Nonsense, dear aunt," said May. "You are not accustomed to think aboutyourself; it must be a sign that you are not feeling well. I shall ringfor Louise." May spoke in a bantering voice, but her eyes did not smile.
"For mercy's sake, don't," said Lady Dashwood.
The glow had faded from the roof of the college opposite, and had becomegrey and cold when May got up and took the little tea tray from her AuntLena's bed.
"Now, I've got just a few lines more to add to my letter to my old dearone," said Lady Dashwood. "Suppose you go down and see what'shappening?"
"What's happening!" said May, but she did not ask a question, merely sherepeated her aunt's words.
"Yes, dear," said Lady Dashwood. "What's happening. All sorts of thingshappen, you know; things go on! Please ring, I want Louise to clearaway. Now, go down into the drawing-room and, if you see Jim, give himmy love."
May went into the empty drawing-room and sat there till it grew dark,doing nothing. Robinson came in to make up the fire and draw thecurtains. He apologised for his lateness, explaining that he did notthink any one was in the drawing-room.
"Will you have dinner with 'er ladyship?" he asked, "or in thedining-room, m'm? The Warden is dining in 'all."
May walked to a little table and took up one of the books that werelying there.
"Upstairs, please, Robinson," she answered.
She began looking through the book, turning over the pages, but theprint seemed unintelligible. She stood listening to Robinson's movementsin the room. Then the door opened and the Warden came in and startledher so much that she dropped the book upon the table.
He was in his gown, just come back from chapel. He came some way intothe room and stood at a little distance from her. She did not look athim, though she turned towards him in acknowledgment of his presence.
"Wasn't the sunset wonderful?" she said.
"It was a wonderful sunset!" he said.
Robinson was still busy in the room, and the Warden moved to thefireplace and stood looking as if he was undecided whether to stay or togo.
"I'm sorry I have to dine out this evening," said the Warden. "I have nochoice in the matter, unfortunately."
"Of course," said May. "Please don't think of me. I have Aunt Lena tolook after."
"You are very good to her," he said, and lingered for a moment.
Robinson was now going towards the door with his soft, light, thoughrather shambling movements.
The Warden moved towards the door too, and then stopped and said--
"There isn't anything I can do for you, any book I can lend you for thisevening?"
"No, thanks very much," said May. "I have all I want," and she took upthe book she had dropped with an air of wanting it very much, and wenttowards the chair she had been sitting in before Robinson disturbed her.
The Warden swung himself round. She could hear the sound of his robeagainst the lintel of the door as he went out and left her alone. Hemight have stayed a few minutes if he had wished! He didn't wish!
When she went to her Aunt Lena's bedroom, half an hour later, she foundthat he had been there, sitting with her and talking, and had gone fiveminutes ago. The Warden seemed to move like some one in a dream. He cameand went and never stayed.
During dinner Lady Dashwood said, not a propos of anything--
"Your poor Uncle John is beginning to get restive, and I suppose I shallhave to go back to him in a few days. Having done all the mischief thatI could, I suppose it is time I should leave Oxford. Louise will be gladand Jim will be sorry, I am afraid. I haven't broken to him yet that mytime is coming to an end. I really dread telling him. It was differentwhen he was a college tutor--he had only rooms then. Now he has a house.It's very dismal for him to be alone."
Here Lady Dashwood stopped abruptly and went on eating. About nineo'clock she professed to be ready "to be put to bed," and May, who hadbeen knitting by her side, got up and prepared to leave her for thenight.
As she kissed her she wondered why her Aunt Lena had never asked her howlong she was going to stay. Why hadn't she told her after seeing thedoctor, and got it over? The Warden knew and yet did not say a word, butthat was different!
Should she tell her aunt now? She hesitated. No, it might perhaps makeher wakeful. It would be better to give her nothing to think about.There would be time to-morrow. She would tell her before breakfast, onthe w
ay downstairs. It would be giving her long enough notice if she putoff her journey till the late afternoon. And there _was_ no need toleave on Monday till the late afternoon.
"You are going down into the drawing-room again?" said Lady Dashwood.
"Yes; you must sleep well, dear," said May, bending down and kissingher.
"Oh, very well," said Lady Dashwood, closing her eyes.
Later on disturbing thoughts came to her. Why had May ceased to show anyemotion? Why had she become quiet and self-contained? That wasn't a goodsign. And what about to-morrow? Did she mean to go? She had saidnothing, but she might have made up her mind to go. And there was Jimgoing in and out and doing _nothing_! Oh, why couldn't the dear thingssee that they were made for one another? Why couldn't they go aboutmysterious, blown up with self-importance--and engaged?
When Louise came in she found her mistress still awake.
"Louise, before you settle me, see if Mrs. Dashwood has gone to bed.Don't disturb her, of course."
"Bien, Madame," said Louise; and she left the room with the air of onewho is going to fathom a mystery.
"What a nuisance Louise is," sighed Lady Dashwood, turning on herpillow. She did not turn her head again when Louise came back.
"Madame is not in her room," said Louise, in a voice of profoundinterest, and she waited to hear the result.
"Oh!" said Lady Dashwood, brightening a little. "Well, Louise, light anight light and leave it at the other end of the room, so that the lightdoesn't come on my face! I don't want to be in complete darkness or theWarden will not come in. He will think I am asleep."
"Madame will not sleep?" demanded Louise.
"Of course I shall sleep," said Lady Dashwood, and she began thinkingagain.