XV
After a vituperative half-hour or so Mr. Woods was hungry. He cameback toward Selwoode; and upon the terrace in front of the house hefound Kathleen Saumarez.
During the warm weather, one corner of the terrace had been converted,by means of gay red-and-white awnings, into a sort of living-room.There were chairs, tables, sofa-cushions, bowls of roses, and anynumber of bright-coloured rugs. Altogether, it was a cosy place,and the glowing hues of its furnishings were very becoming to Mrs.Saumarez, who sat there writing industriously.
It was a thought embarrassing. They had avoided one anotheryesterday--rather obviously--both striving to put off a necessarilyawkward meeting. Now it had come. And now, somehow, their eyes met fora moment, and they laughed frankly, and the awkwardness was gone.
"Kathleen," said Mr. Woods, with conviction, "you're a dear."
"You broke my heart," said she, demurely, "but I'm going to forgiveyou."
Mrs. Saumarez was not striving to be clever now. And, heavens (thoughtBilly), how much nicer she was like this! It wasn't the same woman:her thin cheeks flushed arbutus-like, and her rather metallic voicewas grown low and gentle. Billy brought memories with him, you see;and for the moment, she was Kathleen Eppes again--Kathleen Eppes inthe first flush of youth, eager, trustful, and joyous-hearted, as hehad known her long ago. Since then, the poor woman had eaten of thebread of dependence and had found it salt enough; she had paid for itdaily, enduring a thousand petty slights, a thousand petty insults,and smiling under them as only women can. But she had forgotten nowthat shrewd Kathleen Saumarez who must earn her livelihood as best shemight. She smiled frankly--a purely unprofessional smile.
"I was sorry when I heard you were coming," she said, irrelevantly,"but I'm glad now."
Mr. Woods--I grieve to relate--was still holding her hand in his.There stirred in his pulses the thrill Kathleen Eppes had alwayswakened--a thrill of memory now, a mere wraith of emotion. He wasthinking of a certain pink-cheeked girl with crinkly black-brownhair and eyes that he had likened to chrysoberyls--and he wonderedwhimsically what had become of her. This was not she. This wasassuredly not Kathleen, for this woman had a large mouth--a humorousand kindly mouth it was true, but undeniably a large one--whereas,Kathleen's mouth had been quite perfect and rather diminutive thanotherwise. Hadn't he rhymed of it often enough to know?
They stood gazing at one another for a long time; and in the back ofBilly's brain lines of his old verses sang themselves to a sad littletune--the verses that reproved the idiocy of all other poets, who hadvery foolishly written their sonnets to other women: and yet, as thejingle pointed out,
Had these poets ever strayed In thy path, they had not made Random rhymes of Arabella, Songs of Dolly, hymns of Stella, Lays of Lalage or Chloris-- Not of Daphne nor of Doris, Florimel nor Amaryllis, Nor of Phyllida nor Phyllis, Were their wanton melodies: But all of these-- All their melodies had been Of thee, Kathleen.
Would they have been? Billy thought it improbable. The verses werevery silly; and, recalling the big, blundering boy who had writtenthem, Billy began to wonder--somewhat forlornly--whither he, too,had vanished. He and the girl he had gone mad for both seemed rathermythical--legendary as King Pepin.
"Yes," said Mrs. Saumarez--and oh, she startled him; "I fancy they'reboth quite dead by now. Billy," she cried, earnestly, "don't laughat them!--don't laugh at those dear, foolish children! I--somehow, Icouldn't bear that, Billy."
"Kathleen," said Mr. Woods, in admiration, "you're a witch. I wasn'tlaughing, though, my dear. I was developing quite a twilight mood overthem--a plaintive, old-lettery sort of mood, you know."
She sighed a little. "Yes--I know." Then her eyelids flickered in aparody of Kathleen's glance that Billy noted with a queer tenderness."Come and talk to me, Billy," she commanded. "I'm an early bird thismorning, and entitled to the very biggest and best-looking worm I canfind. You're only a worm, you know--we're all worms. Mr. Jukesburytold me so last night, making an exception in my favour, for itappears I'm an angel. He was amorously inclined last night, the tipsyold fraud! It's shameless, Billy, the amount of money he gets out ofMiss Hugonin--for the deserving poor. Do you know, I rather fancy heclasses himself under that head? And I grant you he's poor enough--butdeserving!" Mrs. Saumarez snapped her fingers eloquently.
"Eh? Shark, eh?" queried Mr. Woods, in some discomfort.
She nodded. "He is as bad as Sarah Haggage," she informed him, "andeverybody knows what a bloodsucker she is. The Haggage is a disease,Billy, that all rich women are exposed to--'more easily caught thanthe pestilence, and the taker runs presently mad.' Depend upon it,Billy, those two will have every penny they can get out of youruncle's money."
"Peggy's so generous," he pleaded. "She wants to make everybodyhappy--bring about a general millenium, you know."
"She pays dearly enough for her fancies," said Mrs. Saumarez, in ahard voice. Then, after a little, she cried, suddenly: "Oh, Billy,Billy, it shames me to think of how we lie to her, and toady to her,and lead her on from one mad scheme to another!--all for the sake ofthe money we can pilfer incidentally! We're all arrant hypocrites, youknow; I'm no better than the others, Billy--not a bit better. Butmy husband left me so poor, and I had always been accustomed to thepretty things of life, and I couldn't--I couldn't give them up, Billy.I love them too dearly. So I lie, and toady, and write drivellingtalks about things I don't understand, for drivelling women tolisten to, and I still have the creature comforts of life. I pawn myself-respect for them--that's all. Such a little price to pay, isn'tit, Billy?"
She spoke in a sort of frenzy. I dare say that at the outset shewanted Mr. Woods to know the worst of her, knowing he could not failto discover it in time. Billy brought memories with him, you see; andthis shrewd, hard woman wanted, somehow, more than anything else inthe world, that he should think well of her. So she babbled out thewhole pitiful story, waiting in a kind of terror to see contempt anddisgust awaken in his eyes.
But he merely said "I see--I see," very slowly, and his eyes werekindly. He couldn't be angry with her, somehow; that pink-cheeked,crinkly haired girl stood between them and shielded her. He was onlyvery, very sorry.
"And Kennaston?" he asked, after a little.
Mrs. Saumarez flushed. "Mr. Kennaston is a man of great genius," shesaid, quickly. "Of course, Miss Hugonin is glad to assist him inpublishing his books--it's an honour to her that he permits it. Theyhave to be published privately, you know, as the general public isn'tcapable of appreciating such dainty little masterpieces. Oh, don'tmake any mistake, Billy--Mr. Kennaston is a very wonderful and veryadmirable man."
"H'm, yes; he struck me as being an unusually nice chap," said Mr.Woods, untruthfully. "I dare say they'll be very happy."
"Who?" Mrs. Saumarez demanded.
"Why--er--I don't suppose they'll make any secret of it," Billystammered, in tardy repentance of his hasty speaking. "Peggy told melast night she had accepted him."
Mrs. Saumarez turned to rearrange a bowl of roses. She seemed to havesome difficulty over it.
"Billy," she spoke, inconsequently, and with averted head, "an honestman is the noblest work of God--and the rarest."
Billy groaned.
"Do you know," said he, "I've just been telling the roses in thegardens yonder the same thing about women? I'm a misogynist thismorning. I've decided no woman is worthy of being loved."
"That is quite true," she assented, "but, on the other hand, no man isworthy of loving."
Billy smiled.
"I've likewise come to the conclusion," said he, "that a man's love islike his hat, in that any peg will do to hang it on; also, in that theproper and best place for it is on his own head. Oh, I assure you,I vented any number of cheap cynicisms on the helpless roses! Andyet--will you believe it, Kathleen?--it doesn't seem to make me feel abit better--no, not a bit."
"It's very like his hat," she declared, "in that he has a new oneevery year." Then she rested her hand on his, in a half-maternalfashion. "What's the
matter, boy?" she asked, softly. "You're alwaysso fresh and wholesome. I don't like to see you like this. Betterleave phrase-making to us phrase-mongers."
Her voice rang true--true, and compassionate, and tender, and all thata woman's voice should be. Billy could not but trust her.
"I've been an ass," said he, rather tragically. "Oh, not an unusualass, Kathleen--just the sort men are always making of themselves. Yousee, before I went to France, there was a girl I--cared for. And I leta quarrel come between us--a foolish, trifling, idle little quarrel,Kathleen, that we might have made up in a half-hour. But I was tooproud, you see. No, I wasn't proud, either," Mr. Woods amended,bitterly; "I was simply pig-headed and mulish. So I went away. Andyesterday I saw her again and realised that I--still cared. That'sall, Kathleen. It isn't an unusual story." And Mr. Woods laughed,mirthlessly, and took a turn on the terrace.
Mrs. Saumarez was regarding him intently. Her cheeks were of a deeper,more attractive pink, and her breath came and went quickly.
"I--I don't understand," she said, in a rather queer voice.
"Oh, it's simple enough," Billy assured her. "You see, she--well, Ithink she would have married me once. Yes, she cared for me once. AndI quarreled with her--I, conceited young ass that I was, actuallypresumed to dictate to the dearest, sweetest, most lovable woman onearth, and tell her what she must do and what she mustn't. I!--goodLord, I, who wasn't worthy to sweep a crossing clean for her!--whowasn't worthy to breathe the same air with her!--who wasn't worthy toexist in the same world she honoured by living in! Oh, I _was_ an ass!But I've paid for it!--oh, yes, Kathleen, I've paid dearly for it,and I'll pay more dearly yet before I've done. I tried to avoid heryesterday--you must have seen that. And I couldn't--I give you myword, I could no more have kept away from her than I could have spreada pair of wings and flown away. She doesn't care a bit for me now; butI can no more give up loving her than I can give up eating my dinner.That isn't a pretty simile, Kathleen, but it expresses the way I feeltoward her. It isn't merely that I want her; it's more than that--oh,far more than that. I simply can't do without her. Don't youunderstand, Kathleen?" he asked, desperately.
"Yes--I think I understand," she said, when he had ended. "I--oh,Billy, I am almost sorry. It's dear of you--dear of you, Billy, tocare for me still, but--but I'm almost sorry you care so much. I'm notworth it, boy dear. And I--I really don't know what to say. You mustlet me think."
Mr. Woods gave an inarticulate sound. The face she turned to himwas perplexed, half-sad, fond, a little pleased, and strangelycompassionate. It was Kathleen Eppes who sat beside him; the six yearswere as utterly forgotten as the name of Magdalen's first lover. Shewas a girl again, listening--with a heart that fluttered, I daresay--to the wild talk, the mad dithyrambics of a big, blundering boy.
The ludicrous horror of it stunned Mr. Woods.
He could no more have told her of her mistake than he could havestruck her in the face.
"Kathleen--!" said he, vaguely.
"Let me think!--ah, let me think, Billy!" she pleaded, in a flutter ofjoy and amazement. "Go away, boy dear!--Go away for a little andlet me think! I'm not an emotional woman, but I'm on the verge ofhysterics now, for--for several reasons. Go in to breakfast, Billy!I--I want to be alone. You've made me very proud and--and sorry, Ithink, and glad, and--and--oh, I don't know, boy dear. But please gonow--please!"
Billy went.
In the living-hall he paused to inspect a picture with peculiarinterest. Since Kathleen cared for him (he thought, rather forlornly),he must perjure himself in as plausible a manner as might be possible;please God, having done what he had done, he would lie to her like agentleman and try to make her happy.
A vision in incredible violet ruffles, coming down to breakfast, sawhim, and paused on the stairway, and flushed and laughed deliciously.
Poor Billy stared at her; and his heart gave a great bound and thenappeared to stop for an indefinite time.
"Good Lord!" said Mr. Woods, in his soul. "And I thought I was an asslast night! Why, last night, in comparison, I displayed intelligencethat was almost human! Oh, Peggy, Peggy! if I only dared tell you whatI think of you, I believe I would gladly die afterward--yes, I'm sureI would. You really haven't any right to be so beautiful!--it isn'tfair to us, Peggy!"
But the vision was peeping over the bannisters at him, and thevision's eyes were sparkling with a lucent mischief and a wonderful,half-hushed contralto was demanding of him:
"Oh, where have you been, Billy boy, Billy boy? Oh, where have you been, charming Billy?"
And Billy's baritone answered her:
"I've been to seek a wife--"
and broke off in a groan.
"Good Lord!" said Mr. Woods.
It was a ludicrous business, if you will. Indeed, it was vastlyhumorous--was it not?--this woman's thinking a man's love might by anychance endure through six whole years. But their love endures, yousee; and the silly creatures have a superstition among them that loveis a sacred thing, stronger than time, victorious over death itself.Let us laugh, then, at Kathleen Saumarez--those of us who have learnedthat love is only a tinkling cymbal and faith a sounding brass andfidelity an obsolete affectation: but for my part, I honour andthink better of the woman who through all her struggles with theworld--through all those sordid, grim, merciless, secret battles wherethe vanquished may not even cry for succour--I honour her, I say, forthat she had yet cherished the memory of that first love which is thebest and purest and most unselfish and most excellent thing in life.