A Bachelor Husband

  CHRIS went on the Friday, and for days beforehand he was like aschoolboy going off for an unexpected holiday.

  He packed his things long before they would be needed, and unpackedthem again because he wanted to use them; he took stacks of clothesand golf sticks and a brand-new fishing-rod, which he put togetherfor Marie's benefit, showing her how perfectly it was made andtelling her what sport he hoped to have with it.

  Marie tried to be enthusiastic and failed; once long ago she hadstood on a river bank with Chris and watched him play a trout,finally landing the silvery thing on the grassy bank, where it layand gasped in the burning sunshine before he mercifully killed itwith a stone.

  She had hated the sport ever since--it had seemed so cruel, shethought.

  In a moment of bravado she had once dared to say so to him, and hadnever forgotten the stony look of disapproval with which heregarded her.

  "Cruel!" he echoed scathingly. "How In the world do you supposefish are caught, then? You seem to like them for breakfast,anyway."

  She knew that was true enough, but to see them served up cooked andinanimate was one thing, and to see them dragged from the cleardepths of a river to gasp life away on the bank quite another.

  Chris put the new rod away rather offendedly.

  "Of course, you don't care for sport," he said, "I forgot."

  That hurt more than anything, especially as she knew that eitherDorothy Webber or Mrs. Heriot would have thoroughly entered into adiscussion with him upon the merits of bait and the various catcheshe had successfully landed.

  Marie did her best during those last few days, but all her effortswent singularly unrewarded.

  Chris was too engrossed in his preparations to take much notice ofher, though once he brought her the old tweed coat to have a buttonsewn on, and once he asked diffidently if she would mind markingsome new handkerchiefs for him.

  Marie did both little services with passionate gratitude to him forhaving asked her. During the last day she followed him round thehouse just as she had been wont to do when they were both childrenand he had come home for the holidays.

  She ran errands for him, and did all the odd jobs which he did notwant to do for himself, and at the last, when his fattestportmanteau would not close, she sat on the top of it to try andcoax it to behave.

  Chris was kneeling on the floor in his shirt sleeves, tugging atthe straps and swearing under his breath. He looked up at her onceto say what a pity it was she did not weigh more, but there was asmile in his eyes. "You're such a kid," he said affectionately.

  But he managed to fasten the bag at last, and stood up, hot andperspiring.

  "You've got my address, haven't you?" he asked, looking round hisdismantled room. "Write if you want anything, and I'll send yousome postcards. You've got plenty of money in the bank, and there'sheaps more when that's gone. Have a good time."

  "Yes," said Marie, and wondered if he would be very contemptuous ifshe told him that it felt like dying to know that he was going awayand that she was to be left behind.

  He had a last hurried lunch with her and Miss Chester, duringwhich he looked at his watch almost every minute, and hoped thatthe taxi would not forget to come.

  "You could have had the car, Chris," Miss Chester said, but Chrisreplied that it was not worth while and that a taxi would do.

  He went out in the hall to have a last look at his luggage and makesure that nothing was forgotten, and Marie ran up to her room.

  She stood there with clenched hands and lips firmly set; she wasdreadfully afraid that she was going to cry and disgrace herselfforever, and then what a memory Chris would have of her to carryaway with him! She heard the taxi come up to the door, and thesound of the luggage being taken out, then Chris came runningupstairs calling to her.

  "Yes--here I am."

  He came into the room in his overcoat; she had not seen him look soyoung or happy for weeks, and it gave her another pang to realizethat he was quite pleased to be leaving her behind.

  "I'm just off," he said. He came up to her and put his arm roundher waist "Take care of yourself, Marie Celeste."

  "Oh, yes." He turned her face upwards with a careless hand andkissed her cheek. "I'll send you a wire as soon as we get there."

  "Yes." She stood quite impassively beside him, and then as he wouldhave moved away she suddenly turned and put her arms round hisneck.

  "I hope you will have a very good time, Chris," she said, and forthe first time since their marriage kissed him of her own accord.

  The hot color flew to Chris' face; she had always been so cold andunemotional that this impulsive embrace embarrassed him.

  For a moment he looked at her wonderingly, then he asked:

  "Why did you do that, Marie Celeste?"

  She forced a little laugh.

  "Because you're going away, of course."

  "Oh, I see--well, good-by."

  "Good-by." But still he hesitated before he turned to the door, butshe did not speak, and he went on and downstairs again.

  Marie went over to the window. There were tears in her eyes, but itdid not matter now that Chris had gone. She pulled the curtainaside and looked down into the street.

  What a heap of luggage he had taken! And she remembered how he hadonce said that he disliked traveling with a woman because shealways took such quantities of baggage!

  Then Chris came out of the house and got into the taxi. He slammedthe door, and she heard him speak to the driver, and the nextmoment the taxicab had wheeled about and gone.

  She let the curtain fall and looked round the room. How quicklythings happened! A moment ago and she had stood here with his armsabout her, and now he had gone--for how long she did not know.

  When she had asked him he had answered vaguely that it all dependedon the weather, but that he would let her know.

  "A fortnight?" she hazarded timidly, and he had answered, "Aboutthat, I expect."

  She went through the dividing door to his deserted room. It was allupside down as he had left it, and strewn with things he haddiscarded at the last moment.

  It almost seemed as if he had died and would never come back, shethought drearily, then tried to laugh.

  After all, there was nothing so strange in his going away for aholiday with his friends; she knew she would not have minded at allhad things been all right between them. It was just this dreadfulfeeling that, although she was his wife, she held no place in hislife, that made trivialities a tragedy. She did not count--he couldgive her a careless kiss just as he had done years ago when he camehome from Cambridge or went back again, and walk out of the housewithout a single regret.

  She wondered what Feathers thought about it all, and her heartwarmed at the memory of him--kind, ugly Feathers! She wished shecould see him again.

  She did her best to be cheerful during the days that followed, butit was uphill work. After the first telegram she heard but seldomfrom Chris. The weather was topping--so he wrote on a postcard, andthey were having splendid golf.

  He never mentioned Feathers, or spoke of coming home, and it seemedto Marie as if he and she were in different worlds.

  That he could enjoy himself and be quite happy without her seemedan impossibility when she was so miserable and restless.

  Then one morning she ran across young Atkins in Regent Street. Shewould have passed him without recognition but that he stopped andspoke her name.

  "Mrs. Lawless!" He was unfeignedly delighted to see her. Heinsisted on her lunching with him.

  "I've thought about you ever since we said good-by," he declared."I've often longed to call, but did not like to."

  She laughed at his eagerness.

  "Why ever not? I gave you my address. I should have been awfullypleased to see you."

  "Really! It's topping of you to say so, but I don't think Chriswould have been exactly tickled to death! He never forgave me fornearly drowning you, you know."

  "Nonsense! And, besides, you didn't nearly drown me. It was my ownfault," she laughed su
ddenly. "You know I never gave you thatpromised box of cigarettes. Don't you remember that we had a bet ofa box of chocolates against a box of cigarettes? Well--you won."

  She was delighted to see him again; he was very young and cheerful,and quite open in his adoration of her.

  Nobody had ever looked at Marie with quite such worshipful eyes,and though she knew it was just a boy's absurd fancy, she wasgrateful to him for it.

  They had a merry lunch together, and afterwards Marie took him backto see Miss Chester.

  "I thought you were going to Scotland with Chris and Mr. Dakers,"she said as they walked home.

  "So I wanted to, but they didn't seem exactly keen, and besides--Idon't care about Aston Knight, you know--awful ass, I think."

  "I don't think I like him very much, either," Marie admittedreluctantly. "And anyway I'm glad you didn't go---" She smiled intohis beaming face. "Perhaps we could go to some theatres together."

  "Could we? By jove, that would be ripping! I say, it's an awfulpiece of luck running across you like this, you know."

  Miss Chester liked young Atkins. She thought him a very charmingboy, she told Marie when, at last, he took a reluctant departure,arranging to call again next day.

  "He is a friend of Chris', you say?"

  "Yes--we met him when we were away."

  "A very nice boy--a thorough gentleman," Miss Chester saidcomplacently. "I hope he will call often."

  Marie laughed.

  "I am sure he will with the least encouragement." she said.

  He had done her good, and she quite looked forward to seeing himagain. She wrote to Chris that night and told him of their meeting.

  "It was quite by chance, but I was very pleased to see him, and weare going to a theater together to-morrow."

  She knew that all her letters to Chris were stiff anduninteresting, but she was in constant dread of letting him readbetween the lines and guess how unhappy she was. For his benefitshe often manufactured stories of things she was supposed to havedone and entertainments she had visited.

  He should not think she was moping or wanted him back. She would dowithout him if he could do without her.

  Young Atkins got tickets for the most absurd farce in town, and heand Marie laughed till they cried over it.

  Marie had only been to the theater half a dozen times in her life,and then always to performances of Shakespeare or some otherclassic. She told him quite frankly that she did not know when shehad enjoyed herself so much. They went on to Bond Street togetherafterwards and ate an enormous tea.

  Although she was reluctant to admit it to herself, Marie knew thatshe had enjoyed herself far more with young Atkins than she haddone that afternoon with Chris when he bought the pearls. She putup her hand with a little feeling of guilt to the necklace, whichshe was wearing. Young Atkins noticed the little gesture.

  "Are they real?" he asked.

  "Yes, Chris gave them to me."

  "Mind you, don't lose them--they must be worth an awful lot.

  "They are, rather a lot."

  She assented listlessly, knowing that their value was nothing toher.

  He drew his chair a little nearer to hers.

  "When shall we go out together again?"

  "When you like--I can go on Saturday if you care about it."

  He pulled a long face.

  "Saturday! Why, that's another three days."

  "Well, we can't go every day," she protested, laughing. "Besides,don't you have to work?"

  "Yes, I'm in the guv'nor's office, but he's away to-day, so I tookFrench leave."

  "What will he say?"

  "He won't know, and I don't care if he does; it's been worth it!"

  He was silent for a moment, then broke out again: "My guv'nor's anold pig, you know; he's worth pots of money, but he won't do athing for me. I hate an indoor job; I wanted to go to sea, but no!He drove me into his beastly office, and I loathe it."

  "What a shame!"

  "Yes." He laughed with his old lightheartedness. "I don't see whywe're bound to have fathers," he submitted comically.

  "Well--we'll go to another theater on Saturday," Marie consoledhim. "Saturday is a half-day holiday for everybody, isn't it?"

  "Yes--till Saturday, then."

  He wrung her hand so hard at parting that her fingers felt quitedead for some seconds afterwards, but she had really enjoyedherself, and looked after young Atkins gratefully as he strode offdown the street.

  "There's a letter from Chris," Miss Chester said, as Marie enteredthe room. Her quick eyes noticed the color that rushed to herniece's cheeks. "Over there on the mantelshelf."

  Marie took the treasure upstairs to read. She sat down on the sideof the bed and broke open the envelope with trembling hands. Shehad not heard from him now for three days; she wondered if this wasto say that he was coming home.

  "Dear Marie Celeste,--Hope you are well--I have had no letter fromyou since the end of last week. The weather has changed a bit uphere, and we have had some rain. Feathers sent you a box of heatherthis morning; I don't suppose you'll care much for it, but heinsisted on sending it. By the way, a curious thing happenedyesterday. We were at the third hole, and there were some girls onthe green in front of us. One of them had lost a ball and I foundit, so we talked, and who do you think she turned out to be? Why,your friend, Dorothy Webber! It's a coincidence, isn't it? Younever told me she was such a fine player. I've got a match with herthis afternoon. She sent her love to you. I hope you are having agood time. I've got as brown as coffee since I came up here--beingout-of-doors all day, I suppose. By the way, if you look in my roomyou'll find a box of new golf balls. You might send them up to me.I will write again soon.--Yours affectionately, Chris."

  So he had met Dorothy Webber after all. Marie Celeste's heart feltas cold as a stone as she sat there with Chris' scrappy letter inher hand.

  He was up there in Scotland, amongst the heather and the mountains,quite happy and contented, whilst she . . . Her eyes fell again tohis hurried scribble.

  ". . . Feathers sent you a box of heather this morning . . ."

  Kind, ugly Feathers! He, at least, had not forgotten her.

  During the days that followed Marie suffered tortures of jealousy.Her overstrained imagination exaggerated things cruelly. She beganto sleep badly, and a defiant look grew in her brown eyes. Sheencouraged young Atkins so openly that at last even Miss Chesterwas moved to remonstrate gently.

  "My dear, I am afraid that nice boy is getting a little too fond ofyou?"

  "Is he?" Marie laughed. "He's only a boy," she said carelessly.

  Miss Chester looked pained.

  "Boys have hearts as well as grown men," she said gently.

  "More, sometimes," Marie answered flippantly.

  But she knew that Miss Chester was right. She knew that latelythere was a different light in young Atkins' eyes and a strangequality in his voice whenever he spoke to her.

  Sometimes she was sorry--sometimes she told herself that she didnot care! Why should she be the only one to suffer?

  "He can't love me--really," she told herself fretfully, whenconscience spoke more loudly than usual, reproaching her. "He hasalways known I am married--he would never be so silly as to fall inlove with a married woman." Then she would shed bitter tears as shethought of the farce her marriage had been, and long with all hersoul for someone to love her--not a boy, as young Atkins was, but aman to whom she could look up, a man who would see that thepathways ran as smoothly as possible for her tired feet.

  Often the temptation came to her to write and ask Chris to comehome. He had been away three weeks now, and she knew that MissChester was wondering about it all and worrying silently.

  After all, she was his wife, and it was his duty to be with her! SoMarie argued sometimes, knowing all the time that she would ratherdie than ask anything of him which he would only grant unwillingly.

  The big box of heather had arrived from Feathers, and as Marieburied her face in it and closed her eyes she seemed
to breathe thekeen mountain air that had swept it on the Scotch moors and feelthe soft, springy turf beneath her feet.

  Oh, to be there with Chris!--to pass the long hours of the fadingsummer days with him and be happy!

  She wrote a little note to Feathers and thanked him.

  "It was kind of you to think of me. I have never been to Scotland,but the smell of the heather seemed to show it to me as plainly asif I could really see it all. You have never found any whiteheather, I suppose? If you do, please send me a little piece forluck."

  She had no real belief in luck--it had long since passed her by,she was sure--but a day or so later a tiny parcel arrivedcontaining a little bunch of white heather, smelling strongly ofcigarettes--for a cigarette box had been the only one Featherscould find in which to pack it.

  He had got up with the dawn the day after her note reached him andsearched the country for miles to find the thing for which she hadasked him.

  Marie slept with it under her pillow and carried it in her frock byday; a sort of shyness prevented her from showing it to MissChester, though once she asked her about it.

  "Aunt Madge, are you superstitious?"

  Miss Chester looked up and smiled.

  "I used to be years ago," she admitted. "I used to bow to everysweep I met and refuse to sit down thirteen at a table."

  "Is that all?" Marie asked.

  Miss Chester stifled a little sigh.

  "Well, I once wore a piece of white heather round my neck night andday for two years," she said after a moment. "It was given to me bythe man I should have married if he had lived. But the whiteheather brought me no luck, for he was drowned at sea when he wason his way home for our wedding."

  Marie's face hardened a little.

  "There is no such thing as luck." she said.

  "I know a better word for it." Miss Chester answered gently. "Imean Fate. I think each one of us has his or her fate mapped out,and that it always happens for the best, though we may not thinkso."

  There was a little silence.

  "I wonder!" Marie said sadly.

  But she still wore the white heather.

  CHAPTER XII

  "When two friends meet in adverse hour, 'Tis like a sunbeam through a shower, A watery ray an instant seen And darkly closing clouds between."