VI
Two thoughts ran through his head, shooting in and out and to and froamong his complex sensations of pleasure. The first was that he hadnever been in such a fix before, despite his enterprising habits. Andthe second was that neither Elsie April nor anybody else connectedwith his affairs in London had ever asked him whether he was married,or assumed by any detail of behaviour towards him that there existedthe possibility of his being married. Of course he might, had hechosen, have informed a few of them that a wife and children possessedhim, but then really would not that have been equivalent to attachinga label to himself: "Married"? a procedure which had to him the stampof provinciality.
Elsie April said nothing. And as she said nothing he was obliged tosay something, if only to prove to both of them that he was not a meretongue-tied provincial. He said:
"You know I feel awfully out of it here in this Society of yours!"
"Out of it?" she exclaimed, and her voice thrilled as she resented hisself-depreciation.
"It's over my head--right over it!"
"Now, Mr. Machin," she said, dropping somewhat that rich low voice,"I quite understand that there are some things about the Society youdon't like, trifles that you're inclined to laugh at. _I_ know that.Many of us know it. But it can't be helped in an organizationlike ours. It's even essential. Don't be too hard on us. Don't besarcastic."
"But I'm not sarcastic!" he protested.
"Honest?" She turned to him quickly. He could descry her face in thegloom, and the forward bend of her shoulders, and the backwardsweep of her arms resting on the seat, and the straight droop of herEgyptian shawl from her inclined body.
"Honest!" he solemnly insisted.
The exchange of this single word was so intimate that it shifted theirconversation to a different level--level at which each seemed to beassuring the other that intercourse between them could never be aughtbut utterly sincere thenceforward, and that indeed in futurethey would constitute a little society of their own, ideal in itsorganization.
"Then you're too modest," she said decidedly. "There was no one hereto-night who's more respected than you are. No one! Immediately Ifirst spoke to you--I daresay you don't remember that afternoon at theGrand Babylon Hotel!--I knew you weren't like the rest. And don't Iknow them? Don't I know them?"
"But how did you know I'm not like the rest?" asked Edward Henry. Theline which she was taking had very much surprised him--and charmedhim. The compliment, so serious and urgent in tone, was intenselyagreeable, and it made an entirely new experience in his career. Hethought: "Oh! there's no mistake about it. These London women aremarvellous! They're just as straight and in earnest as the best ofour little lot down there. But they've got something else. There'sno comparison!" The unique word to describe the indescribable floatedinto his head: "Scrumptious!" What could not life be with suchsemi-divine creatures? He dreamt of art drawing-rooms softly shaded atmidnight. And his attitude towards even poetry was modified.
"I knew you weren't like the rest," said she, "by your look. By theway you say everything you _do_ say. We all know it. And I'm sureyou're far more than clever enough to be perfectly aware that we allknow it. Just see how everyone looked at you to-night!"
Yes, he had in fact been aware of the glances.
"I think I ought to tell you," she went on, "that I was rather unfairto you that day in talking about my cousin--in the taxi. You werequite right to refuse to go into partnership with her. She thinks sotoo. We've talked it over, and we're quite agreed. Of course it didseem hard--at the time, and her bad luck in America seemed to make itworse. But you were quite right. You can work much better alone. Youmust have felt that instinctively--far quicker than we felt it."
"Well," he murmured, confused, "I don't know--"
Could this be she who had too openly smiled at his skirmish with anartichoke?
"Oh, Mr. Machin!" she burst out. "You've got an unprecedentedopportunity, and thank Heaven you're the man to use it! We're allexpecting so much from you, and we know we shan't be disappointed."
"D'ye mean the theatre?" he asked, alarmed as it were amid risingwaters.
"The theatre," said she, gravely. "You're the one man that can saveLondon. No one _in_ London can do it!... _You_ have the happiness ofknowing what your mission is, and of knowing, too, that you are equalto it. What good fortune! I wish I could say as much for myself.I want to do something! I try! But what can I do? Nothing--really!You've no idea of the awful loneliness that comes from a feeling ofinability."
"Loneliness," he repeated. "But surely--" he stopped.
"Loneliness," she insisted. Her little chin was now in her littlehand, and her dim face upturned.
And suddenly a sensation of absolute and marvellous terror seizedEdward Henry. He was more afraid than he had ever been--and yetonce or twice in his life he had felt fear. His sense of trueperspective--one of his most precious qualities--returned. He thought:"I've got to get out of this." Well, the door was not locked. It wasonly necessary to turn the handle, and security lay on the other sideof the door! He had but to rise and walk. And he could not. He mightjust as well have been manacled in a prison-cell. He was under anenchantment.
"A man," murmured Elsie, "a man can never realize the loneliness--"She ceased.
He stirred uneasily.
"About this play," he found himself saying. And yet why should hemention the play in his fright? He pretended to himself not to knowwhy. But he knew why. His instinct had seen in the topic of the playthe sole avenue of salvation.
"A wonderful thing, isn't it?"
"Oh, yes," he said. And then--most astonishingly to himself--added:"I've decided to do it."
"We knew you would," she said calmly. "At any rate I did.... You'llopen with it, of course."
"Yes," he answered desperately. And proceeded, with the mostextraordinary bravery, "If you'll act in it."
Immediately on hearing these last words issue from his mouth he knewthat a fool had uttered them, and that the bravery was mere rashness.For Elsie's responding gesture reinspired him afresh with theexquisite terror which he had already begun to conjure away.
"You think Miss Euclid ought to have the part," he added quickly,before she could speak.
"Oh! I do!" cried Elsie, positively and eagerly. "Rose will do simplywonders with that part. You see she can speak verse. I can't. I'mnobody. I only took it because--"
"Aren't you anybody?" he contradicted. "Aren't you anybody? I can justtell you--"
There he was again, bringing back the delicious terror! An astoundingsituation!
But the door creaked. The babble from the stage invaded the room.And in a second the enchantment was lifted from him. Several peopleentered. He sighed, saying within himself to the disturbers:
"I'd have given you a hundred pounds apiece if you'd been five minutessooner."
And yet simultaneously he regretted their arrival. And, more curiousstill, though he well remembered the warning words of Mr. SevenSachs concerning Elsie April, he did not consider that they werejustified.... She had not been a bit persuasive ... only....