Stella Fregelius: A Tale of Three Destinies
Page 28
On the morning of the eleventh day came a telegram from Mary addressedto Morris, and dated from London. It was brief and to the point. "Cometo dinner with me at Seaview, and bring your father.--Mary."
When Morris drove to Seaview that evening he was as a man is in a dream.Sorrow had done its work on him, agonising his nerves, till at lengththey seemed to be blunted as with a very excess of pain, much as thenerves of the victims of the Inquisition were sometimes blunted, tillat length they could scarcely feel the pincers bite or the irons burn.Always abstemious, also, for this last twelve days he had scarcelyswallowed enough food to support him, with the result that his bodyweakened and suffered with his mind.
Then there was a third trouble to contend with,--the dull and gnawingsense of shame which seemed to eat into his heart. In actual fact, hehad been faithful enough to Mary, but in mind he was most unfaithful.How could he come to her, the woman who was to be his wife, the womanwho had dealt so well by him, with the memory of that spiritual marriageat the altar of the Dead Church still burning in his brain--thatmarriage which now was consecrated and immortalised by death? What hadhe to give her that was worth her taking? he, who if the truth wereknown, shrank from all idea of union with any earthly woman; who longedonly to be allowed to live out his time in a solitude as complete as hecould find or fashion? It was monstrous; it was shameful; and then andthere he determined that before ever he stood in Monksland church by theside of Mary Porson, at least he would tell her the truth, and giveher leave to choose. To his other sins against her deceit should not beadded.
"Might I suggest, Morris," said the Colonel, who as they drove, hadbeen watching his son's face furtively by the light of the broughamlamp--"might I suggest that, under all the circumstances, Mary wouldperhaps appreciate an air a little less reminiscent of funerals? You mayrecollect that several months have passed since you parted."
"Yes," said Morris, "and a great deal has happened in that time."
"Of course, her father is dead." The Colonel alluded to no other death."Poor Porson! How painfully that beastly window in the dining-roomwill remind me of him! Come, here we are; pull yourself together, oldfellow."
Morris obeyed as best he could, and presently found himself followingthe Colonel into the drawing-room, for once in his life, as hereflected, heartily glad to have the advantage of his parent's society.He could scarcely be expected to be very demonstrative and lover-likeunder the fire of that observant eyeglass.
As they entered the drawing-room by one door, Mary, looking veryhandsome and imposing in a low black dress, which became her fair beautyadmirably, appeared at the other. Catching sight of Morris, she ran,or rather glided, forward with the graceful gait that was one of herdistinctions, and caught him by both hands, bending her face towards himin open and unmistakable invitation.
In a moment it was over somehow, and she was saying:
"Morris, how thin you look, and there are great black lines under youreyes! Uncle, what have you been doing to him?"
"When I have had the pleasure of saying, How-do-you-do to you, my dear,"he replied in a somewhat offended voice--for the Colonel was not fondof being overlooked, even in favour of an interesting son--"I shall behappy to do my best to answer your question."
"Oh! I am so sorry," she said, advancing her forehead to be kissed; "butwe saw each other the other day, didn't we, and one can't embrace twopeople at once, and of course one must begin somewhere. But, why haveyou made him so thin?"
The Colonel surveyed Morris critically with his eyeglass.
"Really, my dear Mary," he replied, "I am not responsible for thevariations in my son's habit of body." Then, as Morris turned awayirritably, he added in a stage whisper, "He's been a bit upset, poorfellow! He felt your father's death dreadfully."
Mary winced a little, then, recovering her vivacity, said:
"Well, at any rate, uncle, I am glad to see that nothing of the sort hasaffected your health; I never saw you looking better."
"Ah! my dear, as we grow older we learn resignation----"
"And how to look after ourselves," thought Mary.
At that moment dinner was announced, and she went in on Morris's arm,the Colonel gallantly insisting that it should be so. After this thingsprogressed a good deal better. The first plunge was over, and the coolrefreshing waters of Mary's conversation seemed to give back to Morris'ssystem some of the tone that it had lost. Also, when he thought fit touse it, he had a strong will, and he thought fit this night. Lastly,like many a man in a quandary before him, he discovered the strangeadvantages of a scientific but liberal absorption of champagne. Marynoticed this as she noticed everything, and said presently with her eyeswide open:
"Might I ask, my dear, if you are--ill? You are eating next to nothing,and that's your fourth large glass of champagne--you who never drankmore than two. Don't you remember how it used to vex my poor dad,because he said that it always meant half a bottle wasted, and atemptation to the cook?"
Morris laughed--he was able to laugh by now--and replied, as ithappened, with perfect truth, that he had an awful toothache.
"Then everything is explained," said Mary. "Did you ever see me witha toothache? Well, I should advise you not, for it would be our lastinterview. I will paint it for you after dinner with pure carbolic acid;it's splendid, that is if you don't drop any on the patient's tongue."
Morris answered that he would stick to champagne. Then Mary began tonarrate her experiences in the convent in a fashion so funny that theColonel could scarcely control his laughter, and even Morris, toothache,heartache, and all, was genuinely amused.
"Imagine, my dear Morris," she said, "you know the time I get down tobreakfast. Or perhaps you don't. It's one of those things which I havebeen careful to conceal from you, but you will one day, and I believethat over it our matrimonial happiness may be wrecked. Well, at whathour do you think I found myself expected to be up in that convent?"
"Seven," suggested Morris.
"At seven! At a quarter to five, if you please! At a quarter to fiveevery morning did some wretched person come and ring a dinner-belloutside my door. And it was no use going to sleep again, not the least,for at half-past five two hideous old lay-sisters arrived with bucketsof water--they have a perfect passion for cleanliness--and began toscrub out the cell whether you were in bed or whether you weren't."
Then she rattled on to other experiences, trivial enough in themselves,but so entertaining when touched and lightened with her native humour,that very soon the evening had worn itself pleasantly away without asingle sad or untoward word.
"Good night, dear!" said Mary to Morris, who this time managed toembrace her with becoming warmth; "you will come and see me to-morrow,won't you--no, not in the morning. Remember I have been getting up ata quarter to five for a month, and I am trying to equalise matters; butafter luncheon. Then we will sit before a good fire, and have a talk,for the weather is so delightfully bad that I am sure I shan't be forcedto take exercise."
"Very well, at three o'clock," said Morris, when the Colonel, who hadbeen reflecting to himself, broke in.
"Look here, my dear, you must be down to lunch, or if you are not youought to be; so, as I want to have a chat with you about some of yourpoor father's affairs, and am engaged for the rest of the day, I willcome over then if you will allow me."
"Certainly, uncle, if you like; but wouldn't Morris do instead--asrepresenting me, I mean?"
"Yes," he answered; "when you are married he will do perfectly well,but until that happy event I am afraid that I must take your personalopinion."
"Oh! very well," said Mary with a sigh; "I will expect you at a quarterpast one."