by Lucas Malet
V
The conversation that evening did not move very smoothly. Laurencebrought all the good temper and practical philosophy at his command intoplay. But the elder man was captious. His blank scepticism, his keen,unsparing statements jarred on his companion. An inclination towardsrevolt arose in Laurence.
"I am half afraid, sir," he permitted himself to say at last, while hiseyes rested on the gleaming breasts of the ebony sphinxes,--"that wehave made a radical mistake and put the cart before the horse. Tounderstand the average man, and his relation to things in general, mustnot you begin with the study of the average woman? Is not _cherchez lafemme_, after all, the keynote of our inquiry?"
Mr. Rivers raised his thin hand almost as in warning, and the heavyfinger-rings chinked as he let it fall again on the arm of his chair.
"The subject of sex in connection with human beings is distasteful tome," he said.
Laurence glanced at the speaker and then back at the carven sphinxagain. His eyes were a little merry--he could not help it.
"Oh! no doubt," he said; "there are times when it is distasteful to manyof us, and most infernally inconvenient into the bargain. Only you see,unluckily, it is the pivot on which the whole history of the raceturns."
"A most objectionable pivot! An insult to the intellect, a degradation."
"That may be so," Laurence answered. "Still the thing is there--alwayshas been, always will be, modern science notwithstanding, unlesshumanity agrees to voluntary and universal suicide, a consummation whichdoes not seem immediately probable in any case.--'Male and femalecreated He them.' An error perhaps of judgment, but one the Creator hasnever shown much sign of wishing to correct as yet. The most venerablereligious systems recognise this. I need not remind you that it lies atthe heart of their mysteries. Christianity too--CatholicChristianity--the only form, that is, of Christianity worth consideringseriously--acknowledges the profound significance of it in the worshipof the divine motherhood and the perpetually renewed miracle of theIncarnation."
"You interest me," Mr. Rivers said slowly.
"I am glad of that," Laurence answered. He had warmed up unexpectedly tohis subject. "I am glad of that, for I can't help seeing--"
Mr. Rivers interrupted him.
"Pardon me," he said. "I would not have you labour even temporarilyunder a misapprehension. It is less your exposition that interests methan yourself. I note indications of thought and feeling for which I wasnot wholly prepared. Taking you as a fair example of the type, Iperceive that the mind of the average member of society is of an evenlower order than I had supposed. I had, in my ignorance, imagined that,even in the class to which you belong, modern, scientific ideas hadtaken sufficient root to oust such effete superstitions as those towhich you have alluded. A more or less stupid Agnosticism, an utterindifference, would not have surprised me. From such a conditiondevelopment is still possible. But here I recognise traces of a returnto fetich worship, to savage standards--this indeed is hopeless, adegeneration from which revival is impossible. I admit, of course, thenecessity of the existence of woman, since the perpetuation of the raceappears at present desirable. It would be childish to argue the matter.She must be kept and cared for by qualified persons, as are the otherhigher, domestic animals, but--"
"But, but," Laurence said, laughing, "I must protest. Perhaps his typeof mind is too low for yours to be able to stoop to it; but, upon myword, sir, even with so thorough-paced a specimen as myself before you,you have not grasped the characteristics of the average man one bit. Idon't say we are conspicuously noble, or virtuous, or godly creatures,and I don't say that the side of our lives which has to do with ourambitions, with public affairs, our profession, or our art--the side, infact, in which woman counts least--may not give scope to that which isbest in us. I have no end of belief in the life a man lives among men. Igrant a good deal on your side of the question, you see. Only I know itwill be a precious bad day when we keep our women merely for breedingpurposes. We shall have degeneration in uncommonly full swing then.There is an immense lot in the relation between man and woman beside thephysical one; and--and--I'm not ashamed to thank whatever gods there befor that."
"Your wife--" began Mr. Rivers. Laurence looked hard at him, while thegood temper, the geniality, died out of his face.
"My wife does not enter into our contract, sir," he said shortly.
The coldly brilliant eyes fastened on him with a certain voracity ofobservation. Then the elder man bowed slightly, courteously,contemptuously.
"You interest me extremely," he said. "I am obliged to you. But I mustnot presume upon your complaisance. You have supplied me with sufficientsubjects of meditation for to-night. I will not detain you further. Ithank you, my dear Laurence. Good-night."
"I was a fool to let myself go, and a still bigger one to lose mytemper," the young man said to himself as he closed the door and passedout on to the corridor.
Save for a ticking of clocks, silence prevailed throughout the house.The electric light, clear and steady, revealed every object in itscompleteness. The temperature was some degrees higher than during theday, and airless in proportion to its increased warmth. Half-way downthe shining oak staircase, Laurence was saluted by the musky odour ofthe orchids. Clinging, enfolding, it seemed to meet him more as apresence than a scent. The dining-room door stood wide open. Theunder-butler came forth and went noiselessly towards the offices. Therefollowed a muffled sound of baize doors swinging to. Thensimultaneously, sharply, from all quarters, clocks struck the half hour.
"Only half-past ten!" Laurence exclaimed. "How villainously early! Iwish to goodness I had not lost my temper though. It was slightlyimbecile. If the poor, old gentleman enjoys being offensive, whyshouldn't he be so? He has none too many opportunities of amusement."
He paused, looking down the bright, vacant, silent corridor, past theopen doors of all the bright, vacant, silent rooms.
"If it comes to that, nor have I," he added, "when I come to think ofit. There's a notable paucity of excitement in this existence, and thisbeastly hot air makes one too muzzy to read." He yawned.--"What a mercyVirginia didn't come! She would have been most extensively andarticulately bored."
He sauntered aimlessly along the passage, past the fine, copper-plateengravings, and the impassive, Roman emperors, and drew up before thegreat, tapestry curtain. Again he looked curiously at the figures workedso skilfully upon it. The light took the silken surface, bringing thewarm flesh-tints into high relief, against the dim, grey-greenbackground of shadowy hill and grove.
"No wonder my uncle blasphemes if that represents his only idea of therelation of the sexes."
He sighed involuntarily.
"Yes, but, thank God, there is more in it all than merely that," hesaid. Then he repeated:--"It is a mercy Virginia did not come. It wouldnot have suited her from any point of view. She'd have been hideouslybored, and she would have been offended and a good deal shocked. It isqueer the way the Puritanic element survives over there, notwithstandingtheir modernity."
Laurence smiled to himself, becoming aware of the slight inconsistencyof his own attitude--his late heated championship of the claims of theEternal Feminine, his self-congratulation at the fact that his ownparticular investment in the matter of womanhood was, at present, safelyaway on the other side of the Atlantic.
Then, taken by a sudden impulse--born in part of a desire of escape fromthe suffocating atmosphere around him--he pulled the edge of the heavycurtain outwards, passed round it, letting it drop into place behindhim. He stood a moment in a contracted, blind space. The place seemedpossessed of singular influences. Again he grew faint as he groped forthe door handle; while a conviction grew upon him that he had stood justhere, and so groped an innumerable number of times already, and that heshould so stand and grope--either in fact or in imagination, just aslong, indeed, as consciousness remained to him--an innumerable number oftimes again.
At last the handle was found and yielded. Breathing rather quickly,Laurence entered the loft
y, fair-coloured room. It too was bright withelectric light, but the air of it was sensibly purer than that of thecorridor; while, standing before the painted satin-wood escritoire, atthe further side of the fireplace, was a slender woman. Her back wastowards him. She wore a high-waisted, clinging, rose-pink, silken gown.Her dark hair was gathered up in soft, yet elaborate, bows and curlshigh on her small head, after the fashion prevalent in the early yearsof the century. A cape of transparent muslin and lace veiled her bareshoulders.
