There was no doubt now of the bitterness in Mrs Tower’s heart.
“When Jane wrote and told me they were back from their honeymoon I thought I must ask them both to dinner. I didn’t much like the idea, but I felt it had to be done. I knew the party would be deadly and I wasn’t going to sacrifice any of the people who really mattered. On the other hand I didn’t want Jane to think I hadn’t any nice friends. You know I never have more than eight, but on this occasion I thought it would make things go better if I had twelve. I’d been too busy to see Jane until the evening of the party. She kept us all waiting a little-that was Gilbert’s cleverness-and at last she sailed in. You could have knocked me down with a feather. She made the rest of the women look dowdy and provincial. She made me feel like a painted old trollop.”
Mrs Tower drank a little champagne.
“I wish I could describe the frock to you. It would have been quite impossible on anyone else; on her it was perfect. And the eyeglass! I’d known her for thirty-five years and I’d never seen her without spectacles.”
“But you knew she had a good figure.”
“How should I? I’d never seen her except in the clothes you first saw her in. Did you think she had a good figure? She seemed not to be unconscious of the sensation she made but to take it as a matter of course. I thought of my dinner and I heaved a sigh of relief. Even if she was a little heavy in hand, with that appearance it didn’t so very much matter. She was sitting at the other end of the table and I heard a good deal of laughter. I was glad to think that the other people were playing up well; but after dinner I was a good deal taken aback when no less than three men came up to me and told me that my sister-in-law was priceless, and did I think she would allow them to call on her? I didn’t quite know whether I was standing on my head or my heels. Twenty-four hours later our hostess of tonight rang me up and said she had heard my sister-in-law was in London and she was priceless and would I ask her to luncheon to meet her? She has an infallible instinct, that woman: in a month everyone was talking about Jane. I am here tonight, not because I’ve known our hostess for twenty years and have asked her to dinner a hundred times, but because I’m Jane’s sister-in-law.”
Poor Mrs Tower. The position was galling, and though I could not help being amused, for the tables were turned on her with a vengeance, I felt that she deserved my sympathy.
“People never can resist those who make them laugh,” I said, trying to console her.
“She never makes me laugh.”
Once more from the top of the table I heard a guffaw and guessed that Jane had said another amusing thing.
“Do you mean to say that you are the only person who doesn’t think her funny?” I asked, smiling.
“Had it struck you that she was a humorist?”
“I’m bound to say it hadn’t.”
“She says just the same things as she’s said for the last thirty-five years, I laugh when I see everyone else does because I don’t want to seem a perfect fool, but I am not amused.”
“Like Queen Victoria,” I said.
It was a foolish jest and Mrs Tower was quite right sharply to tell me so. I tried another tack.
“Is Gilbert here?” I asked, looking down the table.
“Gilbert was asked because she won’t go out without him, but tonight he’s at a dinner of the Architects’ Institute or whatever it’s called.”
“I’m dying to renew my acquaintance with her.”
“Go and talk to her after dinner. She’ll ask you to her Tuesdays.”
“Her Tuesdays?”
“She’s at home every Tuesday evening. You’ll meet there everyone you ever heard of. They’re the best parties in London. She’s done in one year what I’ve failed to do in twenty.”
“But what you tell me is really miraculous. How has it been done?”
Mrs Tower shrugged her handsome but adipose shoulders.
“I shall be glad if you’ll tell me,” she replied.
After dinner I tried to make my way to the sofa on which Jane was sitting, but I was intercepted and it was not till a little later that my hostess came up to me and said:
“I must introduce you to the star of my party. Do you know Jane Napier? She’s priceless. She’s much more amusing than your comedies.”
I was taken up to the sofa. The admiral who had been sitting beside her at dinner was with her still. He showed no sign of moving and Jane, shaking hands with me, introduced me to him.
“Do you know Sir Reginald Frobisher?”
We began to chat. It was the same Jane as I had known before, perfectly simple, homely and unaffected, but her fantastic appearance certainly gave a peculiar savour to what she said. Suddenly I found myself shaking with laughter. She had made a remark, sensible and to the point, but not in the least witty, which her manner of saying and the bland look she gave me through her eyeglass made perfectly irresistible. I felt light-hearted and buoyant. When I left her she said to me:
“If you’ve got nothing better to do, come and see us on Tuesday evening. Gilbert will be so glad to see you.”
“When he’s been a month in London he’ll know that he can have nothing better to do,” said the admiral.
So, on Tuesday but rather late, I went to Jane’s. I confess I was a little surprised at the company. It was quite a remarkable collection of writers, painters and politicians, actors, great ladies and great beauties: Mrs Tower was right, it was a grand party; I had seen nothing like it in London since Stafford House was sold. No particular entertainment was provided. The refreshments were adequate without being luxurious. Jane in her quiet way seemed to be enjoying herself; I could not see that she took a great deal of trouble with her guests, but they seemed to like being there and the gay, pleasant party did not break up till two in the morning. After that I saw much of her. I not only went often to her house, but seldom went out to luncheon or to dinner without meeting her. I am an amateur of humour and I sought to discover in what lay her peculiar gift. It was impossible to repeat anything she said, for the fun, like certain wines, would not travel. She had no gift for epigram. She never made a brilliant repartee. There was no malice in her remarks nor sting in her rejoinders. There are those who think that impropriety, rather than brevity, is the soul of wit; but she never said a thing that could have brought a blush to a Victorian cheek. I think her humour was unconscious and I am sure it was unpremeditated. It flew like a butterfly from flower to flower, obedient only to its own caprice and pursuivant of neither method nor intention. It depended on the way she spoke and on the way she looked. Its subtlety gained by the flaunting and extravagant appearance that Gilbert had achieved for her; but her appearance was only an element in it. Now of course she was the fashion and people laughed if she but opened her mouth. They no longer wondered that Gilbert had married a wife so much older than himself. They saw that Jane was a woman with whom age did not count. They thought him a devilish lucky young fellow. The admiral quoted Shakespeare to me: “Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety.” Gilbert was delighted with her success. As I came to know him better I grew to like him. It was quite evident that he was neither a rascal nor a fortune-hunter. He was not only immensely proud of Jane but genuinely devoted to her. His kindness to her was touching. He was a very unselfish and sweet-tempered young man.
“Well, what do you think of Jane now?” he said to me once, with boyish triumph.
“I don’t know which of you is more wonderful,” I said. “You or she.”
“Oh, I’m nothing.”
“Nonsense. You don’t think I’m such a fool as not to see that it’s you, and you only, who’ve made Jane what she is.”
“My only merit is that I saw what was there when it wasn’t obvious to the naked eye,” he answered.
“I can understand your seeing that she had in her the possibility of that remarkable appearance, but how in the world have you made her into a humorist?”
“But I always thought the things she said a p
erfect scream. She was always a humorist.”
“You’re the only person who ever thought so.”
Mrs Tower, not without magnanimity, acknowledged that she had been mistaken in Gilbert. She grew quite attached to him. But notwithstanding appearances she never faltered in her opinion that the marriage could not last. I was obliged to laugh at her.
“Why, I’ve never seen such a devoted couple,” I said.
“Gilbert is twenty-seven now. It’s just the time for a pretty girl to come along. Did you notice the other evening at Jane’s that pretty little niece of Sir Reginald’s? I thought Jane was looking at them both with a good deal of attention, and I wondered to myself.”
“I don’t believe Jane fears the rivalry of any girl under the sun.”
“Wait and see,” said Mrs Tower.
“You gave it six months.”
“Well, now I give it three years.”
When anyone is very positive in an opinion it is only human nature to wish him proved wrong. Mrs Tower was really too cocksure. But such a satisfaction was not mine, for the end that she had always and confidently predicted to the ill-assorted match did in point of fact come. Still, the fates seldom give us what we want in the way we want it, and though Mrs Tower could flatter herself that she had been right, I think after all she would sooner have been wrong. For things did not happen at all in the way she expected.
One day I received an urgent message from her and fortunately went to see her at once. When I was shown into the room Mrs Tower rose from her chair and came towards me with the stealthy swiftness of a leopard stalking his prey. I saw that she was excited.
“Jane and Gilbert have separated,” she said.
“Not really? Well, you were right after all.”
Mrs Tower looked at me with an expression I could not understand.
“Poor Jane,” I muttered.
“Poor Jane!” she repeated, but in tones of such derision that I was dumbfounded.
She found some difficulty in telling me exactly what had occurred.
Gilbert had left her a moment before she leaped to the telephone to summon me. When he entered the room, pale and distraught, she saw at once that
something terrible-had happened. She knew what he was going to say before
he said it.
“Marion, Jane has left me.”
She gave him a little smile and took his hand.
“I knew you’d behave like a gentleman. It would have been dreadful for her for people to think that you had left her.”
“I’ve come to you because I knew I could count on your sympathy.”
“Oh, I don’t blame you, Gilbert,” said Mrs Tower, very kindly. “It was bound to happen.” He sighed.
“I suppose so. I couldn’t hope to keep her always. She was too wonderful and I’m a perfectly commonplace fellow.”
Mrs Tower patted his hand. He was really behaving beautifully. “And what’s going to happen now?”
“Well, she’s going to divorce me.”
“Jane always said she’d put no obstacle in your way if ever you wanted to marry a girl.”
“You don’t think it’s likely I should ever be willing to marry anyone else after being Jane’s husband,” he answered. Mrs Tower was puzzled. “Of course you mean that you’ve left Jane.”
“I? That’s the last thing I should ever do.”
“Then why is she divorcing you?”
“She’s going to marry Sir Reginald Frobisher as soon as the decree is made absolute.”
Mrs Tower positively screamed. Then she felt so faint that she had to get her smelling salts.
“After all you’ve done for her?”
“I’ve done nothing for her.”
“Do you mean to say you’re going to allow yourself to be made use of like that?”
“We arranged before we married that if either of us wanted his liberty the other should put no hindrance in the way.”
“But that was done on your account. Because you were twenty-seven years younger that she was.”
“Well, it’s come in very useful for her,” he answered bitterly.
Mrs Tower expostulated, argued, and reasoned; but Gilbert insisted that no rules applied to Jane, and he must do exactly what she wanted. He left Mrs Tower prostrate. It relieved her a good deal to give me a full account of this interview. It pleased her to see that I was as surprised as herself and if I was not so indignant with Jane as she was she ascribed that to the criminal lack of morality incident to my sex. She was still in a state of extreme agitation when the door was opened and the butler showed in-Jane herself. She was dressed in black and white as no doubt befitted her slightly ambiguous position, but in a dress so original and fantastic, in a hat so striking, that I positively gasped at the sight of her. But she was as ever bland and collected. She came forward to kiss Mrs Tower, but Mrs Tower withdrew herself with icy dignity.
“Gilbert has been here,” she said.
“Yes, I know,” smiled Jane. “I told him to come and see you. I’m going to Paris tonight and I want you to be very kind to him while I’m away. I’m afraid just at first he’ll be rather lonely and I shall feel more comfortable if I can count on your keeping an eye on him.”
Mrs Tower clasped her hands.
“Gilbert has just told me something that I can hardly bring myself to believe. He tells me that you’re going to divorce him to marry Reginald Frobisher.”
“Don’t you remember, before I married Gilbert you advised me to marry a man of my own age? The admiral is fifty-three.”
“But, Jane, you owe everything to Gilbert,” said Mrs Tower indignantly. “You wouldn’t exist without him. Without him to design your clothes, you’ll be nothing.”
“Oh, he’s promised to go on designing my clothes,” Jane answered blandly.
“No woman could want a better husband. He’s always been kindness itself to you.”
“Oh, I know he’s been sweet.”
“How can you be so heartless?”
“But I was never in love with Gilbert,” said Jane. “I always told him that. I’m beginning to feel the need of the companionship of a man of my own age. I think I’ve probably been married to Gilbert long enough. The young have no conversation.” She paused a little and gave us both a charming smile. “Of course I shan’t lose sight of Gilbert. I’ve arranged that with Reginald. The admiral has a niece that would just suit him. As soon as we’re married we’ll ask them to stay with us at Malta-you know that the admiral is to have the Mediterranean Command-and I shouldn’t be at all surprised if they fell in love with one another.”
Mrs Tower gave a little sniff.
“And have you arranged with the admiral that if you want your liberty neither should put any hindrance in the way of the other?”
“I suggested it,” Jane answered with composure. “But the admiral says he knows a good thing when he sees it and he won’t want to marry anyone else, and if anyone wants to marry me-he has eight twelve-inch guns on his flagship and he’ll discuss the matter at short range.” She gave us a look through her eyeglass which even the fear of Mrs Tower’s wrath could not prevent me from laughing at. “I think the admiral’s a very passionate man.”
Mrs Tower gave me an angry frown.
“I never thought you funny, Jane,” she said. “I never understood why people laughed at the things you said.”
“I never thought I was funny myself, Marion,” smiled Jane, showing her bright, regular teeth. “I am glad to leave London before too many people come round to our opinion.”
“I wish you’d tell me the secret of your astonishing success,” I said.
She turned to me with that bland, homely look I knew so well.
“You know, when I married Gilbert and settled in London and people began to laugh at what I said no one was more surprised than I was. I’d said the same things for thirty years and no one ever saw anything to laugh at. I thought it must be my clothes or my bobbed hair or my eyeglass. Then I discovered it
was because I spoke the truth. It was so unusual that people thought it humorous. One of these days someone else will discover the secret and when people habitually tell the truth of course there’ll be nothing funny in it.”
“And why am I the only person not to think it funny?” asked Mrs Tower.
Jane hesitated a little as though she were honestly searching for a satisfactory explanation.
“Perhaps you don’t know the truth when you see it, Marion dear,” she answered in her mild good-natured way.
It certainly gave her the last word. I felt that Jane would always have the last word. She was priceless.
THE ROUND DOZEN
I LIKE Elsom. It is a seaside resort in the South of England, not very far from Brighton, and it has something of the late Georgian charm of that agreeable town. But it is neither bustling nor garish. Ten years ago, when I used to go there not infrequently, you might still see here and there an old house, solid and pretentious in no unpleasing fashion (like a decayed gentlewoman of good family whose discreet pride in her ancestry amuses rather than offends you), which was built in the reign of the First Gentleman in Europe and where a courtier of fallen fortunes may well have passed his declining years. The main street had a lackadaisical air and the doctor’s motor seemed a trifle out of place. The housewives did their housekeeping in a leisurely manner. They gossiped with the butcher as they watched him cut from his great joint of South Down a piece of the best end of the neck, and they asked amiably after the grocer’s wife as he put half a pound of tea and a packet of salt into their string bag. I do not know whether Elsom was ever fashionable: it certainly was not so then; but it was respectable and cheap. Elderly ladies, maiden and widowed, lived there, Indian Civilians and retired soldiers: they looked forward with little shudders of dismay to August and September which would bring holiday-makers; but did not disdain to let them their houses and on the proceeds spend a few worldly weeks in a Swiss pension. I never knew Elsom at that hectic time when the lodging-houses were full and young men in blazers sauntered along the front, when Pierrots performed on the beach and in the billiard-room at the Dolphin you heard the click of balls till eleven at night. I only knew it in winter. Then in every house on the seafront, stucco houses with bow-windows built a hundred years ago, there was a sign to inform you that apartments were to let; and the guests of the Dolphin were waited on by a single waiter and the boots. At ten o’clock the porter came into the smoking-room and looked at you in so marked a manner that you got up and went to bed. Then Elsom was a restful place and the Dolphin a very comfortable inn. It was pleasing to think that the Prince Regent drove over with Mrs Fitzherbert more than once to drink a dish of tea in its coffee-room. In the hall was a framed letter from Mr Thackeray ordering a sitting-room and two bedrooms overlooking the sea and giving instructions that a fly should be sent to the station to meet him.
The Complete Short Stories of W. Somerset Maugham: East and West (Vol. 1 of 2)) Page 47
