II.
Nellie came into the dining-room two minutes after her husband. AsEdward Henry had laboriously counted these two minutes almost second bysecond on the dining-room clock, he was very tired of waiting. Hissecret annoyance was increased by the fact that Nellie took off herwhite apron in the doorway and flung it hurriedly on to the table-traywhich, during the progress of meals, was established outside thedining-room door. He did not actually witness this operation ofundressing, because Nellie was screened by the half-closed door; but hewas entirely aware of it. He disliked it, and he had always dislikedit. When Nellie was at work, either as a mother or as the owner ofcertain fine silver ornaments, he rather enjoyed the wonderful whiteapron, for it suited her temperament; but as the head of a householdwith six thousand pounds a year at its disposal, he objected to any hintof the thing at meals. And to-night he objected to it altogether. Whocould guess from the homeliness of their family life that he was in aposition to spend a hundred pounds a week and still have enough incomeleft over to pay the salary of a town clerk or so? Nobody could guess;and he felt that people ought to be able to guess. When he was young hewould have esteemed an income of six thousand pounds a year asnecessarily implicating feudal state, valets, castles, yachts, familysolicitors, racing-stables, county society, dinner-calls, and a drawlingLondon accent. Why should his wife wear an apron at all? But the sadtruth was that neither his wife nor his mother ever _looked_ rich, noreven endeavoured to look rich. His mother would carry an eighty-poundsealskin as though she had picked it up at a jumble sale, and his wifeput such simplicity into the wearing of a hundred-and-eighty pounddiamond ring that its expensiveness was generally quite wasted.
And yet, while the logical male in him scathingly condemned thisfeminine defect of character, his private soul was glad of it, for hewell knew that he would have been considerably irked by the complexitiesand grandeurs of high life. But never would he have admitted this.
Nellie's face as she sat down was not limpid. He understood naught ofit. More than twenty years had passed since they had first met--he anda wistful little creature--at a historic town-hall dance. He could stillsee the wistful little creature in those placid and pure features, inthat buxom body; but now there was a formidable, capable, andexperienced woman there too. Impossible to credit that the wistfullittle creature was thirty-seven! But she was. Indeed, it was verydoubtful if she would ever see thirty-eight again. Once he had had themost romantic feelings about her. He could recall the slim flexibilityof her waist, the timorous, melting invitation of her eyes. Andnow--such was human existence!
She sat up erect on her chair. She did not apologise for being late.She made no inquiry as to his neuralgia. On the other hand, she was notcross. She was just neutral, polite, cheerful, and apparently consciousof perfection. He strongly desired to inform her of the exact time ofday, but his lips would not articulate the words.
"Maud," she said with divine calm to the maid who bore in the baked Yorkham under its silver canopy, "you haven't taken away that brush that'sin the passage." Another illustration of Nellie's inability to live upto six thousand pounds a year; she would always refer to the hall as the"passage."
"Please'm, I did, m'm," replied Maud, now as conscious of perfection asher mistress. "He must have took it back again."
"Who's 'he'?" demanded the master.
"Carlo, sir." Upon which triumph Maud retired.
Edward Henry was dashed. Nevertheless, he quickly recovered hispresence of mind, and sought about for a justification of his previousverdict upon the negligence of five women.
"It would have been easy enough to put the brush where the dog couldn'tget at it," he said. But he said this strictly to himself. He couldnot say it aloud. Nor could he say aloud the words "neuralgia," "threehundred and forty-one pounds," any more than he could say "late."
That he was in a peculiar mental condition is proved by the fact that hedid not remark the absence of his mother until he was putting her shareof baked ham on to a plate.
He thought, "This is a bit thick, this is!" meaning the extreme latenessof his mother for the meal. But his only audible remark was a somewhatimpatient banging down of the hot plate in front of his mother's emptychair.
In answer to this banging, Nellie quietly began:
"Your mother--"
(He knew instantly, then, that Nellie was disturbed about something orother. Mother-in-law and daughter-in-law lived together under one roofin perfect amity. Nay more, they often formed powerful and unscrupulousleagues against him. But whenever Nellie was disturbed, by no matterwhat, she would say "your mother" instead of merely "Mother." It was anextraordinary subtle, silly, and effective way of putting him in thewrong.)
"Your mother is staying up-stairs with Robert."
Robert was the eldest child, aged eight.
"Oh!" breathed Edward Henry. He might have enquired what the nurse wasfor; he might have enquired how his mother meant to get her tea; but herefrained, adding simply, "What's up now?"
And in retort to his wife's "your," he laid a faint emphasis on the word"now," to imply that those women were always inventing some freshimaginary woe for the children.
"Carlo's bitten him--in the calf," said Nellie, tightening her lips.
This, at any rate, was not imaginary.
"The kid was teasing him as usual, I suppose?" he suggested.
"That I don't know," said Nellie. "But I know we must get rid of thatdog."
"Serious?"
"Of course we must," Nellie insisted, with an inadvertent heat which sheimmediately cooled.
"I mean the bite."
"Well--it's a bite right enough."
"And you're thinking of hydrophobia, death amid horrible agony, and soon."
"No, I'm not," she said stoutly, trying to smile.
But he knew she was. And he knew also that the bite was a trifle. Ifit had been a good bite, she would have made it enormous; she would havehinted that the dog had left a chasm in the boy's flesh.
"Yes, you are," he continued to twit her, encouraged by her attempt at asmile.
However, the smile expired.
"I suppose you won't deny that Carlo's teeth may have been dirty? He'salways nosing in some filth or other," she said challengingly, in ameasured tone of sagacity. "And there may be blood-poisoning."
"Blood-fiddlesticks!" exclaimed Edward Henry.
Such a nonsensical and infantile rejoinder deserved no answer, and itreceived none. Shortly afterwards Maud entered and whispered thatNellie was wanted up-stairs. As soon as his wife had gone, Edward Henryrang the bell.
"Maud," he said, "bring me the _Signal_ out of my left-handovercoat-pocket."
And he defiantly finished his meal at leisure, with the news of the daypropped up against the flower-pot, which he had set before him insteadof the dish of ham.
The Old Adam: A Story of Adventure Page 2
