by E. F. Benson
“Oh, it’s awfully interesting if you’re right,” said Miss Grantham reflectively; “but I think you exaggerate. Jack is not a cad. He doesn’t mean any harm. Besides, he is a great friend of Chesterford’s.”
“Well, he’s got no business to play with fire,” said Edith. “His sense of security only increases the real danger. If Chesterford knew exactly how matters stood it would be different, but he is so simple-hearted that he is only charmed to see Jack Broxton, and pleased that Dodo likes him.”
“Oh, it’s awfully interesting,” murmured Miss Grantham.
“I could cry when I think of Chesterford,” said Edith. “The whole thing is such a fearful tragedy. If only they can get over this time safely, it may all blow over. I wish Dodo could go out again to her balls and concerts. She finds such frantic interest in everything about her, that she doesn’t think much of any particular person. But it is this period, when she is thrown entirely on two or three people, that is so dangerous. She really is a frightful problem. Chesterford was a bold or a blind man to marry her. Oh, I can’t attend to this opera to-night. I shall go home. It’s nearly over. Faust is singing hopelessly out of tune.”
She shut her book, and picked up her fan and gloves.
“Dear Edith,” said Miss Grantham languidly, “I think you mean very well, but you are rather over-drawing things. Are you really going? I think I shall come too.”
Jack meantime was finding his way home in a rebellious and unchristian frame of mind. In the first place, he had just lost his temper, which always seemed to him to be a most misdirected effort of energy; in the second place, he resented Edith’s interference with all his heart and soul; and in the third, he did not feel so certain that she was wrong. Of course he guessed what Mrs. Vivian’s wish to see him meant, for it had occurred to him very vividly what consequences the death of the baby would have on him and Dodo: and he anticipated another period like that which had followed the birth. Jack could hardly dare to trust himself to think of that time. He knew it had been very pleasant to him, and that he had enjoyed Dodo’s undisturbed company during many days in succession, but it was with a certain tingling of the ears that he thought of the events of the morning, and his mad confession to her. “I have a genius for spoiling things,” thought Jack to himself. “Everything was going right; I was seeing Dodo enough to keep me happy, and free from that hateful feeling of last autumn, and then I spoilt it all by a stupid remark that could do no good, nor help me in any conceivable way. How will Dodo have taken it?”
But he was quite sure of one thing — he would not go and see Mrs. Vivian. He was, he felt, possessed of all the facts of the case, and he was competent to form a judgment on them — at any rate Mrs. Vivian was not competent to do it for him. No, he would give it another chance. He would again reason out the pros and cons of the case, he would be quite honest, and he would act accordingly.
That he should arrive at the same conclusion was inevitable. The one thing in the world that no man can account for, or allow for, is change in himself. If Jack had been able to foresee, when he went abroad, that he would be acting thus with regard to Dodo, he would have thought himself mad, and it would have been as impossible for him to act thus then, as it was inevitable for him to act thus now. If we judge by our own standards, and our own standards alter, we cannot expect our verdicts to remain invariable. Under a strong attachment a man drifts, and he cannot at any one moment allow for, or feel the force of the current, for he is moving in it, though he thinks himself at rest. The horrible necessities of cause and effect work in us, as well as around us. As Edith had said, his sense of security was his danger, for his standard of security was not the same as it had been.
He sat down and wrote a note to Mrs. Vivian, saying that he regretted being unable to call on her to-morrow, and purposely forebore to give any reason. He had considerable faith in her power of reading between the lines, and the fact, baldly stated, was an unnecessary affront to her intellect.
Mrs. Vivian read the note with very little surprise, but with a good deal of regret. She was genuinely sorry for him, but she had other means at her disposal, though they were not so pleasant to use. They involved a certain raking up of old dust-heaps, and a certain awakening of disagreeable memories. But it never occurred to her to draw back. Naturally enough she went to see Dodo next morning, and found her alone. Mrs. Vivian had her lesson by heart, and she was only waiting for Dodo to tell her to begin, so to speak. Dodo hailed her with warmth; she had evidently found matters a little tedious.
“Dear Vivy,” she said, “I’m so glad you’ve come; and Chesterford told me to ask you to see him, before you went away, in case you called. So you will, won’t you? But I must have you for a long time first.”
“How is he?” asked Mrs. Vivian.
“Oh, he’s quite well,” said Dodo, “but he feels it frightfully. But he is fortunate, he has spiritual consolation as his aid. I haven’t, not one atom. It’s a great nuisance, I know, but I don’t see how to help it. Can the Ethiopian change his skin?”
“Ah, Dodo,” said she, with earnestness in her tone, “you have a great opportunity — I don’t think you realise how great.”
“Why, what do you mean?” said Dodo.
“Of course I know what you feel,” said Mrs. Vivian, “and it is necessary that with your grief there must be mixed up a great deal of vexation and annoyance. Isn’t it so?”
“Yes, yes,” said Dodo. “You don’t despise me for feeling that?”
“Despise you!” said Mrs. Vivian. “You know me better than that. But you must not dwell on it. There is something more important than the cancelling of your smaller engagements. You have a big engagement, you know, which must not be cancelled.”
Dodo rose from her chair with wide eyes.
“Ah, Vivy,” she said, “you have guessed it, have you? It is quite true. Let me tell you all about it. It is just that which bothers me. These days when I only see Chesterford bore me more than I can say. I don’t know why I tell you this; it isn’t want of loyalty to him, but I want help. I don’t know how to deal with him.. Yes, he bores me. I always foresaw this, but I hoped I shouldn’t mind. I was wrong and Jack was right. He warned me of it, but he must never know he was right. Of course you see why. I think I did not expect that Chesterford’s love for me would last. I thought he would cease being my lover, and I am terribly wrong. It gets stronger and stronger. He told me so last night, and I felt a brute. But I comforted him and deceived him again. Ah, what could I do? I don’t love him. I would give anything to do so. I think I felt once what love was, but only once, and not for him.”
Mrs. Vivian looked up inquiringly.
“No, I shan’t tell you about that,” said Dodo, speaking rapidly and excitedly; “it would be a sort of desecration. There is something divine about Chesterford’s feeling for me. I know it, but it doesn’t really touch me. I am not capable of it, and what happens is that I continue to amuse myself on my own lines, and all that goes over my head. But I make him believe I understand. It makes him happy. And I know, I know, that when I am out of this, I shall go on just as usual, except that I shall feel like a prisoner escaped, and revel in my liberty. I know I shall. Sometimes I almost determine to make some sacrifice for him in a blind sort of way, like a heathen sacrificing to what he fears, yes, fears, but then that mood passes and I go on as usual. I long to get away from him. Sometimes I am afraid of hating him, if I see him too much or too exclusively.”
“Yes, Dodo, I know, I know,” said Mrs. Vivian. “I don’t see how you are to learn it, unless it comes to you; but what you can do, is to act as if you felt it, not only in little tiny ways, like calling him an ‘old darling,’ but in living for him more.”
“Ah, those are only words,” said Dodo impatiently. “I realise it all, but I can’t do it.”
There was a long silence. Then Mrs. Vivian said, —
“Dodo, I am going to tell you what I have never told anyone before, and that is the story of my
marriage. I know the current version very well, that I married a brute who neglected me. That he neglected me is true, but that is not all. Like you, I married without love, without even liking. There were reasons for it, which I need not trouble you with. I used to see a good deal of a man with whom I was in love, when I married Mr. Vivian. He interested me and made my life more bearable. My husband grew jealous of him, almost directly after my marriage. I saw it, and, God forgive me, it amused me, and I let it go on — in fact, I encouraged it. That was my mistake, and I paid dearly for it. I believe he loved me at first; it was my fault that he did not continue to do so. Then my baby was born, and, a month afterwards, somehow or other we quarrelled, and he said things to me which no woman ever forgets. He said it was not his child. I never forgot it, and it is a very short time ago that I forgave it. For two years after his death, as you know, I travelled abroad, and I fought against it, and I believe, before God, that I have forgiven him. Then I came back to London. But after that day when he said those things to me, we grew further and further apart. I interested myself in other things, in the poor, and so on, and he took to drinking. That killed him. He was run over in the street, as he came back from somewhere where he had been dining. But he was run over because he was dead drunk at the time. When I was abroad I came under the influence of a certain Roman Catholic priest. He did not convert me, nor did he try to, but he helped me very much; and one day, I remember the day very well, I was almost in despair, because I could not forgive the wrong my dead husband had done me, somehow a change began in me. I can tell you no more than that a change comes, and it is there. It is the grace of God. There, Dodo, that is my history, and there is this you may learn from it, that you must be on your guard against making a mistake. You must never let Chesterford know how wide the gulf is between you. It will be a constant effort, I know, but it is all you can do. Set a watch on yourself; let your indifference be your safeguard, your warning.”
Mrs. Vivian stood up. Her eyes were full of tears, and she laid her hands on Dodo’s shoulders. Dodo felt comfort in the presence of this strong woman, who had wrestled and conquered.
Dodo looked affectionately at her, and, with one of those pretty motions that came so naturally to her, she pressed her back into her chair, and knelt beside her.
“Dear Vivy,” she said, “my little troubles have made you cry. I am so sorry, dear. You are very good to me. But I want to ask you one thing. About that man your husband was jealous of—”
“No, no,” said Mrs. Vivian quickly; “that was only one of the incidents which I had to tell you to make the story intelligible.”
Dodo hesitated.
“You are sure you aren’t thinking of anyone in my case — of Jack, for instance?” she suddenly said.
Mrs. Vivian did not answer for a moment. Then she said, —
“Dodo, I am going to be very frank with you. He is an instance — in a way. I don’t mean to suppose for a moment that Chesterford is jealous of him, in fact, I know he can’t be — it isn’t in him; but he is a good instance of the sort of thing that makes you tend to neglect your husband.”
“But you don’t think he is an instance in particular?” demanded Dodo. “I don’t mean to bind myself in any way, but I simply want to know.”
Mrs. Vivian went straight to the point:
“That is a question which you can only decide for yourself,” she said. “I cannot pretend to judge.”
Dodo smiled.
“Then I will decide for myself,” she said. “You see, Jack is never dull. I daresay you may think him so, but I don’t. He always manages to amuse me, and, on the whole, the more I am amused the less bored I get in the intervals. He tides me over the difficult places. I allow they are difficult.”
“Ah, that is exactly what you mustn’t allow,” said Mrs. Vivian. “You don’t seem to realise any possible deficiency in yourself.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” said Dodo, as if she was announcing the most commonplace fact in the world. “I know I am deficient. I don’t appreciate devotion, I don’t appreciate the quality that makes one gaze and gaze, as it says in the hymn. It is rather frog-like that gazing; what do you call it — batrachian. Now, Maud is batrachian. I daresay it is a very high quality, but I don’t quite live up to it. There are, of course, heaps of excellent things one doesn’t live up to, like the accounts of the Stock Exchange in the Times. I fully understand that the steadiness of stockings makes a difference to somebody, only it doesn’t make any difference to me.”
“Dodo, you are incorrigible,” said Mrs. Vivian, laughing in spite of herself. “I give you up — only, do the best you can. I believe, in the main, you agree with me. And now I must be off. You said Lord Chesterford wished to see me. I suppose he is downstairs.”
“I think I shall come too,” said Dodo.
So they went down together. Lord Chesterford was in his study.
“Do you know what Mrs. Vivian has been saying to me?” remarked Dodo placidly, as she laid her hand on his shoulder. “She has been telling me I do not love you enough — isn’t she ridiculous?”
Mrs. Vivian for the moment was nonplussed, but she recovered herself quickly.
“Dodo is very naughty to-day,” she said. “She misconstrues everything I say.”
“I don’t think it’s likely you said that,” said he, capturing Dodo’s hand, “because it isn’t true.”
“I am certainly de trop,” murmured Mrs. Vivian, turning to go.
Dodo’s hand lay unresistingly in his.
“She has been so good and brave,” said Lord Chesterford to Mrs. Vivian, “she makes me feel ashamed.”
Mrs. Vivian felt an immense admiration for him.
“I said you deserved a very great deal,” she said, putting out her hand to him. “I must go, my carriage has been waiting an hour.”
He retained Dodo’s hand, and they saw her to the door.
The footman met them in the hall.
“Mr. Broxton wants to know whether you can see him, my lady,” he said to Dodo.
“Would you like to see Jack?” she asked Chesterford.
“I would rather you told him you can’t,” he said.
“Of course I will,” she answered. She turned to the footman. “Say I am engaged, but he may come again to-morrow and I will see him. You don’t mind my seeing him, do you, Chesterford?”
“No, no, dear,” he said.
Dodo and Chesterford turned back to the drawing-room. Jack was on the steps.
“I thought you were engaged at this hour,” Mrs. Vivian said to him.
“So I was,” he answered. “Dodo asked me to come and see her.”
VOLUME II.
And far out, drifting helplessly on that grey, angry sea, I saw a small boat at the mercy of the winds and waves. And my guide said to me, ‘Some call the sea “Falsehood,” and that boat “Truth,” and others call the sea “Truth,” and the boat “Falsehood;” and, for my part, I think that one is right as the other.’ — The Professor of Ignorance.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
It was just three weeks after the baby’s death, and Dodo was sitting in her room about eleven o’clock in the morning, yawning dismally over a novel, but she was conscious of a certain relief, a sense of effort suspended. Late the evening before, Lord Chesterford had consulted her about some business down at Harchester, and Dodo, in a moment of inspiration, had said that it must be done by someone on the spot, that an agent was not to be trusted, and that if Chesterford liked she would go. This, of course, led to his offering to go himself, and would Dodo come with him? Dodo had replied that she was quite willing to go, but that there was no need of both of them making a tiresome journey on an infernally hot day. Chesterford had felt, rather wistfully, that he would not mind the journey if Dodo was with him, but he had learned lately not to say such things. Dodo was apt to treat them as nonsense. “My coming with you wouldn’t make it any cooler, or less insufferably dusty,” she would have said. The result was that Chesterford went, and Dod
o was left alone’ in London, with a distinct sense of relief and relaxation.
Dodo’s next move was to send a note to Jack, saying that he was going to come and lunch with her. She was not conscious of any sense of deception in this, but she had seen that Chesterford had not cared to see anybody since the baby’s death, except Mrs. Vivian, whereas she longed to be in the midst of people again. So, whenever opportunities occurred, she had been in the habit of seeing what she could of her friends, but was very careful not to bore her husband with them. She was quite alive to the truth of Mrs. Vivian’s remarks.
But though Dodo felt a great relief in her husband’s absence, she was more than ever conscious of the unutterable stupidity of spending, day after day doing nothing. It was something even to keep it up with Chesterford, but now there was nothing to do — nothing. Still, Jack, was coming to lunch, and perhaps she might get through a few hours that way. Chesterford had said Be would be back that night late or next morning.
The footman came in bearing a card. “Jack already,” thought Dodo, with wonder. But it was not Jack. Dodo looked at it and pondered a moment. “Tell Lady Bretton I will see her,” she said.
