Part 11 (1/2)

He was already on his knees, posing logs scientifically over the paper and wood, balancing small pieces of coal on the top. In an incredibly short time a cheerful blaze was illuminating the room, and Grizel, kicking off small brown shoes, was crinkling her toes before the fire.

Martin drew forward a second chair and seated himself beside her, in apparent forgetfulness of the papers scattered over the desk.

”What a shame that you should be so chilled! Why haven't you had a fire downstairs?”

”Katrine preferred exercise. She recommended a flannel s.h.i.+rt, and an expedition to buy cabbages. British and bracing. Can you imagine _me_, Martin, buying cabbages, in the rain, in a flannel s.h.i.+rt?”

He looked at her; an eloquent glance. There were two feelings warring in his breast, indignation against his sister for her callousness and lack of consideration, and a rush of protective tenderness towards the sweet martyr so abused, for it is one of the injustices of life that the woman who smiles and looks beautiful will always take precedence in a man's heart over the a.s.siduous purchaser of cabbages. For a moment sympathy engrossed Martin's mind, then he smiled; a somewhat difficult smile.

”It is hardly your _metier_! Still, if it happened that you were in Katrine's position; if it came in your day's work--”

”If the garden were properly managed you would not _need_ to buy cabbages! I'd dismiss the gardener!” p.r.o.nounced Grizel briskly, and once again a dangerous moment had come, and gone. She cowered over the fire, holding out her hands, hitching her shoulders to her ears. Her nose was still red; if Katrine had been present she would have told herself that no man could possibly admire a woman with a red nose, but Martin had not so much as noticed the fact, and if he had, would have felt it to be a wonderful and beautiful thing that Grizel's nose could be red, like that of an ordinary mortal. It would have appeared to him the most endearing of traits.

”I wonder,” he said thoughtfully. ”I wonder Grizel, how you would stand poverty! Comparative poverty, I mean, of course. You have never realised the meaning of money. You have wanted a thing, and it has been yours. You have not adapted yourself to circ.u.mstances, circ.u.mstances have been made to adapt themselves to _you_. It is the fas.h.i.+on to decry the power of riches, but in the case of a woman like yourself, young, and strong, and beautiful, and sane, it is folly to pretend that they are not a valuable a.s.set. You have been happy--”

”Yes!” a.s.sented Grizel thoughtfully. ”Yes!” She stared into the fire, her small face very grave. ”I like money; so much money that one need not have the thought of it always before one. It would seem to me debasing to be always considering costs, planning and contriving. It would hold one's thoughts down. And I have never felt burdened by responsibility. That's what they say, you know,--the dear, serious folks,--they call wealth a burden and responsibility, but I've loved to be able to give and to help. I've my own little way about giving...”

(The listener smiled. When had Grizel _not_ her own way!) ”The public charities must be supported, of course, that's mechanical; a mere signing of cheques, but the interesting part is to get hold of private cases, and see them through! Will you be shocked, Martin, when I tell you that my particular _forte_ is helping people who have failed through--_their own fault_! Not misfortune, but drink, gambling, other things, of which they might have kept free, but--didn't! It's a kind old world; every one is ready to help the unfortunate, but when a man has had a chance, and thrown it away, when it's 'n.o.body's fault but his own,' _then_,” she shrugged her slight shoulders, ”he goes into outer darkness! People have 'enough to do' helping those who 'deserve it,'

and so I do the other thing! My old Buddy has never limited me as to money; the only time when she is annoyed, is when I've not spent enough.

I have quite a battalion of lost causes dependent on me now. It would hurt to give them up.”

There was a moment's silence, then:

”And have you _no_ idea?” asked Martin tentatively. ”None at all, whether in the end--?”

Grizel laughed. It was rare indeed that she was serious for more than a minute at a time.

”Not--one! Isn't it odd? Like a position in a _feuilleton_. Never once has the subject been mentioned between us. I have had, as I said, command of unlimited money since I left school, but she dreads the idea of death; it must never be mentioned in her presence, or anything approximately suggesting it. For the last few years she has been, of course, increasingly irresponsible, but before that we lived always as if the present would last for ever... She has never even alluded to the time when I should be alone.”

”But surely there must have been,--I know, Grizel, that there have been men,--many men!”

”Ah!” cried Grizel deeply, and chuckled with reminiscent enjoyment.

”Just so. There _was_ one, a bold one, who questioned her point blank on her intentions. He lived; he came out of the room alive, but that was as much as one could say. He got the best dressing down of _his_ life, but that was all he did get. And he didn't trouble me any more.”

”Cur! But they were not all so mercenary?”

”No.” Grizel looked thoughtful once more. ”Certainly not. I like men.

They are nice things; not really mercenary unless they're obliged. But it's a difficult position to saddle yourself with a wife who _may_ turn out a colossal heiress, or on the other hand--a pauper! It complicates the position, and in one way or other is pretty well bound to lead to trouble. The man who would appreciate the one, is bound to object to t'other, and it's such a contrary world, that the t'other it would almost certainly be... When you are making a choice for life, you ought to understand where you are. You see, Martin,” she turned towards him with a smile, ”it would not _be fair_!”

”And--” he said hoa.r.s.ely, ”was _that_ the reason why you never--?”

Grizel put her head on one side, and stared thoughtfully into the blaze.

”Partly. Mostly. Yes! And my old Buddy. She won't live long, and I owe her so much. But mostly the idea of playing the game. Most of the men I have met have positions to maintain, and expect their wives to lend a hand. They can't afford a love marriage, and I'm proud in my own little way. I shouldn't like to turn out a disappointment.”

”There are some men who are old-fas.h.i.+oned enough to prefer to provide for their own wives, who would dread the fortune even more heartily than others do the lack of it.”

”There are. I realise that. Bless their dear hearts! But _not_ the majority! There's an heir to a Dukedom hovering round now, Martin; not compromising himself, you understand, but by steady attention to business laying the foundation of a claim. If the old Buddy died and left me her heir, he'd tell me that he had forborne to _intrude_, had valiantly subdued his impatience, etc., etc., I never want the money quite so badly as when I imagine that interview! I'm not spiteful as a rule, but I shall think fate treats me hardly if I never have a chance of scorching that young man... Well! we'll see--!”

”You want then,--you will be disappointed if you don't get the money?”

She turned her eyes full upon him, distended in the widest of stares.