Part 16 (2/2)
”Lady Verny, I am afraid I must go back to the town hall next week. I haven't been any use.”
Lady Verny elaborately coaxed out a low-growing weed, and then, with a vicious twist, threw it into the basket beside her.
”Why don't you go and talk to Julian?” she asked. ”He can't be expected to jump a five-barred gate if he doesn't know it's there.”
Stella hesitated before she spoke; then she said with a little rush:
”What I feel now is that I'm not the person to tell him--to tell him it's there, I mean. I don't know why I ever thought I was. The person to tell him that would be some one he could notice like a light, not a person who behaves like a candle caught in a draft whenever he speaks to her.”
”My dear,” said Lady Verny, ruthlessly exposing, and one by one exterminating, a family of wireworms, ”I fear you have no feminine sense. You have a great many other kinds,--of the mind, and no doubt of the soul. You should try to please Julian. You don't; you leave him alone, and in consequence he thinks he's a failure with you. Women with the feminine sense please a man without appearing to make the effort.
The result is that the man thinks he's pleasing _them_, and a man who thinks that he has succeeded in pleasing an agreeable woman is not unaware of her.”
”But I'm so afraid of him,” pleaded Stella. ”I don't believe you know how frightening he is.”
”Yes,” said Lady Verny; ”he has lost his inner security. That makes a person very frightening, I know. He has become aggressive because he feels that something he has always counted on as a weapon has been withdrawn from him. It's like living on your wits; people who do that are always hard. I think you can give him the weapon back; but to succeed you must use all your own. You must go into a room as if it belonged to you. It's astonis.h.i.+ng how this place suits you; but you must hold your head up, and lay claim to your kingdom.”
”But I've never had a kingdom,” objected Stella, ”and I only want him to be interested in the idea of writing a book.”
”Well, that's what I mean,” said Lady Verny, decently interring the corpses of the worms. ”At least it's part of what I mean. The only way to get Julian to write a book just now is to charm him. Men whose nerves and hearts are broken don't respond readily to the abstract. You can do what I can't, because I'm his mother. He's made all the concessions he could or ought to make to me. He promised not to take his life.
Sometimes in these last few months I've felt like giving him his promise back. Now are you going to be afraid of trying to please Julian?”
”O Lady Verny,” Stella cried, ”you make me hate myself! I'll do anything in the world to please him; I'd play like a bra.s.s band, or cover myself with bangles like Cleopatra I Don't, _don't_ think I'll ever be a coward again!”
”You needn't go as far as the bangles,” said Lady Verny, smiling grimly.
”Do it your own way, but don't be afraid to let Julian think you like him. He finds all that kind of thing rather hard to believe just now.
”He's been frozen up. Remember, if he isn't nice to you, that thawing is always rather a painful process. Now run along, and leave me in peace with my worms.”
It cannot be said that Stella ran, but she went. She pa.s.sed through the hall and down a pa.s.sage; and wondered, if she had been an early-Christian martyr about to step into the arena, whether she wouldn't on the whole have preferred a tiger to Julian.
The door opened on a short pa.s.sage at the end of which was an old oak doorway heavily studded with nails. She knew this must be Julian's room, because she heard Ostrog growling ominously from inside it. Julian presumably threw something at him which hit him, for there was the sound of a short snap, and then silence.
”Please come in,” said Julian in a voice of controlled exasperation.
Stella stepped quickly into the room, closing the door behind her.
It was a long, wide room with a low ceiling. There were several polar bear-skins on the floor, and a row of stuffed penguins on a shelf behind Julian's chair. Three of the walls were covered with bookcases; the fourth was bare except for an extraordinarily vivid French painting of a girl seated in a cafe. She had red hair and a desperate, laughing face, and was probably a little drunk. There was a famous artist's signature beneath her figure, but Stella had a feeling that Julian had known the girl and had not bought the picture for the sake of the signature.
Ostrog stood in front of her, growling, with every separate hair on his back erect.
”Keep quite still for a moment,” said Julian, quickly. ”Ostrog, lie down!” The dog very slowly settled himself on his haunches, with his red, savage eyes still fixed on Stella. ”Now I think you can pa.s.s him safely,” Julian added. ”He has a peculiar dislike to human proximity, especially in this room. You can't write him down as one who loves his fellow-men, and I fear he carries his unsociability even further in respect to his fellow-women.”
”It must be nice for you,” said Stella, ”to have some one who expresses for you what you are too polite to say for yourself.”
Julian gave her a quick, challenging look.
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