Part 40 (2/2)

Ever since that dreadful Wednesday an uneasy mind had kept Mr.

Waddington for ever calling on his neighbours. He wanted to find out from their behaviour and their faces whether they knew anything and how much they knew. He lived in perpetual fear of what that horrible woman might say or do. The memory of what _he_ had said and done that Wednesday no longer disturbed his complete satisfaction with himself. He couldn't think of Elise as horrible without at the same time thinking of himself as the pure and chivalrous spirit that had resisted her.

Automatically he thought of himself as pure and chivalrous. And in the rare but beastly moments when he did remember what he had done and said to Elise and what Elise had done and said to him, when he felt again her hand beating him off and heard her voice crying out: ”You old imbecile!”

automatically he thought of her as cold. Some women were like that--cold. Deficient in natural feeling. Only an abnormal coldness could have made her repulse him as she did. She had told him to his face, in her indecent way, that love was _the_ most ridiculous thing.

He couldn't, for the life of him, understand how a thing that was so delightful to other women could he ridiculous to Elise; but there it was.

Absolutely abnormal, that. His vanity received immense consolation in thinking of Elise as abnormal.

His mind pa.s.sed without a jolt or a jar from one consideration to its opposite. Elise was cold and he was normally and n.o.bly pa.s.sionate Elise was horrible and he was chivalrously pure. Whichever way he had it he was consoled.

But you couldn't tell in what awful light the thing might present itself to other people.

It was this doubt that drove him to Underwoods one afternoon early in January, ostensibly to deliver his greetings for the New Year.

After tea Sir John lured him into his library for a smoke. The peculiar smile and twinkle at play on his fat face should have warned Mr.

Waddington of what was imminent.

They puffed in an amicable silence for about two minutes before he began.

”Ever see anything of Mrs. Levitt now?”

Mr. Waddington raised his eyebrows as if surprised at this impertinence.

He seemed to be debating with himself whether he would condescend to answer it or not.

”No,” he said presently, ”I don't.”

”Taken my advice and dropped it, have you?”

”I should say, rather, it dropped itself.”

”I'm glad to hear that, Waddington; I'm very glad to hear it. I always said, you know, you'd get landed if you didn't look out.”

”My dear Corbett, I did look out. You don't imagine I was going to be let in more than I could help.”

”Wise after the event, what?”

Mr. Waddington thought: ”He's trying to pump me.” He was determined not to be pumped. Corbett should not get anything out of him.

”After what event? f.a.n.n.y's called several times, but she doesn't care to keep it up. Neither, to tell the honest truth, do I.... Why?”

Sir John was twinkling at him in his exasperating way.

”Why? Because, my dear fellow, the woman's going about everywhere saying she's given _you_ up.”

”I don't care,” said Mr. Waddington, ”what she says. Quite immaterial to me.”

”You mayn't care, but your friends do, Waddington.”

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