Part 46 (1/2)

”Bit stiff? I should rather say it was. Especially after Jimmie's performance. Rather hard lines on Alicia, don't you think?”

”On all of 'em,” said Edwin, not seeing why Johnnie's escapade should press more on Alicia than, for example, on Janet.

”Yes, of course,” Harry agreed, evidently seeing and accepting the point. ”The less said the better!”

”I'm with you,” said Edwin.

Harry resumed his jolly tone:

”Well, you'd better peck a bit. We've planned a hard day for you.”

”Oh!”

”Yes. Early lunch, and then we're going to drive over to Princetown.

Tennis with the Governor of the prison. He'll show us all over the prison. It's worth seeing.”

Impulsively Edwin exclaimed:

”All of you? Is Hilda going?”

”Certainly. Why not?” He raised the whip and pointed: ”Behold our n.o.ble towers.”

Edwin, feeling really sick, thought:

”Hilda's mad. She's quite mad..... Morbid isn't the word!”

He was confounded.

III

At Tavy Mansion Edwin and Harry were told by a maid that Mrs. Hesketh and Miss Orgreave were in the nursery and would be down in a moment, but that Mrs. Clayhanger had a headache and was remaining in bed for breakfast. The master of the house himself took Edwin to the door of his wife's bedroom. Edwin's spirits had risen in an instant, as he perceived the cleverness of Hilda's headache. There could be no doubt that women were clever, though perhaps unscrupulously and crudely clever, in a way beyond the skill of men. By the simple device of suffering from a headache Hilda had avoided the ordeal of meeting a somewhat estranged husband in public; she was also preparing an excuse for not going to Princetown and the prison. Certainly it was better, in the Dartmoor affair, to escape at the last moment than to have declined the project from the start.

As he opened the bedroom-door, apprehensions and bright hope were mingled in him. He had a weighty grievance against Hilda, whose behaviour at parting had been, he considered, inexcusable; but the warm tone of her curt private telegram to him and of her almost equally curt letter, re-stating her pa.s.sionate love, was really equivalent to an apology, which he accepted with eagerness. Moreover he had done a lot in coming to Devons.h.i.+re, and for this great act he lauded himself and he expected some grat.i.tude. Nevertheless, despite the pacificism of his feelings, he could not smile when entering the room. No, he could not!

Hilda was lying in the middle of a very wide bed, and her dark hair was spread abroad upon the pillow. On the pedestal was a tea-tray. Squatted comfortably at Hilda's side, with her left arm as a support, was a baby about a year old, dressed for the day. This was Cecil, born the day after his grandparents' funeral. Cecil, with mouth open and outstretched pink hands, of which the fingers were spread like the rays of half a starfish, from wide eyes gazed at Edwin with a peculiar expression of bland irony. Hilda smiled lovingly; she smiled without reserve. And as soon as she smiled, Edwin could smile, and his heart was suddenly quite light.

Hilda thought:

”That wistful look in his eyes has never changed, and it never will.

Imagine him travelling on Sunday, when the silly old thing might just as well have come on Sat.u.r.day, if he'd had anybody to decide him! He's been travelling for twenty-four hours or more, and now he's here! What a shame for me to have dragged him down here in spite of himself! But he would do it for me! He has done it.... I had to have him, for this afternoon! ... After all he must be very good at business. Everyone respects him, even here. We may end by being really rich. Have I ever really appreciated him? ... And now of course he's going to be annoyed again. Poor boy!”

”h.e.l.lo! Who's this?” cried Edwin.

”This is Cecil. His mummy's left him, here with his Auntie Hilda,” said Hilda.

”Another clever dodge of hers!” thought Edwin. He liked the baby being there.

He approached the bed, and, staring nervously about, saw that his bag had already mysteriously reached the bedroom.