Part 62 (1/2)

”Why is it out of the question?” demanded Hilda, inimically gazing at him.

She had lost her lenient att.i.tude towards him of the afternoon.

Nevertheless, reflecting upon Tertius Ingpen's indictment of the usual happy marriage, she had been planning the expedition to London as a revival of romance in their lives. She saw it as a marvellous rejuvenating experience. When she thought of all that she had suffered, and all that Edwin had suffered, in order that they might come together, she was quite desolated by the prosaic flatness of the ultimate result.

Was it to attain their present stolid existence that they had endured affliction for a decade? She wanted pa.s.sionately to break the mysterious bands that held them both back from ecstasy and romance. And he would not help her. He would not enter into her desire. She had known that he would refuse. He refused everything--he was so set in his own way. Resentment radiated from her.

”I can't,” said Edwin. ”What d'you want to go to-morrow for? What does a day or two matter?”

Then she loosed her tongue. Why to-morrow? Because you couldn't trifle with a child's eyesight. Already the thing had been dragging on for goodness knew how long. Every day might be of importance. And why not to-morrow? They could shut the house up, and go off together and stay at Charlie's. Hadn't Janet asked them many a time? Maggie would look out for new servants. And Mrs. Tams would clean the house. It was really the best way out of the servant question too, besides being the best for George.

”And there's another thing,” she went on without a pause, speaking rapidly and clearly. ”Your eyes want seeing to as well. Do you think I don't know?” she sneered.

”Mine!” he exclaimed. ”My eyes are as right as rain.” It was not true.

His eyes had been troubling him.

”Then why have you had a double candle-bracket fixed at your bed-head, when a single one's been enough for you all these years?” she demanded.

”I just thought of it, that's all,” said Edwin glumly, and with no attempt to be diplomatic. ”Anyhow I can't go to London to-morrow. And when I want an oculist,” he finished with grimness, ”Hanbridge'll be good enough for me, I'm thinking.”

Strange, she had never before said a word to him about his eyes!

”Then what shall you do while I'm away?” she asked implacably.

But if she was implacable, he also could be implacable. If she insisted on leaving him in the lurch,--well, she should leave him in the lurch!

Tertius Ingpen was witness of a plain breach between them. It was unfortunate; it was wholly Hilda's fault; but he had to face the fact.

”I don't know,” he replied curtly.

The next moment George returned.

”Hasn't Mrs. Tams been quick, mother?” said George. ”She's come.”

VI

In the drawing-room, after the meal, Edwin could hear through the half open door the sounds of conversation between Hilda and Mrs. Tams, with an occasional word from George, who was going to help Mrs. Tams to ”put the things away” after she had washed and wiped. The voice of Mrs. Tams was very gentle and comforting. Edwin's indignant pity went out to her.

Why should Mrs. Tams thus cheerfully bear the misfortunes of others?

Why should she at a moment's notice leave a cottageful of young children and a husband liable at any time to get drunk and maim either them or her, in order to meet a crisis caused by Hilda's impulsiveness and lack of tact? The answer, as in so many cases, was of course economic. Mrs.

Tams could not afford not to be at Mrs. Clayhanger's instant call; also she was born the victim of her own altruism; her soul was soft like her plump cus.h.i.+onlike body, and she lived as naturally in injustice as a fish in water. But could anything excuse those who took advantage of such an economic system and such a devoted nature? Edwin's conscience uneasily stirred; he could have blushed. However, he was helpless; and he was basely glad that he was helpless, that it was no affair of his after all, and that Mrs. Tams had thus to work out her destiny to his own benefit. He saw in her a seraph for the next world, and yet in this world he contentedly felt himself her superior. And her voice, soothing, acquiescent, expressive of the spirit which gathers in extraneous woes as the mediaeval saint drew to his breast the swords of the executioners, continued to murmur in the hall.

Edwin thought:

”I alone in this house feel the real significance of Mrs. Tams. I'm sure she doesn't feel it herself.”

But these reflections were only the vague unimportant background to the great matter in his mind,--the difficulty with Hilda. When he had entered the house, questions of gaslight and blinds were enormous to him. The immense general question of servants had diminished them to a trifle. Then the question of George's headache and eyesight had taken precedence. And now the relations of husband and wife were mightily paramount over everything else. Tertius Ingpen, having as usual opened the piano, was idly diverting himself with strange chords, while cigarette smoke rose into his eyes, making him blink. Like Edwin, Ingpen was a little self-conscious after the open trouble in the dining-room. It would have been absurd to pretend that trouble did not exist; on the other hand the trouble was not of the kind that could be referred to, by even a very intimate friend. The acknowledgment of it had to be mute. But in addition to being self-conscious, Ingpen was also triumphant. There was a peculiar sardonic and somewhat disdainful look on his face as he mused over the chords, trying to keep the cigarette smoke out of his eyes. His oblique glance seemed to be saying to Edwin: ”What have I always told you about women? Well, you've married and you must take the consequences. Your wife's no worse than other wives. Here am I, free! And wouldn't you like to be in my place, my boy! ... How wise I have been!”

Edwin resented these unspoken observations. The contrast between Ingpen's specious support and flattery of Hilda when she was present, and his sardonic glance when she was absent, was altogether too marked.

Himself in revolt against the inst.i.tution of marriage, Edwin could not bear that Ingpen should attack it. Edwin had, so far as concerned the outside world, taken the inst.i.tution of marriage under his protection.