Part 14 (1/2)
”Much good it's done me, my dear!” she sighed. ”But people who've not got looks never will believe how little good they are. Oh, I didn't mean to be rude, Anna! I believe in you, you know. I can do something with you. Only----” She stopped, frowning a little and looking vaguely unhappy. ”Well,” she resumed, ”if it turns out that I can't take you under my wing, we must get hold of Sibylla. She's always ready to do things for people--and they've got lots of money, anyhow.”
Anna's curiosity was turned in the direction of Sibylla.
”What was the truth about Mrs. Imason, Mrs. Fanshaw?”
”I made sure you'd know that too!” smiled Christine. ”And if you don't, I suppose I oughtn't to tell you.”
”I know she--she had an accident.”
”Oh, well, everybody knows. Yes, she had, and they thought it was worse than it was. The country doctor down at Milldean made a mistake--took too serious a view, you know. And--and there was a lot of bother. But the London man said it would be all right, and so it turned out. The baby came all right, and it's a splendid boy.”
”It all ended all right, then?”
Christine looked a little doubtful.
”The boy's all right, and Sibylla's quite well,” she answered.
”But mamma said Mrs. Raymore hinted----”
”Well, Sibylla wouldn't believe the London man, you see. She thought that he--that he'd been persuaded to say she needn't have the operation she wanted to have, and that they meant to---- Well, really, Anna, I can't go into details. It's quite medical, my dear, and I can't express myself discreetly. Anyhow Sibylla made a grievance of it, you know, and relations were a little strained, I think.”
”Oh, well, I suppose that's over now, since everything's gone right, Mrs. Fanshaw?”
”It ought to be,” said Christine, shy of a.s.serting the positive fact.
”But very often fusses about nothing do just as much harm as fusses about something big. It's the way one looks at them.”
”Yes, I ought to know that, living in our house,” remarked Anna Selford.
”You do give your parents away so!” Christine complained, with a smile in which pity was mingled.
The pity, however, was not for the betrayed, but for the traitor. Anna's premature knowingness and the suggestion of hardness it carried with it were the result of a reaction against the atmosphere of her home, against the half-real gush and the spasmodic emotionality of the family circle. In this revolt truth a.s.serted itself, but sweetness suffered, and freshness lost its bloom. Christine was sorry when that sort of thing happened to young girls. But there it was. Anna was not the _ingenue_, and it was no good treating her as if she were.
”I'm really half glad you don't live in this house. I'm sure John and I couldn't bear the scrutiny--not just now, anyhow.” She answered Anna's questioning eyes by going on: ”Oh, it's terrible, my dear. We've no money--now, really, don't repeat that! And John's full of business worries. It's positively so bad that I have to try to be amiable about it!”
”I'm so sorry, and I really won't talk about it, Mrs. Fanshaw.”
”No, don't, my dear--not till we're in the bankruptcy court. Then everybody'll know. And I daresay we shall have some money again; at least bankrupts seem to have plenty generally.”
”Then why don't you?”
”Anna! John would cut his throat first. Oh, I really believe he would!
You've no idea what a man like him thinks of his business and of his firm's credit. It's like--well, it's like what we women ought to think (again Christine avoided a.s.serting the actual fact) about our reputations, you know. So you may imagine the state of things. The best pair is being sold at Tattersall's this very day. That's why I'm indoors--cabs are so cold and the other pair will have to go out at night.”
s.h.i.+veringly she nestled to the fire again.
”I'm so awfully sorry, Mrs. Fanshaw! It'll all come right, won't it?”
”It generally does; but I don't know. And John says I've always been so extravagant--and I suppose I have. Well, I thought it was just that John was stingy. He had a splendid business, you know.” She paused and smiled at Anna. ”So now you know all of everybody's troubles,” she ended.
Christine was not in the habit of giving praise beyond measure or without reservation either to herself or to other people, and she had done no more than justice to her present effort to be amiable. Money was the old cause of quarrel between her husband and herself; the alternation of fat and lean years had kept it always alive and intermittently active. But hitherto, while the fat seasons had meant affluence, the lean had never fallen short of plenty or of solvency. It had been a question of more or less lavish expenditure; that was all.
Christine was afraid there was more now. Her husband was worried as he had never been before; he had dropped hints of speculations gone wrong and of heavy commitments; and Christine, a constant glancer at City articles and an occasional dabbler in stocks, had read that there was a crisis in the market in which he mainly dealt. Things were black; she knew it almost as well as he. Both showed courage, and the seriousness of the matter forbade mere bickering. Nor was either invulnerable enough to open the battle. Her extravagance exposed her to attack; he was conscious of hazardous speculations which had wantonly undermined the standing, and now threatened the credit, of a firm once strong and of excellent repute. Each needed at once to give and to receive charity.