Part 23 (1/2)
”If you really want to know--nerves,” she said earnestly and triumphantly.
”Nerves?”
”Overwork. No rest. No change. Everlasting punishment. The one incomprehensible thing to me is that the whole of Glasgow didn't go on strike and stay out for ever.”
”There's just as much overwork in London as there is on the Clyde.”
”There's a lot more talking--Parliament, Cabinet, Committees. You should hear what they say about it in Glasgow.”
”Con,” he said kindly, ”you don't suspect it, but you're childish.
It's the job of one part of London to talk. If that part of London didn't talk your tribes on the Clyde couldn't work, because they wouldn't know what to do, nor how to do it. Talking has to come before working, and let me tell you it's more difficult, and it's more killing, because it's more responsible. Excuse this common sense made easy for beginners, but you brought it on yourself.”
She frowned. ”And what do you do? Do you talk or work?” She smiled.
”I'll tell you this!” said he, smiling candidly and benevolently. ”It took me a d.i.c.kens of a time really to _put_ myself into anything that meant steady effort. I'd lost the habit. Natural enough, and I'm not going into sackcloth about it. However, I'm improving. I'm going to take on the secretarys.h.i.+p of the Lechford Committee. Some of 'em mayn't want me, but they'll have to have me. And when they've got me they'll have to look out. All of them, including Queen and her mother.”
”Will it take the whole of your time?”
”Yes. I'm doing three days a week now.”
”I suppose you think you've beaten me.”
”Con, I do ask you not to be a child.”
”But I am a child. Why don't you humour me? You know I've had a nervous breakdown. You used to humour me.”
He shook his head.
”Humouring you won't do _your_ nervous breakdown any good. It might some women's--but not yours.”
”You shall humour me!” she cried. ”I haven't told you half my ruin.
Do you know I meant to love Carly all my life. I felt sure I should.
Well, I can't! It's gone, all that feeling--already! In less than two years! And now I'm only sorry for him and sorry for myself. Isn't it horrible? Isn't it horrible?”
”Try not to think,” he murmured.
She sat up impetuously.
”Don't talk such d.a.m.ned nonsense! 'Try not to think'! Why, my frightful unhappiness is the one thing that keeps me alive.”
”Yes,” G.J. yielded. ”It was nonsense.”
She sank back. He saw moisture in her eyes and felt it in his own.
Chapter 28
SALOME