Part 41 (1/2)
”I think it's a pity. You must be so cold and lonely,” she said, seeing a resemblance between Mrs. King and Aunt Janet.
She had made the bed before she went down to cook the breakfast. Louis was reading the paper and smoking, looking very well. She hated to see him in bed now.
He ate his breakfast in silence, with the paper propped in front of him.
She pushed the window wide and, perched on the window-sill with a cup of tea outside and a piece of toast in her hand, she decided on what she was going to say to him.
”Louis,” she said at last, ”I am a wretchedly dissatisfied sort of person, dear.”
He looked at her enquiringly and smiled.
”Louis, can you get up to-day and come out with me?”
He hesitated for a moment. Then he sighed.
”My dear--I don't think it's safe,” he said in a low voice.
”Really?”
”Yes, really.”
”Well, then, it isn't. But I hate to see you lying here like this. I want us to go and explore. In that big garden by the waterside it's gorgeous. And--there's your work.”
He flushed a little, struggling with himself. At last he said:
”After all, it's our honeymoon. We can afford to slack a little.”
She laughed outright at that. He could not see anything to laugh at.
”It isn't enough for me--slacking. I hate it. I want to do things just all the time. I want to dig up fields and move hills about, and things like that. Louis, don't you think we might go up country and be squatters like uncle?”
”I wouldn't mind being a squatter like your uncle,” he said, comfortably ”with fifty quid notes to splash all over the shanty! But you're not getting tired of me, are you, darling--after last night?” he added gently. She flushed, and fidgeted perilously on the window-sill.
”No, Louis. But--after last night--I don't like to see you lying here like this,” she began.
”I know it's boring for you, my pet. Marcella, come and sit on the edge of the bed. We can talk better if you're near me.”
”No, I'll stay here,” she said decidedly. ”And it's not boring for me.
It's--” She was going to say ”degrading” but stopped in time.
”You know, I think I'd be all right,” he went on, ”if I got up and went out now. But I can't be sure. I don't want to hurt you again, darling.”
”I know, my dear. But I can't help thinking this is a negative thing. If you had something to do--something that would interest you so much you couldn't even think about whisky.”
”I've got that something in you, when you're as sweet as you were last night,” he said softly. She felt sickened for a minute. The Spear in her hand wavered; it seemed to be turning to a chain again. A chain for her, a Spear for him--she said quietly:
”I like taking care of you, Louis. I'm not thinking of myself at all.
Only I can't help wis.h.i.+ng you'd got pneumonia, or a broken leg or something, so that you could stay in bed sort of--honourably.”
”It's worth while, if I get better, isn't it, my pet?” he said, slowly.
”_Anything's_ worth while--if you get better,” she said.