Part 72 (1/2)
In spite of that, he was greatly relieved to hear her purpose. He had feared other things. It was hateful that she should remain the wife of such a man as Elgar, but what refuge was open to her? The law that demands sacrifice of the n.o.ble few on behalf of the ign.o.ble many is too swift and sure in avenging itself when defied. It was well that she had constrained herself to accept the inevitable.
”You will write this evening to Mrs. Lessingham?” he said, in a tone of a.s.suredness.
”Why do you wish me to do that?” she asked, looking at him.
”Because of the possibility of your still being left alone. You are not able to bear that.”
”Yes, I can bear anything that is necessary now,” she answered firmly.
”If it was weakness to come here and say what I have said, then my weakness is over. Mrs. Lessingham is enjoying herself with friends; why should I disturb her? What have I to say to her, or to any one?”
”Suppose an indefinite time goes by, and you are still alone?”
”In that case, I shall be able to arrange my life as other such women do. I shall find occupation, the one thing I greatly need. My gravest misfortune is, that I feel the ability to do something, but do not know what. Since the death of my child, that is what has weighed upon me most.”
Mallard reflected upon this. He could easily understand its truth. He felt a.s.sured that Miriam suffered in much the same way, having reached the same result by so very different a process of development. But it was equally clear to him that neither of these women really could _do_ anything; it was not their function to do, but to _be_. Eleanor Spence would in all likelihood have ill.u.s.trated the same unhappy problem had it been her lot to struggle against adverse conditions; she lived the natural life of an educated woman, and therefore was beset by no questionings as to he? capacities and duties. So long, however, as the educated woman is the exceptional woman, of course it will likewise be exceptional for her life to direct itself in a calm course.
To discuss such questions with Cecily was impossible. How should he say to her, ”You have missed your chance of natural happiness, and it will only be by the strangest good fortune if you ever again find yourself in harmony with fate”? Mallard had far too much discretion to a.s.sume the part of lay preacher, and involve himself in the dangers of suggesting comfort. The situation was delicate enough, and all his efforts were directed to subduing its tone. After a pause, he said to her:
”Have you taken your meals to-day?”
She smiled a little.
”Yes. But I am thirsty. Can you give me a gla.s.s of water?”
”Are you _very_ thirsty? Can you wait a quarter of an hour?”
With a look of inquiry as to his meaning, she answered that she could.
Mallard nodded, and began to busy himself in a corner of the studio.
She saw that he was lighting a spirit-lamp, and putting a kettle over it. She made no remark; it was soothing to sit here in this companions.h.i.+p, and feel the feverish heat in her veins gradually a.s.suaged. Mallard kept silence, and when he saw her beginning to look around at the pictures, he threw out a word or two concerning them. She rose, to see better, and moved about, now and then putting a question In little more than the stipulated time, tea was prepared. After a short withdrawal to the ante-room, Mallard produced some delicate slices of bread and b.u.t.ter. Cecily ate and drank. As it was growing dusk, the artist lit a lamp.
”You know,” she said, again turning her eyes to the pictures, ”that I used to pretend to draw, to make poor little sketches. Would there be any hope of my doing anything, not good, but almost good, if I began again and worked seriously?”
He would rather have avoided answering such a question; but perhaps the least dangerous way of replying was to give moderate approval.
”At all events, you would soon find whether it was worth while going on or not. You might take some lessons; it would be easy to find some lady quite competent to help you in the beginning.”
She kept silence for a little; then said that she would think about it.
Mallard had left his seat, and remained standing. When both had been busy with their thoughts for several minutes, Cecily also rose.
”I must ask a promise from you before you go,” Mallard said, as soon as she had moved. ”If you are still alone tomorrow, you promise me to communicate with Mrs. Lessingham. Whether you wish to do so or not is nothing to the point.”
She hesitated, but gave her promise.
”That is enough; your word gives me a.s.surance. You are going straight home? Then I will send for a cab.”
In a few minutes the cab was ready at the gate. Mallard, resolved to behave as though this were the most ordinary of visits, put on his hat and led the way downstairs. They went out into the road, and then Cecily turned to give him her hand. He looked at her, and for the first time spoke on an impulse.
”It's a long drive. Will you let me come a part of the way with you?”
”I shall be very glad.”