Part 15 (1/2)

The occasion of this--their first--tiff was small, but by no means insignificant. Winnie was holding G.o.dfrey to his promise that he would not be ashamed of her.

”Among our friends, I meant, of course,” G.o.dfrey explained. ”Among educated thinking people who can appreciate your position and our point of view. But this woman will simply think that you're--well, that you're what you're not, you know.”

”How can she, when I told her all about it?”

He shrugged his shoulders. ”Wait till you blow her up about something; you'll see what I mean,” said he.

”Then I shall dismiss her.” Winnie's proud little face was very flushed.

There were sides of life which G.o.dfrey had observed. They had three cook-housemaids in quick succession, and were approaching despair when d.i.c.k Dennehy found them an old Irish woman, who could not cook at all, but was entirely charitable. She had been told about the situation beforehand by d.i.c.k; there was no occasion for Winnie to refer to it.

Winnie did not, and tried not to feel relieved. Also she ceased to tell the occasional charwomen, who came in ”by the day.” G.o.dfrey was perhaps right in thinking that superfluous. Dennehy came often, and they had other visitors, some bachelor friends of G.o.dfrey's, others belonging to the Shaylor's Patch frequenters--Mrs. Danford and Mr. Carriston, for example. Mrs. Lenoir also came--not of her own accord (she never did that), but in response to an invitation from Winnie. G.o.dfrey did not seem very enthusiastic about this invitation.

”But you seemed to like her so much at Shaylor's Patch,” said Winnie, in surprise.

”Oh yes! Ask her then, if you like.” He formulated no objection; but in his mind there was the idea that Winnie did not quite realize how very careful she ought to be--in her position.

Such were the little pa.s.sing clouds, obscuring for a moment the happiness of one or other of them.

Yet they were very happy. G.o.dfrey was genuinely in love; so was Winnie, and to her there was the added joy--the new wonder--of being free. Free, and yet not lonely. She had a companion and yet not a master. Hers was the better mind of the two. She did not explicitly realize it, but unconsciously and instinctively she took the lead in most of their pursuits and amus.e.m.e.nts. Her tastes guided their interests and recreation--the books they read, the concerts and theatres which they ”squeezed” out of their none too large margin of spare cash. This initiative was unspeakably delightful to the former Mrs. Maxon, an absolutely fresh thing in her life, and absolutely satisfying. This freedom, this liberty to expand, to grow, to develop, was what her nature had craved. Even if she set her love altogether on one side--and how should she?--this in itself seemed to justify her refusal to be any longer Mrs. Maxon and her becoming Mrs. Winifred Ledstone. In fact it was bound up with her love, for half the joy of these new travels and adventures of the mind lay in sharing them with G.o.dfrey.

It still seemed as if everything were possible with a little courage, as if all the difficulties disappeared when boldly faced. Could there have been a difficulty more tremendous than Cyril Maxon? He had vanished into s.p.a.ce!

After some six weeks of this pleasant existence--during which the difficulties at least tactfully effaced themselves, save in such trifles as have been lightly indicated--a phenomenon began to thrust itself on Winnie's notice. G.o.dfrey was not a man of much correspondence; he did most of his business in person and conducted other necessary communications mainly by telephone (that was a luxury which they had agreed that they must ”run to” at the cost of some other, and unspecified, luxury to be forgone). Now he began to receive a certain type of envelope quite often--three times a week perhaps. It was a mauve envelope, rather larger than the ordinary. Winnie was careful not to scrutinize these envelopes--she did not even inspect the postmarks--but she could not help observing that, though the envelopes were always alike, the handwriting of the address varied. In fact she noted three varieties. Being a woman of some perspicacity, she did not really need to inspect the postmarks. G.o.dfrey had a father, a mother, a sister. They were writing to him, writing rather bulky letters, which he did not read in company, but stowed away in his pocket; they never reappeared, and presumably were disposed of secretly, on or off the premises. Nor did she ever detect him in the act of answering one; but in the course of his work he spent many hours away from home, and he belonged to a modest little club in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden; no doubt it had writing-paper.

These mauve envelopes began to afflict the peace, or at least the happiness, of the little household. The mornings on which they came were less cheerful than other mornings; a constraint showed itself in greetings and farewells. They were reminders--ominous reminders--of the big world outside, the world which was being defied. His family was at G.o.dfrey Ledstone--three of his family, and one of them with a weak heart.

Three weeks of the mauve envelopes did their work. One had come on the Sat.u.r.day; on the Sunday morning G.o.dfrey made an apology to Winnie. He would not be able to join her in their usual afternoon excursion--for a walk, or to a picture gallery, and so forth.

”My mother's not very well--she's not strong, you know. I must go to my people's.”

”Of course you must, G.o.dfrey. But--without me?”

”Yes.” Pa.s.sing her on his way to the mantelpiece, he pressed her hand for a moment. Then he stood with his back to her, as he filled his pipe with fingers unusually clumsy. ”Oh, I've tried! They've been at me for weeks--you probably guessed--and I've been back at them--letter after letter. It's no use! And yesterday father wrote that mother was really seriously upset.” He turned round, and spoke almost fiercely. ”Don't you see I must go, Winnie?”

”Of course you must,” she said again. ”And I can't come if they--if they won't let me in!” She managed a smile. ”It's all right. I'll have a walk by myself.”

He tried to find a bright side to the situation. ”I may have a better chance of convincing them, if I go. I'm no good at letters. And mother is very fond of me.”

”Of course you must go,” Winnie repeated yet again. What else was there for Winnie to say--with Mrs. Ledstone not strong and really seriously upset?

”I haven't seen any of them for--oh, it must be three months--and I used to go every Sunday, when I was in town.”

”Well, you're going to-day, dear. That's all settled!” She went up to him and kissed him daintily. ”And we won't despair of them, will we?

When do you go?”

”I--I generally used to go to lunch. They want me to. And come away after tea.”

”Well, do just what you used to. I hope I shall be doing it with you in a few weeks.”

”Oh, I hope so, dearest.”