Part 51 (1/2)
”Then don't tell Harry Belfield that. Think it, if you like. Don't tell him.”
A look of sheer wonder came into her eyes. ”He's like that?” she murmured.
”Yes, like that. That's the trouble. He'd better think you're--hopelessly disgusted.”
”I'm hopelessly at sea, anyhow,” she said, turning her eyes to the lake again. But she turned back to him quickly, still with her faint smile.
”Disgusted? Oh, you're thinking of the fastidiousness? Ah, that seems a long time ago! You were very kind then; you're very kind now.” She laid her hand lightly on his arm; for the first time her voice shook. ”You and I can sometimes talk about him as he used to be--just we two together!”
”Or as we thought he was?” Andy's tones were blunt still, and now rather bitter.
”Or as we thought he was--and, by thinking it, were so happy! Yes, we'd better not talk about him at all. I don't think I really could. You'll be seeing Mr. Belfield soon? Give him my dear love, and say I'll come and see him and Mrs. Belfield as soon as they want me. He sent me a note this morning. I can't answer it just yet.”
”I'll tell him.” Andy rose to go.
”Oh, but must you go just yet? I don't want you to.” She glanced up at him, with a sad humour. ”Curly's out, you know, and terribly big and rampageous!”
”But you're not running away now, any more than you did then.”
”I'm trying to stand still, and--and look at it--at what it means about life.”
”You mustn't think all life's like that--or all men either.”
”That's the temptation--to think that.”
”Men are tempted to think it about women too, sometimes.”
She nodded. ”Yes, of course, that's true. I'm glad you said that. You are good against Curly!”
They had Wellgood in their minds. It was grievance against grievance at Nutley; the charge of inconstancy is eternally bandied to and fro between the s.e.xes--_Varium et mutabile semper Femina_ against ”Men were deceivers ever”--_Souvent femme varie_ against the sorrowfully ridiculous chronicles of breach of promise of marriage cases. Plenty of matter for both sides! Probably both sides would be wise to say as little as possible about it. If misogyny is bad, is misandry any better?
At all events the knowledge of Wellgood's grievance might help to prevent Vivien's from warping her mind. Hers was the greater, but his was of the same order.
The world incarnated itself to her in the image of the big retriever dog, being so alarming, meaning no harm consciously, meaning indeed affection--with its likelihood of paws soiling white raiment. Andy again stood dressed as the guardian, the policeman. He was to be ”good against Curly.”
”And Isobel?” she asked.
”I saw her off all right by the twelve-fifteen, Miss Wellgood--to London, you know.”
”Yes, to London.” To both of them London might have been spelt ”Harry.”
”She was never really unkind to me,” said Vivien thoughtfully. ”I expect it did me good.”
”Never a favourite of mine--even before this,” Andy p.r.o.nounced, rather ponderously.
She shot a side glance at him. ”I believe you thought she beat me!”
”I think I thought that sometimes you'd sooner she had done that than stand there smiling.”
”Oh, you're prejudiced! She wasn't unkind; and in this thing, you see, I know her temptation. Surely that ought to bring sympathy? Tell me--you saw her off--well--how?” She spoke in jerks, now seeming agitated.
”Very calm--quite her own mistress--seeming to know what her job was.