Part 1 (2/2)
Ca.s.sandra drew a mental picture of the sick room, with the older patient stretched on a couch, and herself seated by his side, a devoted and a.s.siduous nurse, but there was an obstinate commonplaceness about father and son which refused to adapt itself to the scene. Bernard would have no reflections to make on the wonder of life restored; he would want to hear the _Sporting Times_ read aloud, and the latest news of the crops.
His tenderest acknowledgment of her care would be a, ”Looking a bit peaked, old girl! What's the sense of paying a nurse and doing the work yourself?” As for the boy, he would talk cricket, be politely bored, and surrept.i.tiously wipe off kisses. Ca.s.sandra determined that on the whole the two Bernards had better keep well also!
As for poverty--one would certainly have enough to do to run a house on a few hundreds a year, but though viewed generally the prospect sounded picturesque, a definite narrowing down to a comparison with one of the many Chumley homesteads, brought a quick shudder of distaste. The narrow rooms, the inferior servants, the infinitesimal gardens,-- Ca.s.sandra thrust out her hands in horror of the thought, and laughed a soft, full-throated laugh.
”If I am bound to be dissatisfied, let me at least have room to be dissatisfied in! I could bear being stinted in almost anything rather than _s.p.a.ce_. If Bernard loses his money, we'll go abroad and live on a prairie,--anything rather than a stifling villa.”
She turned her head as the door opened, and her husband entered, and crossed the room to a bureau in the far corner. He wore the usual tweed suit, the Norfolk jacket accentuating his increasing width, the loose knickerbockers revealing large, well-shaped legs. His skin was tanned to a rich brown, his eyes were a clear hard blue, his teeth strong and white, his moustache was cut in a straight harsh line along the upper lip. His cool gaze included his wife with the rest of the furnis.h.i.+ngs, but he gave no acknowledgment of her presence; not a flicker of expression pa.s.sed over his face.
There came to Ca.s.sandra suddenly, irrepressibly, the necessity of shocking him into life. She was not a woman who indulged in scenes; it came naturally to her to hide her feelings, and act a part before the world. If Bernard had not entered at just that psychological moment, if he had looked one bit less sleek, and satisfied, and dense, she could have gone on acting, as she had done for years past; as it was, a desire for expression rose with giant force, and would not be gainsaid. Very well! So be it. For once she would speak out, and Bernard should hear.
She had an acute, a devastating curiosity to hear what he would say.
”Bernard, are you busy? I want to speak to you.”
He turned his head. The clear tints of his skin looked startlingly healthy as seen in the light of the great open window.
”All right! Fire ahead.”
”Bernard, do you love me?”
”Good Lord!” The utter stupefaction on Raynor's face proved that this was the last of all questions which he had expected to hear. He came across the room, and stood staring down into his wife's face. ”What the d.i.c.kens is up?”
”Nothing is up. I asked you a simple question. What should be up?”
”I thought you'd taken offence at something I'd done!”
”You have done nothing in the least unusual that I know of. I rather wish you had. _Do_ you, Bernard?”
”Do I what?”
”You know quite well, but I'll ask you again, if you prefer it. Do you love me, Bernard?”
The man's ruddy face took a deeper tinge.
”I say, Ca.s.s, what rot is this? That was settled and done with years ago. I married you. You're my wife. If you are not sure of me by this time, you never will be.”
”You are quite sure of yourself?”
”Of course I am. What d'you mean? I'm not the sort to er--er--”
Ca.s.sandra turned her head over her shoulder and flung him a challenging glance, her blue eyes bright with defiance.
”Then you had better understand, Bernard, once for all, that--I am not sure of myself! I'm not at all sure that I love _you_!”
She had said it. The words rang like a clarion call through the silent room. After years of self-deception, and careful covering up, a moment's impulse had laid bare the skeleton. It stood between them, a naked horror, grinning with fleshless lips. Ca.s.sandra saw it and shuddered at the sight, but it was too late to draw back. She caught her breath, and sat tremblingly waiting for what should come.
What came was a burst of hearty, good-natured laughter. Bernard's eyes twinkled, his white teeth gleamed. He stretched out a freckled hand and laid it on his wife's arm.
”That's all right, old girl! Don't you worry about that. You're fond of me all right, and a rattling good wife. We've been married a dozen years, and never had a row. If all couples got along as well as we do, things would be a sight better. What's the use of bothering about love at this time of day. I'm not a sentimental fellow. I'm satisfied with things as they are. So are you too, as a rule. Got a fit of the blues, that's all!--I say, Ca.s.s, Peignton's coming to tea, and I met that girl of the Mallison's,--Teresa, isn't it?--and asked her to come along too, and make up a game afterwards. She plays a good hand, and Peignton's engaged to her they say, or going to be. So we will do them a good turn, as well as ourselves.”
Ca.s.sandra rose slowly, straightening her shoulders as if throwing off a weight. Standing there her head was on a level with her husband's, and for a moment their eyes met, his calm and unperturbed, hers sparkling and defiant. She had spoken. He had heard the truth, and had laughed at her for her pains. Now let the Fates bring what they might. He had been warned...
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