The Essential Elinor Glyn Collection. Glyn Elinor
four around her--all purring and talking frocks. And as she answered their questions with gentle frankness, she wondered what everything meant. Did any of them feel--did any of them love passionately as she did?--or were they all dolls more or less bored and getting through life? And would she, too, grow like them in time, and be able to play bridge with interest until the small hours?
Later some of the party danced in the ballroom, which was beyond the saloon the other way, and now a definite idea came to Hector as he held Theodora in his arms in the waltz. They could not possibly bear this life. Why should he not take her away--away from the smug grocer, and then they could live their life in a dream of bliss in Italy, perhaps, and later at Bracondale. He had a great position, and people soon forget nowadays.
His pulses were bounding with these wild thoughts, born of their nearness and the long hours of strain. To-morrow he would tell her of them, but to-night--they would dance.
And Theodora felt her very soul melt within her. She was worn out with conflicting emotions. She could not fight with inclination any longer. Whatever he should say she would have to listen to--and agree with. She felt almost faint. And so at the end of the first dance she managed to whisper:
"Hector, I am tired. I shall go to bed." And in truth when he looked at her she was deadly white.
She stopped by her husband.
"Josiah," she said, "will you make my excuses to Lady Ada and Uncle Patrick? I do not feel well; I am going to my room."
Hector's distress was intense. He could not carry her up in his arms as he would have wished, he could not soothe and pet and caress her, or do anything in the world but stand by and see Josiah fussing and accompanying her to the stairs and on to her room. She hardly said the word good-night to him, and her very lips were white. Wensleydown's face, as he stood with Mildred, drove him mad with its mocking leer, and if he had heard their conversation there might have been bloodshed.
Josiah returned to the saloon, and made his way to the bridge-room to Sir Patrick and his hostess; but Hector still leaned against the door.
"He'll probably go out on the terrace and walk in the night by himself," thought the Crow, who had watched the scene, "and these dear people will say he has gone to meet her, and it is a ruse her being ill. They could not let such a chance slip, if they are both absent together."
So he walked over to Hector and engaged him in conversation.
Hector would have thought of this aspect himself at another time, but to-night he was dazed with passion and pain.
"Come and smoke a cigar on the terrace, Crow," he said. "One wants a little quiet and peace sometimes."
And then the Crow looked at him with his head on one side in that wise way which had earned for him his sobriquet.
"Hector, old boy, you know these damned people here and their ways. Just keep yourself in evidence, my son," he said, as he walked away.
And Hector thanked him in his heart, and went across and asked Morella to dance.
Up in her room Theodora lay prostrate. She could reason no more--she could only sob in the dark.
Next day she did not appear until luncheon-time. But the guests at Beechleigh always rose when they pleased, and no one remarked her absence even, each pair busy with their own affairs. Only Barbara crept up to her room to see how she was, and if she wanted anything. Theodora wondered why her cousin should have been so changed from the afternoon of their arrival. And Barbara longed to tell her. She moved about, and looked out of the window, and admired Theodora's beautiful hair spread over the pillows. Then she said:
"Oh, I wish you came here often and Mildred didn't. She is a brute, and she hates you for being so beautiful. She made me keep away, you know. Do you think me a mean coward?" Her poor, plain, timid face was pitiful as she looked at Theodora, and to her came the thought of what Barbara's life was probably among them all, and she said, gently:
"No, indeed, I don't. It was much better for you not to annoy her further; she might have been nastier to me than even she has been. But why don't you stand up for yourself generally? After all, you are Uncle Patrick's daughter, and she is only your mother's niece."
"They both love her far more than they do me," said Barbara, with hanging head.
And then they talked of other things. Barbara adored her home, but her family had no sentiment for it, she told Theodora; and Pat, she believed, would like to sell the whole thing and gamble away the money.
Just before luncheon-time, when Theodora was dressed and going down, Josiah came up again to see her. He had fussed in once or twice before during the morning. This time it was to tell her a special messenger had come from his agent in London to inform him his presence was absolutely necessary there the first thing on Tuesday morning. Some turn of deep importance to his affairs had transpired during the holiday. So he would go up by an early train. He had settled it all with Sir Patrick, who, however, would not hear of Theodora's leaving.
"The party does not break up until Wednesday or Thursday, and we cannot lose our greatest ornament," he had said.
"I do not wish to stay alone," Theodora pleaded. "I will come with you, Josiah."
But Josiah was quite cross with her.
"Nothing of the kind," he said. These people were her own relations, and if he could not leave her with them it was a strange thing! He did not want her in London, and she could join him again at Claridge's on Thursday. It would give him time to run down to Bessington to see that all was ready for her reception. He was so well now he looked forward to a summer of pleasure and peace.
"A second honeymoon, my love!" he chuckled, as he kissed her, and would hear no more.
And having planted this comforting thought for her consolation he had quitted the room.
Left alone Theodora sank down on the sofa. Her trembling limbs refused to support her; she felt cold and sick and faint.
A second honeymoon. Oh, God!
XXVI
At luncheon, when Theodora descended from her room, the whole party were assembled and already seated at the several little tables. The only vacant place left was just opposite Hector.
And there they faced each other during the meal, and all the time her eyes reminded him of the wounded fawn again, only they were sadder, if possible, and her face was pinched and pale, not the exquisite natural white of its usual fresh, soft velvet.
Something clutched at his heart-strings. What extra sorrow had happened to her since last night? What could he do to comfort and protect her? There was only one way--to take her with him out of it all.
After the first nine days' wonder, people would forget. It would be an undefended suit when Josiah should divorce her, and then he would marry her and have her for his very own. And what would they care for the world's sneers?
His whole being was thrilled and exalted with these thoughts; his brain was excited as with strong wine.
To have her for his own!
Even the memory of his mother only caused him a momentary pang. No one could help loving Theodora, and she--his mother--would get over it, too, and learn her sweetness and worth.
He was wildly happy now that he had made up his mind--so surely can passionate desire block out every other feeling.
The guests at their table were all more or less civil. Theodora's unassuming manner had disarmed them, and as savage beasts had been charmed of old by Orpheus and his lute, so perhaps her gentle voice had soothed this company--the women, of course; there had been no question of the men from the beginning.
Mildred's programme to make Mrs. Brown suffer