It was a brisk morning in November, and Mr. and Mrs. Altham, who
breakfasted at half-past eight in the summer, and nine in the winter,
were seated at breakfast, and Mr. Altham was thinking how excellent was
the savour of grilled kidneys. But he was not sure if they were really
wholesome, and he was playing an important match at golf this afternoon.
Perhaps two kidneys approached the limits of wisdom. Besides, his wife
was speaking of really absorbing things; he ought to be able to distract
his mind from the kidneys he was proposing to deny himself, under the
sting of so powerful a counter-interest.
“And to think that Mrs. Ames isn’t going to be a Suffragette any more!”
she said. “I met Mrs. Turner when I took my walk just now, and she told
me all about it.”
A word of explanation is necessary. The fact was that Swedish exercises,
and a short walk on an empty stomach, were producing wonderful results
in Riseborough at the moment, especially among its female inhabitants.
They now, instead of meeting in the High Street before lunch, to stand
about on the pavement and exchange news, met there before breakfast,
when on these brisk autumn mornings it was wiser not to stand about.
They therefore skimmed rapidly up and down the street together, in short
skirts and walking boots. Rain and sunny weather, in this first glow of
enthusiasm, were alike to them, and they had their baths afterwards.
These exercises gave a considerable appetite for breakfast, and produced
a very pleasant and comfortable feeling of fatigue. But this fatigue was
a legitimate, indeed, a desirable effect, for their systems naturally
demanded repose after exertion, and an hour’s rest after breakfast was
recommended. Thus this getting up earlier did not really result in any
actual saving of time, though it made everybody feel very busy, and they
all went to bed a little earlier.
Mr. Altham found he got on very nicely without these gymnastics, but
then he played golf after lunch. It was no use playing tricks with your
health if it was already excellent: you might as well poke about in the
works of a punctual watch. He had already had a pretty sharp lesson on
this score, over the consumption of sour milk. It had made him
exceedingly unwell, and he had sliced his drive for a fortnight
afterwards. Just now he weaned his mind from the thoughts of kidneys,
and gave it in equitable halves to marmalade and his wife’s
conversation. To enjoy either, required silence on his part.
“She went to a meeting yesterday,” said Mrs. Altham, “so Mrs. Turner
told me, and said that though she had the success of the cause so deeply
at heart as ever, she would not be able to take any active part in it.
That is a very common form of sympathy. I suppose, from what one knows
of Mrs. Ames, we might have expected something of the sort. Do you
remember her foolish scheme of asking wives without husbands, and
husbands without wives? I warned you at the time, Henry, not to take any
notice of it, because I was sure it would come to nothing, and I think
I may say I am justified. I don’t know what _you_ think.”
Mr. Altham, by a happy coincidence, had finished masticating his last
piece of toast at this moment, and was at liberty to reply.
“I do not think anything about it at present,” said he. “I daresay you
are quite right, but why?”
Mrs. Altham gave a little shrill laugh. The sprightliness at breakfast
produced by this early walk and the exercises was very marked.
“I declare,” she said, “that I had forgotten to tell you. Mrs. Ames
wrote to ask us both to dine on Saturday. I had quite forgotten! There
is something in the air before breakfast that makes one forgetful of
trifles. It says so in the pamphlet. Worries and household cares vanish,
and it becomes a joy to be alive. I don’t think we have any engagement.
Pray do not have a third cup of tea, Henry. Tannin combines the effects
of stimulants and narcotics. A cup of hot water, now--you will never
regret it. Let me see! Yes, dinner at the Ames’ on Saturday, and she
isn’t a Suffragette any longer. As I said, one might have guessed. I
daresay her husband gave her a good talking-to, after the night when she
threw the water at the policeman. I should not wonder if there was
madness in the family. I think I heard that Sir James’ mother was very
queer before she died!”
“She lived till ninety,” remarked Mr. Altham.
“That is often the case with deranged people,” said Mrs. Altham.
“Lunatics are notoriously long-lived. There is no strain on the brain.”
“And she wasn’t any relation of Mrs. Ames,” continued Henry. “Mrs. Ames
is related to the Westbournes. She has no more to do with Sir James’
mother than I have to do with yours. I will take tea, my dear, not hot
water.”
“You want to catch me up, Henry,” said she, “and prove I am wrong
somehow. I was only saying that very likely there is madness in Mrs.
Ames’ family, and I was going to add that I hoped it would not come out
in her. But you must allow that she has been very flighty. You would
have thought that an elderly woman like that could make up her mind once
and for all about things, before she made an exhibition of herself. She
thinks she is like some royal person who goes and opens a bazaar, and
then has nothing more to do with it, but hurries away to Leeds or
somewhere to unveil a memorial. She thinks it is sufficient for her to
help at the beginning, and get all the advertisement, and then drop it
all like cold potatoes.”
“Hot,” said Henry.
“Hot or cold: that is just like her. She plays hot and cold. One day she
is a Suffragette and the next day she isn’t. As likely as not she will
be a vegetarian on Saturday, and we shall be served with cabbages.”
“Major Ames went over to Sir James’ to shoot,--she wasn’t asked,” said
Henry, reverting to a previous topic.
“There you are!” exclaimed Mrs. Altham. “That will account for her
abandoning this husband and wife theory. I am sure she did not like
that, she being Sir James’ relative and not being asked. But I never
could quite understand what the relationship is, though I daresay Mrs.
Ames can make it out. There are people who say they are cousins,
because a grandmother’s niece married the other grandmother’s nephew. We
can all be descendants of Queen Elizabeth or of Charles the Second at
that rate.”
“It would be easier to be a descendant of Charles the Second than of
Queen Elizabeth, my dear,” remarked Henry.
Mrs. Altham pursed her lips up for a moment.
“I do not think we need enter into that,” she said. “I was asking you if
you wished to accept Mrs. Ames’ invitation for Saturday. She says she
expects Sir James and his wife, so perhaps we shall hear some more about
this wonderful relationship, and Dr. Evans and his wife and one or two
others. To my mind that looks rather as if the husband and wife plan was
not quite what she expected it would be. And giving up all active part
in the Suffragette movement, too! But I daresay she feels her age,
though goodness only knows what it is. However, it is clearly going to
be a grand party on Saturday, and the waiter from the Crown will be
there to help Parker, going round and pouring a little foam into
everybody’s glass. I do not know where Major Ames gets his champagne
from, but I never get anything but foam. But I am sure I do not wish to
be unkind, and certainly poor Major Ames does not look well. I daresay
he has worries we do not know of, and, of course, there is no reason why
he should speak of them to us. The Evans’, too! I never satisfied myself
as to why they went away in October. They must have been away nearly
three weeks, for it was only yesterday that I saw them driving down from
the station, with so much luggage on the top of the cab I wonder it did
not fall over.”
“It can’t have been yesterday, my dear,” said Mr. Altham, “because you
spoke of it to me two days ago.”
“You shall have it your own way, Henry,” said she. “I am quite willing
that you should think it was a twelvemonth ago, if you choose. But I
suppose you will not dispute that they went away in October, which is a
very odd time to take for a holiday. Of course, Mrs. Evans stopped here
all August, or so she says, and she might answer that she wanted a
little change of air. But for my part, I think there must have been
something more, though, as I say, I cannot guess what it is. Luckily, it
is no concern of mine, and I need not worry my head about it. But I have
always thought Mrs. Evans looked far from strong, and it seems odd that
a doctor’s wife should not be more robust, when she has all his
laboratory to choose from.”
Henry lit his cigarette, and strolled to the window. The lawn was still
white with the unmelted hoar-frost, and the gardener was busy in the
beds, putting things tidy for the winter. This consisted in plucking up
anything of vegetable origin and carrying it off in a wheelbarrow. Thus
the beds were ready to receive the first bedded-out plants next May.
“I remember, my dear,” said Henry, “that you once thought that there had
been some--some understanding between Mrs. Evans and Major Ames, and
some misunderstanding between Major Ames and Dr. Evans.”
Mrs. Altham brought her eyebrows together and put her finger on her
forehead.
“I seem to remember some ridiculous story of yours, Henry, about a bunch
of chrysanthemums in the road outside Dr. Evans’ house, how you had
seen Major Ames take them in, and there they were afterwards in the
road. I seem to remember your being so much excited about it that I made
a point of going round to Mrs. Ames’ next day with--with a book. I think
that at the time--correct me if I am wrong--I convinced you that there
was nothing whatever in it.... Or have you seen or heard anything since
that makes you think differently?” she added rather more briskly.
“No, my dear, nothing whatever,” said he.
Mrs. Altham got up.
“I am glad, very glad,” she said. “At any rate, we know in Riseborough
that we are safe from that sort of thing. I declare when I went to
London last week, I hardly slept with thinking of the dreadful things
that might be going on round me. Dear me, it is nearly ten o’clock. I do
not know whether the hours or the days go quickest! It is always
half-an-hour later than I expect it to be, and here we are in November
already. I shall rest for an hour, Henry, and I will write to Mrs. Ames
before lunch saying we shall be delighted to come on Saturday. November
the twelfth, too! Nearly half November will be gone by then, and that
leaves us but six weeks to Christmas, and it will be as much as we shall
be able to manage to get through all that has to be done before that.
But with these Swedish exercises, I declare I feel younger every day,
and more able to cope with everything. You should take to them, Henry;
by eleven o’clock they are finished and you have had your rest. With a
little management you would find time for everything.”
Henry sat over the dining-room fire, considering this. As has been
mentioned, he did not want to make any change in his excellent health,
but, on the other hand, a little rest after breakfast would be pleasant,
and when that was over it would be almost time to go to the club.
But it was impossible to settle a question like that offhand. After he
had read the paper he would think about it.
Mrs. Altham came hurrying back into the room.
“Henry, you would never guess what I have seen!” she said. “I glanced
out of the window in the hall on the way to my room, and there was Mrs.
Ames wobbling about the road on a bicycle. Major Ames was holding it
upright with both hands, and it looked to be as much as he could manage.
Yet she has no time for Suffragettes! I should be sorry if I thought I
should ever make such a hollow excuse as that. And at her age, too! I
had no time to call you, but I dare say she will be back soon if you
care to watch. The window-seat in the hall is quite comfortable.”
Henry took his paper there.
THE END
_Richard Clay & Sons, Ltd., London and Bungay._