TWO days later Victoria was floating in the curious ether of the
unusual. It was Sunday night. She was before a little table at one of
those concealed restaurants in Soho where blows fragrant the wind of
France. She was sitting in a softly cushioned arm chair, grateful to
arms and back, her feet propped up on a footstool. Before her lay the
little table, with its rough cloth, imperfectly clean and shining dully
with brittania ware. There were flowers in a small mug of Bruges
pottery; there was little light save from candles discreetly veiled by
pink shades. The bill of fare, rigid on its metal stem, bore the two
shilling table d'hote and the more pretentious a la carte. An immense
feeling of restfulness, so complete as to be positive was upon her. She
felt luxurious and at large, at one with the other couples who sat near
by, smiling, with possessive hands.
On the other side of the table sat Major Cairns. He had not altered very
much except that he was stouter. His grey eyes still shone kindly from
his rather gross face. Victoria could not make up her mind whether she
liked him or not. When she met him in the park he had seemed beautiful
as an archangel; he had been gentle too as big men mostly are to women,
but now she could feel him examining her critically, noting her points,
speculating on the change in her, wondering whether her ravaged beauty
was greater and her neck softer than when he last held her in his arms
off the coast of Araby.
Victoria had compacted for a quiet place. She could not, she felt, face
the Pall Mall or Jermyn Street restaurants, their lights, wealth of
silver and glass, their soft carpets, their silent waiters. The Major
had agreed, for he knew women well and was not over-anxious to expose to
the eyes of the town Victoria's paltry clothes. Now he had her before
him he began to regret that he had not risked it. For Victoria had
gained as much as she had lost in looks. Her figure had shrunk, but her
neck was still beautifully moulded, broad as a pillar; her colour had
gone down almost to dead white; the superfluous flesh had wasted away
and had left bare the splendid line of the strong chin and jaw. Her
eyes, however, were the magnet that held Cairns fast. They were as grey
as ever, but dilated and thrown into contrast with the pale skin by the
purple zone which surrounded them. They stared before them with a novel
boldness, a strange lucidity.
'Victoria,' whispered Cairns leaning forward, 'you are very beautiful.'
Victoria laughed and a faint flush rose into her cheeks. There was still
something grateful in the admiration of this man, gross and limited as
he might be, centred round his pleasures, sceptical of good and evil
alike. Without a word she took up a spoon and began to eat her ice.
Cairns watched every movement of her hand and wrist.
'Don't,' said Victoria after a pause. She dropped her spoon and put her
hands under the table.
'Don't what?' said Cairns.
'Look at my hands. They're . . . Oh, they're not what they were. It
makes me feel ashamed.'
'Nonsense,' said Cairns with a laugh. 'Your hands are still as fine as
ever and, when we've had them manicured. . . .'
He stopped abruptly as if he had said too much.
'Manicured?' said Victoria warily, though the 'we' had given her a
little shock. 'Oh, they're not worth manicuring now for the sort of work
I've got to do.'
'Look here, Victoria,' said Cairns rather roughly. 'This can't go on.
You're not made to be one of the drabs. You say your work is telling on
you: well, you must give it up.'
'Oh, I can't do that,' said Victoria, 'I've got to earn my living and
I'm no good for anything else.'
Cairns looked at her for a moment and meditatively sipped his port.
'Drink the port,' he commanded, 'it'll do you good.'
Victoria obeyed willingly enough. There was already in her blood the
glow of Burgundy; but the port, mellow, exquisite, and curling round the
tongue, coloured like burnt almonds, fragrant too, concealed a deeper
joy. The smoke from Cairns' cigar, half hiding his face, floating in
wreaths between them, entered her nostrils, aromatic, narcotic.
'What are you thinking of doing now?' she asked.
'I don't know quite,' said Cairns. 'You see I broke my good resolution.
After my job at Perim, they offered me some surveying work near Ormuz;
they call it surveying, but it's spying really or it would be if there
were anything to spy. I took it and rather enjoyed it.'
'Did you have any adventures?' asked Victoria.
'Nothing to speak of except expeditions into the hinterland trying to
get fresh meat. The East is overrated, I assure you. A butr landed off
our station once, probably intending to turn us into able-bodied slaves.
There were only seven of us to their thirty but we killed ten with two
volleys and they made off, parting with their anchor in their hurry.'
Cairns looked at Victoria. The flush had not died from her cheeks. She
was good to look upon.
'No,' he went on more slowly, 'I don't quite know what I shall do. I
meant to retire anyhow, you know, and the sudden death of my uncle, old
Marmaduke Cairns, settled it. I never expected to get a look in, but
there was hardly anybody else to leave anything to, except his sisters
whom he hated like poison, so I'm the heir. I don't yet know what I'm
worth quite, but the old man always seemed to do himself pretty well.'
'I'm glad,' said Victoria. She was not. The monstrous stupidity of a
system which suddenly places a man in a position enabling him to live on
the labour of a thousand was obvious to her.
'I'm rather at a loose end,' said Cairns musing, 'you see I've had
enough knocking about. But it's rather dull here, you know. I'm not a
marrying man either.'
Victoria was disturbed. She looked at Cairns and met his eyes. There was
forming in them a question. As she looked at him the expression faded
and he signed to the waiter to bring the coffee.
As they sipped it they spoke little but inspected one another narrowly.
Victoria told herself that if Cairns offered her marriage she would
accept him. She was not sure that ideal happiness would be hers if she
did; his limitations were more apparent to her than they had been when
she first knew him. Yet the alternative was the P.R.R. and all that must
follow.
Cairns was turning over in his mind the question Victoria had surprised.
Though he was by no means cautious or shy, being a bold and good liver,
he felt that Victoria's present position made it difficult to be
sentimental. So they talked of indifferent things. But when they left
the restaurant and drove towards Finsbury Victoria came closer to him;
and, unconsciously almost, Cairns took her hand, which she did not
withdraw. He leant towards her. His hand grew more insistent on her arm.
She was passive, though her heart beat and fear was upon her.
'Victoria,' said Cairns, his voice strained and metallic.
She turned her face towards him. There was in it complete acquiescence.
He passed one arm round her waist and drew her towards him. She could
feel his chest crush her as he bent her back. His lips fastened on her
neck greedily.
'Victoria,' said Cairns again, 'I want you. Come away from all this
labour and pain; let me make you happy.'
She looked at him, a question in her eyes.
'As free man and woman,' he stammered. Then more firmly:
'I'll make you happy. You'll want nothing. Perhaps you'll even learn to
like me.'
Victoria said nothing for a minute. The proposal did not offend her; she
was too broken, too stupefied for her inherent prejudices to assert
themselves. Morals, belief, reputation, what figments all these things.
What was this freedom of hers that she should set so high a price on it?
And here was comfort, wealth, peace--oh, peace. Yet she hesitated to
plunge into the cold stream; she stood shivering on the edge.
'Let me think,' she said.
Cairns pressed her closer to him. A little of the flame that warmed his
body passed into hers.
'Don't hurry me. Please. I don't know what to say. . . .'
He bent over with hungry lips.
'Yes, you may kiss me.'
Submissive, if frightened and repelled, yet with a heart where hope
fluttered, she surrendered him her lips.