"Ah, you pretend that you don't! But you're bluffing me. I know it.
Why did you come to me about this instead of to Arthur himself? Because
you were afraid. That was the reason."
The shot was made at a venture, but Gabrielle quickly saw that it had
taken effect. She followed it up:
"You thought that if you upset him he might lose what he's gained. You
don't know--we none of us know yet--how deep the change is. You didn't
dare to face that little risk; but it's nothing compared with the one you
want to take now. That's what you've got to face!"
She could say no more. When she stopped speaking Mrs. Payne knew that
the girl's eyes were fixed on her eagerly, desperately, trying to search
into her mind. The older woman stood there still and bewildered by the
choice that had been presented to her. It was the most awful moment in
her emotional life. Her mind was a battlefield on which her love, her
sense of right, her acquired conventions, her religion, and her hungry
maternal passion were pitted against one formidable dread. She wanted to
shield Arthur against harm: from a social disaster no less than from what
she considered a mortal sin; and, above all, after these years of patient
suffering, she wanted him for herself. It was neither religion nor
morality that drove her to her final decision, but a thing far stronger:
her passionate instinct to possess the son of her body. Even if she were
to lose him, to rescue no more than the changeling that she had always
known, she could not bring herself to share him with any other woman on
earth. He was hers and hers alone. She did not know if she were right.
She did not care if she were wrong. The decision formed itself
inexorably in her mind. She could only obey it. Gabrielle, watching her
narrowly, saw a sudden peace descend upon her agonised face. Mrs. Payne
gave a long shuddering sigh. Then she spoke, dully, mechanically:
"The train goes at seven-fifty. I will order the carriage. I will write
to Dr. Considine in the morning."
Gabrielle clutched at her breast. "You can't realise what you're doing!
It's too great a risk. Think of it again ... I beg you!"
"No," said Mrs. Payne slowly. "I've made up my mind. We must invent
some plausible excuse. Illness will do ... anything. And you must help
me, if only for your own sake."
Desperate tears came into Gabrielle's eyes.
"For your own sake," Mrs. Payne repeated. "You've realised, I know, that
if you go on with this unfortunate love-affair you must ruin not only
your own happiness and your husband's, but Arthur's as well. If you love
him at all you can't drag him into social ruin. Well, I've made my
decision. If anything disastrous happens my blood's on my own head. We
must make the best of a bad job. Don't think I'm not sorry for you, my
dear."
This final tenderness was too much for Gabrielle. She broke down,
sobbing so tragically in Mrs. Payne's arms that the older woman was
almost ashamed of her victory. She knew that she could afford to be
kind. She felt that she would like to tell her that under any other
circumstances she knew none whom she would rather trust as Arthur's wife;
but to say so would have been a bitter mockery. She waited in silence
while Gabrielle mastered her own feelings and raised, at last, her
haggard eyes.
"What can you say to my husband?" she said.
"We must say that I am ill. That will give you a good reason for
returning."
"And Arthur?"
"The same reason will explain why he doesn't go back to Lapton on
Tuesday. After that I don't know what I shall do."
"But I can see him before I go?"
"That would be quite useless. It might even do harm. You are going to
help me, you know, for his sake."
"He'll wonder. How can we satisfy him? What can I do?"
"You had better write to him. Tell him that after to-night it's
impossible for you to stay. Only ... only please don't mention me."
"It will kill him...."
"Or save him. It's the only thing that you can do."
"I'll write it now."
She went over to the writing table in the window, and there, with
streaming eyes, she wrote her letter. It took her a long time to do, and
when she had finished she brought it with the envelope to Mrs. Payne.
"Do you want to read it?" she asked.
"No ... Of course I trust you."
"Thank you." She fastened the envelope and addressed it. "I feel as if
I were dead," she said.
"You're young," said Mrs. Payne.
"But you'll let me know what happens, you'll write to me?"
"Yes, I'll write to you."
"I have a dread, an awful dread of what may happen. I can't be sure that
we've done right."
"Neither can I. I had to make a decision. I pray God that it will turn
out well. We can do no more."
"I know now that you love him. I'm glad to know that."
"Did you ever doubt it?"
"But for me there's nothing left ... nothing." Gabrielle stood for a
moment in silence. Then she said, "I'd better pack," and Mrs. Payne
clutching at any refuge from the intensity of the moment offered to help
her.
"No," said Gabrielle, "if you don't mind, I'd rather be alone. We'd
better say good-bye."
"I don't like to leave you," said Mrs. Payne, "but perhaps you're right."
With a sudden impulse Gabrielle came over to her. Mrs. Payne took her in
her arms and they kissed.
"I could love you," said Gabrielle. "You have Arthur's eyes...."
Mrs. Payne left her.