discussed at lunch to-day.”
“Where?”
“At the Thespian. _Are_ you engaged to her?,” Eric persisted.
In the short pause which followed both men seemed to resolve no longer
to waste time on appearances and the circumlocution of civility.
“What the devil’s that to you?,” Gaymer demanded.
“Are you going to marry her?,” asked Eric.
“Do you want to marry her yourself?”
“I’d sooner marry her myself than see her married to you,” said Eric
and repented of the words almost before they were spoken. In themselves
they were harmless, but he did not want Gaymer to see that his cool
insolence and jerky monosyllables were wearing down his own patience.
“Well, _I_ won’t stop you, if you think you’ll have any success.”
“That’s not the point. She says you promised to marry her, and I want
to know if you’re going to keep your promise.”
“I see. Well, _I_ want to know just where you think you come in.”
“She’s a friend of mine,” Eric repeated.
“Bully for her! But I’m afraid I don’t hold myself responsible to any
friend of hers who chooses to come here and ask impertinent questions.”
“Naturally. But I think I may say she’s asked my advice. Certainly I’ve
given her advice, and she seems to be guided by it to some extent.”
“Bully for her again!”
“She was talking of making the engagement public.”
Gaymer was only impressed to the extent of hesitating for an instant;
then he shewed himself more assured than ever:
“And, if your advice to her is worth a damn, you told her not to do
that!”
“You don’t want to marry her, then?”
Gaymer first yawned and then frowned with a sudden irritability that
suggested more that he wanted to end the interview than that he had
lost his temper.
“Whether I want to or not is beside the point!” he exclaimed. “I’ve no
money to marry on. _She_ knows that. I don’t know from one day to
another whether I’m going to be demobilized. I can’t marry on my pay.”
He looked round with sensual appreciation of the simple warmth and
softness of his quarters. “Far too fond of personal comfort for that.
Have I satisfied your curiosity enough now?”
“No, you haven’t told me why you promised to marry her,” Eric persisted.
“_Did_ I promise? I should be enormously interested to know why you say
that.”
“Because she told me, and in this instance I believe her word in
preference to yours. _Why_ you promised to marry her—I needn’t bother
you to tell me that. I suppose you found it a necessary formality.”
Eric waited for a denial, though he knew that it would tell him
nothing. Guilty or innocent, Gaymer must now lose his temper in
vehement earnest.
And yet no denial came.
“Did she tell you that, too?” he asked.
“I chose to infer it.”
“You’re a desirable friend for a girl to have, if you choose to infer
that sort of thing about her... Lane, the artistic temperament runs
away with you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I _must_ go and dress. But,
any time you think of anything else you’d like to ask me, don’t
hesitate to drop in. I’m nearly always at home this time of day and I
can give you a cocktail, if you’ll tell me how to get hold of any gin.
Good-bye.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER SIX
THE REWARD OF SYMPATHY
“And... there came down a certain priest that way: and... he passed by
on the other side.
“And likewise a Levite...”
S. LUKE: 10. 31-2.
Eric drove to Ryder Street with the knowledge that he had been beaten;
and for the first time, now that it was too late to be of any use, he
explored his motives in going. An ingrained conventional sense of
fitness told him that, when a man had behaved as Gaymer had done, he
must marry his victim as a matter of honour; more rational modern
teaching objected that a man would commit two crimes instead of one if
he consented to marry a woman whom he did not love. Eric felt he must
really have assumed that Gaymer loved Ivy but that he was too
inconsiderate to treat her kindly; he had himself gone to Buckingham
Gate to demand an explanation rather than to force on the marriage.
But he had been beaten. And what else could he have expected, after
interfering in something that did not concern him? Gaymer’s victorious
rebuff did not matter so much as his adroitness in preventing their
ever getting to grips over Ivy; he might marry her, or he might not,
but at least he had made it plain that he would not be coerced even
into saying whether he cared for her....
In his bath and as he dressed, Eric became permeated with the feeling
that Gaymer had no intention of marrying. An honourable man with an
unclouded conscience would have resented interference far more warmly;
and a man who meant to keep his engagement had no motive for not
publishing it. And, after all, when Ivy had overcome her immediate
unhappiness, was not this all for the best? In a further analysis Eric
fancied that he had gone to assure himself of Gaymer’s bad faith, in
part because he distrusted the fellow and in part because he did not
want to see Ivy’s youth sacrificed to him. Perhaps he would have been a
little disappointed if Gaymer had explained everything convincingly.
The first act of Aida was over before Eric reached Covent Garden.
Hardly seeing who nodded to him, he hurried through the crowded hall to
the pit-tier, only conscious of the languid, chattering double
procession on the stairs, as of a well-dressed, rich and soulless
stage-army that never participated in the emotions and crises of life;
these people surrounded and stared uncomprehendingly at the drama in
their midst, but they seemed to have no drama of their own. George
Oakleigh’s box-door was open, but he had passed it before he had time
to wonder who was inside and in another moment was apologizing to Lady
Maitland for his lateness.
“_I_ must apologize to _you_,” she said, “for disturbing you last
night. It was this naughty child’s fault. She went on to a party and
never warned me.”
Ivy’s excuse had apparently been accepted without further question, and
Eric bowed and shook hands with her as though they had not met earlier
that day. She was paler than in the morning, and her eyes and cheeks
were hollow with fatigue. He could have described every thought that
was passing like a white-hot needle through her brain, for she was
feeling as he had felt when Barbara broke faith with him, betrayed and
utterly lost; ultimately it might be all for the best, but days of
agony lay ahead of her, and she would learn how long and pitiless the
nights could be.
As the lights were lowered, he pulled his chair forward, resting his
arms on the sill of the box. Ivy leaned back to screen herself from her
aunt, and, when he put down his glasses and half-turned to offer them
to her, he saw tears standing in her eyes. Feeling for her hand, he
pressed it gently, and a tear splashed hot and startling on to his own.
She gripped and held his fingers till the end of the act; and, as the
curtain fell, he stood up and made a barrier of himself.
“I think this is the appropriate moment for tobacco and fresh air,” he
suggested. “You not coming, Lady Maitland? Will you, Miss Maitland?”
He opened the door without waiting for a reply and hurried her
downstairs and into the street before the first call had been taken.
“It’s cooler here,” he began, as they walked towards Long Acre. “Do you
mind about smoking in public?”
“I feel too ill, thanks... Mr. Lane, I can’t bear it! All this
afternoon I had to hold myself back to keep from rushing around and
beating on his door! I couldn’t stay in the same room as a telephone. I
_had_ to see him and I was afraid he’d turn me away... I can’t bear it,
I _can’t_!”
“Ssh! I’ve been through this, Ivy, longer and worse than I pray you’ll
ever know. And you can only get over it by setting your teeth—”
“I don’t _want_ to get over it!,” she broke out.
“But you must. And you must begin getting over it to-night. Ivy, I went
to see Gaymer this afternoon.”
She turned on him in swift surprise which changed to dawning hope. But
there was nothing in his face to encourage hope, and her eyes dulled to
resignation.
“Yes?,” she whispered.
“You may say, if you like, that I had no business to interfere. I went
to see if I could do any good. I did no good at all, I found out
nothing and I came away with what’s commonly called a flea in my ear.”
“Was she—?”
Ivy could not bring herself to finish the sentence, but Eric guessed
its end and shook his head.
“I don’t think she has anything to do with it. I don’t believe he ever
meant to marry you from the moment when he refused to publish the
engagement.”
“But he promised, he gave me his oath!”
“Because he... saw you expected it of him. Ivy, you said this morning
that you’d told me everything...” She covered her face with both hands
as though he had struck her. “Dear child, I’m not asking for the
pleasure of torturing you!”
She hurried on without answering by word or nod, and Eric had his
answer.
“You poor child!,” he whispered. “Ivy, I promised to help you, if I
could; you know that this makes no difference, don’t you? Except that
I’m a thousand times more anxious to help you. I’ll help you in any way
I can. But you must help me to help you; you have to put all your
courage into this—”
“I _can’t_! I want to _die_!,” she sobbed.
“Don’t talk like that! This is a frightful thing for you, but you must
see it in perspective. When once you’ve the pluck to recognize it’s all
over... You’ve told no one else; no one else has guessed, no one else
will ever know—”
“But they can’t _help_ it!”
“Ivy—”
Eric looked at her, and the glib solace died on his lips.
“Ivy, pull yourself together and listen to me!” he whispered. “You’re
not to tell a soul till I give you leave! Do you promise? I want time
to think this out. And it’s _going_ to be thought out, we’re going to
win on this. I swear to you that I’ll see you through this somehow. Do
you believe me?”
His vehemence steadied her, and she nodded quickly:
“Yes.”
“Dry your eyes! We must be getting back, or your aunt will wonder
what’s been happening to us. Are you doing anything to-morrow? Right!
I’ll make a plan for to-morrow, and we’ll talk things over. Now get
control of yourself and of your voice: talk to me about the opera,
anything. We have to put up a big bluff. Are you ready?”
They walked back to the opera-house, lazily discussing the singers. The
hall was still half-full, and they stopped to exchange a greeting with
Dr. Gaisford. In the passage behind the boxes, Lord John Carstairs and
his wife were pacing slowly up and down, and they stopped again.
Deganway scurried past like a frightened rabbit and confided to Lady
Poynter that Eric Lane and the little Maitland girl were going about
again together.
“My dear, it’s the second time I’ve caught them to-day!,” he added.
“They’re positively inseparable.”
Eric walked on, deep in conversation. Barbara Oakleigh was standing in
the open door-way of her box. He did not see her, but she looked
curiously at his companion and turned for a second look, as they
passed. When they were out of sight, she returned to the front of her
box and levelled her glasses on them for a moment as they sat down.
“It’s hotter than ever!,” Eric exclaimed. “Lady Maitland, will you
trust Ivy to me for the whole of to-morrow? I want to take her to
Maidenhead, we’d lunch at Skindle’s, punt gently for about ten
yards—which is the limit of my punting capacity—, tie up under a tree
until dinner, dine at Skindle’s and return to London. May I do that? I
promise not to drown her.”
Lady Maitland smiled guardedly. She had noticed for some weeks that
Eric was interested in her niece, but this was the first time that he
had avowed it; and, though she was lazily content to keep Ivy at Eaton
Place or in Shropshire until she or her parents came to their senses, a
marriage so suitable in every way was undeniably the most satisfactory
escape from an awkward family entanglement.
“What do _you_ say about it, Ivy?,” she asked.
“I should love it. It’s sweet of you, Mr. Lane.”
“I’ll call with a taxi at half-past ten,” said Eric.
At the end of the opera he intercepted Gaisford and begged him to wait
and come home for a drink as soon as the Maitlands had been packed into
their car. The distraction of the stage and of the music, the presence
of Ivy and the touch of her hand, which sought his as soon as the
curtain went up, kept him from thinking clearly; and he needed the
shrewd brain and blunt speech of one who had been a second father to
him in order to correct his own impulses.
From Covent Garden to Ryder Street the two men drove in silence. Only
when the doctor had been given an arm-chair, a brandy and soda and a
cigar did he say:
“Well, my son, who’s worrying you now? It’s a mistake to let people
worry you.”
“How d’you know any one’s worrying me?,” asked Eric.
“Because you’re one of these damned reserved people who never squeal
when they’re hurt themselves, but simply go through the world inviting
other people to hurt them. Drive ahead. To-morrow’s Sunday, so I don’t
mind if you keep me up late.”
Eric threw himself into one chair and put his feet up in another.
“It’s in strict confidence, of course,” he began slowly. “A girl I know
slightly has been victimized by some one whom for brevity I may
describe as an “officer and a gentleman”; now she has to face the
consequences. My interest in the thing’s confined to keeping her from
chucking herself under the nearest train. What’s to be done, Gaisford?”
The doctor hoisted himself on to a smaller chair, where he took up a
favourite attitude with feet round the legs and his arms folded over
the back.
“I want a lot more data than that,” he grunted. “Is she the girl who
was with you to-night?” Eric stared at his cigar without answering.
“Good! I don’t want to know her name—or the man’s. I take it she’s a
girl in a good social position. And I take it that you’re not proposing
that I should run my head against the law? Good again! Why doesn’t he
marry her?”
“Doesn’t want to. Never meant to.”
“Does he know the state she’s in?”
“I can’t say. With respect, I don’t think it matters. I’d never
encourage any girl to marry a man against his will just to preserve her
reputation.”
“I’m inclined to agree. Has she any money?”
“Her parents have.”
“She _has_ parents? Then where do you come in?”
Eric laughed with impatient bitterness, jumping up with a wriggle of
his shoulder-blades and beginning to fidget with the bibelots on his
mantelpiece.
“That’s what I’ve been asking myself for some time,” he jerked out;
“and especially while I was bearding the man this afternoon... Father,
mother, married sisters, brothers... But I don’t think she can go to
her people. She doesn’t get on very well with them at the best of times
and, if I diagnose her aright, she’d screw up her courage to commit
suicide long before she’d screw up her courage to face them. I met her
for a moment in New York, and she’s confided in me for some reason.
She’s one of these modern, emancipated girls who want to live by
themselves and lead their own lives—”
The doctor interrupted him with an impatient sniff:
“Then she needn’t bother to find a father for her child.”
“My dear Gaisford, you know the worth and weight of all that froth!
Modern woman wants to make the best of both sexes; she thinks she can
get ‘freedom’ and ‘equality’ without fighting or paying for it. Once
present the bill—! As I see it, I’m the only soul that the girl can
turn to; and, in that belief, I’ve promised to see her through. I
suppose this sort of thing is happening daily; I suppose she can be
sent somewhere till the trouble’s over... If necessary—I’ve not thought
it out yet—, I’ll take her abroad as my secretary—”
A scornful snort interrupted his flow of facile suggestion:
“How old is she? Twenty? And a very pretty girl, so far as I could see.
And you’re disgustingly well-known. Don’t you think it would cause some
little comment, if you and she went on your travels together?... After
all, I think you’d better tell me who she is.”
Eric shook his head, and a silence followed. Then he shrugged his
shoulders.
“Connie Maitland’s niece, a daughter of the judge,” he said at length.
“My dear friend, there are limits to human faith even in your moral
reputation!” cried the doctor. “No, something can be done in this
country, but you must find an excuse for getting her away from her
friends for a considerable time.”
“I was wondering whether I’d get my mother to ask her down to Lashmar.”
“It wouldn’t be fair on Lady Lane; she’s of the old school. Besides,
your sister wouldn’t give her a fair chance: a woman’s severest judges
are her own sex. And you’ve brothers; the girl wouldn’t face them. And
you always tell me it’s a dead-and-alive little hamlet where the
servants would gossip and every one would gape and whisper. In
twenty-four hours the responsibility would be laid at _your_ door, and
people would wonder why you didn’t marry her.”
“I’m beginning to wonder that myself.”
Gaisford prepared to speak and then closed his lips, waiting for more
to come, as Eric covered his eyes with his hand and tapped the fender
with one restless heel. By shutting out the light he could forget the
doctor’s presence and imagine the room as he had seen it that morning,
with a slim black figure shrinking into one corner of a big chair. At
this moment—he listened to the calm deliberate ticking of the clock
behind his head—at this moment she was probably lying on her bed,
powerless even to undress, smothering her sobs in a pillow; or perhaps
she was on her knees, praying wildly, desperately until she fell asleep
from exhaustion; when she awoke, a sense of disaster would cloud and
terrify her mind until it defined itself and she wept to find herself
still alive. The anguished incoherence of her prayers seemed to rise
and swell like wind in the rigging of a ship; he could see her very
clearly, hear her very plainly....
The creak of the doctor’s chair recalled him to the present, and Eric
looked cautiously round the room as though uncertain who was there.
From the moment when Ivy came and sobbed in his arms, he had forgotten
everything but an urgent need to help her; one accusing pile of letters
lay unopened on his writing-table, another was waiting unsigned; he had
done no work; and for the first time in nearly three years he had
hardly thought of Barbara.
But there was something more than an abstract desire to help. He could
now confess to himself that he would have been disappointed if Gaymer
had been anxious or even willing to marry Ivy....
“It would be one way out of the difficulty,” he suggested indifferently.
“And it would be one way into a great many others,” said Gaisford
sharply, a little startled to find himself taken so literally.
“You mean I’m damaged goods? I know that,” said Eric quietly.
Gaisford made a noise of impatience as he looked up at the spare frame
and thin, vital face in front of him. He was reasonably proud of the
man whom he had so long kept alive and now restored to full health.
“I mean nothing of the kind. Eric, you owl, you’re making a very big
income, you’ve a very big reputation all over the world. You’ve
_everything_ to offer. If you’re treating the question as a
profit-and-loss account, I confess I don’t see what _this_ girl—”
“Don’t you?” As he stared up at the light, Eric’s eyes grew bigger and
changed from smouldering brown to a black brilliance that illumined his
whole face. “She gives me youth, beauty... Gaisford, if you try to be
cynical, I shall brain you; she gives me something to talk to,
something to look after, something to care for... Some one who believes
in me... I don’t ask more than that of any woman in these latter days.
All this business about money and position... God! If I could give
everything I’ve got, everything I’m likely to get, lay it at her feet,
persuade her to accept it—”
“Are you in love with her?,” the doctor enquired with a sedative
detachment that stilled the passion in Eric’s voice.
“It might make me... I’ve been paralysed for the last two years;
there’s been absolutely nothing in life for me. I must be fond of that
child, or I couldn’t worry about her so much... If I had somebody to
care for, somebody to try and make happy, somebody to take me out of
myself and make me forget myself... Then I could _win_... I never
_used_ to be lonely... I’m talking to you as the ideas come,
Gaisford... You said it as a joke, but, if you ask me seriously why I
don’t marry her....”
His tone and attitude did not invite cynicism. Gaisford stood up and
laid a hand on his shoulders.
“Sit down,” he suggested. “You mustn’t do anything till you’ve thought
this over _coolly_. In the first place, what do you know of the girl?
She’s broken down completely in what most men consider to be woman’s
first essential.”
“She’s a child,” cried Eric, wrestling free from the numbing bondage of
Gaisford’s sedative voice. “If you told me that he’d made her
_drunk_... or _doped_ her... I shouldn’t be surprised. This is a thing
that touched her body and not her spirit.”
The doctor grimaced unconsciously at the romantic phrasing:
“I see. She’s a child, and you think you’re going to form her mind and
character... Don’t interrupt, Eric; every man thinks that of every
woman mentally less mature than himself. Is she going to be an
intelligent companion or a pathetic doll? Is she honest? Is she
honourable? Is she unselfish? Is she loyal? Has she grit—under the pink
and white of the child? Those are qualities that every wife must have.
In other words,” he continued with prosaic mockery, “d’you know
a—single—dam’—_thing_ about her? Is she clever enough, Eric, to know
how to live with you? I don’t doubt your patience, affection,
self-effacement and the rest, but you’re a queer customer, you know; an
idealist... you’d hit me if I said she deserved all she’d got...; too
many nerves, much too sensitive; if I tell you you’ve a smut on your
nose, you’ll probably forswear human society and run away for ten years
to a desert island. Can she live with you without getting on your
nerves? And—remember I’ve seen her for three seconds, at a distance—are
you man enough to control her? I don’t gather she’s learnt much
self-discipline; can you lick her into shape, or will you go flabby
every time she cries?”
He waited for an answer, but Eric only murmured:
“Go on.”
“Marriage is a long and intimate business. You’re not marrying her for
passion—or money—or social advantage; you’ve to start right away with
what most people come to when passion’s worn out; you’ve to be
_companions_ from the beginning. And you know as little of her as I do.
You must wait, therefore—”
Eric interrupted him with a quick gesture:
“If I’m to be of any use, I must act at once. The girl’s nearly out of
her mind.”
“I’m sorry for her. That doesn’t justify you in doing something that
may send both of you nearly out of your minds before you’ve been
married six months. After all, something _can_ be done to avoid a
scandal. And you must study her... And study yourself. I mean, have you
considered how you’ll like to have another man’s child always with you
and to pretend it’s yours? Are you strong enough never to patronize?
And do you want a wife who marries you out of gratitude or one who
marries you because she loves you?”
“I want to have some one in my life who belongs to me,” Eric answered.
“Another man’s child... Complications generally... I feel rather like a
man who tries to escape from the pains of life by embracing a new
faith; the more services and observances and penances you give me, the
better I shall be pleased.”
Gaisford wrinkled his nose and sniffed.
“Excellent for the first week,” he said. “Will you be of the same mind
a year from now, if you find she gets on your nerves so that you can’t
work? This is self-indulgence... Don’t glare at me! You’re as bad as
all the rest, you’ve the faults of your ridiculous, neurotic
generation. This is a _stunt_! You’re having enormous fun with a
brand-new emotion... By the way, you’ll probably have to tell your
people everything.”