Lady Ann Minter alighted thankfully.
After the burden and heat of the third-class carriage the evening air of
Suet was like a drink of water—out of a dirty mug. Still, it was water:
and the journey down had been hell. After all, the tip of a beggar’s
finger made a desirable continent for a certain rich man.
Her husband took her arm and shepherded her out of the press.
“See now, kid,” he said tenderly, setting her dressing-case down, “you
jus’ stay ’ere an’ watch out for me. I’m off to find your trunk.”
“All right, Bob,” said Lady Ann Minter.
Alone for the first time since her marriage, she strove to marshal her
thoughts. These, however, were mutinous. The flight of opportunity, the
welter of noise and movement on the fringe of which she stood undermined
her authority. It was vital that she should think quickly and clearly,
that she should make up her mind. Everything was depending upon
immediate decision. But the very premises were denied her. She was wild
to face the facts: but the facts danced and flickered and would not be
faced.
Hideous, blazing queries blinded her fumbling brain. She found herself
reading them aloud.
“Why didn’t I think of all this? How can I possibly bear it? What shall
I do—_do_?”
And then the scorching answers.
“God knows . . . I must . . . _Nothing_. . . .”
She saw her father standing with his back to the log-laden hearth—saw
his white, set face and his tightened lips. There were roses on the
mantelpiece behind him, and a Morland hanging above—a spreading oak and
a cottage and a jolly brown horse. . . . and a woman was standing in the
doorway, holding a little boy, and a man on the horse was smiling . . .
and they were all alone and happy, under the spreading oak . . . very
poor and simple, but alone and very happy. . . .
She saw her aunt on her knees with tears running down her face—saw the
china ranged orderly upon the walls—smelt the pot-pourri she had made
the year before. The evening sun was pouring into the chamber, planting
badges of gold on plate and bowl and pitcher, turning the closet into a
queen’s parlour. . . .
She saw the register office and the registrar’s face like a mask, heard
the cameras click as she and Bob passed out, felt the insolent stares of
the waiter who brought them lunch. . . .
The journey down had been frightful. The heat, the discomfort, the
everlasting talk. . . .
The coaches had been standing in the August sun and had become veritable
ovens. Such air as entered them was baked instantly. Yet, the fight for
seats had been savage—one woman had been knocked down, and children had
been dragged and trampled. Bob had secured two places because he was
strong, but one had been seized before his bride could take possession.
A violent dispute had followed, while Ann stood between the seats
smiling nervously and ready to die of shame. Indeed, but for the timely
eviction of another inmate, the sudden activity of whose diaphragm
disclosed the moving fact that he was considerably the worse for liquor,
relations must have been strained beyond the breaking-point. The
spectacle, however, of the wages of intemperance had proved that touch
of Nature which can twitch discord into harmony, and for the next twenty
minutes various appreciations of the episode revealed a cordial
unanimity which was almost affecting. That a family in a corner should
at the last moment have been rudely reinforced by the irruption of two
small boys was sheer misfortune. In the absence of seating accommodation
it had been impossible to protest against their occupation of the open
windows—delicious tenancies, of which they took full advantage,
boisterously exchanging reports and frequently subletting their coigns
of vantage to one another. The corporal enfilading of the compartment
which such arrangements necessitated had soon developed into a game, the
pursuit of which their kinsfolk made no attempt to check until a
particularly deliberate collision had afforded one tenant a pretext for
hitting the other on the nose. The consequences of the assault had been
frightful. The combatants were dragged yelling apart, the aggressor was
cuffed into tears more explosive than those of his victim, both were
shaken and reviled, the flow of blood was arrested by a handkerchief
which had already been used as a dressing and was swaddling an ounce of
bull’s-eyes, hideous threats were issued, provocative comments upon
upbringing were audibly exchanged. Only the production of food had at
all relieved the tension, but under the healing influence of snacks good
humour had more or less revived. A baby-in-arms had been given a ham
sandwich—at least, the apex had been introduced into its mouth. It
gnashed and sucked contentedly, while protruding shreds of fat liquefied
upon its chin. A girl had abstractedly devoured plums and put the stones
in Ann’s lap. A married couple opposite had seemed incapable of
underestimating the capacity of their mouths, thus inconceivably
embarrassing their efforts to keep the ball of _badinage_ rolling and
distorting such retorts as they felt must be expressed into fresh
dummies for their opponents’ thrusts. Before the meal was over the train
had run into a tunnel and, after slowing down to a crawl, come to a dead
stop. Someone had giggled, and a burst of hysterical laughter had
succeeded the soft impeachment of gallantry. In the midst of it all Ann
had felt Bob’s arm steal round her and his lips on her cheek. He had
kept his arm about her for the rest of the trip. . . .