For Moira the summer grew increasingly fruitful, and, in a reflective
way, full of satisfactions, despite the continued absences of Miles.
A profound sympathy came over her, which she did not remember to have
experienced before, for the average discontented wife, who had to
endure this sort of thing with empty hands and no refuge of the spirit
in which to lose herself.... That could never be the case with her.
It is true that she would have been less serene were it not for the
fact that she had found companionship that answered a real want. Osprey
had none of the qualifications of the teacher, and his criticisms
struck deep. If she had been younger and greener they might only
have puzzled and not helped her, but now she welcomed surgery and
destruction. Her own hard years of unaided application rendered her
capable of understanding his language remarkably well, and she was
ready to discard and forget everything she had ever known.
Their discussions were often continued after brushes were laid aside.
She accepted invitations to tea in the studio or sat on his terrace
on warm nights after the children were asleep. The long drawn out
culmination of her relationship to Miles had given her the habit of
self-analysis, and she laughed somewhat over the appeal that Osprey
made to her as a man. She could not deny that it was the same that
originally had drawn her to her husband. She dealt here with a greater
Miles, wiser and more experienced. Nevertheless, she sensed in him the
type that was not self-sufficient, that required sympathy of a subtle
kind, and required it, when found, with an intensity that in this
case was beginning to prove hypnotic to her. Unquestionably Potter
Osprey was gradually becoming a necessary part of her life, and this
was not her fault but his. She had hinted at, more than revealed, the
state of affairs between herself and Miles. It was impossible not to
do so, appearances being what they were; and the older man’s complete
understanding coupled with hesitation to advise, was a soothing remedy
to her hurts.
The attraction which was growing between herself and Osprey was
totally different from her feeling for his friend, Roget, with whom
she had become acquainted. The distinguished producer treated her
with bantering equality from the start. It was as if they recognized
a likeness to each other in essential strength, and the hesitation,
almost anxiety, which Roget had felt over the painter’s passionate
adoption of Moira’s cause disappeared on knowing her. He began to
think of the whole affair as a pleasant and lasting alliance for his
friend, of some sort, and he little doubted of what sort it would be.
Obstacles there were, which he did not concern himself with. Once a
possibility took life in Roget’s brain, obstacles did not exist. He had
seen too many large ones swept aside.
To Moira, the obstacles were more significant, and yet they had
diminished amazingly in the last three months. The prospect that Osprey
would take their friendship seriously did have about it a quality of
dark adventure which made even her steady pulses jump uncomfortably.
But to the young woman who sees her marriage being slowly broken up
before her eyes, while she is helpless to restore it, everything is
touched by the shimmer of madness. And she asked herself what could
have been more mad, more out of all normal reason, than her whole life?
Moreover, she had a firm support now, one that gave her the strength
to adventure--her art. The intimation had visited her at last that she
might triumph in it; and, having reached that certainty, she felt it a
more present help than coffers heaped with gold.... The picture which
Roget had tried to buy she laughingly refused to sell him, but he had
countered with a problem in stage design which he promised to accept if
it offered a suggestion to work on. Here was a beginning, at least.
Her children ... it was strange how she felt toward them, how little
she feared for them. Certainly they were to be shielded, but also
they were not to be deceived about the life into which they had been
brought. The truth would not hurt them.
It was late in September that Moira received the letter from Miles
saying that he had left and would not return. The letter was a
mixture of unhappy self-accusation, and charges against her for
various shortcomings, chief of which appeared to be that she had
become self-sufficient and had accepted assistance from others. She
thought he might have spared her that, as well as the taunt about her
preoccupation with Osprey.... She had expected a parting shot of some
kind, yet when it came it was a painful blow, and she spent a week
brooding over it and wholly beside herself.
During this week Osprey saw nothing of her, and when she came up the
hill one evening to join him, he revealed in his eagerness what the
deprivation had meant. He led her to a seat, fussed about her comfort
and lighted her cigarette.
“I’ve been ill,” she said. “I go off and hide when that happens, like
an animal. Now I’m well.”
“Ill?” he asked, disturbed. He reflected that he should have been less
squeamish and forced a visit upon her. He had never done just that.
Invitations, dropped at chance meetings or at the end of discussions
while they worked had been enough. This time he had gone a little
further, approached her door on an impulse twice, but stopped before
making his presence known. “But,” he resumed, “Nana didn’t tell me
about your being ill. Did she take care of you?”
Moira knew what was in his mind. While she had been ill, her husband
had not been at home.
“Well,” she confessed lightly, “ill is not strictly true. I’ve been
just out of sorts. I had some news, but it doesn’t matter.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re feeling better. Particularly, as Nana tells me,
you’re expecting a guest to-morrow.”
“Yes, an old friend, a Mr. Blaydon. An old schoolmate, really, who has
been very kind to us.”
“I wonder if you wouldn’t bring him and Mr. Harlindew to dinner
to-morrow night? I shall be delighted to have you all; and as for Nana,
she suggested it herself.”
Miles had always been included in Osprey’s formal invitations, whether
present or not, and had, in fact, attended once and contributed not
unpleasantly to the evening.
“I’m afraid I can’t promise for my husband,” said Moira slowly.
“H’m. That’s too bad. But I can count on you and your friend, Mr.
Blaydon, anyway?”
“I should love to bring him,” she replied and paused.... It was better,
she thought, to have matters understood.... “My husband ... won’t come
back here,” she went on. “He has left me.”
“It was that,” he asked kindly, “the news you had?”
“Yes, he wrote me a letter.”
Osprey spoke quietly but she was conscious of the emotion in his voice.
“And you will accept that? You will not seek him, try to bring him
back?”
“No,” she replied. “Too much has happened before this. It is over.”
“You poor girl. You’ve suffered over it.”
“I put a good deal into it.... But this had to happen. Miles must have
no ties.”
Osprey’s animation returned and he spoke in a more impersonal tone.
“Perhaps you’re right. I think the young man has not grown up in spite
of his years. But he may find himself. They have a kind of strength,
fellows like that, a kind of terrible strength that no one suspects.
I’ve seen his type before. The fact is,” he added, with a half-serious
smile, “I’ve been something of the sort myself. It’s often hard to
locate the origin of a fool’s folly, but I think in my case it was an
experience I had when I was a boy. It wasn’t a peccadillo with me. It
haunted me for years, so much that I can’t talk freely about it to this
day. It made life a desperate adventure; it was at the back of most of
my troubles....” He laughed. “I seem like an old fool to be telling you
all this. And truly my nightmares appear absurd to me now.”
Moira laughed a little bitterly. “Something happened to me too when I
was young.... But I am free.... I tore myself free from it.”
“I thought so,” he said gently. “There is a great difference in our
ages, but if I may say so, we seem to have--well, had something alike
to face in life. No, I do not mean just that--it’s presumptuous. I have
never, I think, before met any woman quite like you. Strength and the
genius for insight, such as yours, rarely meet in the same body.”
A hungry intensity in his words escaped him unawares. Though he had
spoken nothing of significance, the feeling that shook him reached
her through the dusk with sinister force. She had felt the same thing
before and had had a momentary impulse to run, to break free from it.
She did not want to be subjected to another tyranny of her emotions....
Yet she had reasoned with herself. Here was a future that could in
every sense be ideal, a man with whom she had everything in common and
whom she knew she could trust....
A moment later he changed the subject and she was glad.
“By the way,” he said, “why not have your guest stay over, if he will?
You know I’ve extra bedrooms, and there is no reason why he should not
occupy one as long as he likes.”
It was a point that had worried and embarrassed her, and she was
inexpressibly pleased that he had thought of it.
“You’re too good,” she said fervently, “and I would love to keep him.”
They chatted on over impersonal shallows until the time came for her to
return to the cottage.