The Supper-party
'Have you forgiven me?' he asked anxiously, as soon as they were in the
dark shelter of the cab.
'Yes, oh yes. Please don't let's talk about it any more... What time do
you start tomorrow?'
'You think I ought to go then?'
'You say so.'
'But you'd rather I remained here; rather we should go on as we
are--wouldn't you?'
'Well, you know I should never have dreamt of suggesting you should go
away. I like you to be here.'
'At any cost to me? No, Edith; I can't stand it. And since I've told
you it's harder. Your knowing makes it harder.'
'I should have thought that if you liked anyone so _very_ much, you
would want to see them all the time, as much as possible, always--even
with other people...anything rather than not see them--be away
altogether. At least, that's how I should feel.'
'No doubt you would; that's a woman's view. And besides, you see, you
don't care!'
'The more I cared, the less I should go away, I think.'
'But, haven't I tried? And I can't bear it. You don't know how cruel
you are with your sweetness, Edith...Oh, put yourself in my place! How
do you suppose I feel when I've been with you like this, near you,
looking at you, delighting in you the whole evening--and then, after
supper, you go away with Bruce? _You've_ had a very pleasant evening,
no doubt; it's all right for you to feel you've got me, as you know you
have--and with no fear, no danger. Yes, you enjoy it!'
'Oh, Aylmer!'
He saw in the half-darkness that her eyes looked reproachful.
'I didn't mean it. I'm sorry--I'm always being sorry.' His bitter tone
changed to gentleness. 'I want to speak to you now, Edith. We haven't
much time. Don't take away your hand a minute....I always told you,
didn't I, that the atmosphere round you is so clear that I feel with
you I'm in the Palace of Truth? You're so _real_. You're the only woman
I ever met who really cared for truth. You're not afraid of it; and
you're as straight and honourable as a man! I don't mean you can't
diplomatise if you choose, of course, and better than anyone; but it
isn't your nature to deceive yourself, nor anyone else. I recognise
that in you. I love it. And that's why I can't pretend or act with you;
I must be frank.'
'Please, do be frank.'
'I love you. I'm madly in love with you. I adore you.'
Aylmer stopped, deeply moved at the sound of his own words. Few people
realise the effect such words have on the speaker. Saying them to her
was a great joy, and an indulgence, but it increased painfully his
passionate feeling, making it more accentuated and acute. To let
himself go verbally was a wild, bitter pleasure. It hurt him, and he
enjoyed it.
'And I'd do anything in the world to get you. And I'd do anything in
the world for you, too. And if you cared for me I'd go away all the
same. At least, I believe I should...We shall be there in a minute.
'Listen, dear. I want you, occasionally, to write to me; there's no
earthly reason why you shouldn't. I'll let you know my address. It will
prevent my being too miserable, or rushing back. And will you do
something else for me?'
'Anything.'
'Angel! Well, when you write, call me Aylmer. You never have yet, in a
letter. Treat me just like a friend--as you treat Vincy. Tell me what
you're doing, where you're going, who you see; about Archie and Dilly;
about your new dresses and hats; what you're reading--any little thing,
so that I'm still in touch with you.'
'Yes, I will; I shall like to. And don't be depressed, Aylmer. Do enjoy
your journey; write to me, too.'
'Yes, I'm going to write to you, but only in an official way, only for
Bruce. And, listen. Take care of yourself. You're too unselfish. Do
what you want sometimes, not what other people want all the time. Don't
read too much by electric light and try your eyes. And don't go out in
these thin shoes in damp weather--promise!'
She laughed a little--touched.
'Be a great deal with the children. I like to think of you with them.
And I hope you won't be always going out,' he continued, in a tone of
unconscious command, which she enjoyed....'Please don't be continually
at Lady Everard's, or at the Mitchells', or anywhere. I hate you to be
admired--how I hate it!'
'Fancy! And I was always brought up to believe people are proud of
what's called the 'success' of the people that they--like.'
'Don't you believe it, Edith! That's all bosh--vanity and nonsense. At
any rate, I know I'm not. In fact, as I can't have you myself, I would
really like you to be shut up. Very happy, very well, with everything
in the world you like, even thinking of me a little, but absolutely
shut up! And if you did go out, for a breath of air, I should like
no-one to see you. I'd like you to cover up your head--wear a thick
veil--and a thick loose dress!'
'You're very Oriental!' she laughed.
'I'm not a bit Oriental; I'm human. It's selfish, I suppose, you think?
Well, let me tell you, if you care to know, that it's _love_, and
nothing else, Edith....Now, is there anything in the world I can do for
you while I'm away? It would be kind to ask me. Remember I shan't see
you for three months. I may come back in September. Can't I send you
something--do something that you'd like? I count on you to ask me at
any time if there's anything in the world I could do for you, no matter
what!'
No woman could help being really pleased at such whole-hearted
devotion and such Bluebeard-like views--especially when they were not
going to be carried out. Edith was thrilled by the passionate emotion
she felt near her. How cold it would be when he had gone! He _was_
nice, handsome, clever--a darling!
'Don't forget me, Aylmer. I don't want you to forget me. Later on we'll
have a real friendship.'
'_Friendship!_ Don't use that word. It's so false--such humbug--for
_me_ at any rate. To say I could care for you as a friend is simply
blasphemy! How can it be possible for _me_? But I'll try. Thanks for
_any_thing! You're an angel--I'll try.'
'And it's horribly inconsistent, and no doubt very wicked of me, but,
do you know, I should be rather pained if I heard you had fallen in
love with someone else.'
'Ah, that would be impossible!' he cried. 'Never--never! It's the real
thing; there never was anyone like you, there never will be.
Let me look at you once more....Oh, Edith! And now--here we are.'
Edith took away her hand. 'Your scarf's coming off, you'll catch
cold,' said Aylmer, and as he was trying, rather awkwardly, to put the
piece of blue chiffon round her head he drew the dear head to him and
kissed her harshly. She could not protest; it was too final; besides,
they were arriving; the cab stopped. Vincy came to the door.
'Welcome to Normanhurst!' cried Vincy, with unnecessary facetiousness,
giving them a slightly anxious glance. He thought Edith had more colour
than usual. Aylmer was pale.
* * * * *
The supper was an absolute and complete failure; the guests
displayed the forced gaiety and real depression, and constrained
absentmindedness, of genuine and hopeless boredom. Except for Lady
Everard's ceaseless flow of empty prattle the pauses would have been
too obvious. Edith, for whom it was a dreary anti-climax, was rather
silent. Aylmer talked more, and a little more loudly, than usual, and
looked worn. Bruce, whom champagne quickly saddened, became vaguely
reminiscent and communicative about old, dead, forgotten grievances of
the past, while Vincy, who was a little shocked at what he saw (and he
always saw everything), did his very best, just saving the
entertainment from being a too disastrous frost.
'Well! Good luck!' said Aylmer, lifting his glass with sham
conviviality.' I start tomorrow morning by the Orient Express.'
'Hooray!' whispered Vincy primly.
'Doesn't it sound romantic and exciting?' Edith said. 'The two words
together are so delightfully adventurous. Orient--the languid East,
and yet express--quickness, speed. It's a fascinating blend of ideas.'
'Whether it's adventurous or not isn't the question, my dear girl; I
only wish we were going too,' said Bruce, with a sigh; 'but, I never
can get away from my wretched work, to have any fun, like you lucky
chaps, with no responsibilities or troubles! I suppose perhaps we may
take the children to Westgate for Whitsuntide, and that's about all.
Not that there isn't quite a good hotel there, and of course it's all
right for me, because I shall play golf all day and run up to town when
I want to. Still, it's very different from one of these jolly long
journeys that you gay bachelors can indulge in.'
'But I'm not a gay bachelor. My boy is coming to join me in the summer
holidays, wherever I am,' said Aylmer.
'Ah, but that's not the point. I should like to go with you now--at
once. Don't you wish we were both going, Edith? Why aren't we going
with him tomorrow?'
'Surely June's just the nice time in London, Bruce,' said Vincy, in his
demure voice.
'Won't it be terribly hot?' said Lady Everard vaguely. She always
thought every place must be terribly hot. 'Venice? Are you going to
Venice? Delightful! The Viennese are so charming, and the Austrian
officers--Oh, you're going to Sicily first? Far too hot. Paul La
France--the young singer, you know--told me that when he was in Sicily
his voice completely altered; the heat quite affected the _velouté_ of
his voice, as the French call it--and what a voice it is at its best!
It's not the _highest_ tenor, of course, but the medium is so
wonderfully soft and well developed. I don't say for a moment that he
will ever be a Caruso, but as far as he goes--and he goes pretty far,
mind--it's really wonderful. You're coming on Wednesday, aren't you,
dear Mrs Ottley? Ah!'... She stopped and held up her small beaded fan,
'what's that the band's playing? I know it so well; everyone knows it;
it's either _Pagliacci_ or _Bohème_, or _some_thing. No, isn't it
really? What is it? All the old Italian operas are coming in again, by
the way, you know, my dear... _Rigoletto_, _Lucia_, _Traviata_--the
_bel canto_--that sort of thing; there's nothing like it for showing
off the voice. Wagner's practically gone out (at least what _I_ call
out), and I always said Debussy wouldn't last. Paul La France still
clings to Brahms--Brahms suits his voice better than anyone else. He
always falls back on Brahms, and dear de Lara; and Tosti; of course,
Tosti. I remember...'
* * * * *
Aylmer and his guests had reached the stage of being apparently all
lost in their own thoughts, and the conversation had been practically
reduced to a disjointed monologue on music by Lady Everard, when the
lights began to be lowered, and the party broke up.
'I'm coming to see you so soon,' said Vincy.