Another Side of Bruce
Ever since his earliest youth, Bruce had always had, at intervals, some
vague, vain, half-hearted entanglement with a woman. The slightest
interest, practically even common civility, shown him by anyone of the
feminine sex between the ages of sixteen and sixty, flattered his
vanity to such an extraordinary extent that he immediately thought
these ladies were in love with him, and it didn't take much more for
him to be in love with them. And yet he didn't really care for women.
With regard to them his point of view was entirely that of vanity, and
in fact he only liked both men or women who made up to him, or who gave
him the impression that they did. Edith was really the only woman for
whom his weak and flickering passion had lingered at all long; and in
addition to that (the first glamour of which had faded) she had a real
hold over him. He felt for her the most genuine fondness of which he
was capable, besides trust and a certain admiration. A sort of respect
underlay all his patronising good-nature or caprices with her. But
still he had got into the habit of some feeble flirtation, a little
affair, and at first he missed it very much. He didn't care a straw for
Miss Townsend; he never had. He thought her plain and tedious; she
bored him more than any woman he had ever met, and yet he had slipped
into a silly sort of intrigue, beginning by a few words of pity or
sympathy to her, and by the idea that she looked up to him in
admiration. He was very much ashamed of it and of the circumstances; he
was not proud of his conquest with her, as he generally was. He felt
that on account of the children, and altogether, he had been playing it
a bit low down.
He was not incapable, either, of appreciating Edith's attitude. She had
never cross-questioned him, never asked him for a single detail, never
laboured the subject, nor driven the point home, nor condescended even
to try to find out how far things had really gone. She hadn't even told
him how she knew; he was ashamed to ask.
And, after that promise of forgiveness, she never referred to it; there
was never the slightest innuendo, teasing, reproach. Yes, by Jove!
Edith was wonderful! And so Bruce meant to play the game too.
For several days he asked the porter at the club if there were any
letters, receiving the usual reply, 'None, sir.'
The third day he received the following note, and took it to read with
enjoyment of the secrecy combined with a sort of self-important shame.
Until now he hadn't communicated with her:--
'Dear Mr Ottley,
Of course you know I'm not returning to the children after the
holidays, nor am I going with you to Westgate. I'm very unhappy, for I
fear I have offended Mrs Ottley. She has always been very kind to me
till now; but I shall let the matter rest. Under the circumstances I
suppose I shall not see you any more. May I ask that you should not
call or write. I and mother are going to spend the summer at Bexhill
with some friends. Our address will be Sandringham, Seaview Road,
Bexhill, if you like to write just one line to say good-bye. I fear I
have been rather to blame in seeing you without Mrs Ottley's knowledge,
but you know how one's feelings sometimes lead one to do what one knows
one ought not to ...'
'Sandringham, indeed! Some boarding house, I suppose,' said Bruce to
himself. 'What a lot of 'ones'!... Fine grammar for a governess.'
'... Wishing you every happiness (I _shall_ miss the children!).
Yours sincerely,
Margaret Townsend
'_P.S._--I shall never forget how happy I was with you and Mrs Ottley.'
Bruce's expression as he read the last line was rather funny.
'She's a silly little fool, and I shan't answer,' he reflected.
Re-reading the letter, he found it more unsatisfactory still, and
destroyed it.
The thought of Miss Townsend bored him unutterably; and indeed he was
incapable of caring for any woman (however feebly) for more than two or
three weeks. He was particularly fickle, vague, and scrappy in his
emotions. Edith was the only woman for whom even a little affection
could last, and he would have long tired of her but for her exceptional
character and the extraordinary trouble and tact she used with him. He
didn't appreciate her fine shades, he was not in love with her, didn't
value her as another man might have done. But he was always coming back
to a certain steady, renewed feeling of tenderness for her.
With the curious blindness common to all married people (and indeed to
any people who live together), clever Edith had been entirely taken in,
in a certain sense; she had always felt (until the 'Townsend case')
half disdainfully but satisfactorily certain of Bruce's fidelity. She
knew that he had little sham flirtations, but she had never imagined
his going anywhere near an intrigue. She saw now that in that she had
been duped, and that if he didn't do more it was not from loyalty to
her. Still, she now felt convinced that it wouldn't occur again. She
had treated him well; she had spared him in the matter. He was a little
grateful, and she believed he would be straight now, though her opinion
of him had rather gone down. Edith always felt that she must go to the
very extreme of loyalty to anyone who was faithful to her; she valued
fidelity so deeply, and now this feeling was naturally relaxed a
little. She hadn't the slightest desire for revenge, but she felt she
had a slightly freer hand. She didn't see why she should, for instance,
deprive herself of the pleasure of seeing Aylmer; she had not told him
anything about it.
That day at the club, Bruce in his depression had a chat with
Goldthorpe, his golfing companion and sometime confidant. Over a
cigarette and other refreshments, Bruce murmured how he had put an end
to the little affair for the sake of his wife.
'Rather jolly little girl, she was.'
'Oh yes,' said Goldthorpe indifferently. He thought Edith very
attractive, and would have liked to have the duty of consoling her.
'One of those girls that sort of _get round_ you, and appeal to
you--_you_ know.'
'Oh yes.'
'Grey eyes--no, by Jove! I should call them hazel, with black lashes,
no, not exactly black--brown. Nice, white teeth, slim figure--perhaps
a bit too straight. Brownish hair with a tinge of gold in the sun.'
'Oh yes.'
'About twenty,' continued Bruce dreamily. He knew that Miss Townsend
was thirty-two, but suspected Goldthorpe of admiring flappers, and so,
with a subconscious desire to impress him, rearranged the lady's age.
'About twenty--if that. Rather long, thin hands--the hands of a lady.
Well, it's all over now.'
'That's all right,' said Goldthorpe. He seemed to have had enough of
this retrospective inventory. He looked at his watch and found he had
an appointment.
Bruce, thinking he seemed jealous, smiled to himself.
For a few days after what had passed there was a happy reaction in the
house. Everyone was almost unnaturally sweet and polite and unselfish
about trifles to everybody else. Edith was devoting herself to the
children, Bruce had less of her society than usual. She seemed to
assume they were to be like brother and sister. He wouldn't at present
raise the question; thinking she would soon get over such a rotten
idea. Besides, a great many people had left town; and they were,
themselves, in the rather unsettled state of intending to go away in a
fortnight. Though happy at getting off so easily, Bruce was really
missing the meetings and notes (rather than the girl).
Fortunately, Vincy now returned; he was looking sunburnt and happy. He
had been having a good time. Yet he looked a little anxious
occasionally, as if perplexed.
One day he told Edith that he had just had a rather serious quarrel
with someone who was awfully cross, and carried on like anything and
wouldn't give over.
'I guess who she is. What does she want you to do?'
'She wants me to do what all my relations are always bothering me to
do,' said Vincy, 'only with a different person.'
'What, to marry?'
'Yes.'
'To marry her, I suppose? Shall you?'
'I'm afraid not,' he said. 'I don't think I quite can.'
'Don't you think it would be rather unkind to her?'
Neither of them had mentioned Miss Argles' name. The fact that Vincy
referred to it at all showed her that he had recovered from his
infatuation.
'But do you think I'm treating the poor girl badly?'
'Vincy, even if you adored her it would end unhappily. As you don't,
you would both be miserable from the first day. Be firm. Be nice and
kind to her and tell her straight out, and come and stay with us in the
country.'
'Well, that was rather my idea. Oh, but, Edith, it's hard to hurt
anyone.'
'You know I saw her driving with Aylmer that day, and I thought he
liked her. I found I was wrong.'
'Yes. He doesn't. I wish I could get some nice person to--er--take
her out. I mean, take her on.'
'What sort of person? She's pretty in her way. I daresay she'll attract
someone.'
'What sort of person? Oh, I don't know. Some nice earl would please
her, or one of those artist chaps you read of in the feuilletons--the
sort of artist who, when he once gets a tiny little picture skied at
the Academy, immediately has fortune, and titles and things, rolling
in. A little picture called 'Eventide' or 'Cows by Moonlight', or
something of that sort, in those jolly stories means ten thousand
pounds a year at once. Jolly, isn't it?'
'Yes, Vincy dear, but we're not living in a feuilleton. What's really
going to be done? Will she be nasty?'
'No. But I'm afraid Aunt Jessie will abuse me something cruel.' He
thought a little while. 'In fact she has.'
'What does she say?'
'She says I'm no gentleman. She said I had no business to lead the poor
girl on, in a manner of speaking, and walk out with her, and pay her
marked attention, and then not propose marriage like a gentleman.'
'Then you're rather unhappy just now, Vincy?'
'Well, I spoke to _her_ frankly, and said I would like to go on being
her friend, but I didn't mean to marry. And _she_ said she'd never see
me again unless I did.'
'And what else?'
'That's about all, thanks very much,' said Vincy.
Here Bruce came in.
'Edith,' he said,' have you asked Aylmer to come and stay with us at
Westgate?'
'Oh no. I think I'd rather not.'
'Why on earth not? How absurd of you. It's a bit selfish, dear, if
you'll excuse my saying so. It's all very well for you: you've got the
children and Vincy to amuse you (you're coming, aren't you, Vincy?).
What price me? I must have someone else who can go for walks and play
golf, a real pal, and so forth. I need exercise, and intellectual
sympathy. Aylmer didn't say he had anywhere else to go.'
'He's going to take his boy, Freddie, away to some seaside place. He
doesn't like staying with people.'
'All right, then. I shall go and ask him to come and stay at the hotel,
for at least a fortnight. I shall go and ask him now. You're
inconsistent, Edith. At one moment you seem to like the man, but as
soon as I want to make a pleasant arrangement you're off it. So like a
woman, isn't it, Vincy?' He laughed.
'Isn't it?' answered Vincy.
'Well, look here, I'm going right down to Jermyn Street purposely to
tell him. I'll be back to dinner; do stop, Vincy.'
Bruce was even more anxious than he used to be always to have a third
person present whenever possible.
He walked through the hot July streets with that feeling of flatness
--of the want of a mild excitement apart from his own home. He saw
Aylmer and persuaded him to come.
While he was there a rather pretty pale girl, with rough red hair, was
announced. Aylmer introduced Miss Argles.
'I only came for a minute, to bring back those books, Mr Ross,' she
said shyly. 'I can't stop.'
'Oh, thank you so much,' said Aylmer. 'Won't you have tea?'
'No, nothing. I _must_ go at _once_. I only brought you in the books
myself to show you they were safe.'
She gave a slightly coquettish glance at Aylmer, a half-observant
glance at Bruce, sighed heavily and went away. She was dressed in green
serge, with a turned-down collar of black lace. She wore black suède
gloves, a gold bangle and a smart and pretty hat, the hat Vincy
pretended had been given to _him_ by Cissie Cavanack, his entirely
imaginary cousin, and which he'd really bought for her in Bond Street.
'Well, I'll be off then. I'll tell Edith you'll write for rooms. Look
sharp about it, because they soon go at the best hotels.'
'At any rate I'll bring Freddie down for a week,' said Aylmer, 'and
then we'll see.'
'Who is that girl?' asked Bruce, as he left.
'She's a young artist, and I lent her some books of old prints she
wanted. She's not a particular friend of mine--I don't care for her
much.'
Bruce didn't hear the last words, for he was flying out of the door.
Miss Argles was walking very slowly; he joined her.
'Pardon me,' he said, raising his hat. 'It's so very hot--am I going
your way? Would you allow me to see you home?'
'Oh, you're very kind, I'm sure,' she said sadly. 'But I don't think--I
live at Ravenscourt Park.'
Bruce thought there was plenty of time.
'Why how very curious! That's just where I was going,' said he boldly.
He put up his stick. Instead of a taxi a hansom drove up. Bruce hailed
it.
'Always like to give these chaps a turn when I can,' he said. It would
take longer.
'How kind-hearted you are,' murmured the girl. 'But I'd really rather
not, thank you.'
'Then how shall you get back?'
'Walk to the Tube.'
'Oh no; it's far too hot. Let me drop you, as I'm going in your
direction.'
He gave her a rather fixed look of admiration, and smiled. She gave a
slight look back and got into the cab.
'What ripping red hair,' said Bruce to himself as he followed her.
* * * * *
Before the end of the drive, which for him was a sort of adventure,
Mavis had promised to meet Bruce when she left her Art School next
Tuesday at a certain tea-shop in Bond Street.
Bruce went home happy and in good spirits again. There was no earthly
harm in being kind to a poor little girl like this. He might do a great
deal of good. She seemed to admire him. She thought him so clever.
Funny thing, there was no doubt he had the gift; women liked him, and
there you are. Look at Miss Mooney at the Mitchells' the other day,
why, she was ever so nice to him; went for him like one o'clock; but he
gave her no encouragement. Edith was there. He wouldn't worry her, dear
girl.
As he came towards home he smiled again. And Edith, dear Edith--she,
too, must be frightfully keen on him, when one came to think about it,
to forgive him so readily about Margaret Tow--Oh, confound Miss
Townsend. This girl was a picture, a sort of Rossetti, and she had had
such trouble lately--terrible trouble. The man she had been devoted to
for years had suddenly thrown her over, heartlessly.... What a brute he
must have been! She was going to tell him all about it on Tuesday. That
man must have been a fiend!...
'Holloa, Vincy! So glad you're still here. Let's have dinner, Edie.'