Bruce Returns
'Never, Edith!' exclaimed Vincy, fixing his eyeglass in his eye, and
opening his mouth in astonishment. 'Never! Well, I'm gormed!'
A week had passed since the news of Bruce's elopement. The little group
at Westgate didn't seem to have much been affected by it; and this was
the less surprising as Aylmer and Edith had kept it to themselves. Mrs
Ottley listened imperturbably to Edith's story, a somewhat incoherent
concoction, but told with dash and decision, that Bruce had been
ordered away for a sea-voyage for fear of a nervous breakdown. She
cried a little, said nothing, kissed Edith more than usual, and took
the children away for longer walks and drives. With a mother's
flashlight of intuition she felt at once certain there was something
wrong, but she didn't wish to probe the subject. Her confidence in
Edith reached the point of superstition; she would never ask her
questions. Edith had assured her that Bruce would come back all right,
and that was enough. Personally, Mrs Ottley much preferred the society
of Aylmer to that of her son. Aylmer was far more amusing, far more
considerate to her, and to everybody else, and he didn't use his
natural charm for those who amused him only, as the ordinary
fascinating man does. Probably there was at the back of his attentions
to Mrs Ottley a vague idea that he wanted to get her on his side--that
she might be a useful ally; but he was always charming to elderly
women, and inclined to be brusque with younger ones, excepting Edith;
he remembered his own mother with so great a cult of devotion, and his
late wife with such a depressed indifference.
Edith had asked Aylmer to try and forget what had happened--to make
himself believe that Bruce had really only gone away medicinally. For
the present, he did as she wished, but he was longing to begin talking
to her on the subject again, both because it interested him
passionately from the psychological point of view, and far more,
naturally, because he had hopes of persuading her in time. She was not
bound by letter; she could change her mind. Bruce might and possibly
would, insist.
There was difficulty in keeping the secret from Vincy, who was actually
staying in the house, and whose wonderful nerves and whimsical mind
were so sensitive to every variation of his surroundings. He had the
gift of reading people's minds. But it never annoyed anyone; one felt
he had no illusions; that he sympathised with one's weaknesses and
follies and, in a sense, enjoyed them, from a literary point of view.
Probably his friends forgave his clear vision for the sake of his
interest. Most people would far rather be seen through than not be seen
at all.
One day Vincy, alone on the beach with Edith, remarked that he wondered
what had happened to Mavis.
Edith told him that she had run away with a married man.
'Never, Edith!' he exclaimed. 'Who would have thought it! It seems
almost too good to be true!'
'Don't say that, Vincy.'
'But how did you hear it? You know everything.'
'I heard it on good authority. I _know_ it's true.'
'And to think I was passing the remark only the other day that I
thought I ought to look her up, in a manner of speaking, or write, _or
something_,' continued Vincy; 'and who _is_ the poor dear man? Do you
know?'
He looked at her with a sudden vague suspicion of he knew not what.
'Bruce was always inclined to be romantic, you know,' she said
steadily.
'Oh, give over!'
'Yes, that's it; I didn't want anyone to know about it. I'm so afraid
of making Mrs Ottley unhappy.'
'But you're not serious, Edith?'
'I suppose I'd better show you his letter. He tells me to ask your
advice.'
She gave it to him.
'There is only one word for what I feel about it,' Vincy said, as he
gave it back. 'I'm gormed! Simply gormed! Gormed, Edith dear, is really
the only word.'
'I'm not jealous,' said Edith. 'My last trouble with Bruce seems to
have cured me of any feeling of the kind. But I have a sort of pity and
affection for him still in a way--almost like a mother! I'm really
afraid he will be miserable with her, and then he'll feel tied to her
and be wretched all his life. So I'm giving him a chance.'
He looked at her with admiring sympathy.
'But what about other friends?'
'Well--oh, you know--'
'Edith, I'm awfully sorry; I wish I'd married her now, then she
wouldn't have bothered about Bruce.'
'But you can't stand her, Vincy.'
'I know, Edith dear; but I'd marry any number of people to prevent
anything tiresome for you. And Aylmer, of course--Edith, really, I
think Aylmer ought to go away; I'm sure he ought. It is a mistake to
let him stay here under these circumstances.'
'Why?' said Edith. 'I don't see that; if I were going to take Bruce at
his word, then it would be different, of course.'
'It does seem a pity not to, in some ways; everything would be all
nicely settled up, just like the fourth act of a play. And then I
should be glad I hadn't married Mavis... Oh, do let it be like the
fourth act, Edith.'
'How can life be like a play? It's hopeless to attempt it,' she said
rather sadly.
'Edith, do you think if Bruce knew--how much you liked Aylmer--he would
have written that letter?'
'No. And I don't believe he would ever have gone away.'
'Still, I think you ought to send Aylmer away now.'
'Why?' she repeated. 'Nothing could be more intensely correct. Mrs
Ottley's staying with me--why shouldn't I have the pleasure of seeing
Aylmer because Bruce is having a heavenly time on board ship?'
'I suppose there's that point of view,' said Vincy, rather bewildered.
'I say, Edith!'
'About Bruce having a heavenly time on board ship--a--she always
grumbles; she's always complaining. She's never, never satisfied... She
keeps on making scenes.'
'So does Bruce.'
'Yes. But I suppose if there's a certain predicament--then--Oh,
Edith--are you unhappy?'
'No, not a bit now. I think I'm only really unhappy when I'm undecided.
Once I've taken a line--no matter what it is--I can be happy again. I
can adjust myself to my good fortune.'
Curiously, when Edith had once got over the pain and shock that the
letter first gave her, she was positively happier now than she ever had
been before. Bruce really must have been a more formidable bore than
she had known, since his absence left such a delicious freedom. The
certainty of having done the right, the wisest thing, was a support, a
proud satisfaction.
During these summer days Aylmer was not so peacefully happy. His
devotion was assiduous, silent, discreet, and sometimes his feelings
were almost uncontrollable, but he hoped; and he consoled himself by
the thought that some day he would really have his wish--anything might
happen; the chances were all in his favour.
What an extraordinary woman she was--and how pretty--how subtle; how
perfect their life might be together....
He implored Vincy to use his influence.
'I can't see Edith in anything so crude as the--as--that court,' Vincy
said.
'But Bruce begs her to do it. What could their life be together
afterwards? It's simply a deliberate sacrifice.'
'There's every hope that Miss Argles will never let him go,' said
Vincy. 'One has to be very firm to get away from her. Oh, ever so firm,
and _obstinate_, you can't think! How many times a day she must be
reproaching Bruce--that will be rather a change for him. However,
anything may happen,' said Vincy soothingly. He still maintained, for
he had a very strong sense of propriety in matters of form, that Aylmer
ought to go away. But Edith would not agree.
* * * * *
So the children played and enjoyed themselves, and sometimes asked
after their father, and Mrs Ottley, though a little anxious, enjoyed
herself too, and Edith had never been so happy. She was having a
holiday. She dismissed all trouble and lived in a sort of dream.
* * * * *
Towards the end of the summer, hearing no more from Bruce, Aylmer grew
still more hopeful; he began to regard it as practically settled. The
next letter in answer to Edith's would doubtless convince her, and he
would then persuade her; it was, tacitly, he thought, almost agreed
now; it was not spoken of between them, but he believed it was all
right....
* * * * *
Aylmer had come back to London in the early days of September and was
wandering through his house thinking how he would have it done up and
how he wouldn't leave it when they were married, when a telephone
message summoned him to Knightsbridge.
He went, and found the elder Mrs Ottley just going away. He thought she
looked at him rather strangely.
'I think Edith wants to speak to you,' she said, as she left the room.
'Dear Edith! Be nice to her.' And she fled.
* * * * *
Aylmer waited alone, looking round the room that he loved because he
associated it with her.
It was one of the first cold damp days of the autumn, and there was a
fire. Edith came in, in a dark dress, looking pale, and different, he
thought. She had seemed the very spirit of summer only a day or two
before.
A chill presentiment struck to his heart.
'You've had a letter? Go on; don't keep me in suspense.' He spoke with
nervous impatience, and no self-restraint.
She sat down by him. She had no wish to create an effect, but she found
it difficult to speak.
'Yes, I've had a letter,' she said quietly. 'They've quarrelled. They
quarrelled on board. He hates her. He says he would rather die than
remain with her. He's written me a rather nice letter. They quarrelled
so frightfully that a young man on board interfered,' she said, smiling
faintly. 'As soon as they arrived the young man married her. He's a
commercial traveller. He's only twenty-five.... It seems he pitied her
so much that he proposed to her on board, and she left Bruce. It wasn't
true about the predicament. It was--a mistake. Bruce was grateful for
my letter. He's glad I've not told anyone--not done anything. Now the
children will never know. But I've told Mrs Ottley all about it. I
thought I'd better, now it's over. She won't ask him questions....
Bruce is on his way home.'
'All right!' said Aylmer, getting up. 'Let him come. Forgive him again,
that's right! Would you have done that for _me_?'
'No! Never! If you had once been unfaithful, and I knew it, I'd never
have forgiven you.'
'I quite believe it. But why?'
'Because I care for you too much. If you had been in Bruce's position I
should never have seen you again. With him it's different. It's a
feeling of--it's for him, not for me. I've felt no jealousy, no
passion, so I could judge calmly.'
'All right,' repeated Aylmer ironically; 'all right! Judge calmly! Do
the right thing. You know best.' He stopped a moment, and then said,
taking his hat: 'I understand now. I see clearly at last. You've had
the opportunity and you wouldn't take it; you don't care for me. I'm
going.'
He went to the door.
'Oh, come back, Aylmer! Don't go like that! You know I care for you,
but what could I do? I foresaw this...You know, I can't feel _no_
responsibility about Bruce. I couldn't make my happiness out of someone
else's misery. He would have been miserable and, not only that, it
would have been his ruin. Bruce could never be safe, happy, or all
right, except here.'
'And you think he'll alter, now, be grateful and devoted, I
suppose--appreciate you?'
'Do people alter?' she answered.
'I neither know nor care if he will, but you? I could have made you
happy. You won't let me. Oh, Edith, how could you torture me like this
all the summer?'
'I didn't mean to torture you. We enjoyed being together.'
'Yes. But it makes this so much harder.'
'It would be such a risk!' she answered. 'But is anything worth having
unless you're ready to risk every-thing to get it?'
'I _would_ risk everything, for myself. But not for others...If you
feel you want to go away,' she said, 'let it be only for a little
while.'
'A little while! I hope I shall _never_ see you again! Do you think I'm
such a miserable fool--do you think I could endure the position of a
tame cat? You forget I'm a man!... No; I'll never see you again now,
not if it kills me!'
At these words, the first harsh ones she had ever heard from him, her
nerves gave way, and she burst into tears.
This made him irresolute, for his tender-heartedness almost reached the
point of weakness. He went up to her, as she lifted her head, and
looked at her once more. Then he said:
'No, you've chosen. You _have_ been cruel to me, and you're too good to
him. But I suppose you must carry out your own nature, Edith. I've been
the victim. That's all.'
'And won't you be friends?' she said.
'No. I won't and I can't.'
He waited one moment more.
* * * * *
'If you'll change your mind--you still can--we can still be happy. We
can be everything to each other.... Give him up. Give him up.'
'I can't,' said Edith.
'Then, good-bye.'