Annie stood with her husband at the top of the stairs until she
heard the street door shut upon Aubrey Cooke; then, recovering her
self-command, she turned and said, “Won’t you come in?” and led the way
into her sitting-room.
Harry followed, and stood at first speechless with anger in the
middle of the small room, while his wife moved restlessly toward
the fireplace. Then, beginning to perceive that, for once, her
self-possession was no greater than his own, he found words.
“So this is what your ‘ambition,’ your ‘love of work’ means!”
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? You know very well what I mean! Do you think I
couldn’t see through the farce your ‘oldest friend’ played to shield
you? Do you think I don’t know that this was the first time he had ever
heard of me? When I told him my name, it was easy enough to see that
it meant nothing to him. Answer me this: did he or did he not know you
were married?”
He was working himself up to a white heat of passion, and Annie feared
for the consequences of any admission she might make while he was in
this mood. She tried to delay explanation by going to him, taking his
hand, and attempting to draw him to a seat by the fire.
Dusk was coming on, and he could not clearly see her face as she
approached him with bent head, but he felt that the hands into which
she was trying to draw his were cold and trembling. He would not move
from where he stood; but, with a sudden, almost rough motion, he raised
her head and peered down into her averted eyes. She shrunk from the
unexpected ordeal, and tried to edge away from him with an involuntary
eagerness which incensed him still more against her.
“Is this all the answer you have to give me? You can’t meet my eyes,
you shrink away from my touch! Is this the welcome a good wife gives to
her husband? Annie, answer me! Did that man know you were married?”
“Harry, let me go! You are hurting me! I cannot answer you anything
until you let me go. See the mark you have left upon my wrist! How can
you be so brutal?”
“You are not going to put me off like that,” said Harry, firmly. “I
know how you women will wriggle out of a subject you don’t like, if
you can. I am sorry if I have hurt you: you know very well I did not
mean to do that; but I will be answered. Now sit down and get quite
quiet and calm. I won’t hurt you, whatever you say; but you must tell
me the whole truth, because, if you tell me any lies, I shall find them
out and be very angry about it.”
His manner had grown calmer the moment he saw the red mark his strong
hand had made on his wife’s wrist, and felt how utterly powerless in
his grasp the little creature was. He placed her gently in the very
chair she had tried to induce him to take, and then stood before her,
towering above her, and without turning his eyes again toward the chair
in which she sat, gravely and doggedly waiting.
Annie felt cowed. For the first time in their lives, the husband stood
in the position of the superior, and, as she sat guiltily there,
understanding clearly for the first time that her husband had just
right of complaint against her, and that, moreover, he was using that
right with consideration and manliness, she gave a shy look upward, as
if to see what change this inversion of their old attitudes toward each
other had wrought in Harry’s handsome, careless, boyish face.
It was too dark for her to see very clearly what little of his profile
was shown in that position; she could only see that he stood very
still, that, if he felt impatience, he was keeping it under strong
control, and she began to feel dimly that in the argument which was
coming he would meet her for the first time upon equal terms. As she
still sat, with her head raised, looking up anxiously at him, he turned
and his eyes met hers.
“Are you ready now?” he asked, simply.
“Ready for what?” said she, impatiently.
“Ready to answer some questions I have to ask you.”
“Of course I can answer any questions you please; but I don’t see the
necessity of all this fuss about the matter. Whatever you have to ask I
could have answered a long time ago,” said Annie, indifferently. “But
if you like to play inquisitor and give yourself the airs of a judge,
why--it’s nothing to me!”
“Can we have the gas lighted?” asked Harry. “I can’t see your face.”
She rose and lighted it herself, rather reluctantly. She would have
preferred that the interrogation she would have to submit to should
have been made in the twilight. However, he was not in a mood to be
argued with, so she sat down again in the gas-light, with some work in
her hand.
“You don’t want that for a few minutes,” said her husband, taking from
her hands the stage-cap she was making. “I want you to look at me.”
So she submitted again, with a shrug of the shoulders and a little,
contemptuous laugh, which was rather forced, and raised her restless,
dark eyes to his steady, blue ones, with an affectation of indifference
which did not even irritate him.
“Won’t you sit down? I can’t look at you without cricking my neck while
you stand towering above me like that!” said she.
“Thank you. I don’t think I could sit down here quietly with you until
I was a little more sure than I am of the footing on which I am here,”
returned Harry; and, for the first time, she noticed a nervous movement
of his left hand.
He stepped back from her a little, however, so that she could see his
face without inconvenience, and she noticed that he looked thin, that
he had lost his bright color, and that the steady, set expression of
his face made him look much older than when she had left the Grange.
“I don’t understand you! Please let me know clearly what cause of
complaint you have against me that makes you behave in such a strange
manner to me,” said Annie haughtily.
But she was not quite at ease; this character of culprit was new to
her, and it did not sit so well upon her as the equally unaccustomed
character of judge seemed to sit upon her husband.
“Who was that man I met outside your door just now?”
“Mr. Aubrey Cooke, a man who was acting at the Regency Theater when
I was there. You must have heard me speak of him as one of my oldest
friends upon the stage.”
“One of your oldest friends? That is what he called himself. But the
servant told me he was a relative of yours, who came to see you nearly
every day.”
“I am not answerable for the creations of a housemaid’s fancy.
Certainly neither Mr. Cooke nor I ever told her he was a relative of
mine.”
“But he comes to see you nearly every day?”
“Not so often as that; but he comes very frequently. Why should he not?
I am at liberty to choose my own friends, and he is one of the best I
have.”
“Then why did you not introduce him to me just now when you came out of
your room and found us both there?”
“I was too much taken by surprise----”
“And terror--that is what your face showed.”
“I thought you had had some quarrel, you looked so angry; I did not
know what to think; and the next minute Mr. Cooke was gone.”
“It was the first time he had heard you were married, was it not?”
Annie hesitated for one moment; then she said:
“He always knew me as Miss Langton, like the rest of my theatrical
friends. I don’t know whether he had heard I was married----”
“That is a lie, Annie!” he burst out, with a suddenness which made her
start. “You silly woman, why don’t you tell me the truth? For the truth
I will have; and, if I have to get it from anybody but you, it will be
the worse for you and for him too.”
Annie’s gaze sunk under the fierceness which blazed in his eyes and
recalled to her mind his old savagery at the Grange. He lowered his
voice again as he saw her shrink.
“Annie, don’t let me fancy you have anything to tell me worse than
I have thought,” said he, with a tremor in his voice. “You need not
be afraid of me; I will listen calmly to whatever you have to say. I
haven’t always been a good husband to you, and I feel it quite as much
as you do. But I have been fond of you, and good to you lately, and you
might trust me a little, if only for the sake of that. Now tell me! You
do like this Mr. Cooke, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course I like him, or I should not let him come and see me.”
“And he likes you?”
“If he did not, he would not take the trouble to come.”
“And if it had not been for my existence, I suppose----”
“You have no right to suppose anything,” said Annie, impatiently;
“there is nothing to suppose. You are the only person who has ever
found the slightest fault with my conduct. There is no cause whatever
for your trifling jealousy, any more than there was at the Grange,
where you teased me to death with your absurd suspicions.”
“But you treated my jealousy differently then. It was trifling and
tiresome, I dare say. But you just laughed it off lightly then, while
now you grow impatient and restless under it.”
“You see I have been left in peace lately, and am not consequently in
such a high state of discipline as when I was at the Grange. I should
have been better prepared if I had guessed that your jealousy would
bring you up to town.”
“It was not my jealousy which brought me, Annie, but something which
I believe you care about just as little--my love. I got a letter from
you yesterday--you seem to have forgotten all about it, or perhaps you
wrote it just as a blind--I don’t know--and you said in it you often
thought of the Grange, and you supposed by this time I could ride again
as well as ever, and had nearly forgotten all about such a trifling
thing as a wife. I got the letter at breakfast, and I said to myself,
‘The little jade is trying to pique me! Then she does care about
whether I forget her or not!’ And I made up my mind directly I’d come
and see you all unexpectedly, and see what you would say. And I didn’t
make too sure you would be glad; but, by Jove, I didn’t expect quite
such a cool welcome as I got!” And Harry’s voice gave way just as he
reached the last words, and he leaned his elbow on the mantel-piece and
dropped his head into his hand, with his back to her.
Annie was touched, and she rose, with tears in her eyes, and crept up
to him, and took his other hand. But he shook her off, and remained
quite unsoftened by her tearful eyes.
“Don’t come and hang about me now, Annie, and speak to me in your
cooing voice, when I know you wish me a hundred miles away, or I shall
think your caresses were never worth having,” said he, passionately.
“And I thought I could trust you; I thought you were so good, so pure!
Even when I was jealous, I never thought you would pass yourself off
as an unmarried girl, just that you might be made love to by other
men--and when you knew all the time how fond I was of you, Annie!”
“Harry, Harry, do listen to me! I am not fond of anybody else--I have
not been made love to. Why won’t you believe me? Look at yourself in
the glass, and see if you are not more likely to please a woman’s fancy
than--than Mr. Cooke--or anybody.”
He had turned to look wistfully and reproachfully down at her, and she
had seized the opportunity to fasten herself coaxingly on his arm, and
to raise her other hand to his face to try to turn it toward the glass
over the mantel-piece.
Harry was not vain, and his own face had no particular attraction for
him; he gave a glance at the reflection of the little white fingers
which were holding his chin, and then he took her hand gently from his
face and looked at her.
“I don’t set up for a beauty-man, and lots of the actors you meet are
handsomer than me, I dare say. But it is more than I can understand how
you could like an ugly, washed-out, long-nosed, lank-haired hunchback
like that fellow I met outside! It is rather hard to be shunted for a
man who isn’t even straight!”
Annie winced under the speech; but she said:
“Then how can you be so absurd as to be jealous of a man who
stoops--you, who are as straight as an arrow?”
“Ah, my limbs are all right; it is my head you complain of!” answered
poor Harry, pitifully. “I believe my heart is all right, too, only that
doesn’t seem to matter to you clever women. I suppose that stooping
fellow can talk by the yard.”
“Mr. Cooke can ride and drive, too,” said Annie, quietly. “Men who talk
well can do other things, too, very often.”
“He can stick on a Park hack, or drive a dog-cart a couple of miles
without coming to grief, I dare say,” returned Harry, in a louder
voice. “But do you think he could break in an animal that had thrown
every groom in the stable, or ride as straight as I can across country,
or train a racer?”
“I don’t suppose he is as much at home in a stable as you are,
certainly,” said Annie, coldly, “or that any of the actors I know are
so well able to beat a groom at his own work. I must do you so much
justice.”
“Thank you. It is very clever of you to snub me like that; and I dare
say you think, if I had any proper pride, I ought to go away after you
have so plainly let me know how my vulgar stable-talk bores you. But I
sha’n’t,” continued Harry, doggedly. “I was foolish to let you go away
from me, and I was foolish to come after you; but, now I am here, I
mean to stop.” And he flung himself down into a chair.
“You mean to stay here!”
“Yes; and, when I go away, I mean to take you with me.”
“Oh, indeed! Against my will?”
“I hope not--not if what you said to me a little while ago is true,
Annie;” and he leaned forward on his elbows, with such wistful
earnestness in his face and voice that his wife was forced to listen.
“You say you are not fond of anybody else, you say nobody else has been
making love to you, and you tell me I’m so handsome that I need not be
afraid of anybody else. Well, if all that is true, and I’m such a nice,
good-looking fellow, and you are so anxious to cling to my arms and
caress me and introduce me to your friends, why on earth, as soon as I
turn up, do you want to be rid of me again?”
“I don’t want to be rid of you. But I am not going to be treated like a
child, as if I could not be trusted alone.”
“Well, I don’t think any woman can, when she has a husband whose duty
it is to look after her.”
“Oh, your opinion of a husband’s duty was not always so high, I think!”
“No, it wasn’t. But I am all the more bound to fulfill it well now,
when I have neglected it so long. Annie, don’t be hard. Why did you
come to me when I had got used to being without you, if you only meant
to show me what a brute I was, and then repulse me when I tried, for
your sake, to be something better? You don’t know how you have hurt
me this afternoon by showing me how sorry you were to see me again; I
don’t think I ever felt so knocked over as when, after I had met that
fellow and knew who he was--for I’m not such a booby as you suppose,
and I knew you liked that ugly Maypole better than me--you just said
‘Harry!’ without a smile or the least sign of pleasure when you saw me.
I felt as if you had stuck a knife into me.”
He stopped for a few moments, his voice all husky.
“And then see how good I’ve been to you! I’ve never even said a harsh
word to you, though I know many husbands who would have said horrid
things to their wives if they had caught them like that. But I swore to
William that I would be very gentle to you, even if you were not glad
to see me. I don’t know what made him guess you wouldn’t be; but I’ll
just punch his head for being so clever when I get back. And haven’t I
kept my word? If I had been so clever as these men you know, who can
do everything, I should have been sarcastic; and, instead of that, I
have let you be sarcastic, and I haven’t even sworn at you;” and Harry
looked up at his wife pleadingly, yet proudly, as if the force of
conjugal affection and manly self-restraint could no further go.
“Harry, indeed I am glad to see you, and sorry you are still so thin. I
should have told you so long ago if you had let me. But you made such a
furious onslaught upon me at once.”
“Very well then; we’ll let by-gones be by-gones, and you shall
come back with me, and we’ll be as happy as crickets,” said he,
affectionately, as he jumped up from his chair and was on his knees
beside her, with his arm round her, in a minute.
“But, Harry, I can’t do that. I am under an engagement now which I am
bound to fulfill. And, remember, we were not at all like happy crickets
when we were at the Grange together.”
“No, the Grange is a beastly old place, and nobody could be happy
there; I don’t wonder you got moped,” he answered, hastily. “Now in
town it is different. There is so much to be done in London, such a lot
to be seen, so--so many books and--and picture-galleries and pretty
dresses and clever people.”
“But you don’t care for those things, Harry.”
“Yes, I do--at least, I shall when I’ve been with you a little while.
And I’ve quite taken to reading, and----Oh, I shall get on capitally!”
“But what would you do without your dogs and your horses, Harry?”
“Do you think I can’t get on without dogs and horses,” said he
impatiently. “I suppose you think I can’t be happy unless I am loafing
about a stable with my inferiors--only you wouldn’t call them my
inferiors!”
“How silly you are, Harry! When have I said anything like that to you?”
“You did only a few minutes ago.”
“I did not mean it. I think it is a pity for you, who are devoted to
the life of a country gentleman, to give up all your pleasures just to
settle down to a life which would not suit you.”
“But it isn’t just for that, Annie; that is where you’re wrong. If I
cared for nothing but the country, I should stay there. I can get on
without horses, though I am fond of riding and driving, as you know;
and I can get on without dogs, though I miss old Ponto every other
minute; but I can’t get on without you, Annie. I have tried, but it is
no good; so, as you won’t come into the country with me, I must come to
town to you.”
Annie was silent, more puzzled by, than grateful for, this devotion.
Then she said, in a low voice:
“I can’t accept such a sacrifice, Harry.”
“Then will you come back to the Grange with me?”
“I can’t do that. I have accepted an engagement, and I must go through
with it.”
“What makes you so much more particular about the engagement which
binds you to act so many times a week for a certain manager than about
the one you are under to me, your husband?”
“That is not fair. You allowed me to make this engagement.”
“Well, I don’t ask you to break it. All I ask is to let me stay with
you and take care of you.”
“But, Harry dear, you would be very uncomfortable here. The rooms are
so small and so shabby----”
“Well, come with me to the Bingham Hotel; they have nice big rooms
there, and we shall be very comfortable.”
“But they are frightfully expensive!”
“Never mind that. George forked out this morning; he had kept me very
short for a long time, so he gave me a check, and told me it was the
last I should see of his money--with a black look, to prevent the
pleasure from being too much for me. That is just like George, you
know.”
“But perhaps he meant it; and, if so, you ought to be careful.”
“So I will be careful, and you shall help me. I’ll give it all to you
to take care of as soon as I get it cashed. Fifty pounds will last a
long time.”
“And before that is gone I shall be earning a better salary than I ever
had in my life!” said Annie.
“But I sha’n’t live upon your money. Do you think I would sponge upon
my wife? I am not going to give you a chance of despising me again.”
“Then what will you do when the fifty pounds are gone?”
“Write to George for some more, of course.”
“But supposing he could not or would not send you any more?”
“Supposing the skies were to fall? Go and pack up your trunks, my
darling, and we’ll go off and have a new honeymoon--only this time you
shall have a kind husband instead of a cross one!”
There was no resisting him in his imperiously loving mood; and Annie,
scarcely yet understanding this new situation of affairs, went, with
the husband’s hands gently pushing her, into the next room; and while
she was busily filling her trunks, she heard him ring the bell, order
the week’s bill and pay it; then he burst into the room, threw his arms
round her, and gave her a huge hug as she was closing the last box, and
whispered:
“This is tremendous fun--running away with one’s own wife!”