Annie heard her husband open the door, but she did not turn round;
then she heard his footsteps advance to the middle of the room and
stop. She still stood leaning against the open French window, seeing
nothing before her, and waiting for him to speak to learn what tone
he was going to assume toward her. At last she heard him clear his
throat, as if to attract her attention; but she took no notice. She
fancied he must be working himself up to a proper pitch of indignation,
and she tried to school herself to show a bold front when at last
his wrath should burst out. Her case was the stronger by far, and,
although that fact did not give her all the consolation it should have
done at that moment, yet it would stand her in good stead when the
conflict had really begun. Nevertheless, she would have given worlds
for the _sang-froid_ with which she had entered upon any contest with
him in the old days when his opinion upon any subject was a matter of
indifference to her, and when his outbursts of unreasonable anger had
excited in her nothing but contempt and disgust.
He cleared his throat again, and again she took no notice. At last he
spoke:
“Annie, aren’t you going to speak to me?” he asked, in the gentlest,
most entreating of voices.
She turned round in surprise. He stood there before her, this big,
handsome young fellow who could tame the most fiery of horses with a
hand and a will of iron, shy, nervous, irresolute, looking down with
wistful submission on the small, slight woman at the window.
“Haven’t you a word for me after all these weeks?” said he, as she
was silent. “I can’t help being horsy, so wasn’t it better to turn my
horsiness to some account? I forgave you for not answering my letters;
but, now you’ve come to see me of your own accord, I think you might
have a kiss for me.”
Annie looked, listened, in utter bewilderment. Letters! Kisses! What
was he talking about? Was this Harry, with the loving, pleading eyes
and the gently reproachful tone, the ungrateful, faithless husband
she had come to upbraid? Was this some artful plan to avert her
accusations by being first with trifling charges against herself? Still
in perplexity, but thawing in spite of herself under his affectionate
words, she moved mechanically toward him. But the want of spontaneity
in the action roused his passionate temper, and he stepped back from
her, his face all flushed with wounded pride and affection.
“Don’t make a martyr of yourself, pray,” said he. “I don’t want a
little, cold duty-peck because I’m your husband. If you can’t kiss me
because you love me don’t kiss me at all.”
She was in his arms, clinging to him, her upturned face aglow with
passionate love, almost before he had spoken the last words of his
hasty outburst. Muriel West, money, jewelry, unanswered letters--all
were forgotten, thrust aside as matters to be explained hereafter or
shelved as things of no account. Whomsoever he might have loved in
the past he loved her now; whatever he might have done he was holding
her in his arms now; and he might condescend to prove his innocence
of every charge she might bring against him, or he might treat them
with contemptuous silence--he was her husband, she loved him, he loved
her--what else could matter at that moment?
It was not until they were sitting side by side on the sofa in the
twilight that some words of his roused in her the remembrance of the
grievances with which she had come armed.
“Why didn’t you come before, my darling? I have been longing for a
sight of you; and the only glimpses I got of you were on the stage.”
“But why was that? Why didn’t you come and see me, or send for me?”
“How could I, when you were so disgusted with me?”
Annie’s face fell. A cloud had come over this new happiness already. He
had himself reminded her of his own delinquencies, which she had been
ready enough, in the first flush of this joy in her husband’s society,
to believe untrue.
“I think,” said she, drawing her hand out of his instinctively, “that I
had reason to be.”
“But I don’t think you had any,” said he earnestly. “I know you will be
able to prove you were right, because you are so much cleverer than me
that what you say always sounds right, even when I can’t help thinking
you’re really wrong after all.”
“Well, prove that I had no reason to be annoyed, and disgusted--if you
can.”
“Don’t speak so coldly to me then, and I will tell you what I think;
but I can’t if you turn away your head so stiffly and speak just as if
I were the old Harry that you used to hate.”
“I’m not sure that I don’t hate you till I have heard what you have to
say for yourself.”
“Yes, you are,” said Harry, twining her arm about his neck with
confidence. “You needn’t think I’m so simple as not to know the
difference between Annie who is sweet out of duty, and Annie who is
sweet out of pleasure.”
“Go on with your explanations.”
“Well, you were disgusted with me, and thought I was degrading myself.”
“Stephen told you that!”
“Yes, and that you thought it nearly as bad as being a groom, and
declared I should give it up in a month and idle about again, and that
it would take you a long time to get used to having a trainer for a
husband.”
“Stephen--told you--that?”
“Yes, of course; he was bound to tell me all you said!”
“All--I--said?”
“Yes, yes! Ah, you’re sorry now, aren’t you, my darling? You see you
wanted me to work, and there is nothing else I’m fit for, unless I had
gone for a soldier or sailor. And you see I’m not a bit horsier than I
was before. You needn’t even know I’m a trainer unless you like. I had
all the whips taken out of the hall to-day, and I hid my spurs and top
boots and things that were lying about my room, so that you shouldn’t
be reminded more of it than I could help. And see--I’ve taken out my
horse-shoe pin; and I’ve shut up the dogs in the stable, and----Annie,
Annie, what are you crying for?”
“I--I don’t know in the least! Go on!”
“Well, you see it did seem rather rough on a fellow, when I was doing
my best, and not drinking--and working hard, so that I might have you
with me--when you hardly ever wrote, and only answered about one out
of three of my letters. I know they weren’t spelled properly; but, if
you knew how I hate writing and what a trouble even a short note is to
me--I never seem to be able to say what I mean in a letter, somehow,
while your letters are just like talking--I think, if you knew how I
hate it, you would answer more often than you do.”
Annie raised her eyes, with a startled expression, to his face.
“I don’t understand,” said she, slowly. “I answered all your
notes--they were very few--and I wrote you a long letter, begging you
to let me come and see you; did you get that? In it I told you I should
be proud of the work you were doing, whatever it was. Did you get that
letter, Harry?”
He was startled in his turn, and sat looking at her for a few moments
in bewilderment. Suddenly Annie sprung up, trembling.
“Harry,” said she, in a low voice, “tell me quick--did you get the
letter?”
“No.”
“Did you--did you ever receive anything sent to you by me?”
“Oh, yes; I got three or four letters!”
“Nothing else?” she asked, breathlessly.
“Yes; once you sent me some red-and-white flowers. I’ve got them in my
pocket-book.”
“But--but, Harry--think well, dear, dear Harry, please--didn’t you
receive anything else from me?”
“Anything else? No, I think not; I am sure not, for I should never
forget anything you had sent me, Annie.”
“You never received, for instance----”
“Well, what? What is the matter, Annie? What did you think I received?”
“You never had--money or--jewelry?”
“From you, Annie? No, certainly not!”
She sunk at his feet and put her head on his knees in a passion of
tears.
“Thank Heaven! Oh, Harry, I am so happy! And yet something frightens
me,” she sobbed; while he looked down at her, utterly puzzled and
astonished.
“What do you mean, Annie? What money--what jewelry?”
“Nothing--nothing! I--I don’t know what I am talking about.”
“But I must know. Now, darling, tell me.”
“Will you listen quietly, then, and not be angry with me--or with any
one?”
“I will promise to listen quietly, and not to be angry with you. That
is all.”
Annie hesitated. She could not but know now on whom the blame of this
miserable misunderstanding between herself and her husband lay. No
explanation of Stephen’s infamous conduct to both of them occurred to
her yet; but, even in the midst of her indignation against him, the
pity she felt for the forlorn, weakly cripple urged her to shield him
from the consequences of the terrible anger she already saw gathering
in Harry’s blue eyes.
“I don’t think I ought to tell you anything,” she said, gently, “until
I have found out whether there is not some explanation to be given of
the matter. You are looking angry already. Don’t let us spoil this
beautiful, happy evening by unkind and harsh thoughts about anybody,
Harry. Won’t you wait----”
“No, I won’t wait!” interrupted he, very sternly. “Don’t shrink away,
Annie; I love you for your sweet forgiveness; it is right for a woman
to be ready to forgive. But there is something else for me to do. Now
tell me all about it.”
“Not while you are in this mood, Harry. I will tell you when you have
promised to let it pass without a word of reproach, except just what
you may say to me.”
“You will tell me now, and without my making any promise, my darling,”
said he very softly, drawing her up from her knees to a seat by his
side.
Annie had never before felt her will unable to carry out her purposes.
She struggled with herself now as she sat in the firm but gentle clasp
of her husband’s arm, and saw his head bent in a listening attitude
toward hers. Then, feeling at last the irresistible force of a
resolution stronger than her own, she submitted--submitted in the most
winning way in the world, placing her little hands on either side of
his neck, and looking up at him with her sweetest, softest expression
of face to coax away his anger.
“Then I must trust to your generosity, Harry. And, if you don’t behave
generously and forgivingly about it, I shall think you are not glad
to have me again, for happiness ought always to make people’s hearts
softer.”
He kissed her without answering in words; and she went on:
“When Stephen first came to me with a letter from you, looking very
ill, very miserable--I thought he was going to die--he made me very
jealous and hurt me by telling me how much happier you were now you
were away from town and among country people again. He did not know
how fond I had grown of you, and that I was silly enough not to like to
hear how well you were getting on without me. Were you as happy as he
said, Harry?”
“I was happy just then, because Lord Lytham was beginning to show
confidence in me, and I saw my way to earning money and being with you
again. But, if he said I didn’t miss you, he told lies.”
“He did not say that; and he had not the least idea how much it
mattered to me. But I was angry with you for sending me such a short
letter, and I thought you were enjoying yourself, and very likely
didn’t care; so I tore up the long, loving letter I had written, and
sent you a short one saying nothing, like yours.”
“Oh, you little spiteful creature! I wrote that note four times before
I got one fit to send you; I was so afraid you would be offended if I
told you what I was going to do. I thought I would wait until I had got
on, and then come to you and show you that I could be just as fond of
you as if I had never been in a stable in my life. And, at any rate, I
thought, if I succeeded, you would think it was better than idling.”
“Better than idling! Oh, Harry, it is better than anything for you
to be successful and happy and--and fond of me!” After a pause, she
continued, “When he came the second time, he said you were not getting
on as fast as you wished.”
“That was true; I was in low spirits about it. Well?”
“Then he said it was very hard for a man without money to get on. He
said that himself, not that you had said it. And I was afraid you were
perhaps in serious difficulty for want of money, and I begged him to
take some that I had put away and didn’t want.”
“And he took it?”
“Wait. He refused for a long time, and said you would not think of
accepting my money, so at last I pushed it into his hand, and told him
not to say it came from me. He was very reluctant to the last; I expect
he was afraid to give it you and afraid to give it back to me.”
“Was that the only time he took your money?”
“No; I gave him some two or three times--not much, of course--and it
made no difference to me, for it was money I had put aside.”
“And what was that you said about jewelry? Come, Annie, you mustn’t
keep back anything! It isn’t fair to tell only half.”
“It is only that once, when I was short of ready money, and anxious, in
spite of poor Stephen’s entreaties, to send you some, I gave him a pair
of ear-rings and two other little trinkets I never wore, and asked him
to sell them for me.”
Harry started up restlessly from the sofa and began marching up and
down; then he stopped short in front of her.
“Why didn’t you write to me when you got no acknowledgment?”
“I didn’t like to. I thought Stephen had kept from you the fact that
the money came from me.”
“And you thought I was such a booby as not to have guessed, and such
a bear as not to have thanked you? Annie, that is impossible! You are
hiding something from me still.”
But Annie did not answer or look at him. Her eyes were fixed in front
of her, as a new light broke in upon her bewildered mind.
“Harry,” said she at length, raising her glittering eyes to his with
an expression which was almost fear, “those flowers--you sent--by
Stephen--a few days ago----”
“Oh, did you get those then? He did not condescend to--”
“Were they for me?” she asked, in a low voice.
“For you! Of course they were for you; who else should they be for?”
said Harry, irritably, his excitement getting the better of him.
“Not for--not for--Muriel West!” She murmured the name so low that she
had to repeat it.
“Muriel West? No. Who on earth is Muriel West?”
“You don’t know!” she cried joyfully. “But, Harry, I saw you talking to
her on a coach at Ascot.”
“Do you mean an actress named West? Why, Annie, how jealous you are!
I scarcely spoke to her, and shouldn’t have done so at all if Stephen
hadn’t been with her. A fellow I know took me to supper once at her
house a long time ago--it was the very night of my accident--and I have
never seen her since, except that day at Ascot.”
“Then how was it that she was wearing my ornaments?” asked Annie,
quickly; and, as she spoke, the truth flashed upon them both.
“The little mean scoundrel!” growled Harry, clinching his fists. “The
little crooked, lying rascal! He shall suffer for this clever trick.
Then he got all he could out of both of us, and kept us apart by his
lies! Of course you never said it was a disgraceful thing for me to
turn trainer?”
“I never knew you were a trainer until this afternoon, when I heard
those two gentlemen talking about you in the carriage as I came down.
He refused to give me your address, saying you had forbidden him to do
so, and I found it out only by this card.” She took from her purse the
card she had found in the hamper, and continued, “I went to see Stephen
last Friday, determined to find out where you were. I saw a hamper
of flowers with the lid open, and inside I found this card. I looked
outside, and found that the direction was to ‘Miss Muriel West.’”
“The direction had been changed; I directed it to you, and gave it to
that wretched little hunchback for you. And, Annie, do you mean to say
that, when you saw your ornaments on that woman, you thought that I had
given them to her?” he asked, looking at her almost with horror.
“What else could I think, Harry?”
“And you never wrote to reproach me?”
“I could not write about such a thing--it was too dreadful! I thought
I would accuse you of it face to face. But don’t talk about it, Harry,
please--I can’t bear to think of it now; it was wicked of me ever to
think it could be true.”
“And you came down here to-day still believing it! And you could kiss a
man you believed capable of such an infamous thing!”
“No, no, Harry; don’t look at me like that! The moment you spoke to me
alone in this room I felt it could not be true; because, you see, I was
sure you loved me, and that cleared it all away.”
And her husband drew her again into his arms, with a mist before his
own eyes.
Dusk had fallen, and they were still sitting there, when they were
roused from a silence of perfect happiness by the prosaic sound of the
dinner-bell. Harry had great difficulty in keeping his boyish high
spirits under proper control during dinner, and, when it was over, he
said:
“Let us go out of doors, Annie; there isn’t room enough for my
happiness in a stuffy house.”
So he put on her hat and mantle very carefully and very clumsily, and
they went out into the park.
“Take me to see the horses, Harry. Here’s your cigar-case; I saw it
up-stairs, so I brought it down.”
“I may smoke then?”
“Yes, of course. You are going the wrong way. Isn’t that the way to the
stables?”
“Yes; but I’m not going to take you there; you only ask to go to please
me.”
“On my word of honor, I ask to go to please myself; and, if you don’t
like to take me, I shall go over them with one of the stablemen, while
you are sulking over your cigar by yourself. Now are you coming?”
So they went through the stables together, and Harry was quick to note
the genuine ring in the interest, for what concerned him concerned her
too now; and they walked all round the park together, and he said:
“Do you think you could ever live happily with me here, Annie?”
“And give up the stage?”
“Well, act only now and then. You might take an engagement for three
months or more, but not give yourself up to it altogether. I know
you are too clever to just settle down to keeping house for a dull,
ignorant husband.”
“You’re not dull and ignorant, Harry.”
“Well, not so ignorant as I was,” said he, with, mysterious
complacency. “Do you think that would be too great a sacrifice, Annie?”
“No, indeed. I couldn’t throw my whole heart into my acting now if I
thought I was neglecting you.”
“And you will come and see me every Sunday, and stay till Monday
evening now, won’t you? I mustn’t ask more than that yet, I suppose.”
And she consented readily enough. And then came the crowning triumph
of the day to Harry. He led his wife into the library, the volumes of
which had luckily been collected long before his occupation of Kirby
Hall, and said, turning proudly to her:
“You never thought I should get fond of books, Annie. Well, I have, and
I like this room better than any in the house.”
There were three photographs of her on the mantel-piece, there was a
liqueur-case on a side-table, and the room was strongly perfumed with
tobacco. Annie’s eyes twinkled, but she only laughed contentedly.
“And now you shall hear me read aloud,” said he.
So he put her into an arm-chair, and sat on a footstool at her feet,
and read her a couple of pages of the _Nineteenth Century_. It was a
very poor performance indeed, hesitating, badly emphasized, with the
long words slurred over. He was not at his best, for he had Annie’s
fingers in one hand and his cigar in his mouth.
“You read beautifully now, Harry!” said she, when he looked up for
approval; and the clever, well-informed woman really thought so.
“It only shows what perseverance will do,” said Harry, gravely. “I’ve
read that piece aloud to myself twenty or thirty times.”