CHRISTMAS EVE
It was only a small episode, but it made an impression upon Doris that
she was slow to forget. It was not that she resented the assertion of
authority. She had the fairness to admit his right, but in a very subtle
fashion it hurt her. It made her feel more than ever the hollowness of
the bargain, to which he had made such grim allusion. It added,
moreover, to her uneasiness, making her suspect that he was fully as
dissatisfied as she. Yet, in face of the stony front he presented she
could not continue to proffer her friendship. He seemed to have no use
for it. He seemed, in fact, to avoid her, and the old shyness that had
oppressed her in the beginning returned upon her fourfold. She admitted
to herself that she was becoming afraid of the man. The very sound of
his voice made her heart beat thick and hard, and each succeeding day
witnessed a diminishing of her confidence.
Under these circumstances she withdrew more and more into her solitude,
and it was with something like dismay that she received the news from
Granny Grimshaw at the beginning of Christmas week that it was Jeff's
custom to entertain two or three of his farmer friends at supper on
Christmas Eve.
"Only the menkind, my dear," said Granny Grimshaw consolingly. "And
they're easy enough to amuse, as all the world knows. Give 'em a good
feed, and they won't give any trouble. It's quite a job to get ready for
'em, that it is, but it's the only bit of entertaining he does all the
year round, so I don't grudge it."
"You must let me help you," Doris said.
And help she did, protest notwithstanding, so that Jeff, returning from
his work in the middle of the day, was surprised to find her flushed and
animated in the kitchen, clad in one of Granny Grimshaw's aprons,
rolling out pastry with the ready deftness of a practised pastry-cook.
There was no dismay in her greeting of him, and only she knew of that
sudden quickening of the heart that invariably followed his appearance.
"You didn't tell me about your Christmas party, Jeff," she said. "Granny
and I are going to give you a big spread. I hope you will invite me to
the feast."
Jeff's dark face flushed a little as he made reply. "I'm afraid you
wouldn't enjoy it much."
"But you haven't introduced me to any of your friends yet," she
protested. "I should like to meet them."
"I'm not so sure of that," said Jeff.
She looked up at him for a moment. "Don't you think that's rather a
mistake?" she said.
"Why?" said Jeff.
With something of an effort she explained. "To take it for granted that
I shall look down on them. I don't want to look down on them, Jeff."
"It isn't that," said Jeff curtly. "But they're not your sort. They
don't talk your language. I'm not sure that I want you to meet them."
"But you can't keep me away from everyone, can you?" she said gently.
He did not answer her, and she returned to her pastry-making in silence.
But evidently her words had made some impression, for that evening when
she rose from the supper table to bid him a formal good-night, he very
abruptly reverted to the subject.
"If you really think you can stand the racket on Christmas Eve, I hope
you will join the party. There will be only four or five besides myself.
I have never invited the womenkind."
"Perhaps by next Christmas I shall have got to know them a little," said
Doris, "and then we can invite them too. Thank you for asking me, Jeff.
I'll come."
But yet she viewed the prospect with considerable misgiving, and would
have thankfully foregone the ordeal, if she had not felt constrained to
face it.
The preparations went forward under Granny Grimshaw's guidance without a
hitch, but they were kept busy up to the last moment, and on the day
before Christmas Eve Doris scribbled a hasty note to Hugh Chesyl,
excusing herself from attending the meet.
It was the only thing to be done, for she could not let him expect her
in vain, but she regretted it later when at the breakfast-table the
following day her husband silently handed to her Hugh's reply.
Hugh had written to convey his good wishes for Christmas, and this she
explained to Jeff; but he received her explanation in utter silence, and
she forthwith abandoned the subject. A smouldering resentment began to
burn within her. What right had he to treat Hugh's friendship with her
as a thing to be ashamed of? She longed to ask him, but would not risk
an open rupture. She knew that if she gave her indignation rein she
would not be able to control it.
So the matter passed, and she slipped Hugh's note into her bosom with a
sense of outraged pride that went with her throughout the day. It was
still present with her like an evil spirit when she went to her room to
dress.
She had not much time at her disposal, and she slipped into her black
evening gown with a passing wonder as to how Jeff's friends would be
attired. Descending again, she found Jim Dawlish fixing a piece of
mistletoe over the parlour door, and smiled at his occupation.
He smiled at her in a fashion that sent the blood suddenly and hotly to
her face, and she passed on to the kitchen, erect and quivering with
anger.
"Lor', my dearie, what a pretty picture you be, to be sure!" was Granny
Grimshaw's greeting, and again a tremor of misgiving went through the
girl's heart. Had she made herself too pretty for the occasion?
She mustered spirit, however, to laugh at the compliment, and busied
herself with the final arrangements.
Jeff appeared a few minutes later, clad in black but not in evening
dress. His eyes dwelt upon his wife for a moment or two before he
addressed her.
"Do you mind being in the parlour when they come in?"
She looked up at him with a smile which she knew to be forced. "Are you
sure I shan't be one too many, Jeff?"
"Quite," said Jeff.
There was no appealing against that, and she accompanied him without
further words.
Jim Dawlish was standing by the parlour door, admiring his handiwork. He
nudged Jeff as he went by, and was rewarded by Jeff's heaviest scowl.
A minute later, to Doris's mingled relief and dread, came the sounds of
the first arrival.
This proved to be a Mr. Griggs and his son, a horsey young man, whom she
vaguely knew by sight, having encountered him when following the hounds.
Mr. Griggs was a jolly old farmer, with a somewhat convivial
countenance. He shook her warmly by the hand, and asked her how she
liked being married.
Doris was endeavouring to reply to this difficult question as airily as
possible, when three more of Jeff's friends made their appearance, and
were brought up by Jeff in a group for introduction, thereby relieving
her of the obligation.
The party was now complete, and they all sat down to supper in varying
degrees of shyness. Doris worked hard to play her part as hostess, but
it was certainly no light task. Two of the last-comers were brothers of
the name of Chubb, and from neither of these could she extract more than
one word at a time. The third, Farmer Locke, was of the aggressive,
bulldog type, and he very speedily asserted himself. He seemed, indeed,
somewhat inclined to browbeat her, loudly arguing her slightest remark
after a fashion which she found decidedly exasperating, but presently
discovered to be his invariable habit with everyone. He flatly
contradicted even Jeff, but she was pleased to hear Jeff bluntly hold
his own, and secretly admired him for the achievement.
On the whole, the meal was not quite so much of an ordeal as she had
anticipated, and she was just beginning to congratulate herself upon
this fact when she discovered that young Griggs was ogling her with most
unmistakable familiarity whenever she glanced his way. She at once cut
him pointedly and with supreme disdain, only to find his father, who
was seated on her right, doing exactly the same thing.
Furious indignation entered her sore soul at this second discovery, and
from the smiling, genial hostess she froze into a marble statue of
aloofness. But tongues were loosened somewhat by that time, and her
change of attitude did not apparently affect the guests.
Mr. Locke continued his aggressive course, and the brothers Chubb were
emboldened to take it by turns to oppose him, while old Griggs drank
deeply and smacked his lips, and young Griggs told Jeff anecdotes in an
undertone which he interspersed with bold glances in the direction of
his stony-faced young hostess.
The appearance of Jim Dawlish carrying a steaming bowl of punch seemed
to Doris at length the signal for departure, and she rose from the
table.
Jeff instantly rose at the farther end, and she divined that he had no
wish to detain her. Mr. Griggs the elder, on the other hand, was loud in
protest.
"We haven't drunk your health yet, missis," he said.
She forced herself to smile. "That is very kind of you. I am sure Jeff
will return thanks for me."
She made it evident that she had no intention of remaining, protest
notwithstanding, so Mr. Griggs arose and turned to open the door, still
loudly deploring her departure. Young Griggs was already there,
however. He leered at her as she approached him, and it occurred to her
that he was not very steady on his legs. She prepared him an icy bow,
which she was in the very act of executing when he made a sudden lurch
forward, and caught her round the waist. She heard him laugh with coarse
mirth, and had a glimpse of the bunch of mistletoe dangling above their
heads ere she fiercely pushed him from her into the passage.
The next instant Jeff was beside her, and she turned and clung to him in
desperation.
"Jeff, don't let him!" she cried.
Jeff stretched out an arm to keep the young man back. A roar of laughter
rose from the remaining guests.
"Kiss her yourself then, Jeff!" cried old Griggs, hammering on the
table. "You've got her under the mistletoe."
"He daren't!" said Jim Dawlish, with a wink.
"Afraid to kiss his own wife!" gibed Locke, and the Chubb brothers
laughed in uproarious appreciation of the sally.
It was then that Doris became aware of a change in Jeff. The arm he had
stretched out for her protection suddenly encircled her. He bent his
face to hers.
"They shan't say that!" he muttered under his breath.
She divined his intention in an instant, and a wild flame of anger shot
up within her. This was how he treated her confidence! She made a swift
effort to wrench herself from him, then, feeling his arm tighten to
frustrate her, she struck him across the face in frantic indignation.
Again a roar of laughter arose behind them, and then very suddenly she
forgot everyone in the world but Jeff, for it was as if at that blow of
hers an evil spirit had taken swift possession of him. He gripped her
hands with savage strength, forcing them behind her, and so holding her,
with eyes that seared her soul, he kissed her passionately, violently,
devouringly, on face and neck and throat, sparing her not a whit, till
in an agony of helpless shame she sank powerless in his arms.
She heard again the jeering laughter in the room behind her, but between
herself and Jeff there was a terrible silence, till abruptly he set her
free, saying curtly, "You brought it on yourself. Now go!"
Her knees were shaking under her. She was burning from head to foot, as
though she had been wrapped in flame. But with an effort she controlled
herself.
She went in utter silence, feeling as if her heart were dead within her,
mounted the stairs with growing weakness, found and fumbled at her own
door, entered at last, and sank inert upon the floor.