Clara could hardly remember ever having been unhappy before. All her
life she had done exactly as she wished to do. Her grandfather had
never gainsaid her: had always indulged her every caprice, and had
supported her even when she had been to all outward seeming in the
wrong. He used to say in his whimsical manner that explosions never
did any one any harm.... 'It is all wrong,' thought she, as she left
the sanctum, and she was alarmed for Charles as she was still vibrant
from the hostility in the actor-manager. What was the occasion of it?
She could not guess. It was incredible to her that any one could
object to Charles, so kindly, so industrious, so simple in his work and
his belief in himself. People laughed at him sometimes indulgently,
but that was a very different thing to this hostility, this cold,
implacable condemnation. That was beyond her, for she had been brought
up in a school of absolute tolerance except of the vulgar and
ill-mannered.
Her quick wits worked on this new situation. She divined that Sir
Henry resented the intrusion of a personality as powerful as his own
and the check upon his habit of exuding patronage. His theatre had
always been animated with his own vitality, and he obviously resented a
position in which he had to employ that of another and openly to
acknowledge it.
'He wants to patronise Charles,' thought Clara, and then she decided
that for once in a way it would be a good thing for Charles to submit
to it. It must be either that or his chosen interminable procedure by
committee.
She decided to take a walk to think it over, and as she moved along
Piccadilly towards the Green Park, where she proposed to ponder her
problem, she had a distressing idea that she was followed. Several
times she turned and stopped, but she could see no one who could be
pursuing her. Men stared at her, but none dared molest so purposeful a
young woman.... She stayed for some time in the Green Park, turning
over and over in her mind how best she could engage Sir Henry's
interest without aggravating his hostility to Charles, and still she
was aware of eyes upon her.... She walked away very fast, but as she
turned out into the roadway in front of Buckingham Palace she turned,
stopped, and was accosted by a little dark woman with a smouldering
fury in her eyes.
'Are you Mrs Mann?' said the woman.
'Yes,' said Clara, at once on her guard.
'So am I,' rejoined the other woman.
'Oh, no!' said Clara, with a smile that barely concealed the catch at
her heart.
'Oh, yes,' replied the other woman. 'I should think I was married to
him before you were born. And I wasn't the only one. He left the
country----'
Clara turned on her heel and walked away. The other woman followed her
breathing heavily and gasping out details.
'You horrible woman,' cried Clara, unable at last to bear any more.
'Go away...' And in her heart she said--
'It is my fault. I made him marry me.'
Still the other woman was at her heels, babbling and gasping out her
sordid little tragedy---two children, no money, her mother to keep.
Clara was stunned and so nauseated that she could not speak. Only in
her mind the thought went round and round,--
'It is my fault.... It is my fault.'
But Charles ought to have told her. He ought not to have been so
will-less, so ready to fall in with every suggestion she made.
'I must have this out at once,' she said, and hailing a taxi she
bundled the other woman into it and drove home. Charles was out. She
ordered tea, and quickly had the whole story out--the lodgings in
Birmingham, the intrigue, the ultimatum, Charles's catastrophic
collapse and inertia, years of poverty in London going from studio to
studio, lodging to lodging: his flight--with another woman: her
struggles, her present hand to mouth existence on the outskirts of the
musical comedy theatre.
'I wouldn't have spoken,' said Kitty, 'if you hadn't been so young.'
'I should have thought that was a reason for keeping quiet,' replied
Clara, who was now almost frozen with horror.
'You were bound to hear sooner or later.'
Charles came in followed by Mr Clott. He was in the highest spirits
and called out,--
'Darling, Lord Verschoyle is interested.'
His jaw dropped as he saw Kitty there at tea. His pince-nez fell off
his nose, and he stood pulling at his necktie for a few seconds. Then
he gave Mr Clott a commission to perform, and stood looking with
horror, disgust, and loathing at the unhappy Kitty.... It was Clara
who first found her voice,--
'I ... I brought her here, Charles,' she said. 'I thought it would
save us all--trouble.'