1
Sir John Corbett had called in the morning. He had exerted himself to
that extent out of friendship, pure friendship for Waddington, and he
had chosen an early hour for his visit to mark it as a serious and
extraordinary occasion. He sat now in the brown leather armchair which
was twin to the one Mr. Waddington had sat in when he had his portrait
painted. His jolly, rosy face was subdued to something serious and
extraordinary. He had come to warn Mr. Waddington that scandal was
beginning to attach itself to his acquaintance--he was going to say
"relations," but remembered just in time that "relations" was a
question-begging word--to his acquaintance with a certain lady.
To which Mr. Waddington replied, haughtily, that he had a perfect right
to choose his--er--acquaintance. His acquaintance was, pre-eminently,
his own affair.
"Quite so, my dear fellow, quite so. But, strictly between ourselves, is
it a good thing to choose acquaintances of the sort that give rise to
scandal? As a man of the world, now, between ourselves, doesn't it
strike you that the lady in question may be that sort?"
"It does not strike me," said Mr. Waddington, "and I see no reason why
it should strike you."
"I don't like the look of her," said Sir John, quoting Major Markham.
"If you're trying to suggest that she's not straight, you're reading
something into her look that isn't there."
"Come, Waddington, you know as well as I do that when a man's knocked
about the world like you and me, he gets an instinct; he can tell pretty
well by looking at her whether a woman's that sort or not."
"My dear Corbett, my instinct is at least as good as yours. I've known
Mrs. Levitt for three years, and I can assure she's as straight, as
innocent, as your wife or mine."
"Clever--clever and a bit unscrupulous." Again Sir John quoted Major
Markham. "A woman like that can get round simple fellows like you and
me, Waddington, in no time, if she gives her mind to it. That's why I
won't have anything to do with her. She may be as straight and innocent
as you please; but somehow or other she's causing a great deal of
unpleasant talk, and if I were you I'd drop her. Drop her."
"I shall do nothing of the sort."
"My dear fellow, that's all very well, but when everybody knows your
wife hasn't called on her--"
"There was no need for Fanny to call on her. My relations with Mrs.
Levitt were on a purely business footing--"
"Well, I'd leave them there, and not too much footing either."
"What can I do? Here she is, a war widow with nobody but me to look
after her interests. She's got into the way of coming to me, and I'm not
going back on the poor woman, Corbett, because of your absurd
insinuations."
"Not _my_ insinuations."
"Anybody's insinuations then. Nobody has a right to insinuate anything
about _me_. As for Fanny, she'll make a point of calling on her now. We
were talking about it not long ago."
"A bit hard on Mrs. Waddington to be let in for that."
"You needn't worry. Fanny can afford to do pretty well what she likes."
He had him there. Sir John knew that this was true of Fanny Waddington,
as it was not true of Lady Corbett. He could remember the time when
nobody called on his father and mother; and Lady Corbett could not, yet,
afford to call on Mrs. Levitt before anybody else did.
"Well," he said, "so long as Mrs. Levitt doesn't expect my wife to
follow suit."
"Mrs. Levitt's experience can't have led her to expect much in the way
of kindness here."
"Well, don't be too kind. You don't know how you may be landed. You
don't know," said Sir John fatally, "what ideas you may have put into
the poor woman's head."
"I should be very sorry," said Mr. Waddington, "if I thought for one
moment I had roused any warmer feelings--"
But he wasn't sorry. He tried hard to make his face express a chivalrous
regret, and it wouldn't. It was positively smiling, so agreeable was the
idea conveyed by Sir John. He turned it over and over, drawing out its
delicious flavour, while Sir John's little laughing eyes observed his
enjoyment.
"You don't know," he said, "_what_ you may have roused."
There was something very irritating in his fat chuckle.
"You needn't disturb yourself. These things will happen. A woman may be
carried away by her feelings, but if a man has any tact and any delicacy
he can always show her very well--without breaking off all relations.
That would be clumsy."
"Of course, if you want to keep up with her, keep up with her. Only
take care you don't get landed, that's all."
"You may be quite sure that for the lady's own sake I shall take care."
They rose; Mr. Waddington stood looking down at Sir John and his little
round stomach and his little round eyes with their obscene twinkle. And
for the life of him he couldn't feel the indignation he would like to
have felt. As his eyes encountered Sir John's something secret and
primitive in Mr. Waddington responded to that obscene twinkle; something
reminiscent and anticipating; something mischievous and subtle and
delightful, subversive of dignity. It came up in his solemn face and
simmered there. Here was Corbett, a thorough-paced man of the world, and
he took it for granted that Mrs. Levitt's feelings had been roused; he
acknowledged, handsomely, as male to male, the fascination that had
roused them. He, Corbett, knew what he was talking about. He saw the
whole possibility of romantic adventure with such flattering certitude
that it was impossible to feel any resentment.
At the same time his interference was a piece of abominable
impertinence, and Mr. Waddington resented that. It made him more than
ever determined to pursue his relations with Mrs. Levitt, just to show
he wasn't going to be dictated to, while the very fact that Corbett saw
him as a figure of romantic adventure intensified the excitement of the
pursuit. And though Elise, seen with certainty in the light of Corbett's
intimations, was not quite so enthralling to the fancy as the Elise of
his doubt, she made a more positive and formidable appeal to his desire.
He loved his desire because it made him feel young, and, loving it, he
thought he loved Elise.
And what Corbett was thinking, Markham and Thurston, and Hawtrey and
young Hawtrey, and Grainger, would be thinking too. They would all see
him as the still young, romantic adventurer, the inspirer of passion.
And Bevan--But no, he didn't want Bevan to see him like that. Or rather,
he did, and yet again he didn't. He had scruples when it came to Bevan,
because of Fanny. And because of Fanny, while he rioted in visions of
the possible, he dreaded more than anything an actual detection, the
raking eyes and furtive tongues of the townspeople. If Fanny called on
Mrs. Levitt it would stop all the talking.
That was how Fanny came to know Mrs. Levitt, and how Mrs. Levitt (and
Toby) came to be asked to the September garden party at Lower Wyck
Manor.
2
Mrs. Levitt, of the White House, Wyck-on-the-Hill, Gloucestershire.
She thought it sounded very well. She had been out, that is to say, she
had judged it more becoming to her dignity not to be at home when Fanny
called; and Fanny had been actually out when Mrs. Levitt called, so that
they met for the first time at the garden party.
"It's absurd our not knowing each other," Fanny said, "when my husband
knows you so well."
"I've always felt, Mrs. Waddington, that I ought to know you, if it's
only to tell you how good he's been to me. But, of course, you know it."
"I know it quite well. He's always being good to people. He likes it.
You must take off some of the credit for that."
She thought: "She has really very beautiful eyes." A lot of credit would
have to be taken off for her eyes, too.
"But isn't that," said Mrs. Levitt, "what being good _is_? To like being
it? Only I suppose that's just what lays him open--"
She lowered the eyes whose brilliance had blazed a moment ago on Fanny;
she toyed with her handbag, smiling a little secret, roguish smile.
"That lays him open?"
Mrs. Levitt looked up, smiling. "To the attacks of unscrupulous people
like me."
It was risky, but it showed a masterly boldness and presence of mind. It
was as if she and Fanny Waddington had had their eyes fixed on a live
scorpion approaching them over the lawn, and Mrs. Levitt had stooped
down and grasped it by its tail and tossed it into the lavender bushes.
As if Mrs. Levitt had said, "My dear Mrs. Waddington, we both know that
this horrible creature exists, but we aren't going to let it sting us."
As if she knew why Fanny had called on her and was grateful to her.
Perhaps if Mrs. Levitt had never appeared at that garden party, or if,
having appeared, she had never been introduced, at their own request, to
Major Markham, Mr. Thurston, Mr. Hawtrey and young Hawtrey and Sir John
Corbett, Mr. Waddington might never have realized the full extent of her
fascination.
She had made herself the centre of the party by her sheer power to seize
attention and to hold it. You couldn't help looking at her, again and
again, where she sat in a clearing of the lawn, playing the clever,
pointed play of her black and white, black satin frock, black satin
cloak lined with white silk, furred with ermine; white stockings and
long white gloves, the close black satin hat clipping her head; the
vivid contrast and stress repeated in white skin, black hair, black
eyes; black eyes and fine mouth and white teeth making a charming and
perpetual movement.
She had been talking to Major Markham for the last ten minutes,
displaying herself as the absurdly youthful mother of a grown-up son.
Toby Levitt, a tall and slender likeness of his mother, was playing
tennis with distinction, ignoring young Horace, his partner, standing
well up to the net and repeating the alternate smashing and sliding
strokes that kept Ralph and Barbara bounding from one end of the court
to the other. Mrs. Levitt was trying to reconcile the proficiency of
Toby's play with his immunity from conscription in the late war. The war
led straight to Major Markham's battery, and Major Markham's battery to
the battery once commanded by Toby's father, which led to Poona and the
great discovery.
"You don't mean Frank Levitt, captain in the gunners?"
"I do."
"Was he by any chance stationed at Poona in nineteen-ten, eleven?"
"He was."
"But, bless my soul--_he_ was my brother-in-law Dick--Dick Benham's
best friend."
The Major's slightly ironical homage had given place to a serious
excitement, a respectful interest.
"Oh--Dicky Benham--is _he_--?"
"Rather. I've heard him talk about Frank Levitt scores of times. Do you
hear that, Waddington? Mrs. Levitt knows all my sister's people. Why on
earth haven't we met before?"
Mr. Waddington writhed, while between them they reeled off a long series
of names, people and places, each a link joining up Major Markham and
Mrs. Levitt. The Major was so excited about it that he went round the
garden telling Thurston and Hawtrey and Corbett, so that presently all
these gentlemen formed round Mrs. Levitt an interested and animated
group. Mr. Waddington hovered miserably on the edge of it; short of
thrusting Markham aside with his elbow (Markham for choice) he couldn't
have broken through. He would give it up and go away, and be drawn back
again and again; but though Mrs. Levitt could see him plainly, no
summons from her beautiful eyes invited his approach.
His behaviour became noticeable. It was observed chiefly by his son
Horry.