"It is good of you to come, my dear. Of course, I understand that it
is all over now. It must be. It is not in nature that you should keep
him on any longer. But I thought you would see my poor boy once
more."
It was Charley's mother who spoke. He was the only son of a widow.
"Oh, yes, I came--I came," Lily replied, tearfully. "But what is the
good? He will promise everything again. How many times has he repented
and promised--and promised?"
"My poor boy! And we were so proud of him, weren't we, dear?" said the
mother, wiping away a tear. "He was going to do such great things with
his cleverness and his speaking. And now--I have seen it coming on, my
dear, for a year and more, but I durstn't speak to you. When he came
home night after night with a glassy eye and a husky voice, when he
reeled across the room, at first I pretended not to notice it. A man
mustn't be nagged or shamed, must he? Then I spoke in the morning, and
he promised to pull himself up."
"He will promise--ah! yes--he will promise."
"If you could only forgive him he might keep his promise."
Lily shook her head doubtfully.
"I went to the office this morning, my dear. They have been expecting
it for weeks. The head clerk warned him. It was known that he had
fallen into bad company--in the city they don't like spouters. And
when he came back after his dinner he was so tipsy that he fell along.
They just turned him out on the spot."
"Mother," said Lily, "it's like this. I can't help forgiving him. We
two must forgive him, whatever he does. We love him, you see, that's
what it is."
"Yes, dear, yes."
"It isn't the poor, tipsy boy we love, but the real boy--the clever
boy behind. We must forgive him. But"--her lips quivered--"I cannot
marry him. Do not ask me to do that unless--what will never happen--he
reforms altogether."
"If you would, dear, I think he might keep straight. If you were
always with him to watch him."
"I could not be always with him. And besides, mother, think what
might happen as well. Would you have me bring into the world children
whose lives would make me wretched by a drunken father? And how should
we live? Because, you see, if I marry I must give up my place."
The mother sighed. "Charley is in his own room," she said, "I will
send him to you."
Lily sat down and buried her face in her hands. Alas! to this had her
engagement come. But she loved him. When he came into the room and
stood before her and she looked up, seeing him shamefaced and with
hanging head, she was filled with pity as well as love--pity and
shame, and sorrow for the boy. She took his hand and pressed it
between her own and burst into tears. "Oh, Charley, Charley!" she
cried.
"I am a brute and a wretch," he said. "I don't deserve anything. But
don't throw me over--don't, Lily!"
He fell on his knees before her, crying like a little school-boy. A
tendency to weep readily sometimes accompanies the consumption of
strong drink.
Then he made confession, such confession as one makes who puts things
as prettily as their ugliness allows. He had given way once or twice;
he had never intended to get drunk; he had been overtaken yesterday.
The day was close, he had a headache in the morning. To cure his
headache he took a single glass of beer. When he went back to the
office he felt giddy. They said he was drunk. They bundled him out on
the spot without even the opportunity of explaining.
Lily sighed. What could she say or answer? The weakness of the man's
nature only came out the more clearly by his confession. What could
she say? To reason with him was useless. To make him promise was
useless.
"Charley," she said at length, "if my forgiveness will do any good
take it and welcome. But we cannot undo the past. You have lost your
place and your character. As for the future----"
"You have forgiven me, Lily," he said; "oh, I can face the future. I
can get another place easily. I shall very soon retrieve my character.
Why, all they can say is that I seemed to have taken too much.
Nothing--that is nothing!"
"What will you do? Have you got any money?"
"No. I must go and look for another place. Until I get one I suppose
there will be short commons. I deserve it, Lily. You shall not hear me
grumble."
She took out her purse. "I can spare two pounds," she said. "Take the
money, Charley. Nay--you must--you shall. You must not go about
looking half starved."
He hesitated and changed color, but he took the money.
Half an hour later he was laughing, as they all three sat at their
simple supper, as light-hearted as if there had never been such a
scene. When a man is forgiven he may as well behave accordingly. Only,
when he lifted his glass of water to his lips he gasped--it was a
craving for something stronger than water which tightened his throat
like hydrophobia. But it passed; he drank the water and set down the
glass with a nod.
"Good water, that," he said. "Nothing like water. Mean to stick to
water in future--water and tea. Lily, I've made up my mind. For the
next six months I shall give up speaking, though it's against my
interests. Shorthand and French in the evening. By that time I shall
get a post worth a hundred--ay, a hundred and twenty--pounds a year,
if I'm lucky, and we'll get married and all live together and be as
happy as the day is long. You shall never repent your wedding-day, my
dear. I shall keep you like a lady. Oh, we will have a splendid
time."
At ten o'clock Lily rose to go home. He sprang to his feet and took
his hat and went.
"No, no," he said. "Let you go alone? Not if I know it."
She laid her hand on his arm once more, and tried to believe that his
promise would be kept this time. He led her home, head in air, gallant
and brave. At the door he kissed her. "Good-night, my dear," he said.
"You know you can trust me. Haven't I promised?"
On the way home he passed a public-house. The craving came back to
him, and the tightness of his throat and the yearning of his heart;
his footsteps were drawn and dragged toward the door.
At eleven o'clock his mother, who was waiting up for him, heard him
bumping and tumbling about the stairs on his way up. He came in--his
eyes fishy, his voice thick. "Saw her home," he said. "Good girl,
Lily. Made--(hic)--faithful promise--we are going to have--splendid
time!"