Bruce has Influenza
All women love news of whatever kind; even bad news gives them merely a
feeling of pleasurable excitement, unless it is something that affects
them or those they love personally.
Edith was no exception to the rule, but she knew that Bruce, on the
contrary, disliked it; if it were bad he was angry and said it served
the people right, while if it were good he thought they didn't deserve
it and disapproved strongly. Bruce spent a great deal of his time and
energy in disapproving; generally of things and people that were no
concern of his. As is usually the case, this high moral attitude was
caused by envy. Bruce would have been much surprised to hear it, but
envy was the keynote of his character, and he saw everything that
surrounded him through its vague mist.
All newspapers made him furious. He regarded everything in them as a
personal affront; from the fashionable intelligence, describing
political dinners in Berkeley Square or dances in Curzon Street, where
he thought he should have been present in the important character of
host, to notices of plays--plays which he felt he could have written so
well. Even sensational thefts irritated him; perhaps he unconsciously
fancied that the stolen things (Crown jewels, and so forth) should by
rights have been his, and that he would have known how to take care of
them. 'Births, Marriages, and Deaths' annoyed him intensely. If he read
that Lady So-and-So had twin sons, the elder of whom would be heir to
the title and estates, he was disgusted to think of the injustice that
he hadn't a title and estates for Archie to inherit, and he mentally
held the newly-arrived children very cheap, feeling absolutely certain
that they would compare most unfavourably with his boy, excepting, of
course, in the accident of their worldly circumstances. Also, although
he was proud of having married, and fond of Edith, descriptions of
'Society Weddings of the Week' drove him absolutely wild--wild to think
that he and Edith, who deserved it, hadn't had an Archbishop, choirboys,
guardsmen with crossed swords to walk under, and an amethyst brooch from
a member of the Royal Family at their wedding. New discoveries in
science pained him, for he knew that he would have thought of them long
before, and carried them out much better, had he only had the time.
Bruce had had influenza, and when Edith came in with her news, she could
not at once make up her mind to tell him, fearing his anger.
He was lying on the sofa with the paper, grumbling at the fuss made
about the Sicilian players, of whom he was clearly jealous.
She sat down by his side and agreed with him.
'I'm much worse since you went out. You know the usual results of
influenza, don't you? Heart failure, or nervous depression liable to
lead to suicide.'
'But you're much better, dear. Dr Braithwaite said it was wonderful how
quickly you threw it off.'
'Threw it off! Yes, but that's only because I have a marvellous
constitution and great will-power. If I happened to have had less
strength and vitality, I might easily have been dead by now. I wish
you'd go and fetch me some cigarettes, dear. I have none left.'
She got up and went to the door.
'What are you fidgeting about, Edith?' said he. '_Can't_ you keep still?
It's not at all good for a convalescent to have a restless person
with him.'
'Why, I was only going to fetch--'
'I know you were; but you should learn repose, dear. First you go out
all the morning, and when you come home you go rushing about the room.'
She sat down again and decided to tell him.
'You'll be glad to hear,' she said, 'that Hyacinth and Cecil Reeve are
engaged. They are to be married in the autumn.'
Guessing she expected him to display interest, he answered irritably--
'I don't care. It has nothing to do with me.'
'No, of course not.'
'I never heard anything so idiotic as having a wedding in the autumn. A
most beastly time, I think--November fogs.'
'I heard something else,' said Edith, 'which surprised me much more.
Fancy, Lord Selsey's going to be married--to Mrs Raymond. Isn't that
extraordinary?'
'Lord Selsey--a widower! Disgusting! I thought he pretended to be so
fond of his first wife.'
'He was, dear, I believe. But she died eighteen years ago, and--'
'Instead of telling me all this tittle-tattle it would be much better if
you did as I asked you, Edith, and fetched me the cigarettes. I've asked
you several times. Of course I don't want to make a slave of you. I'm
not one of those men who want their wives to be a drudge. But, after
all, they're only in the next room. It isn't a _very_ hard task! And I'm
very weak, or I'd go myself.'
She ran out and brought them back before he could stop her again.
'Who is this Mrs Raymond?' he then asked.
'Oh, she's a very nice woman--a widow. Really quite suitable in age to
Lord Selsey. Not young. She's not a bit pretty and not in his set at
all. He took the most violent fancy to her at first sight, it seems. She
had vowed never to marry again, but he persuaded her.'
'Well,' said Bruce, striking a match, 'they didn't consult me! They must
go their own way. I'm sorry for them, of course. Lord Selsey always
seemed to me a very agreeable chap, so it seems rather a pity. At the
same time, I suppose it's a bad thing--in the worldly sense--for Reeve,
and _that's_ satisfactory.'
'Oh! I think he's all right, said Edith, and she smiled thoughtfully.
'You're always smiling, Edith,' he complained. 'Particularly when I have
something to annoy me.'
'Am I? I believe I read in the "Answers to Correspondents" in _Home
Chirps_ that a wife should always have a bright smile if her husband
seemed depressed.'
'Good heavens! How awful! Why, it would be like living with a Cheshire
cat!'
Edith warmly began to defend herself from the accusation, when Bruce
stopped her by saying that his temperature had gone up, and asking her
to fetch the clinical thermometer.
Having snatched it from her and tried it, he turned pale and said in a
hollow voice--
'Telephone to Braithwaite. At once. Say it's urgent. Poor little Edith!'
'What is it?' she cried in a frightened voice.
'I'd better not tell you,' he said, trying to hide it.
'Tell me--oh! tell me!'
'It's a hundred and nineteen. Now don't waste time. You meant no harm,
dear, but you worried and excited me. It isn't your fault. Don't blame
yourself. Of course, you _would_ do it.'
'Oh, I know what it is,' cried Edith. 'I dipped it in boiling water
before I gave it to you.'
'Idiot! You might have broken it!' said Bruce.
The explanation seemed to annoy him very much; nevertheless he often
referred afterwards to the extraordinary way his temperature used to
jump about, which showed what a peculiarly violent, virulent, dangerous
form of influenza he had had, and how wonderful it was he had thrown it
off, in spite of Edith's inexperienced, not to say careless, nursing,
entirely by his own powerful will and indomitable courage.