A CONFLICT OF WILLS
'What things wilt thou leave me,
Now this thing is done?'
Wednesday loosened itself from the other pearls and dropped off the
string of days into the strange awful place where have fallen all the
days that have ever been. Thursday slid along the thread, trembled and
fell. Friday moved on to fill its place. Such a little time, and it too,
and the things of it would be gone beyond recall for ever.
Larrie had grown visibly thinner in the short space. He was staking all
the happiness of his life on the issue of this. To him the thing was
almost terrible in its plain simplicity. He had looked at it from every
point of view, had reasoned it out and thought of nothing else, all
through the two waking nights and the long day between. And he could
only see two paths for Dot to walk in, one that was right and would lead
to happiness once more, and one that was so utterly wrong that she would
step into it not carelessly and unknowingly, but wilfully and with wide
open eyes.
It could only be love that would make her do another man's bidding
rather than his.
From that second path he told himself there could be no return.
Dot went about with a feverish look in her eyes, and lips almost as set
as Larrie's own. She was going to make this strike for her rights, and
in future have the independence due to the nineteenth century married
woman.
Larrie spoke of the irrevocableness of the step. To him it was as grave
as life and death. But deep in Dot's heart was the knowledge of her
power over him. She called to mind all the quarrels of their wedded
life--had he not always forgiven her? Even the times when he had not
been the first to make up, her tears and grief had made his arms open
for her immediately. She only whispered this to herself, it made her a
little ashamed to think of trading on it.
Then out loud she told her conscience several things.
First, that this was only one of Larrie's aggravating fits of
opposition, and when he got over it and knew what a name she had made
for herself, he would be glad she had not taken him at his word.
Second, that since her gift was so great, it would be wrong not to give
the world the benefit of it, she remembered the scriptural
napkin-wrapped talent.
Third, that it would be sheer ingratitude after all Mr Wooster's
trouble, to spoil his concert at the last minute.
And fourth, that no one literally interpreted that word 'obey' in the
marriage service, now that the equality of the sexes was recognised.
It was merely a relic of darker ages when woman had been little more
than a chattel; the progress of the century had made it elastic, before
long it would be removed altogether.
On Friday they had eggs for tea. At least, Peggie had put a stand on the
table, with bread and butter, and other eatables, but they were both too
agitated to do more than crack the tops, and take salt and pepper on the
edge of their plates. This was to be the last chance. Peggie removed
baby, and looked anxiously at the quiet young couple as she did so. She
was afraid there was something really serious this time, so pale was her
master's face, so brilliant Dot's eyes.
'Well?' Larrie said heavily.
'I'm going,' answered Dot. 'I've got my dress ready, and made all
arrangements, it's too late to stop now.'
Larrie swallowed some tea and went even whiter. This was the final
wrecking of their lives. 'Dot, I _beg_ of you to think of it again,' he
said.
She slipped from her chair and went to his end of the table. 'Darling,
let me go!' she said, 'see, I beg of you--you could give in and let me,
and then it wouldn't be disobedience.' She put her arms round his neck,
her flushed cheek against his, 'Dear old Larrie, do! I have set my heart
on it so! do let me go happy, dearest, dearest!'
If only at that minute she had said she would give it up, he could
almost have let her go, greatly as he disliked the publicity for her,
and the connection with Wooster. But he could not help mentally
finishing her last sentence--'Or I shall have to go unhappy.'
'I can't,--you must see I can't,--how can I, Dot? it is impossible,' he
said. But she clung tighter.
'Once you loved me too well to refuse me such a thing, my husband, don't
let me think I am so little to you now.' He tried to put her away, but
her arms held him.
'Darling, let me,' she begged, 'let me, let me,'--the tears were running
down her cheeks. 'I will be so good afterwards, oh this is everything to
me, Larrie,--Larrie, don't be cruel to me, I must, must go--oh,
darling, let me, let me.'
He was making a promise to himself to be kept faithfully, since he saw
how very much this was to her. If she would give in now, say she would
give in as a true wife should to her husband, he would let her go, he
would even take her himself, for it would prove she did not put that man
before him.
'Dot,' he said, and lifted her on to his knee and held her hands
tenderly in his own, 'you must obey me in this, can't you see you must,
my darling? Perhaps I have been harsh or unkind about it. Yesterday I
_told_ you to obey me, now I _ask_ you, my darling, my little girl, Dot,
little, little wife. Say you will.'
But she only stirred restlessly.
He put his face down to hers.
'Darling, think of our happiness, how can we go on living if you persist
in breaking up everything like this. There _must_ be a head, Dot, in
everything, there must be obedience. What would a ship be without a
captain, or soldiers without their chief, an office with no one in
authority? And the husband _must_ be the head of the wife. Darling, say
you will obey me in this.'
But Dot could not. All her pleading had gone for nothing, why should she
listen to Larrie's? She moved his arms away and stood up, her eyes dry
and bright again.
'You have refused me the only thing I have ever asked specially since we
were married, Larrie,' she said.
'You will stay?' he said.
'You profess to love me, and then you act like a tyrant to me. Why
should you always have _your_ way in things?'
There was a red spot on her cheek.
'You will obey me, Dot?'
She walked restlessly up and down the room. She moved some ornaments on
the mantelpiece and put the curtains straight with trembling fingers.
She remembered she ought to be dressing even now. In two hours the
concert would begin, and if she gave in her opportunity would be gone
for ever, and just because Larrie was obstinate and stupid!
Baby's ivory rattle, still wet from his mouth, lay on the sofa. She
picked it up and put it in her work-basket. Then she altered the
position of two photographs on the mantelpiece. She moved one of
Larrie's silver cups--in it there was a green programme crumpled up into
a ball.
'Dot, you will obey me?'
'No, I will _not_,' she said passionately. 'I am tired of being told to
do things. I want a little liberty as well as you. I will _not_ spoil my
future just because you want to be a petty czar.'
She crossed to the door. A flame sprang up in Larrie's eyes.
'You will be sorry to the end of your life if you go,' he said.
'No, I shall be glad,' said Dot.
Peggie came in to know if they wanted hot water, or if the master would
have another egg. She was really too anxious to keep away.
'I've got a nice brown one, laid to-day, sir,' she said persuasively.
He shook his head impatiently. The woman looked over to Dot, standing
with the door handle in her hand, 'Shall I fetch the baby for you?' she
asked.
'No,' said Dot sharply.
So she went out to the kitchen again, and looked grave as she lifted
baby from his high chair, where he was perfectly happy with a saucepan
lid and a tin spoon.
'_That_ obstreperous,' she said, and sighed. Then she added, 'poor man,'
under her breath.
Someway she generally sided with Larrie at such times, though she was
devotedly fond of Dot.
'I'm going to dress,' Dot said from the door.
'How do you propose getting there?' He did not look at her as he spoke.
She twisted the handle. 'Of course I had expected you would come. As it
is I have sent word to mother, she is coming down in the buggy for me at
seven. Mr Wooster is going there for dinner, he will drive. No, mother
doesn't know; I only said you couldn't come.'
Larrie got up and walked to the window; he could not answer her.
She looked at his big square back for a minute and the short-clipped
curls on his head. Then she turned and went away to dress. Only a thin
partition separated her bedroom. He heard every sound as he stood in the
window, the opening and shutting of drawers, the plashing of water, her
hurrying steps across the floor, the creak of the wardrobe door. Every
minute he thought she would repent and come in to him, his own sweet,
small wife again; then the thought became a hope, and when the wardrobe
creaked the hope died, and there was almost a prayer instead. But the
door opened and she came in fully dressed.
It was her wedding dress she wore, the white, trailing, exquisite silk
she had knelt beside him in at the altar eighteen months ago. It was cut
a little low now, and showed her white, soft neck and chest; her arms
were bare between the shoulder puff and glove top.
'Larrie,' she said with a little cry, 'oh, let me, Larrie!'
But he stood still.
'_That_ dress!' he said hoarsely.
In very truth she had not thought of the associations of it as she had
slipped it on to-night in excitement and anger.
'You--you know I had it made into an evening dress,' she faltered.
'But for this!'
'I had nothing else to wear.'
He turned from her one minute, then back again, and looked at her with
wrathful eyes. He had a wild impulse to force her to stay, to compel her
to obey him by the superiority of his physical strength. Was she not his
wife, his property, did she not belong to him till death? He almost
thought he would get a whip and beat her, beat her savagely. She would
love him better he felt certain; he told himself there was more truth
than half the world dreamt in the saying that wife-beaters, always
provided they are neither drunk nor brutal, are best beloved by their
wives.
But he knew in a calmer mood he would despise himself for doing it, and
he felt, too, how imperfect would be the victory.
'You are going?' was all he said, and 'Yes,' she answered.
Wheels sounded a little distance off, they both knew what it was.
'As surely as you go, Dot, you will repent it.' Larrie spoke slowly,
quietly, his face was deathly pale.
She was trembling from excitement, there was a vague fear in her eyes.
'What would you do?' she said with a little nervous half laugh.
'I would never forgive you, never have you for my wife again,' he
answered, and his face looked as if he meant it.
She shivered a little, but held her head proudly. 'Perhaps you would be
glad of the excuse,' she said, with a pitiful attempt at scorn.
He did not speak. The buggy rattled up to the door, they heard
Wooster's voice checking the horses, the mother's saying she would not
get out as it was so late.
'Why don't you go?' he said coldly, seeing she stood perfectly still.
'I--' she said. It was the sound of a sob strangling in her throat.
He would not help her though her eyes were speaking imploringly. If he
had put his arms round her that minute and begged her as at tea to stay,
even now she would have given it up. But he stood like a rock, his face
hard, his chin square, his lips bitter.
The bell rang, and Peggie's heel-down slippers went up the hall.
Dot moved a step nearer to him.
'_Ask_ me to stay, Larrie,' she whispered, and this time the sob would
not be strangled.
But he turned right away from her.
'I would rather die than ask you again,' he said with passion in his
voice.
'Mr Wooster,' said Peggie cheerfully.
She had quite beamed at the man when she opened the door, the quarrel
would have to be smoothed over now a guest was here.
But five minutes later Dot came out into the hall, her train a yard
behind her, a great white fur-trimmed cloak around her.
There was a beautiful angry colour in her cheeks, a defiant light in her
eyes; but her lips were saying smiling things. Mr Wooster was behind
with a roll of music and an opossum rug.
Peggie watched them through the front door and down the steps, she saw
Dot lifted in beside her mother and well tucked up; she watched the
buggy lamps flash passing out of the gates and disappear round a curve
in the road. Then with quite a weight at her kindly heart, she went in
to see if the 'poor master' wanted anything. But he was standing in the
middle of the room with folded arms, and such a look on his face, that
she shut the door softly behind her, and went away.