"Nous devrions baiser les pantoufles de certaines femmes du côté où
les pantoufles touchent à la terre, car en dedans ce serait tout au
plus digne des anges."
The long day came to an end at last. Jane felt a sense of almost
physical relief in the knowledge that to-morrow night she would no
longer be there, and yet she had not spoken of her decision to the
others.
For Athena Maule the day was not yet over. She waited till the house was
sunk into darkness and stillness, and then, dismissing her maid, she put
on a dressing-gown and went downstairs to the library.
The book she had mentally marked down that morning was found by her in a
moment; but instead of looking at it there she took it to her boudoir.
It was possible that Wantele--Wantele who had been so rude and unkind to
her this afternoon--might, like herself, feel wakeful, and come down to
the library.
With the heavy old law book in her arms, she made her way through the
now dark corridor which ran the whole length of Rede Place till she
reached her own sitting-room, and there, before turning up the light,
she locked the door.
Then she sat down, and drawing forward a little table she spread the
book out open before her.
The dying wood fire suddenly burst into flame; Athena looked round her.
She wondered if she would ever have so pretty a room again.
There was no hurry; she knew all that it was really necessary for her to
know, thanks to Maud Stanwood's idle words.
Maud Stanwood? What would Maud Stanwood say of her when she heard what
Mrs. Maule was about to do? So wondering, Athena suddenly made up her
mind that there would be no necessity for her to go on knowing that
lady. A woman who talked as Maud Stanwood talked would be no friend for
General Lingard's wife!
The important thing--the one thing she must find out, and that this book
would doubtless tell her--was how long a period must elapse after the
dissolution of her marriage to Richard Maule before any second marriage
contracted by her would be legal. She was aware that after a divorce a
full six months must elapse between the Nisi and the Absolute; also that
it was actually left to the good feeling of the offended party--that was
very unfair--as to whether the decree should be made absolute at all.
Athena felt a tremor of fear. It would indeed be an awful thing if she
put it into Richard's power to leave her in the disagreeable, the
ridiculous, position of being neither married nor single.
But thanks to the excellent index of this useful work on the marriage
laws of England, it only took Mrs. Maule a very few moments to discover
that in this important matter her fear was quite groundless. Once
judgment was given--once, that is, a marriage was dissolved--there was
no impediment to an immediate remarriage on the part of the injured
party.
She looked up and gave a long, unconscious sigh of relief. There had
been a secret, unacknowledged terror in her heart, that she might find,
now at the last moment, some hidden snag.
Sitting back in her straight, carved Italian chair, she began to make a
mental list of her large circle of acquaintances. Which of them would
give her shelter during the weeks, nay the months, that must perhaps
elapse before she would be free?
Mrs. Maule had but one intimate friend--that friend was Jane Oglander.
She had little doubt that as soon as the painful business of the
engagement was over, she and Jane would return to their old terms of
unquestioning affection.
What a pity it was that Hew Lingard's rather absurd conscience and
his--well, his sense of delicacy, would make any arrangement with Jane
impossible! However, she knew several good-natured women who might help
her through such a pass--especially if she could venture to whisper the
truth as to what the future held for her....
But there were certain other facts it would be well for her to know
before taking so important a step as that of consulting a lawyer. Athena
Maule did not believe in trusting people too much.
Bending once more over the table, she set herself seriously to study the
sense of the dry and yet very clearly expressed chapter containing the
information she sought.
And then, as she read on, slowly mastering the legal phraseology,
conning over the cases quoted in support of each assertion, it gradually
became horribly, piteously plain to her that if her husband cared to
defend the suit, she had but a very poor chance of obtaining what this
work so rightly styled "relief."
The knowledge brought with it a terrible feeling of revolt and of
despair to Athena Maule.
She pushed the book away, then got up and stared into a small Venetian
looking-glass. She was frightened by what she saw there; the shock of
her discovery had drained all the colour from her face, and, for the
moment, destroyed her youth.
She turned away from the mirror with a feeling of sick disgust. Her
face, as reflected there, actually reminded her of Richard's face. It
was absurd, disquieting, that such a notion should ever come into her
mind, and it showed the state in which her nerves must be.
She looked round her fearfully. The room on which she had wasted a
regretful thought had become an airless cage in which she would have to
spend all that remained to her of young life and of the wonderful beauty
which had, so she now told herself bitterly, brought her so little
happiness.
She had actually believed--how Richard would grin if he knew it!--that
if she only could make up her mind to a certain amount of "scandal" and
"publicity," she could free herself of him. How could she have supposed
that the law--a law framed and devised by men--would put such a power in
a woman's hand?...
And yet--and yet it was still true that nothing but Richard's will stood
between herself and complete, honourable freedom--between her and the
man who had in his gift everything that she longed for and believed
herself specially fitted by nature to possess.
So much, and surely it was a great deal, the book which was still lying
open on the little table made quite clear. If only Richard Maule could
be brought to that state of mind in which he would consent to be
merciful and leave his wife's suit undefended, all would yet go well.
Athena sat down again and began to concentrate her mind intensely.
How could she bend, coerce Richard to her will?--that was the formidable
problem which was now presented to her, and she set herself to consider
it from every point of view.
Mrs. Maule was afraid of her husband--it was an instinctive, involuntary
fear; her whole being shrank from him with a dreadful aversion. When he
had been hale and strong, adoring her with the rather absurd ardour of
adoration a middle-aged man so often lavishes on a young wife, she had
despised him. Now that he was stricken, old, and feeble, he inspired her
with terror.
It had amused her to deceive him when he had been the doting, lover-like
husband, in days which seemed to belong to another life; but now, when
his sunken eyes gleamed as they always gleamed when staring into hers,
seeming full of a cruel knowledge of the pardonable weaknesses into
which her heart betrayed her, then her body as well as her spirit
quailed.
Suddenly a great light came into the dark chamber of her mind. Athena
Maule saw in a moment a way in which the problem might be solved. How
amazing that she had not thought of it yesterday--even this morning!
Jane Oglander should be her advocate with Richard. Richard would do for
Jane what he would do for no one else. That had been proved many times.
To take a recent instance--how harshly he had always resisted his wife's
wish to ask people to Rede Place! But when General Lingard had come into
the neighbourhood, it was Richard who had suggested that Jane Oglander's
lover should be bidden to stay, and to stay a long time.
Athena's face became flushed, fired with hope, with energy. She had been
foolish to be so frightened. How fortunate it was that Jane had spoken
to her--had told her of her intention to break the foolish engagement
with Lingard! It made everything quite easy.
She shut the book--the sinister old book which had given her so awful a
shock.
Why not go up and see Jane now--at once? It was still early, not much
after midnight. Athena glanced at the tiny clock which had played its
little part just before Jane's arrival at Rede Place in provoking Hew
Lingard's avowal of--of weakness. Yes, it was only ten minutes past
twelve. Jane was probably wide awake still.
Athena went to the library and carefully put back the volume in its
place among the other legal books which had belonged to Wantele's
father. Then she made her way, in the deep, still darkness, to the door
of Jane Oglander's room. Knocking lightly, and without waiting for an
answer, she walked in.
In old days this room had been known as "the White Room," now it went by
the name of "Miss Oglander's Room." Only Jane Oglander ever occupied it.
Jane was asleep--sleeping more soundly than she had done for many days,
but as the door of her room opened she woke, and sitting up turned on,
with an instinctive gesture, the electric light which swung over her
bed.
Athena came quickly across the room. She was wearing a rather bright
blue silk wrapper, and her graceful form made a patch of brilliant
colour against the varying whitenesses of the walls, of the curtains,
and of the rugs which covered the floor.
"I couldn't get to sleep," Athena's voice shook with excitement and
emotion, for she was going to take a great risk--to stake her whole
future life on one throw. "Somehow I guessed you were awake, like me."
Jane looked at Athena without speaking; she was telling herself that Hew
could not help being enthralled--that no man could have helped it. She
had never seen her friend look as lovely as she looked to-night; and
there was a pathetic, a very appealing expression on the beautiful face
now bending over her.
Mrs. Maule kissed Jane Oglander.
Then she straightened herself.
"I can't sleep because I keep thinking of all you told me this morning,"
she said at last. "I know you don't want to talk about it, and yet--and
yet I feel I must tell you that what you told me is making me wretched,
Jane. Are you sure that you really wish to break off your engagement?"
Jane was very pale; she was spent with suffering, and yet, as Athena saw
with a pang of envy, she looked very young; her fair hair lay in two
long thick plaits, one on each side of her face. It was that perhaps
which made her look so young, so placid--so defenceless.
"It seems to me the only thing I can do," she spoke in a very low voice,
but to the woman listening she seemed irritatingly calm.
Athena climbed on to Jane's bed, as she had so often done in the days
when she and Jane happened to be at Rede Place together--days which had
come far oftener four and five years ago than recently.
It hurt Jane to see Athena there. The contrast between the past and the
present cut so shrewdly. She did not wish to judge her friend--or rather
she did judge her, and very leniently.
Athena could not help what had happened. Of that Jane felt sure. But
still Athena must know the truth--she could not but be aware of the
effect she had had on Lingard; she must know that without meaning it she
had witched his heart away.
But whatever Athena knew or did not know, any allusion to what had
happened would be degrading to them both. Certain things slumber when
left in peace; they leap into life if once discussed. Jane Oglander
believed in the honour of the man she loved. Hew would go away, and in
time he would batten down, fight and conquer his infatuation for Mrs.
Maule.
"Of course I wish to break my engagement. But I would rather not talk
about it," she said, at last.
"But I must talk about it!" cried Athena desperately. "You don't realise
how I feel, Jane, how--how miserable, how ashamed I am about it all! Of
course I know how you must be hating me."
An expression of anguish came over the younger woman's face. She
believed her friend. But deep in her heart was breathed the inarticulate
prayer: "Oh God, do not let her mention Hew--do not let her speak of
Hew!"
Athena suddenly covered her face with her hands. "Oh, Jane, I could not
help it," she wailed, in her low, vibrating voice. "Oh, Jane, tell me
that you know I could not help it!"
"I know you could not help it," repeated Jane mechanically.
She was being tortured,--tortured with a singular refinement of cruelty.
But even now she did not blame Athena. Athena had meant kindly by her in
coming here to-night. But oh! if she would only go away. It was agony to
Jane to see her there.
"He respects you!" whispered Mrs. Maule, leaning forward. "He admires
you! He esteems you! Oh, Jane, I should feel proud if any man spoke of
me as he speaks of you----"
But Jane did not feel proud. Jane felt humiliated to the dust. During
the many miserable hours she had spent in the last fortnight, she had
been spared the hateful suspicion that Hew Lingard ever spoke of her to
Athena Maule.
And indeed Lingard had never so spoken, yet the strange thing was that
Athena, when uttering those lying words, half believed them to be true.
In the first days of her acquaintance with Lingard, she had herself said
many kind, warm, affectionate things of Jane Oglander, to which he had
perforce assented. It now pleased her to imagine, and even more to say,
that it was he who had spoken those words of praise, of liking, of warm
but unlover-like affection....
"If you only knew how he feels," she went on rapidly, "you would feel
sorry for him, Jane, deeply sorry; not, as you have a right to feel,
angry--angry both with him and with me! I'm afraid--I know, that often
he feels wretched--horribly wretched about it all."
"I am very sorry," said Jane Oglander in a low voice, "sorry, not--not
angry, Athena----" and then she stopped short.
"Sorry" seemed a poor, inadequate word, but it was the only word she
could find. Her heart was wrung with sorrow, with unavailing, useless
sorrow for both these unhappy people, as well as for herself. Judging
them by what she would have felt had she been either of them, she
believed them to be very miserable.
Athena was now huddled up on the bed. She was crying bitterly, her face
hidden in her hands, the tears trickling through the fingers. She was
dreadfully, dreadfully sorry for herself.
Jane Oglander could not see anyone as unhappy and as abased as she
believed her friend to be feeling, and make no attempt at consolation.
Bending forward, she put out her arms and gathered to her the slender
rounded shoulders, the beautiful dark head.
"If only something could be done," she whispered, "if only there was a
way out, Athena!"
Athena Maule raised her tear-stained face. Her moment had at last come.
"There is a way out," she said slowly, impressively.
She put the palms of her hands on the other woman's breast--"Tell me,
Jane, would it make you very unhappy, would you ever be able to forgive
me--if I married Hew Lingard?"
Jane looked at her with troubled eyes. "I don't understand," she
faltered. "Do you mean when--when Richard is dead, Athena?"
"No. Of course I don't mean that! What a horrible idea! But, Jane, there
is a chance that I may become free. It is difficult to explain, but you
may believe me when I tell you that if Richard were a different kind of
man, if he was noble, if he was high-minded, as you are noble and
high-minded----" Jane shook her head.
"Yes, you are--you are----What was I saying? Yes: if Richard were
different he could have given me my freedom long ago, and our marriage
could be dissolved even now."
As the younger woman made no movement, said no word, only went on
looking at her in puzzled silence, Athena drew herself out of Jane's
arms, and there came a look of impatience over her face.
"You are not a child! Surely you know what I mean, Jane? You must have
heard of marriages being annulled? Richard has kept me tied to him all
these years--years that I might have been free."
And, again, the strange thing was that Athena Maule, as she said those
words, believed them--with certain mental reservations--to be true. It
was certainly true that for the last eight years she, a passionate,
living woman, had been tied to death in life.
She would have been shocked, angered, had any still small voice reminded
her that the scheme she was now determined to carry through was a new
scheme, one that she had never considered seriously till now, though she
had told the lie which was the keystone of her scheme so often that she
had at last begun to believe it must be true.
"Oh, Jane!" she cried, and then she slipped off the bed and threw
herself on her knees. "Oh, Jane, there is only one person in the world
to whom Richard will ever listen----No, I'm wrong--there are
two--there's Dick as well as you. But Dick"--a look of hatred for a
moment convulsed her face--"Dick loathes me," she said slowly, "even
more than Richard does," and this was true.
"You, Jane, are my only hope--mine and Hew's only hope----"
"Do you mean," said Jane slowly, "that you want me to speak to Richard,
Athena,--to suggest his taking this step?"
For the first time Jane Oglander felt a touch of physical repulsion from
Athena. It was a curious sensation, and one which troubled her
exceedingly.
"Richard would have to do nothing--nothing! Simply leave my suit
undefended. And if you could bring yourself to speak to him, Jane, I
honestly believe that he might do now what he ought to have done long
ago--release me. Nothing can give me back the years--the long miserable
years I have spent with him, but I should at least have the future----"
She looked furtively at Jane. It would be so much more--well,
comfortable, if she and Lingard could count on Jane's approval, on her
blessing, as it were.
Jane Oglander lay back and turned her face away, to the wall. Athena,
with remarkable self-control, stilled her eager, impulsive tongue. But
the moments of waiting seemed very long.
At last Jane turned and once more sat up. She had made up her mind that
it was her duty--her duty, not only to Athena, but also to Hew
Lingard,--to do this difficult, this repulsive thing which was being
required of her.
"I will speak to Richard to-morrow, Athena--but if he is shocked, if he
is hurt by what I shall say to him--and I fear he will be both--you must
not expect me ever to come back to Rede Place."
Mrs. Maule gave a little cry. It was only now that she realised how
doubtful she had been of success. She might have known Jane better. Jane
had always been her one loyal friend. Athena was fond of the word
"loyal."
"Oh, Jane," she said humbly, "I--I don't know how to thank you. Will you
mind very much?"
"You mustn't be surprised if I fail," Jane said slowly.
Athena again sank on to her knees. But all the humility had gone from
the voice in which she uttered her words. "Oh, but you mustn't fail,
Jane! It would kill me." She hesitated--"You will be very careful what
you say to Richard? You will not--you need not mention----"
Jane put out her hand with a quick gesture as if to ward off the name
Athena was about to utter.
"No, no," she cried vehemently, and it was the first time she had spoken
with any strength in her tones. "You need not be afraid. Of course I
shall mention no one--I think you can trust me, Athena."