OTHER GODS
How little noise people make when they are suddenly stricken with
great mental anguish.
They say that after a storm there comes a calm, and a very true saying
it is. After the storm of orange blossoms that raged around Ye Dene on
that July day, there came a calm which was broken only by the excitement
of watching for the postman. The most valuable of the wedding presents
were safely packed up on the evening of the wedding day and consigned to
Alfred Whittaker's private safe. The others were left in the girls'
sitting-room, carefully covered up, in preparation for the long trip in
which the bride and bridegroom were indulging themselves, prior to
regular housekeeping.
For years the Whittakers had made a point of seeking a fresh holiday
resort with each summer, and this year, by a kind of instinct, they
decided not to go to an English watering-place. Perhaps the feeling that
the bride and groom were enjoying themselves in the Bernese Oberland,
and meant to cover a good deal of ground before they turned their
footsteps homewards, made them feel that the contrast of an English
watering-place would be too much. They therefore decided that Dieppe
would be a bright and convenient change for them; but they were not due
to leave home until some ten days after the wedding.
Now, it happened that Regina, instead of following the usual course of
mothers, and making the little absent bride into a sort of deity, was
possessed of a feeling that she would like in some way to reward her
younger girl for her helpfulness at the time of the wedding, and the
unselfish manner in which she had deferred in every possible way to her
sister's wishes. She therefore determined that she would give Julia a
little surprise present. No, it was not a birthday, it was not any kind
of commemoration, but she felt that this was an occasion on which she
could appropriately spend a little money. Now Regina was amply blessed
with this world's goods--I mean in her own right. Alfred Whittaker had
done extremely well in the world, and whereas Regina had once loomed in
his horizon as an heiress in a modest way, she was now the wife of an
exceedingly warm man, and happy in the possession of a tidy little
income of her own. She breathed not a word of her purpose to a soul. She
did not intend her little gift to take the form of raiment. Julia's
father gave her an ample dress allowance, and Regina was in the habit of
adding to it with special offerings at such times as birthdays and the
season of Christmas. It was not difficult for her to carry out her
purpose, for she had but seldom gone to town in company with her girls.
She was so busy a woman, she had so many excuses, so many appointments
and engagements of a semi-business kind, that her comings and goings
were not often questioned.
"What are you doing to-day, Julia?" she asked, one morning at breakfast,
about a week after the wedding.
"To-day, mother dear? Well, I have to go out with Emmeline Marksby this
morning, and unless you want me I am going to lunch there. And then I am
going to get my new white frock fitted on, and I am going to tea at the
Dravens."
"So you will be occupied all day?"
"Why, do you want me?"
"Not at all, dear child, only I feel that you must be lonely now that
Maudie has gone, and I have at least a dozen things to occupy me."
"Oh, don't worry yourself about me; I shall be busy right up to dinner
time."
So they went their separate ways, and two hours later Mrs. Whittaker
might have been seen deliberately pacing up the arcade in which was
situated the shop at which Maudie's earrings had been bought. A
smooth-spoken young gentleman came forward to receive her. Regina
explained her pleasure; she wanted earrings. No, not for the bride; for
the young lady who was with her when she bought the bride's earrings.
Solitaire earrings? Yes. Turquoise were very nice, but she fancied that
Miss Whittaker did not care much about turquoise. Did she fancy pink
coral? Yes, that was a happy idea, so suitable for a young lady. So
Regina was shown various solitaire earrings in that most delicate and
girlish substance. But even then she was not satisfied, and the pink
coral earrings were set in diamonds. No, it was not the expense; that
was not the question, but Mrs. Whittaker thought that not even tiny
diamonds should find a place in the jewel-box of a very young girl.
"Pink coral without--?"
"Just a few sparks, madam," said the gentleman on the other side of the
counter, "they will be a little--well, a little insignificant--as
earrings."
"Perhaps," Mrs. Whittaker admitted, "you might let me see the turquoise,
I could have those without diamonds."
"Yes, or pearls. Solitaire pearls are quite young ladies' jewelry."
"And are they very expensive?" asked Regina.
"Oh no, madam. Let me show you the pearls."
So another tray was handed out, and yet another tray; one containing all
manner of turquoise studs for the ears, and the other showing an
assortment of pearl earrings, from modest ones at five guineas a pair to
some which were far beyond Regina's means or Julia's necessities.
Eventually a pair of pearl solitaires were chosen and paid for.
"Yes, I shall take them with me," said Regina, opening her smart black
and gold wrist bag in order that the little jewel-case might be
comfortably nested in company with her small purse and her
pocket-handkerchief.
"I hope, madam," said the shopman, "that you liked Mr. Whittaker's last
present to you."
"I like it very much," said Regina, smoothing the back of her hand, and
gazing admiringly at the big turquoise ring that adorned it, "I think
it is a very handsome ring." Then she looked straight into the young
man's eyes, "You were not speaking of this?" she said, with a gesture of
her hand to show that she was speaking of the ring.
"No, madam," he stammered, "I remember Mr. Whittaker buying the ring and
the bangle for the young lady--I--I was thinking of quite another
customer."
At that moment another figure came from the office behind the shop. It
was, indeed, the assistant who had actually attended to their wants on
the occasion of her previous visit.
"I hope," said he, "that the bracelet that Mr. Whittaker bought the
other day met with your approval, madam."
For a moment Regina felt as if the earth were opening under her feet; a
wild impulse seized her to catch violently hold of something, and scream
in a series of sharp intermittent yelps as a locomotive does when
something has gone wrong, and a wild instinct to catch the two
smooth-faced young men on the other side of the counter by the ears and
bang their heads together--a feeling as if heaven and earth were
slipping away from her. But Regina was a remarkable woman! She had her
vanities and her weaknesses, but in all the emergencies of life Regina
might be counted upon for not losing her head. In spite of the sea of
tempestuous emotions which surged within her at that moment, she
maintained her dignity and her common-sense.
"No," said she, "I have not yet seen it. I am afraid that you have
given my husband away; as a matter of fact I have a birthday next week."
It was the first plump and deliberate lie that Regina had ever told in
her life. She did not hurry out of the shop--she even went so far as to
choose a little present for her lord, going back with a curious
persistence to the idea of pink coral, and bought for him what Julia
would have described as a perfectly sweet tie pin, consisting of a bit
of pink coral set between two small but fiery diamonds.
"Mr. Johnson," said the younger of the two assistants, as the door
closed behind Regina, "you have put your foot in it this time."
"Why--how--what d'you mean?"
"Simply this, that Mr. Alfred Whittaker, of Ye Dene, Northampton Park,
won't thank you for letting on to that good lady that he was here last
week buying a bracelet that she don't know anything about."
"Oh Lord! I never thought of it. She said she had a birthday next week."
"She said, yes, she _said_, but that ain't any proof to me; I never saw
an old girl pull herself together in a neater manner; she even went so
far as to buy a tie pin on the strength of it. But, mark my words, Mr.
Alfred Whittaker won't thank you for letting on to that lady that he was
here last week buying that bracelet."
"If I thought that," said Mr. Johnson, "I'd put my head straight in a
bag."
"If it had been me," said the other, "being a youngster I might have
been excused, but an old hand like you--tittle-tattling about other
customers' purchases--you ought to know better."
"You are quite right; I deserve anything that may come of it; I don't
think that I have ever done such an idiotic thing in my life. What can I
do to make up for it?"
"Nothing," said the other. "If anything is said, swear that Mr.
Whittaker told you that the present was for his wife."
"I think he did."
"That's as may be. Anyway, stick to it through thick and thin that he
mentioned that it actually was for his wife."
"Well, don't tell any of the others, Dick."
"I shouldn't dream of doing that, it isn't likely. I might make a slip
myself one day, so I am not going to point out the slips of other
people." Which, considering the very near shave the young gentleman had
had of making the very same slip not ten minutes before, might be
considered a very feeling remark.
Meantime Regina had gone blindly along the arcade. She was dressed in
summer garments, and not a few very curious glances were cast at her.
Twice she stopped to look in shop windows with eyes that saw nothing.
The first was a gunsmith's, and the second was a man's window of a
distinguished bootmaker's. Regina never knew the exact objects at which
she had gazed during that painful peregrination. When she got to the end
of the arcade she turned and walked back again, and all the time there
beat to and fro in her brain an idea which said that Alfred, her noble
Alfred, had gone after other gods--after other gods! Well, in the worst
trials of life, in the griefs and shocks and sorrows of the newest and
most unaccustomed kind, a woman cannot walk up and down a fashionable
arcade forever. When she again reached the entrance by which she had
gone in, it occurred to her that she must sit down and think--she must
go somewhere where she could be quiet, where she could face this new
sensation which had come into her life. Her club? No, not her club. She
would meet there women who were interested in the same work as herself.
If she lunched, and she could not be there in the lunch hour without
lunching, someone would join her. There was a little pastry-cook's where
she sometimes lunched when she was in a hurry; she had never seen
anybody there she knew, she would go there. To eat! No--no!--not to eat!
Regina Whittaker was sure that she would never eat with relish again. So
she bent her steps toward this little side-street haven, and, like all
women in dire trouble, ordered tea and a muffin!