Wemyss went back into the library, and seeing his coffee still on the
chimney-piece he drank it, and then sat down in the chair Miss
Entwhistle had just left, and smoked.
He wouldn't go up to Lucy yet; not till he was sure the woman wasn't
going to try any tricks of knocking at the front door or ringing bells.
He actually, so inaccurate was his perception of Miss Entwhistle's
character and methods, he actually thought she might perhaps throw
stones at the windows, and he decided to remain downstairs guarding his
premises till this possibility became, with the lapse of time, more
remote.
Meanwhile the fury of his indignation at the things she had said was
immensely tempered by the real satisfaction he felt in having turned her
out. That was the way to show people who was master, and meant to be
master, in his own house. She had supposed she could do as she liked
with him, use his house, be waited on by his servants, waste his
electric light, interfere between him and his wife, say what she chose,
lecture him, stand there and insult him, and he had showed her very
quickly and clearly that she couldn't. As to her final monstrous
suggestion, it merely proved how completely he had got her, how
accurately he had hit on the punishment she felt most, that she should
have indulged in such ravings. The ravings of impotence, that's what
that was. For the rest of his life, he supposed, whenever people
couldn't get their own way with him, were baffled by his steadfastness
and consequently became vindictive, they would throw that old story up
against him. Let them. It wouldn't make him budge, not a hair's-breadth,
in any direction he didn't choose. Master in his own house,--that's what
he was.
Curious how women invariably started by thinking they could do as they
liked with him. Vera had thought so, and behaved accordingly; and she
had been quite surprised, and even injured, when she discovered she
couldn't. No doubt this woman was feeling considerably surprised too
now; no doubt she never dreamt he would turn her out. Women never
believed he would do the simple, obvious thing. And even when he warned
them that he would, as he could remember on several occasions having
warned Vera--indeed, it was recorded in his diary--they still didn't
believe it. Daunted themselves by convention and the fear of what people
might think, they imagined that he would be daunted too. Then, when he
wasn't, and it happened, they were surprised; and they never seemed to
see that they had only themselves to thank.
He sat smoking and thinking a long time, one ear attentive to any sounds
which might indicate that Miss Entwhistle was approaching hostilely from
outside. Chesterton found him sitting like that when she came in to
remove the coffee cup, and she found him still sitting like that when
she came in an hour later with his whisky.
It was nearly eleven before he decided that the danger of attack was
probably over; but still, before he went upstairs, he thought it prudent
to open the window and step over the sill on to the terrace and just
look round.
All was as quiet as the grave. It was so quiet that he could hear a
little ripple where the water was split by a dead branch as the river
slid gently along. There were stars, so that it was not quite dark; and
although the April air was moist it was dry under foot. A pleasant night
for a walk. Well, he would not grudge her that.
He went along the terrace, and round the clump of laurustinus bushes
which cloaked the servants' entrance, to the front of the house.
Empty. Nobody still lingering on the steps.
He then proceeded as far as the white gate, holding her capable of
having left it open on purpose,--'In order to aggravate me,' as he put
it to himself.
It was shut.
He stood leaning on it a minute listening, in case she should be lurking
in the lane.
Not a sound.
Satisfied that she had really gone, he returned to the terrace and
re-entered the library, fastening the window carefully and pulling down
the blind.
What a relief, what an extraordinary relief, to have got rid of her; and
not just for this once, but for good. Also she was Lucy's only relation,
so there were no more of them to come and try to interfere between man
and wife. He was very glad she had behaved so outrageously at the end
saying that about Vera, for it justified him completely in what he had
done. A little less bad behaviour, and she would have had to be allowed
to stay the night; still a little less, and she would have had to come
to The Willows again, let alone having a free hand in London to
influence Lucy when he was at his club playing bridge and unable to look
after her. Yes; it was very satisfactory, and well worth coming down a
day earlier for.
He wound up his watch, standing before the last glimmerings of the fire,
and felt quite good-humoured again. More than good-humoured,--refreshed
and exhilarated, as though he had had a cold bath and a thorough
rub-down. Now for bed and his little Love. What simple things a man
wanted,--only his woman and peace.
Wemyss finished winding his watch, stretched himself, yawned, and then
went slowly upstairs, switching off the lights as he went.
In the bedroom there was a night-light burning, and Lucy had fallen
asleep, tired of waiting for Aunt Dot to come and say good-night, but
she woke when he came in.
'Is that you, Aunt Dot?' she murmured, even through her sleepiness sure
it must be, for Everard would have turned on the light.
Wemyss, however, didn't want her to wake up and begin asking questions,
so he refrained from turning on the light.
'No, it's your Everard,' he said, moving about on tiptoe. 'Sh-sh, now.
Go to sleep again like a good little girl.'
Through her sleepiness she knew that voice of his; it meant one of
his pleased moods. How sweet of him to be taking such care not to
disturb her ... dear Everard ... he and Aunt Dot must have made friends
then ... how glad she was ... wonderful little Aunt Dot ... before
dinner he was angry, and she had been so afraid ... afraid ... what a
relief ... how glad....
But Lucy was asleep again, and the next thing she knew was Everard's arm
being slid under her shoulders and she being drawn across the bed and
gathered to his breast.
'Who's my very own baby?' she heard him saying; and she woke up just
enough sleepily to return his kiss.