They sat by the window and talked till the day began to fade and the
lamplighter had passed up the street. Several matters of business
needed discussion,--the proving of Mr. Aked's will, the tenancy of
the house and the opening of a new banking-account. Richard, who was
acting informally as legal adviser, after the manner of solicitors'
clerks towards their friends, brought from his pocket some papers for
Adeline's signature. She took a pen immediately.
"Where do I put my name?"
"But you must read them first."
"I shouldn't understand them a bit," she said; "and what is the use of
employing a lawyer, if one is put to the trouble of reading everything
one signs?"
"Well--please yourself. To-morrow you will have to go before a
commissioner for oaths and swear that certain things are true; you'll
be compelled to read the affidavits."
"That I won't! I shall just swear."
"But you simply must."
"Sha'n't. If I swear to fibs, it will be your fault."
"Suppose I read them out to you?"
"Yes, that would be nicer; but not now, after supper."
For a few moments there was silence. She stood up and drew her finger
in fanciful curves across the window-pane. Richard watched her, with a
smile of luxurious content. It appeared to him that all her movements,
every inflection of her voice, her least word, had the authenticity
and the intrinsic grace of natural phenomena. If she turned her head
or tapped her foot, the gesture was right,--having the propriety which
springs from absolute self-unconsciousness. Her mere existence from one
moment to the next seemed in some mysterious way to suggest a possible
solution of the riddle of life. She illustrated nature. She was for
him intimately a part of nature, the great Nature which hides itself
from cities. To look at her afforded him a delight curiously similar to
that which the townsman derives from a rural landscape. Her face had
little conventional beauty; her conversation contained no hint either
of intellectual powers or of a capacity for deep feeling. But in her
case, according to his view, these things were unnecessary, would in
fact have been superfluous. She _was_ and that sufficed.
Mingled with the pleasure which her nearness gave him, there were
subordinate but distinct sensations. Except his sister Mary, he had
never before been upon terms of close familiarity with any woman, and
he realised with elation that now for the first time the latencies
of manhood were aroused. His friendship--if indeed it were nothing
else--with this gracious, inscrutable creature seemed a thing to be
very proud of, to gloat upon in secret, to contemplate with a dark
smile as one walked along the street or sat in a bus.... And then, with
a shock of joyful, half-incredulous surprise, he made the discovery
that she--she--had found some attractiveness in himself.
Their loneliness gave zest and piquancy to the situation. On neither
side were there relatives or friends who might obtrude, or whom it
would be proper to consult. They had only themselves to consider.
Not a soul in London, with the exception of Lottie, knew of their
intimacy,--the visit to Littlehampton, their plans for visiting the
theatres, her touching reliance upon him. Ah, that confiding feminine
trust! He read it frequently in her glance, and it gave him a sense of
protective possession. He had approached no closer than to shake her
hand, and yet, as he looked at the slight frame, the fragile fingers,
the tufts of hair which escaped over her ears,--these things seemed to
be his. Surely she had donned that beautiful dress for him; surely she
moved gracefully for him, talked softly for him!
He left his chair, quietly lighted the candles at the piano, and began
to turn over some songs.
"What are you doing?" she asked, from the window.
"I want you to sing."
"Must I?"
"Certainly. Let me find something with an easy accompaniment."
She came towards him, took up a song, opened it, and bade him look at
it.
"Too difficult," he said abruptly. "Those arpeggios in the bass,--I
couldn't possibly play them."
She laid it aside obediently.
"Well, this?"
"Yes. Let us try that."
She moved nearer to him, to miss the reflection of the candles on the
paper, and put her hands behind her back. She cleared her throat. He
knew she was nervous, but he had no such feeling himself.
"Ready?" he asked, glancing round and up into her face. She smiled
timidly, flushing, and then nodded.
"No," she exclaimed the next second, as he boldly struck the first
chord. "I don't think I'll sing. I can't."
"Oh, yes, you will--yes, you will."
"Very well." She resigned herself.
The first few notes were tremulous, but quickly she gained courage. The
song was a mediocre drawing-room ballad, and she did not sing with much
expression, but to Richard's ear her weak contralto floated out above
the accompaniment with a rich, passionate quality full of intimate
meanings. When his own part of the performance was not too exacting, he
watched from the corner of his eye the rise and fall of her breast, and
thought of Keats's sonnet; and then he suddenly quaked in fear that all
this happiness might crumble at the touch of some adverse fate.
"I suppose you call that a poor song," she said when it was finished.
"I liked it very much."
"You did? I am so fond of it, and I'm glad you like it. Shall we try
another?" She offered the suggestion with a gentle diffidence which
made Richard desire to abase himself before her, to ask what in the
name of heaven she meant by looking to him as an authority, a person
whose will was to be consulted and whose humours were law.
Again she put her hands behind her back, cleared her throat, and began
to sing.... He had glimpses of mystic, emotional deeps in her spirit
hitherto unsuspected.
* * * * *
Lottie came in with a lamp.
"You would like supper?" Adeline said. "Lottie, let us have supper at
once."
Richard remembered that when Mr. Aked was alive, Adeline had been
accustomed to go into the kitchen and attend to the meals herself;
but evidently this arrangement was now altered. She extinguished the
candles on the piano, and took the easy-chair with a question about
Schubert. Supper was to be served without the aid of the mistress of
the house. She had been training Lottie,--that was clear. He looked
round. The furniture was unchanged, but everything had an unwonted air
of comfort and neatness, and Adeline's beautiful dress scarcely seemed
out of keeping with the general aspect of the room. He gathered that
she had social aspirations. He had social aspirations himself. His
fancy delighted to busy itself with fine clothes, fine furniture, fine
food, and fine manners. That his own manners had remained inelegant
was due to the fact that the tireless effort and vigilance which any
amelioration of their original crudity would have necessitated, were
beyond his tenacity of purpose.
The supper was trimly laid on a very white tablecloth, and chairs were
drawn up. Lottie stood in the background for a few moments; Adeline
called her for some trifling service, and then dismissed her.
"Won't you have some whisky? I know men always like whisky at night."
She touched a bell on the table.
"The whisky, Lottie--you forgot it."
Richard was almost awed by her demeanour. Where could she have learnt
it? He felt not unlike a bumpkin, and secretly determined to live up to
the standard of deportment which she had set.
"You may smoke," she said, when Lottie had cleared the table after
supper; "I like it. Here are some cigarettes--'Three Castles'--will
they do?" Laughing, she produced a box from the sideboard, and handed
it to him. He went to the sofa, and she stood with one elbow resting on
the mantelpiece.
"About going to the theatre--" she began.
"May I take you? Let us go to the Comedy."
"And you will book seats, the dress circle?"
"Yes. What night?"
"Let us say Friday.... And now you may read me those documents."
When that business was transacted, Richard felt somehow that he must
depart, and began to take his leave. Adeline stood erect, facing him in
front of the mantelpiece.
"Next time you come, you will bring those Schubert songs, will you not?"
Then she rang the bell, shook hands, and sat down. He went out; Lottie
was waiting in the passage with his hat and stick.