'We're lunching with the Mitchells today,' said Edith.
'Oh yes. I remember. I'm looking forward to it,' graciously said Madame
Frabelle. 'It's a pity your husband can't come, isn't it? Ah, you
naughty girl, I don't believe you think so!' Madame Frabelle, archly
shook her finger at Edith.
'Eglantine, have you really seriously talked yourself into thinking that
Mr Mitchell is anything to me?'
'I don't say, dear,' said Madame Frabelle, sitting down comfortably, and
bringing out her knitting, 'that you yourself are aware of it. I don't
say that you're in love with him, but that he is devoted to you anyone
with half-an-eye can see. And some day,' she shook her head, 'some day
your interest in him may take you by surprise.'
'It is _your_ interest in him that surprises me,' said Edith. 'He's a
good friend, and we like him very much. But for anything else!--'
'If so, it's really rather wonderful,' mused Eglantine, 'that you've
never had a thought, even the merest dream, beyond your husband; that it
has never even occurred to you that anyone else might have suited your
temperament better.'
Edith dropped her book, and picked it up again. Her friend thought she
saw, whether through stooping or what not, an increase of colour in
her face.
'It isn't everyone,' continued Madame Frabelle, 'who would appreciate
your husband as you do. To me he is a very charming man. I can
understand his inspiring a feeling almost of motherly interest. I even
feel sometimes,' she laughed, 'as if it would be a pleasure to look
after him, take care of him. I think it would not have been a bad thing
for him to have married a woman a little older than himself. But you,
Edith, you're so young. You see, you might have made a mistake when you
married him. You were a mere girl, and I could imagine some of his ways
might irritate a very young woman.'
After a moment she went on: 'I suppose Bruce was very handsome when you
married him?'
'Yes, he was. But he hasn't altered much.'
'Yet, as I told you before, Edith, though I think you an ideal wife, you
don't give me the impression of being in love with him. I hope you don't
take this as an impertinence, my dear?'
'Not at all. And I'm not sure that I am.'
'Yet your mother-in-law told me the other day that you had been such a
marvellous wife to him. That you had even made sacrifices. You have
never had anything to forgive, surely?'
'Oh no, never,' hastily said Edith, fearing that Mrs Ottley was a little
inclined to be indiscreet.
'She told me that Bruce had been occasionally attracted--only very
slightly--by other women, but that you were the only person he really
cared for.'
'Oh, I doubt if he ever thinks much of anyone else,' said Edith.
* * * * *
A characteristic of the Mitchells' entertainments was that one always
met there the people they had met, even for the first time, at one's own
house. Here were the Conistons, and Landi, whom Edith was always
delighted to see.
It was a large and gay lunch. Edith was placed some distance from Mr
Mitchell. Of course there was also a novelty--some lion or other was
always at the Mitchells'. Today it consisted of a certain clergyman,
called the Rev. Byrne Fraser, of whom Mrs Mitchell and her circle were
making much. He was a handsome, weary-looking man of whom more was
supposed than could conveniently be said. His wife, who adored him,
admitted that though he was an excellent husband, he suffered from
rheumatism and religious doubts, which made him occasionally rather
trying. There had been some story about him--nobody knew what it was.
Madame Frabelle instantly took his side, and said she was sure he had
been ill-treated, though she knew nothing whatever about it. She was
placed next to him at table and began immediately on what she thought
was his special subject.
'I understand that you're very modern in your views,' she said, smiling.
'I!' he exclaimed in some surprise. 'Really you are quite mistaken. I
don't think I am at all.'
'Really? Oh, I'm so glad--I've such a worship myself for tradition. I'm
so thankful that you have, too.'
'I don't know that I have,' he said.
'It's true, then, what I heard--I felt it was the moment I looked at
you, Mr Fraser--I mean, that you're an atheist.'
'A _what_?' he exclaimed, turning pale with horror. 'Good heavens,
Madame, do you know what my profession is?'
He seemed utterly puzzled by her. She managed, all the same, somehow or
other to lure him into a conversation in which she _heartily_ took his
side. By the end of lunch they were getting on splendidly, though
neither of them knew what they were talking about.
And this was one of the curious characteristics of Madame Frabelle.
Nobody made so many gaffes, yet no-one got out of them so well. To use
the lawyer's phrase, she used so many words that she managed to engulf
her own and her interlocutor's ideas. No-one, perhaps, had ever talked
so much nonsense seriously as she did that day, but the Rev. Byrne
Fraser said she was a remarkable woman, who had read and thought deeply.
Also he was enchanted with her interest in him, as everybody always was.
Edith thought she had heard Mr Mitchell saying something to the others
that interested her. She managed to get near him when the gentlemen
joined them in the studio, as they called the large room where there was
a stage, a piano, a parquet floor, and every possible arrangement for
amusement. Madame Frabelle moved quickly away, supposing that Edith
wished to speak to him for his sake, whereas really it was in order to
have repeated something she thought she had heard at lunch.
'Did I hear you saying anything about your old friend, Aylmer Ross?' she
asked.
'Yes, indeed. Haven't you heard? The poor fellow has been wounded. He
was taken into hospital at once, fortunately, and he's getting better,
and is going to be brought home almost immediately, to the same old
house in Jermyn Street. I think his son is to meet him at the station
today. We must all go and see him. Capital chap, Aylmer. I always liked
him. He's travelled so much that--even before the war--I hadn't seen him
for three years.'
'Was the wound serious?' asked Edith, who had turned pale.
'They were anxious at first. Now he's out of danger. But, poor chap, I'm
afraid he won't be able to move for a good while. His leg is broken. I
hear he's got to be kept lying down two or three months.'
'Qu'est ce qu'il y a, Edith?' asked Landi, who joined her.
'I've just heard some bad news,' she said, 'but don't speak about it.'
She told him.
'Bien. Du calme, mon enfant; du calme!'
'But, I'm anxious, Landi.'
'Ca se voit!'
'Do you think--'
'Ce ne sera rien. It's the best thing that could happen to him. He'll be
all right.... I suppose you want to see him, Edith?'
'He may not wish to see me,' said Edith.
'Oh yes, he will. You were the first person he thought of,' answered
Landi. 'Why, my dear, you forget you treated him badly!'
'Then, if he'd treated _me_ badly he wouldn't care to see me again, you
mean?'
'C'est probable,' said Landi, selecting with care a very large cigar
from a box that was being handed round. 'Now, be quite tranquil. I shall
go and see him directly I leave here, and I'll let you hear every
detail. Will that do?'
'Thanks, dear Landi!... But even if he wishes to see me, ought I to
go?'
'That I don't know. But you will.'
He lighted the long cigar.