Landi was growing rather anxious about his favourite, for it was quite
obvious to him that she was daily becoming more and more under the
spell. Curious that the first time she should have found the courage to
refuse, and that now, after three years' absence and with nothing to
complain of particularly on the subject of her husband, she should now
be so carried away by this love.
She had developed, no doubt. She was touched also, deeply moved at the
long fidelity Aylmer had shown. He was now no longer an impulsive
admirer, but a devotee. Even that, however, would not have induced her
to think of making such a break in her life if it hadn't been for the
war. Yes, Sir Tito put it all down to the war. It had an exciting,
thrilling effect on people. It made them reckless. When a woman knows
that the man she loves has risked his life, and is only too anxious to
risk it again--well, it's natural that she should feel she is also
willing to risk something. Valour has always been rewarded by beauty.
And then her great sense of responsibility, her conscientiousness about
Bruce--no wonder that had been undermined by his own weak conduct. How
could Edith help feeling a slight contempt for a husband who not only
wouldn't take any chances while he was still within the age, but
positively imagined himself ill. True, Bruce had always been a _malade
imaginaire_; like many others with the same weakness, his
valetudinarianism had been terribly increased by the anxiety and worry
of the war. But there was not much sympathy about for it just now. While
so much real suffering was going on, imaginary ills were ignored,
despised or forgotten.
Bruce hated the war; but he didn't hate it for the sake of other people
so much as for his own. The interest that the world took in it
positively bored him--absurd as it seems to say so, Edith was convinced
that he was positively jealous of the general interest in it! He had
great fear of losing his money, a great terror of Zeppelins; he gave way
to his nerves instead of trying to control them. Edith knew his greatest
wish would have been, had it been possible, to get right away from
everything and go and live in Spain or America, or somewhere where he
could hear no more about the war. Such a point of view might be
understood in the case, say, of a great poet, a great artist, a man of
genius, without any feeling of patriotism, or even a man beyond the age;
but Bruce--he was the most ordinary and average of human beings, the
most commonplace Englishman of thirty-seven who had ever been born; that
Bruce should feel like that did seem to Edith a little--contemptible;
yet she was sorry for him, she knew he really suffered from insomnia and
nerves, though he looked a fine man and had always been regarded as a
fair sportsman. He had been fair at football and cricket, and could row
a bit, and was an enthusiastic golfist; still, Edith knew he would never
have made a soldier. Bruce wanted to be wrapped up in cotton wool,
petted, humoured, looked up to and generally spoilt.
* * * * *
But what Sir Tito felt most was the thought of his favourite, who had
forgiven her husband that escapade three years ago, now appearing in an
unfavourable light. She had been absolutely faithful to Bruce in every
way, under many temptations, and he knew she was still absolutely
faithful. Aylmer and Edith were neither of them the people for secret
meetings, for deception. It was not in her to _tromper_ her husband
while pretending to be a devoted wife, and it was equally unlike Aylmer
to be a false friend.
Landi was too much of a man of the world to have been particularly
shocked, even if he had known they had both deceived Bruce. Privately,
for Edith's own sake he almost wished they had. He hated scandal to
touch her; he thought she would feel it more than she supposed. But,
after all, he reflected, had they begun in that way it would have been
sure to end in an elopement, with a man of Aylmer's spirit and
determination. Aylmer, besides, was far too exclusive in his affections,
far too jealous, ever to be able to endure to see Edith under Bruce's
thumb, ordered about, trying to please him; and indeed Landi was most
anxious that they should not be alone too much, in case, now that Edith
cared for him so much, his feelings would carry him away.... Yes, if it
once went too far the elopement was a certainty.
Would the world blame her so very much? That Bruce would let her take
the children Landi had no doubt. He would never stand the bother of
them; he wouldn't desire the responsibility; his pride might be a little
hurt, but on the whole Sir Tito shrewdly suspected, as did Edith
herself, that there would be a certain feeling of relief. Bruce had
become such an egotist that, though he would miss Edith's devotion, he
wouldn't grudge her the care of the children. Aylmer had pledged her his
faith, his whole future; undoubtedly he would marry her and take the
children as his own; still, Edith would bear the brunt before the world.
This Sir Tito did not fancy at all, and instinctively he began to watch
Bruce. He felt very doubtful of him. The man who had flirted with the
governess, who had eloped with the art student--was it at all likely
that he was utterly faithful to Edith now? It was most unlikely. And
Edith's old friend hoped that things would be adjusted in fairness
to her.
He knew she would be happy with Aylmer. Why should she not at
thirty-five begin a new life with the man she really cared for--a
splendid fellow, a man with a fine character, with all his faults, who
felt the claims of others, who had brains, pluck, and a sense of honour?
But Aylmer was going out again to the front. Until he returned again,
nothing should be done. They should be patient.