AN AUTHORITY ON THE LAW OF MARRIAGE
The next day Mr Hugh Morice fulfilled his threat--he paid his
ceremonial call at Exham Park. The word "ceremonial" is used advisedly,
since nothing could have been more formal and decorous than his
demeanour throughout.
Miss Arnott and Mrs Plummer happened to be entertaining four or five
people that afternoon, among them a Mr Pyecroft, a curate attached to
one of Miss Arnott's three livings. He was favouring that lady with a
graphic account of the difficulties encountered in endeavouring, in a
country place, to arouse interest on any subject whatever, and was
illustrating the position by describing the disappointments he had met
with in the course of an attempt he had made to organise a series of
local entertainments in aid of a new church organ, when his listener
suddenly became conscious that a person had just entered the room, who,
if she could believe her eyes, was none other than the unspeakable
individual of the previous day. Not only was it unmistakably he, but he
was actually--with an air of complete self-possession--marching
straight across the room towards her. When he stood in front of her, he
bowed and said,--
"Permit me, Miss Arnott, to introduce myself to you. I am Hugh Morice,
of Oak Dene, which, as you are probably aware, adjoins Exham Park. I
only arrived two days ago, and, so soon as I learned that I was
honoured by having you as a neighbour, I ventured to lose no time
in--with your permission--making myself known to you."
Miss Arnott looked at him with an expression on her countenance which
was hardly encouraging. His own assurance was so perfect that it
deprived her, for the moment, of her presence of mind. He wore a suit
of dark blue serge, which made him seem huger even than he had done the
day before. In the presence of Mr Pyecroft, and of the other people,
she could scarcely assail this smiling giant, and remind him,
pointedly, that she had forbidden him to call. Some sort of explanation
would have to be forthcoming, and it was exactly an explanation which
she desired to avoid. Observing that she seemed tongue-tied, the
visitor continued,--
"I have been so long a wanderer among savages that I have almost
forgotten the teachings of my guide to good manners. I am quite
unaware, for example, what, as regards calling, is the correct
etiquette on an occasion when an unmarried man finds himself the
next-door neighbour to an unmarried lady. As I could hardly expect you
to call upon me I dared to take the initiative. What I feared most was
that I might not find you in."
The invitation was so obvious that the lady at once accepted it.
"It is only by the merest accident that you have done so."
Mr Morice was equal to the occasion. "I fancy, Miss Arnott, that for
some of the happiest hours of our lives we are indebted to accidents.
Ah, Pyecroft, so you have not deserted us."
Mr Morice shook hands with Mr Pyecroft--Miss Arnott thought they looked
a most incongruous couple--with an air of old comradeship, and
presently was exchanging greetings with others of those present with a
degree of heartiness which, to his hostess, made it seem impossible
that she should have him shown the door. When all the other visitors
had gone--including the unspeakable man--she found, to her amazement,
that he had made a most favourable impression on Mrs Plummer. That lady
began almost as soon as his back was turned.
"What a delightful person Mr Morice is." Miss Arnott was so taken by
surprise that she could do nothing but stare. Mrs Plummer went placidly
on, "It is nice to be able just to look at him, the mere sight of him's
a satisfaction. To a little woman the idea of a man of his size is such
a comfort."
The young lady's manner was not effusive.
"We're not all of us fond of monstrosities."
"Monstrosities! my dear! He's not a monstrosity, he's a perfect figure
of a man, magnificently proportioned. You must admit that."
"I don't."
"And then his manners are so charming."
"They never struck me like that."
"No? I suppose one judges people as one finds them. I know he was
particularly nice to me. By the way, that dreadful person you spoke of
yesterday, you might tell me what his name is, so that I might be on my
guard against him, should our paths happen to cross."
"I repeat what I have already told you that, so far as I am concerned,
he has no name; and anyhow, you wouldn't recognise him from my
description if you did meet."
It was odd, considering how much Miss Arnott disliked Mr Morice, how
frequently he was destined to come, at anyrate, within her line of
vision. And yet, perhaps, it was natural--because, although their
houses were a couple of miles apart, their estates joined--they were
neighbours. And then Miss Arnott was inclined to suspect that the
gentleman went out of his way to bring about a meeting. Situated as
they were, it was not a difficult thing to do.
To a certain extent, the lady had accepted the position. That is, she
had allowed the acquaintance to continue; being, indeed, more than half
disposed to fear that she might not find it easy to refuse to know him
altogether. But she had been careful to avoid any reference to that
curious first encounter. He, on his part, had shown no disposition to
allude to it. So there grew up between them a sort of casual intimacy.
They saw each other often. When he spoke to her she spoke to him,
though never at any greater length than, as it seemed to her, she could
help.
With the lessons she had received from the Earl of Peckham still fresh
in her mind she bought herself a motor car; almost simultaneously with
its appearance on the scene her relations with Hugh Morice began to be
on a friendlier footing. She was sitting in it one day, talking to the
lodge-keeper, when Mr Morice came striding by. At sight of it he at
once approached.
"That's a strange beast."
She had become somewhat accustomed to his odd tricks of speech, and
merely smiled a wintry smile.
"You think so?"
"It's not only a strange, it's a wonderful beast, since it holds in its
hands no small portion of the future history of the world."
"Are you referring to this particular machine?"
"I am referring to all the machines of which that one's a type. They're
going to repeat the performance of Puffing' Billy--produce a
revolution. I wish you'd give me a ride."
"I was just thinking of going in."
"Put off going in for a few minutes--take me for a run."
She looked at the chauffeur, who was quick to take the hint. Presently
they were bowling along between the hedgerows, she conscious that his
eyes were paying more attention to her than she quite relished. A fact
of which his words immediately gave evidence.
"You like it. This feeling of flight through the air, which you can
command by touching a handle, supplies you with an evanescent interest
in life which, in ordinary, everyday existence you find lacking."
"What do you mean?"
"Is it necessary that I should tell you? Do you wish me to?"
"Do you mean that, as a general rule, I don't take an interest in
things?"
"Do you? At your age, in your position, you ought to take an interest
in everything. But the impression you convey to my mind is that you
don't, that you take an interest in nothing. You try to, sometimes,
pretty hard. But you never quite succeed. I don't know why. You remind
me, in some odd way, of the impersonal attitude of a spectator who
looks on at something with which he never expects to have any personal
concern."
"I don't know what you're talking about, I don't believe you do either.
You say the strangest things."
"You don't find them strange, you understand them better than I do. I
am many years older than you--ye Goths, how many! I am tolerably
_blase_, as befits my age. But you, you are tired--mortally tired--of
everything already. I've not yet reached that stage. You don't know
what keenness means; thank goodness there are still a good many things
which I am keen about. Just as something turns up for which you're on
the point of really caring, a shadow steps from the back of your mind
to the front, and stops you. I don't know what it is, but I know it's
there."
"I'm going back."
As this man spoke something tugged at her heartstrings which filled her
with a sort of terror. If he was beginning to regard her attitude
towards life--of which she herself was only too hideously conscious--as
a problem, the solution of which he had set himself to find out, what
might the consequences not be? Then she could not stop to think. She
swung the car round towards home. As if in obedience to her unspoken
hint he changed the subject, speaking with that calm assumption of
authority which galled her the more because she found herself so
frequently compelled to submission.
"You must teach me to drive this machine of yours."
"My mechanician will be able to do that better than I can, I am myself
only a tyro."
"Thank you, I prefer that you should teach me. Which handle do you move
to stop?" She showed him. "And which to start?" She showed him again.
Before they parted, she had put him, however unwillingly, through quite
a small course of elementary instruction. In consequence of which
she had a bad quarter of an hour, when, later, she was in her own
sitting-room, alone.
"He frightens me! He makes me do things I don't want to do; and
then--he seems to know me better than I know myself. Is it so obvious
that I find it difficult to take a real interest in things? or has he a
preternaturally keen sense of perception? Either way it isn't nice for
me. It's true enough; nothing does interest me. How should it? What
does money, and all that matter; when there's that--shadow--in the
prison, coming closer to me, day by day? I believe that being where I
am--Miss Arnott of Exham Park--makes it worse, because if it weren't
for the shadow, it would be so different--so different!"
That night she dreamed of Hugh Morice. She and he were on the motor car
together, flying through the sunshine, on and on and on, happy as the
day was bright, and the road was fair. Suddenly the sun became
obscured, all the world was dark; they were approaching a chasm.
Although it was so dark she knew that it was there. In a wild frenzy of
fear she tried to stop the car, to find, all at once, that it had no
brake. She made to leap out on to the road, but Mr Morice seized her
round the waist and held her. In another moment they were dashing over
the edge of an abyss, into the nameless horrors which lay below.
It was not a pleasant dream, it did not leave an agreeable impression
on her mind after she was awake. But dreams are only dreams. Sensible
people pay no heed to them. Miss Arnott proved herself to be sensible
at least in that respect. She did not, ever afterwards, refuse him a
seat in her car, because she had once, in a nightmare, come to grief in
his society. On the contrary, she not only took him for other drives,
but--imitating her own experience with the Earl of Peckham, when, after
a while--it was a very little while--he had attained to a certain
degree of proficiency, she suffered him to drive her. And, as she had
done, he liked driving so much that, before long, he also had an
automobile of his own.
Then a new phase of the affair commenced. It was, of course, necessary
that--with a view of extending her experience, and increasing her
knowledge of motor cars--she should try her hand at driving his. She
tried her hand, a first and a second time, perhaps a third. She
admitted that his car was not a bad one. It had its points--but slight
vibration, little noise, scarcely any smell. It ran sweetly, was a good
climber, easy to steer. Certainly a capital car. So much she was ready
to allow. But, at the same time, she could not but express her opinion
that, on the whole, hers was a better one. There they joined issue. At
first, Mr Morice was disposed to doubt, he was inclined to think that
perhaps, for certain reasons, the lady's car might be a shade the
superior. But, by degrees, as he became more accustomed to his new
possession, he changed his mind. He was moved to state his conviction
that, as a matter of fact, the superiority lay with his own car.
Whereupon both parties proceeded to demonstrate with which of the
pair the palm of merit really lay. They ran all sorts of trials
together--trials which sometimes resulted in extremely warm arguments;
and by which, somehow, very little was proved. At anyrate, each party
was always ready to discount the value of the conclusion at which the
other had arrived.
One fact was noticeable--as evidence of the keen spirit of emulation.
Wherever one car was the other was nearly sure to be somewhere near at
hand.
Mrs Plummer, who had a gift of silence, said little. But one remark she
made did strike Miss Arnott as peculiar.
"Mr Morice doesn't seem to have so many friends, or even acquaintances,
as I should have expected in a man in his position."
"How do you know he hasn't?"
"I say he doesn't seem to have. He never has anyone at his own house,
and he never goes to anyone else's. He always seems to be alone."
Miss Arnott was still. Mrs Plummer had not accentuated it in the
slightest degree; yet the young lady wondered in what sense--in that
construction--she had used the word "alone."
One day, when she was in town, Miss Arnott did a singular thing. Having
deposited Mrs Plummer in a large drapery establishment, with peremptory
instructions to make certain considerable purchases, she went off in a
hansom by herself to an address in the Temple. Having arrived, she
perceived in the hall of the house she had entered a board, on which
were painted a number of names. Her glance rested on one--First floor,
Mr Whitcomb. Without hesitation she ascended to the first floor, until
she found herself confronted by a door on which that name appeared in
black letters. She knocked; the door was opened by a very young
gentleman.
"Can I see Mr Whitcomb?" she inquired.
"What name? Have you an appointment?"
"I have not an appointment, and my name is of no consequence. I wish to
see Mr Whitcomb on very particular business."
The young gentleman looked at her askance, as if he was of
opinion--which he emphatically was--that she was not at all the sort of
person he was accustomed to see outside that door.
"Mr Whitcomb doesn't generally see people without an appointment,
especially if he doesn't know their names; but if you'll step inside,
I'll see if he's engaged."
She stepped inside to find herself in an apartment in which there were
several other young gentlemen, of somewhat riper years; one and all of
whom, she immediately became conscious, began to take the liveliest
interest in her. Soon there appeared a grey-haired man, who held a pair
of spectacles between the fingers of his right hand.
"May I ask what your name is? and what is the nature of the business on
which you wish to see Mr Whitcomb?"
"I have already explained that my name doesn't matter. And I can only
state my business to Mr Whitcomb himself." Then she added, as if struck
by the look of doubt in the grey-haired man's face, "Pray don't imagine
that I am here to beg for subscriptions to a charity or any nonsense of
that kind. I wish to see Mr Whitcomb about something very important."
The grey-headed man smiled faintly, apparently amused by something in
the caller's manner, or appearance. Departing whence he came he almost
immediately reappeared, and beckoned to her with his hand.
"Mr Whitcomb is very much engaged, but he will manage to spare you five
minutes."
"I daresay I sha'n't want to keep him longer."
She found herself in a spacious room, which was principally furnished,
as it seemed to her, with books. At a table, which was almost entirely
covered with books, both open and shut, stood a tall man, with
snow-white hair, who bowed to her as she entered.
"You wish to see me?"
"You are Mr Whitcomb?"
"That is my name. How can I serve you?"
She seated herself on the chair towards which he pointed. Each looked
at the other for some seconds, in silence. Then she spoke.
"I want you to tell me on what grounds a wife can obtain a divorce from
her husband."
Mr Whitcomb raised his eyebrows and smiled.
"I think, madam, that it may have been a solicitor you wanted. I,
unfortunately, am only a barrister. I fear you have made a mistake."
"I have not made a mistake; how have I made a mistake? I saw in a paper
the other day that you were the greatest living authority on the law of
marriage."
"It was very good of the paper to say so. Since I am indebted for your
presence here to so handsome a compliment, I will waive the point of
etiquette and inform you--of what you, surely, must be already
aware--that the grounds on which a divorce may be obtained are various."
"I know that; that isn't what I mean. What I specially want to know is
this--can a woman get a divorce from her husband because he gets sent
to prison?"
"Because he gets sent to prison? For doing what?"
"For--for swindling; because he's a scoundrel."
Mr Whitcomb's eyebrows went up again.
"The idea that a marriage may be dissolved because one of the parties
is guilty of felony, and is consequently sentenced to a term of
imprisonment, is a novel one to me."
"Not if a girl finds out that the man who has married her is a villain
and a thief? A thief, mind."
He shook his head.
"I find that that would be no ground for dissolution."
"Are you sure?"
"My dear young lady, you were good enough to say that some paper or
other credited me with a knowledge of the laws dealing with the subject
of marriage. I can assure you that on that point there is no doubt
whatever."
"Is that so?" The girl's lips were tightly compressed, her brows knit.
"Then there are no means whatever by which a wife can be rid of a
husband whom she discovers to be a rogue and a rascal?"
"Not merely because he is a rogue and a rascal; except by the act of
God."
"What do you mean by the act of God?"
"If, for example, he should die."
"If he should die? I see! There is no way by which she can be released
from him except by--death. Thank you, that is all I wanted to know."
She laid on his table what, to his surprise, he perceived to be a
twenty-pound note.
"My dear young lady, what is this?"
"That is your fee. I don't want to occupy your time or obtain
information from you for nothing."
"But you have done neither. Permit me to return you this. That is not
the way in which I do business; in this instance, the honour of having
been consulted by you is a sufficient payment. Before you go, however,
let me give a piece of really valuable advice. If you have a friend who
is in any matrimonial trouble, persuade her to see a respectable
solicitor at once, and to place the whole facts before him
unreservedly. He may be able to show her a way out of her difficulty
which would never have occurred to her."
He commented--inwardly--on his visitor, after her departure.
"That's either a very simple-minded young woman or a most unusual
character. Fancy her coming to me with such an inquiry! She has got
herself into some matrimonial mess, most probably, without the
cognisance of her friends. Unless I am mistaken she is the kind of
young woman who, if she has made up her mind to get out of it, will get
out of it; if not by fair means, then--though I hope not!--by foul."