As the summer glided by, in a succession of golden, cloudless days, Owen
began to ask himself, rather drearily, whether his marriage was going to
turn out a success or an irretrievable failure.
When once the novelty of Toni's companionship had worn off, when he had
grown used to her pretty, childish ways, accustomed to the sense of
youth and light-hearted joy which she diffused about the old house, he
began to find, to his dismay, that these were not all the attributes a
man looked for in the woman he had made his wife.
He had never expected to find Toni clever in an intellectual sense; but
neither had he deemed her quite so shallow as she was proving herself to
be. She seemed absolutely incapable of making any mental effort; the
world of art and literature was a closed book to her, and, what was
still more disappointing, she cared nothing for any of the social or
political questions of the day, and took absolutely no interest in the
contemporary life of the world about her.
Reading she disliked. Music appealed to her, for Toni was emotional,
with the quick, facile emotionalism of the South; but she was no
musician herself, and the grand piano in the drawing-room was silent
through these sunshiny days. She had rather a talent for housekeeping,
and in a smaller establishment would doubtless have been a success; but
at Greenriver there was little for her to do, and she knew quite well
that the housekeeper resented any interference with her particular
province. Toni's household duties, therefore, were confined to the
arrangement of the flowers and the care of her husband's desk--a labour
of love which she performed with so much good will that Owen felt it
would be churlish to find fault with any inconvenience arising
therefrom.
Owen often wondered how his wife managed to fill the days which must be
so terribly empty. He himself was working harder than usual, since
beside the review he was contributing articles, by invitation, to
several well-known journals; and he often worked till late into the
night; but Toni had no work, no hobbies, nothing with which to fill the
long, sunny hours.
She did not complain. Indeed, she seemed happy enough in her idleness;
and by this time she knew a good many people in the neighbourhood,
though she had not made many friends.
At the Vicarage she was not looked upon with much favour, owing to an
unfortunate conversation with the Vicar's wife, when in response to
various leading questions Toni had shown a lamentable ignorance of the
great gulf which yawns between Church and Chapel--a quite conceivable
ignorance on the part of the London tradesman's niece, who had attended
Chapel with her aunt and uncle on Sunday evenings as cheerfully as she
joined in the more attractive service in the Church which the genteel
Fanny generally patronized on Sunday mornings.
When, further, Toni innocently admitted that, although baptized into the
Church of England, she had usually attended the Roman Catholic Church
and Sunday School during her Italian childhood, the wife of the Vicar
was appalled; and ever afterwards she spoke of Mrs. Rose as unsound in
her views, a condemnation which in the somewhat old-fashioned
neighbourhood carried full weight.
Lady Martin also strongly disapproved of the young mistress of
Greenriver, though probably only she herself and her spinster daughter
could have adduced any reason for their dislike of Toni and all her
works.
The story of the shrimps had long since amused Lady Martin's large
circle of acquaintances; and although no one had ventured to breathe a
word before either Owen Rose or his wife, it was hardly surprising that
Toni came to be considered rather amusingly unsophisticated; so that the
slightest _gaucherie_ into which the unconscious Toni was betrayed
during those first weeks of her introduction into the society of the
district was eagerly noted and joyfully magnified in a dozen
drawing-rooms.
There was the laughable story of the Roses' late arrival at an important
dinner-party, and Mrs. Rose's ingenuous explanation to her rather
irascible host that she had torn her frock at the last moment while
playing with her dog, and had been obliged to change it for another--and
this to an elderly man who "liked dogs in their proper place," by which
statement one may measure the depth of his liking very accurately.
There was the occasion on which Mrs. Rose, being pressed by a
mischievous fellow-guest, had accepted a cigarette under the impression
the other ladies were about to do likewise--an impression quickly
dispelled by the stony glare of her hostess and the ominous whispers of
the other women.
The hostess, indeed, had uttered one short, biting comment which had
reduced Toni, already overwhelmed by the magnitude of her offence,
almost to tears; but though it is only fair to say that her tempter
apologized most handsomely, and was her firm friend and defender ever
afterwards, the description of Mrs. Rose as a half-foreign and
wholly-Bohemian young woman, of cigarette-smoking tendencies, was duly
retailed at several dinner-tables during the following weeks.
At first Toni took her social failures very much to heart; but Owen, who
was no snob, reassured her valiantly; and since Toni was only too
anxious to be comforted she did her best to dismiss these unpleasant
experiences from her mind.
Presently, indeed, she found two congenial spirits. The doctor's pretty
old house, known locally as Cherry Orchard, harboured two lively and
athletic young women who were only too pleased to be friends with the
merry and vivacious Toni. They were honest, unintellectual girls,
enthusiastic over all sports and excelling in most; and they took Toni
to their sporting hearts and promised to introduce her to the local
tennis and golf clubs without loss of time.
On her part, Toni felt at ease with them immediately, and when once she
had learned to distinguish between Molly and Cynthia--a distinction made
the more difficult owing to their peculiar habit of addressing each
other as Toby--she thoroughly enjoyed their companionship.
In the matter of tennis, Toni, who had only played occasionally at a
third-rate suburban club, was at first no match for them; but the two
Tobies, who were the essence of good nature, coached her so well and so
vigorously that before long she was a capital player; and when once Toni
realized that Owen wished her to be as hospitable as she could possibly
desire to be, she rejoiced in giving little impromptu tea-parties on the
lawn, under the shade of one of the noble elms which were a feature of
Greenriver.
Sometimes she took the girls motoring; and between tennis, golf, river
picnics and motor excursions, the days simply flew for Toni; so that at
last even Owen began to realize that he need not pity her, since she was
living a life which exactly suited her.
Once he realized this, his pity was directed towards himself.
This was not the sort of married life he had contemplated; and although
he was too just to blame his wife for her lack of sympathy with his aims
and ideals, he began to wish that Toni would sometimes lay aside her
frivolity and exchange her light and ceaseless chatter about trifling
matters for a slightly more profitable style of conversation.
Owen had called upon James Herrick at his bungalow, the Hope House, to
thank him for rescuing Toni; and the other man had duly returned his
call; but although Owen gave Herrick a very cordial general invitation
to Greenriver the two men had not much in common save a mutual love of
good books.
Owen thought Herrick peculiar, eccentric in his ways. It seemed odd for
a man to live alone as he lived, doing his own work except for the
occasional aid of a woman whom he called Mrs. Swastika. If he had had
any particular work or hobby which necessitated solitude Owen could have
understood it; but Herrick seemed to spend his days as idly, as
aimlessly, as Toni herself.
He went on the river a good deal, took long walks with his dog, but
beyond that he seemed to do nothing but lounge in a chair on the lawn,
shabbily clad, with a pipe between his lips and a book, generally
unopened, on his knee. His political views seemed to Owen to be as vague
as were Toni's; and he had an irritating habit of setting aside any
recognized standard of perfection as though the world's seal of approval
meant less than nothing.
He would demolish a given institution in a few lazy words, but he never
attempted to set up another in its place. He seemed content to put his
finger on the weak spot in any system without troubling to point out a
remedy; and to Owen, whose eager mind was ever ready to remedy abuses,
this attitude of half-pitying, half-amused toleration was vaguely
irritating.
Herrick seemed to view life, indeed, with a kind of large detachment, as
though from the height of some soaring pinnacle one might watch, with
only half-awakened interest, the doings of the dwellers on the plain;
and Owen, who liked to be in the midst of things, to add his quota to
the world's doings, found in this attitude of mind a pose, a
half-insolent pretence at superiority, which was galling.
Without saying a disparaging word Herrick appeared to belittle the
efforts made by Owen and his fellows to enlighten the world; and since
everyone knows that the criticism of a non-worker is a hundred times
more irritating than that of a co-operator, Owen may be excused for
finding Herrick uncongenial.
And yet by nature Herrick was a kindly, cheery soul enough, who had been
fired in his youth by an excessive love for humanity--for all the
humanities. But shortly after his marriage he had faced a tremendous
crash; and though, when the first shock was over, he had pulled himself
together, and gathered up, as best he might, the fragments of his life,
he had lost for ever that eager, humane, half-Quixotic spirit which had
made his young manhood pass like a joyous race.
* * * * *
As time went on Owen got into the habit of spending most of his days in
town, where he found it easier to work than at home. He begged Toni to
tell him honestly whether she found herself lonely in his absence, but
Toni assured him truthfully that she was perfectly happy sitting in her
beautiful old garden or taking lunch and tea on the river, either alone,
or in the company of her friends, Molly and Cynthia Peach. Punting alone
was forbidden, but seeing Toni's disappointment, her husband had
purchased for her a stout little dinghy in which she was perfectly safe,
and this same craft was a source of delight to its owner.
At first Owen had asked Toni to come up to town with him, to do some
shopping or go to a _matinée_, but London in summer was no novelty to
Toni, and she infinitely preferred to stay at Willowhurst and amuse
herself in her own way.
One night it chanced that Owen arrived home much earlier than usual. The
weather had broken a day or two previously, and the air was heavy with
thunder. Consequently Owen's head ached furiously, with one of the
neuralgic headaches which since his accident he had good cause to dread;
and the fact that he had an important piece of work to finish without
loss of time fretted his nerves to racking-point.
London was particularly hot and malodorous to-day; and it was with a
sigh of relief that Owen steered his car away from the stuffy streets
towards the green and fragrant valley of the Thames. There was a coppery
glow in the sky which presaged a storm, and puffs of hot air blew
gustily into his face; but it would be fresher at Willowhurst, and if
the storm should break there would be a delightful hour or two
afterwards, when the earth, cooled by the rain, would send up its
incense of sweet odours into the summer darkness, and the evening breeze
would bring refreshment to weary, throbbing brows.
True, the work must be done, if human endurance could do it; and with a
sigh of relief Owen remembered that Toni would be disengaged and able to
help him in some way, if only by typing the manuscript when he had
brought it to a close. There was also a little research work to be done,
one or two quotations to be verified, a few short extracts to be
made--work which came well within the scope of Toni's powers; and he
knew that she would be only too pleased to give him what help she could.
But he had reckoned without his host. On leaving home in the morning he
had told his wife he would probably be late in returning, and had
apologized for leaving her so long alone. So far from feeling aggrieved
at his absence, however, Toni seized the opportunity of inviting Mollie
and Cynthia over for tennis; and the girls accepted blithely, bringing
over with them a young cousin, just through Sandhurst, who was an adept
at the game.
Toni welcomed the boy happily; and the four young people played tennis
vigorously, with an interval for tea, until the elder Toby began
regretfully to talk of going home.
There were already rumblings of thunder, and the sky behind the big
cedar trees looked strangely lurid; and Toni, who hated a storm, was
loth to let them go.
An idea striking her, she begged them all to stay and have a late supper
with her; after which Mr. Cooper and Mollie, being musical, might give
the others an impromptu concert--a plan to which, after a little decent
hesitation, the trio assented gaily.
Toni, pleased that she was not to be left alone to face the storm, took
them indoors to get tidy, and then danced off to the kitchen to
interview the cook.
Mrs. Blades, lighting the Ten Little Ladies earlier than usual on
account of the gloom, was inclined to look askance at the invasion; but
Martha and Maggie--the latter filling the place of Kate, enjoying her
"evening off"--fell into the plan with alacrity; and while the former
brought out the cold chickens and the galantine intended for the
morrow's lunch, Maggie bustled round the oval table laying extra places
and making such preparations as commended themselves to her ever-fertile
mind.
Owing to the stormy dusk it was necessary to light the candles on the
supper-table, where bowls of great crimson roses made pools of colour on
the white cloth; and very attractive the table looked to the four hungry
people who presently sat down to eat and chatter.
There was plenty of gay laughter over the meal. Jokes were bandied
hither and thither, shocking puns were made and greeted with shrieks of
mirth, and if the conversation was eminently frivolous, at least it was
good-humoured, hearty, wholesome frivolity.
Yet when Owen reached home in his car and entered the hall with rather a
weary step, the somewhat noisy merriment which greeted him brought a
frown to his forehead.
He questioned Andrews as to what was going on, and the young butler
informed him, with a complacency which Owen in his present mood found
irritating, that Mrs. Rose was entertaining the two Misses Peach and a
gentleman to supper.
"Oh!" Owen paused in his walk towards the dining-room door. "In that
case, I think I will just have a whisky and soda in the library--and a
few sandwiches."
"Very good, sir," the man was beginning, when there was a peal of
laughter from behind the closed door; and the next moment, Toni came
flying out of the room, holding aloft a large bunch of grapes, while Mr.
Cooper pursued her hotly, making grabs at the fruit as he did so.
Unable to stop herself, Toni cannoned violently into her husband, and
the unfortunate youth from Sandhurst, brought to an unexpected halt,
found himself face to face with an unknown man whose expression was not
exactly inviting.
"Owen, is it you? How you startled me!" Toni lifted two sparkling eyes
to her husband's face. "When did you come? You said you wouldn't be home
till after ten!"
"I've just arrived," he said, striving hard to keep any hint of
annoyance out of his tone. "You were making such a noise you didn't hear
the car! Well, Toni, won't you introduce me to your friend?"
On being presented, Mr. Cooper, held out his hand rather awkwardly.
"I'm afraid we were making an awful din," he said, apologetically. "We
got ragging over the dessert and Mrs. Rose stole my grapes----?"
"Oh, you fibber!" Toni was not going to stand that. "They were mine, and
you took them off my plate when I wasn't looking!"
"I'm afraid they aren't much good to anyone now," said Owen with a
smile. "They are pretty well squashed, Toni, and I fancy your frock's
got the worst of the encounter!"
"Well, it's only my tennis-frock," said Toni, her first involuntary
qualms driven away by the friendly sound in Owen's voice. "We'll go back
and finish now. You'll come, Owen? I'll tell Maggie to bring back the
food."
"No, don't bother." He spoke quietly. "I'll go and brush off some of the
London dust while you and your friends finish your supper. I'll have a
bite later on. Don't worry about me." He turned to the boy. "I'm afraid
we're in for a storm. I felt a few drops as I came up the drive."
Somewhat reluctantly, Toni left her husband and returned to the
dining-room, where the Tobies anxiously awaited her coming. They had
practically finished their meal, and a few moments later rose from the
table and went into the drawing-room, where Toni presently excused
herself and went in search of her husband.
She found him in the library, where Andrew had just brought him a
slender repast; and even the unobservant Toni was struck by the look of
fatigue which brooded over his face as he sat poring over some
closely-written sheets.
"Owen, I'm sure you ought not to do that now. Do leave it till to-morrow
and come and listen to some music in the drawing-room instead."
She laid one small hand on the sheets as though to wrest them from his
grasp; but he lifted her fingers aside with a rather weary gesture.
"No, dear, I can't leave this." His voice was flat and toneless. "I've
promised to send it off the first thing to-morrow morning, and there's a
lot to be done yet."
"But I'm sure you're ill! Have you got neuralgia again?"
"A little--oh, it's nothing, only the thunder in the air. You might tell
Andrews to bring me some phenacetin, will you, dear? And now, my child,
run away to your guests--they'll think it queer if you leave them alone
much longer."
Toni turned obediently to the door, but she was not yet easy in her
mind.
"Owen, are you sure there is nothing I can do?"
"Nothing, thank you, dear. I believe the storm is passing after all."
He spoke the truth, for with a few more mutterings the thunder died away
in the distance; and though the promised coolness did not come, both
Owen and Toni were relieved by the lightening atmosphere--Toni because
she was an arrant coward where thunderstorms were concerned; Owen
because he felt that the clash of the elements would render the
neuralgic pains in his head almost unbearable.
For long after Toni, relieved, had gone back to her visitors he sat
doing nothing, lacking the energy to attack his task. Now and then he
heard a few notes on the piano, and once he opened the door to listen to
the elder Miss Peach's rendering of a song he knew, for Mollie Peach had
a sweet, limpid soprano voice which no amount of chatter and noisy
laughter could destroy.
When, however, the young man from Sandhurst started to shout a comic
song, Owen shut the door hastily and wished the boy at Jericho.
He began to think the visitors would never go. At first he had hoped
that their departure would set Toni free to help him after all; but when
the clock in the hall chimed the half hour after ten, and still the
music and laughter continued, he knew it was useless to expect any aid
to-night.
At eleven the party broke up. The bicycles were brought round, and the
four went gaily out of the front door to light lamps and see to
suspiciously slack tyres.
Owen had charged Toni with polite messages to the two girls; and they,
being somewhat in awe of a real live writer, were not sorry to avoid a
meeting with their host; but Toni seemed so loth to part with them that
she detained them all on the steps, chattering eagerly while the stars
winked down out of the clearing sky and the owls hooted in melancholy
fashion from the tops of the tall trees behind the house.
Finally the last farewells were said, the last appointments made; and
Toni, yawning, turned to Andrews and bade him lock up safely.
She was still yawning when she came into the library a moment later; and
in the lamplight Owen caught a glimpse of her little red mouth gaping
behind her hand as she came up to the table.
"How sleepy I am!" Indeed her eyes were bright, like those of a sleepy
child. "Aren't you coming, Owen? It's ever so late."
"Why didn't you pack your friends off a little earlier then?"
"Oh, I didn't want them to go." She yawned childishly once more.
"Owen"--suddenly a thought struck her--"you're not cross, are you? You
didn't mind me having them here? You know, I thought it was going to be
a storm----"
"Of course I didn't mind," he said, disarmed by her sudden appeal. "It
was my fault for turning up unexpectedly. But now, Toni, supposing you
run away to bed? I really must finish this work, and it's getting late."
She agreed, docilely, and kissing him lightly, ran away to bed as she
was commanded, falling asleep as soon as she was safely there.
But Owen sat late in the library--sat, indeed, till the short summer
night began to recede with stealthy, sliding footsteps before the
victorious onrush of the dawn; and in those quiet, lamp-lit hours he
asked himself despairingly why he had been in such haste to marry.
One consolation lay in the fact that Toni herself had not the slightest
idea that her marriage was anything but a success. She did not know that
her idleness, her incessant chatter about trivial things, her constant
interruptions, her unauthorized intrusions into the privacy of his
working hours, worried him almost beyond measure.
Bubbling over with youth and joy, she had no eyes for the look of
strain, of weariness on another's face; and to her it seemed quite right
that her husband should write and study while she danced through the
summer hours as she would.
He liked his work, she supposed; and in Toni's world it was the usual
thing for the men to work to support their wives. But that the wives had
equal duties, that it was theirs to share the burdens of the men's
spiritual and mental labour, she had, as yet, no idea.
"At least," said Owen wearily to himself, as he rose stiffly from his
chair and moved to the oriel window to watch the marvel of the dawn, "at
least I have made her happy; and as for me, it's my own mistake, and I
must bear the consequences!"
With which philosophical reflection he extinguished the lamp and went
slowly upstairs to bed.