The questions about which a man is apt to, say that he alone can judge,
are usually exactly those questions in which his judgment is most
likely to be at fault, for they concern him very intimately--a truth
which he expresses by saying that he alone can judge about them, and
for that very reason his emotions are apt to colour what he considers
his sober decision.
Jack was exactly in this position when he left the Chesterfords' door
that afternoon. It was only six o'clock when he went away, and he
wished to be alone, and to think about it. But the house seemed stuffy
and unsuggestive, and he ordered a horse, and sat fuming and frowning
till it came round. It fidgeted and edged away from the pavement
when he tried to mount it, and he said, "Get out, you brute," with
remarkable emphasis, and asked the groom whether he hadn't yet learned
to hold a horse quiet. This was sufficient to show that he was in a
perturbed frame of mind.
The Row was rather empty, for a great race meeting was going on, and
Jack cantered quickly up to the end, and cursed his stupidity for not
having gone to Sandown. Then he put his horse to a quiet pace, and
determined to think the matter out.
He had left the Chesterfords in January with a full realisation of his
position. He was in love with Dodo, perhaps more deeply than ever,
and Dodo was hopelessly, irrevocably out of his reach. The only thing
left to be done was to get over it; but his ordinary circle and its
leisurely duties were quite impossible just at present, and he adopted
the traditional English method of travelling, and shooting unoffending
animals. Whether the absence of faith was responsible, is an open
question; at any rate, the remedy did not result in a cure. He was
intensely bored with foreign countries; they were quite as distasteful
as England, and, on the whole, had less to offer. And he came back to
London again as suddenly as he had left it. He only remembered one
incident in his four months abroad which gave him any pleasure; that
was when he received a letter from Dodo at Berlin, which said nothing
particular, and wound up with a little mild chaff on the absurdity of
his going abroad at all. "I hope you are really better," wrote Dodo,
"though I didn't know that you were in any immediate danger of breaking
down when you left us. Anyhow, come back. London is particularly
wholesome, and, to tell you the truth, it's just a wee bit dull. Don't
be conceited."
Of course he came back; it was no good remaining abroad, and yawning in
front of the Sistine Madonna, who, in her impossible serene mildness,
had no message whatever for him. He wanted to see Dodo; why on earth
shouldn't he? She was the only thing he really cared about, and she was
quite out of his reach. Where was the harm?
For two days after his arrival in London he was still undecided, and
made no effort to see her, and on the third day her note came. London
was as bad as Dresden, and again, where was the harm? He wrote a note
saying he would come, then he tore that up and sent a refusal, offering
no excuse; and after all, he had gone, and parted from her with the
words that he would come again the next day. But ah, how sweet it was
to see her again! Such were the facts upon which Jack wished to form a
conclusion. All this indecision was really too annoying. What was the
use of a conscience that took the sugar out of your tea, and yet could
not prevent you from drinking it? It was not strong enough to prevent
him going to see Dodo, and it took the malicious line of making the
visit as little enjoyable as possible. Well, it must be settled one way
or the other.
The problem obviously depended on one question. Did his desire for
Dodo grow stronger with seeing her? He decided that it did not make
much difference to the quality or degree of his longing, but, on the
other hand, her society gave him an inestimable pleasure. When she
had refused him a year ago, he had gone on seeing her day after day,
without the horrible, unsatisfied emptiness he had felt abroad. That
absorbing craving for her, he remembered, began when she was on her
wedding tour. Then why not see her freely and frequently? No harm
could possibly come out of it. Dodo, he thought, cared for him only as
she cared for a dozen other friends, why should he, then, who cared
so deeply for her, cut himself off from her? Again his deep-rooted
affection and respect for her husband was an immense safeguard.
Quixotism was a doubtful virtue at the best, and decidedly out of
date, and besides, what would Dodo think if she suddenly found that
one of her best friends invariably declined to meet her under any
circumstances? She would certainly guess the reason, and if there was
one possible solution of this stupid problem more undesirable than
another, it was that. And Jack made up his mind.
Well, that was settled, and here was Bertie riding down upon him. He
felt as if he wished to record a deliberate and sober conclusion. They
joined forces and rode up together.