The diffident man, holding on to the doorknob as for support, cleared
his throat. "It is a little difficult, my lady, and Mr. Gordon, when
he spoke to me, was for saying nothing; but I have been considering
the matter and I think Dr. Haddon--"
"Who is Dr. Haddon?"
"I was not quite sure if your ladyship knew--anything. But master was
under Dr. Haddon for a time. It--it is for the liquor habit, my lady,
and Dr. Haddon is most successful. He was most successful with master.
Four years I have been with him since we came back from America, and
never till last night--" he coughed slightly and paused. Lady Maud
sate staring at him without a word.
"I am very sorry, my lady. The other servants will tell you how
distressed I was to be absent from my duty. It arose from my not
understanding the porter's accent, my lady; but it will not occur
again. I mean, my lady, that--ahem--nothing of the sort will occur
again. So there is no need for--for distress or anxiety."
"You mean that as long as--as you are with Mr. Wilson--" so far she
managed in a cold hard voice; then came silence.
"Just so, my lady--it is a question of influence. I undertake the
entire responsibility. There is really no cause for alarm."
"That--that will do, Hooper; you can go." Her one thought was to get
rid of this man, this servant, who seemed to have reached out his
common hand and touched her very soul. He paused, still with his hand
on the door.
"I beg pardon, my lady, but there is one thing. Dr. Haddon's system is
based on influence. It does not allow any appeal to--ahem--to the
moral sense. Therefore, if your ladyship could kindly treat the
mistake of yesterday with silence, it would be better--for the system.
Dr. Haddon ignores failure on principle, it--it is part of the system;
and any interference may be dangerous. Therefore, if your ladyship--"
"I quite understand. You can go."
When she was left alone, she sate staring on at the door he had closed
behind him. Behind whom? why the man who--oh! it was an impossible, an
incredible, position! She had married her husband without caring for
him, but she had married him also because she intended that he
_should_ care for her. And now! What was he but a puppet, dependent
on this man? She had not married Edward Wilson, but Wilson-cum-Haddon,
-cum-Hooper. And Eustace knew it! Her husband, the possible father of
her children! She had known all along that he was a weak man, but that
the very possibility of his living decently lay in the will of another
was hopeless, horrible degradation. She had often in society talked
lightly of the part hypnotism was to play in the future regeneration
of the world; but now that even a suspicion of it touched her inner
life, it left her in wild revolt. When all was said and done, that man
to whom they paid so many pounds a year was master of her fate. It
should never be! Better, far better, that her husband should be drunk;
and yet what right had she to interfere?
"It will be too late to make milady _charmante_," suggested Josephine,
coming in, reproachfully.
She stood up hastily with clenched hands. Eustace should not see her
degradation--she would show him--
"There is plenty of time," she said coldly. "Put on my diamonds,
Josephine--that dress is dull. They can wait if I am not ready."
She was worth waiting for, and Mr. Wilson's weak face brightened as
she went up to him with easy grace. "Did you have a good day, Edward?
I saw Hooper for a moment, but I forgot to ask him about the sport."
She failed in her object for all her bravado. The eyes she sought to
blind saw too clearly.
"So Louisa comes to-morrow," she said lightly, as, after keeping all
the men, her husband included, at her feet during the evening, she
rose to say good-night and let her hand linger purposely in her
cousin's, so that he should see she did not care, that she was not
afraid.
"No!" he replied coldly; "I've had another wire. She came as far as
Portree, and, hearing that the gathering is next week, decided to stay
and show off her new dresses. She got about a ton of them in Paris if
you remember, and women, even the best of them, love to show off."
His tone roused her to reckless resentment by its assumption of
knowledge and condemnation.
"He does not look very sorry for his wife's decision, does he,
professor?" she asked with a laugh.
"My dear lady, how could he be sorry for anything, in his present
position?"
"Or I in mine?" she retorted, giving a little mock curtsey over the
hand she still held.
Eustace Gordon bit his lip, but said nothing.