A PROBLEM.
Brenda left Mrs. Wylie at eleven o'clock, merely walking away from
the door of Suffolk Mansions without wrap or luggage. She did not
know whether she was being watched or no, but her plans were so
simple, and yet so cunning, that the question gave her little
trouble. Detection was impossible. Trist had seen to that, and his
strategy had been the subject of some subdued laughter the night
before, because Brenda complained that she felt like an army. He had
unconsciously dictated to her, in his soft, suggestive way, and so
complete were his instructions, so abject the obedience demanded,
that there was some cause for her laughing dissatisfaction. With
intelligence, education, experience, reading, and money it is no
difficult matter to evade the closest watcher, and Trist was not at
all afraid of such means as lay at Captain Huston's disposal for
tracing the hiding-place of his wife.
When Mrs. Wylie found herself left alone, she proceeded placidly to
await further events. She was convinced that, sooner or later, the
husband of her protégée would appear. Whether this questionable
honour would be conferred with bluster and righteous indignation, or
with abject self-abuse, remained to be seen. Neither prospect
appeared to have the power of ruffling the lady's serene humour. The
morning newspaper received its usual attention, and subsequently
there were some new books to be cut and glanced at. Lunch had
already been ordered--lunch for two, and something rather nice,
because Theo Trist had invited himself to partake of the lone widow's
hospitality.
In her small way, Mrs. Wylie was likely to pass an eventful day, but
the thought of it in nowise took away her interest in December's
_Temple Bar_. She was one of those happy and lovable women who are
not in the habit of adding to their grievances by anticipating them;
for it is an undeniable fact that sorrows as well as joys are
exaggerated by anticipation. Personally, I much prefer going out to
get my hair cut as soon as ever I realize the necessity. It is a
mistake to put off the operation, because the scissors seem to hang
over one's luxuriant locks with a fiendish click during the stilly
hours.
About twelve o'clock there was a knock at the door which shut off
Mrs. Wylie's comfortable suite of rooms from the rest of the house.
'Ah!' murmured the occupant of the drawing-room. 'Our violent
friend. Twelve o'clock: I must get him out of the house before Theo
arrives.'
She leant back and tapped the pages of her magazine pensively with an
ivory paper-cutter, while her eyes rested on the door.
In the course of a few moments there was audible the sound of
murmuring voices, followed shortly by footsteps.
The door was thrown open, and William Hicks made a graceful _entrée_,
finished, as it were, by the delicately-tinted flower he carried in
his gloved fingers.
Mrs. Wylie rose at once with a most reprehensively deceitful smile of
welcome. She devoutly wished William Hicks in other parts as she
offered her plump white hand to his grasp.
The artist, with passable dissimulation, glanced round the room. No
sign or vestige of Brenda! The rose was deftly dropped into his hat
and set aside. It had cost two shillings.
'Ah! Mrs. Wylie,' he exclaimed, 'I was half afraid you would be out
shopping. The wind is simply excruciating.'
'Then warm yourself at once. I am afraid I am alone.'
Hicks was, in his way, a bold man. He relied thoroughly upon a
virtue of his own which he was pleased to call tact--others said its
right name was 'cheek.'
'Afraid!' he said reproachfully, and with an inquiring smile.
'Yes--the girls are out.'
He laughed in a pleasant deprecating way, and held his slim hands
towards the fire.
'How absurd you are!' he said. 'I merely ran in to ask if a lace
handkerchief I found last night belonged to Miss Gilholme.'
He began to fumble in his pockets without any great design of finding
the handkerchief. Mrs. Wylie spared him the trouble of going
farther.'
'Bring it another time,' she said.
She knew the handkerchief trick well. It is very simple, my brother:
pick up a lace trifle anywhere about the ballroom, and with a slight
draft upon your imagination, you have a graceful excuse to call at
any house you may desire the next afternoon. If there is not one to
be found, one can easily buy such a thing, and it serves for years.
No young man is complete without it.
For some minutes William Hicks talked airily about the soirée of the
Ancient Artists, throwing in here and there, in his pleasant way, a
blast upon his individual instrument, of which the note was wearily
familiar to his listener.
At last, however, he let fall an observation which made Mrs. Wylie
forgive him, 'à un coup,' his early call.
'I met,' he said casually, 'that fellow ... Huston this morning.'
Mrs. Wylie laid aside the paper-knife with which she had been
trifling. The action scarce required a moment of time, but in that
moment she had collected her faculties, and was ready for him with
all the alertness of her sex.
'Ah! What news had he?' she inquired suavely.
'Oh, nothing much. We scarcely spoke--indeed, I don't believe he
recognised me at first.'
Mrs. Wylie raised her eyebrows in astonishment.
'He came yesterday,' she said, 'to get his wife; and Brenda has gone
away, too, so I am all alone for a few days.'
This was artistic, and the good lady was mentally patting herself on
the back as she met Hicks's glance, in which disappointment and utter
amazement were struggling for mastery.
'I do not think,' continued she calmly, 'that I shall stay in town
much longer. I am expecting a houseful of quiet people--waifs and
strays--at Wyl's Hall at Christmas, so must really think of going
home. But I will call on your mother before going. Give her my love
and tell her so.'
William Hicks was not the man to make a social blunder. He rose at
once, and said 'Good-morning,' with his sweetest smile. Then he
bowed himself out of the room, taking the two-shilling rose with him.
Mrs. Wylie reseated herself, and withheld her sigh of relief until
the door had closed. She then took up her book again, but presently
closed its pages over her fingers, and lapsed into thought.
'That young man,' she reflected, 'is finding his own level. He may
give trouble yet; but Brenda goes serenely on her way, quite
unconscious of all these little games at cross-purposes of which she
is the centre.'
The good lady's reflections continued in this vein. She leant back
with that pleasant sense of comfort which was almost feline in its
supple grace. Her eyes contracted at times with a vague far-off
anxiety--the reflex, as it were, of the sorrows of others upon her
own placid life, from which all direct emotions were weeded now.
When, at length, the sound of a bell awoke her from these day-dreams,
she rose and arranged the cheery fireplace with a sudden access of
energy.
'I wonder,' she murmured, without emotion, 'who is coming now.'
With a glance round the room to see that her stage was prepared, she
reseated herself.
Again the door opened, and this time the new arrival did not hurry
into the room, but stood upon the threshold waiting. Mrs. Wylie
looked up with a pleasant expectancy. It was Captain Huston.
The soldier glanced round the room uneasily, and then he advanced
towards the fire without attempting any sort of greeting. Mrs. Wylie
remained in her deep chair, and as the Captain came towards her, she
watched him. His unsteady hands gave his hat no rest. Taking his
stand on the hearthrug, he began at once in a husky voice.
'I have come to you, Mrs. Wylie,' he said, 'because I suspect that
you know where Alice is to be found. This game of hide-and-seek to
which she is treating me is hardly dignified, and it is distinctly
senseless. If I choose to take decided steps in the matter, I can,
of course, have her hunted down like a common malefactor.'
He spread his gaitered feet apart, and waited with confidence the
result of this shot.
'In the meantime,' suggested Mrs. Wylie, with unruffled sweetness,
'it is really, perhaps, wiser that you should remain apart. I
sincerely trust that this is a mere temporary misunderstanding. You
are both young, and, I suppose, both hasty. Think over it, Captain
Huston, and do not press matters too much. If, in a short time, you
approach Alice with a few kind little apologies, I believe she would
relent. You must really be less hard on us women--make some
allowance for our more tender nerves and silly susceptibilities.'
By way of reply, he laughed in a rasping way, without, however, being
actually rude.
'I have an indistinct recollection of having heard that before,' he
observed, with forced cynicism, 'or something of a similar nature.
The kind little apologies you mention are due to me as much as they
are to Alice. Of course, she has omitted to draw your attention to
sundry little flirtations...'
The widow stopped him with a quick gesture of disgust.
'I refuse,' she said deliberately, 'to listen to details. Alice will
tell you that I treated her in the same way. These matters, Captain
Huston, should be sacred between husband and wife.'
'Well, I suppose you have Alice's story through Brenda? It comes to
the same thing. I can see you are prejudiced against me.'
Mrs. Wylie smiled patiently, with a suggestion of sympathy, which her
companion seemed to appreciate.
'The world,' she said, 'is sure to be prejudiced against you in the
present case. You must remember that the moral code is different for
a pretty woman than for the rest of us. Moreover, the husband is
blamed in preference, because people attribute the original mistake
of marrying to him. I don't say that men are always to blame for
mistaken marriages, but the initiative is popularly supposed to lie
in their hands.'
Captain Huston tugged at his drooping moustache pensively. He walked
to the window, with the assurance of one who knew his way amidst the
furniture, and stood for some time looking down into the street.
Presently he returned, avoiding Mrs. Wylie's eyes; but she saw his
face, and her own grew suddenly very sympathetic.
He played nervously with the ornaments upon the mantelpiece for some
moments, deeply immersed in thought. There was a chair drawn forward
to the fire, at the opposite end of the fur hearthrug to that
occupied by Mrs. Wylie. This he took, sitting hopelessly with his
idle hands hanging at either side.
'What am I to do?' he asked, half cynically.
Before replying, the widow looked at him--gauging him.
'Do you really mean that?'
'Of course--I am helpless. A man is no match for three women.'
'To begin with, you must have more faith in other people. In myself
... Brenda ... Theo Trist.'
The last name was uttered with some significance. Its effect was
startling. Huston's bloodshot eyes flashed angrily, his limp fingers
clenched and writhed until the skin gave forth a creaking sound as of
dry leather.
'D--n Trist!' he exclaimed. 'I will shoot him if he comes across my
path!'
Mrs. Wylie did not shriek or faint, as ladies are usually supposed to
do when men give way to violent language in their presence. But
there came into her eyes a slight passing shade of anxiety, which she
suppressed with an effort.
'But first of all,' she said, 'you must learn to restrain yourself.
You must understand that bluster of any description is quite useless
against myself or Theo. Alice may be afraid, but Brenda is not; and
with Alice fear is closely linked with disgust. Do not forget that.'
She spoke quite calmly, with a force which a casual observer would
not have anticipated. In her eagerness she leant forward, with a
warning hand outstretched.
'And,' he muttered, 'I suppose I am to suppress all my feelings, and
go about the world like a marble statue. It seems to me that that
fellow Trist leaves his impression on you all. His doctrine is
imperturbability at any price. It isn't mine!'
'Nor mine, Captain Huston. All I preach is a little more restraint.
Theo goes too far, and his reticence leads to mistakes. You have
been misled. You think that ... your wife and Theo Trist ... love
each other.'
The soldier looked at her steadily, his weak nether lip quivering
with excitement. Then he slowly nodded his head.
'That--is my impression.'
Mrs. Wylie evinced no hurry, no eagerness now. She had difficult
cards, and her full attention was given to playing them skilfully.
She leant back again in her comfortable chair, and crossed her hands
upon her lap.
'Using primary argument,' she said concisely, 'and meeting opinion
with opinion, I contend that you are mistaken. I will be perfectly
frank with you, Captain Huston, because you have a certain claim upon
my honesty. In some ways Alice is a weak woman. It has been her
misfortune to be brought up and launched upon society as a beauty; a
man who marries such a woman is assuming a responsibility which
demands special qualifications. Judging from what I have observed, I
am very much afraid that you possess these qualifications in but a
small degree. Do you follow me?'
The man smiled in an awkward way.
'Yes. You were going to say, "I told you so."'
'That,' returned the widow, 'is a remark I never make, because it is
profitless. Moreover, it would not be true, because I never told you
so. Circumstances have in a measure been against you. You could
scarcely have chosen a more dangerous part of the world in which to
begin your married life than Ceylon. As it happens, you did not
choose, but it was forced upon you. In England we live differently.
A young married woman is thrown more exclusively upon the society of
her husband; there is less temptation. You will find it less
difficult...'
'Is married life to be described as a difficulty?' he interrupted.
Mr. Wylie did not reply at once. She sat with placidly crossed hands
gazing into the fire. There was a slight tension in the lines of her
mouth.
'Life,' she replied, 'in any form, in any sphere, in any
circumstances, _is_ a difficulty.'
After a moment she resumed in a more practical tone:
'Again, Alice is scarcely the woman to make a soldier's wife in times
of peace. War ... would bring out her good points.'
Huston moved restlessly. Mrs. Wylie turned her soft gray eyes
towards his face, and across her sympathetic features there passed an
expression of real pain. She had divined his next words before his
lips framed them.
'I am not a soldier, Mrs. Wylie.'
'Resigned...?' she whispered.
'No; turned out.'
Unconsciously she was swaying backwards and forwards a little, as if
in lamentation, while she rubbed one hand over the other.
'Drink,' continued Huston harshly; '... drink, and Alice drove me to
it.'
There was a long silence in the room after this. The glowing fire
creaked and crackled at times; occasionally a cinder fell with
considerable clatter into the fender, but neither of these people
moved. At last Mrs. Wylie looked up.
'Captain Huston,' she said pleadingly.
'Yes.'
He looked across, and saw the tears quivering on her lashes.
'Come back to me to-morrow morning,' was her prayer. 'I cannot ... I
cannot advise you yet ... because I do not quite understand. Theo
Trist is coming to lunch to-day. Will you come back to-morrow?'
'I will,' he answered simply, and left the room.