Mrs. Thompson Part 34

Her face was drawn and haggard; she looked at him with piteous, imploring eyes; and she hesitated. But the hesitation was caused by dread of his wrath, and not by doubt as to her reply.

"d.i.c.k. I am sorry. But I cannot do it."

"Is that your answer?"

"Yes, that is my answer."

"Very good." He s.n.a.t.c.hed up his hat, clapped it on the back of his head, and stood for a few moments staring at her vindictively. Then, clenching his fist and striking the table, he burst into a storm of abuse....

"But you'll be sorry for this, my grand lady. I'll make you pay for it before I've done with you." This was after he had been raving at her for a couple of minutes, and his voice had become hoa.r.s.e. "You'll learn better--or I'll know the reason why."

Then he turned, flung open the door, and stamped out of the room.

"What do you want here--you prying old hag? Stand on one side, unless you wish me to pitch you down the stairs."

Outside on the landing he had found Yates hastily moving away from the dining-room door. Terrified by the noise, she had been irresistibly drawn towards the room where her mistress was suffering. She longed to aid, but did not dare.

She came into the room now, and saw Mrs. Marsden leaning back in her chair, white and nearly breathless, looking half dead.

"Oh, ma'am--oh, ma'am! Whatever are we to do?"

"It's all right, Yates. Don't distress yourself. It's nothing.... Mr.

Marsden lost his temper for the moment--but I a.s.sure you, it's all right."

"Let me get you upstairs to bed."

"No, leave me alone, please. I am quite all right--but I'll stay here quietly for a little while.... Go to bed, yourself. Don't sit up for me."

And her mistress was so firm that Yates felt reluctantly compelled to obey orders.

An hour pa.s.sed; and Mrs. Marsden still sat before the fire, alone with her thoughts in the silent house. And then a totally unexpected sound startled her. The front door had been opened and shut; there were footsteps on the stairs: the master of the house had returned, to resume the conversation.

But to resume it in a very different tone.--He took off his hat and coat, came to the fire, warmed his hands; and then, resting an elbow on the mantelpiece, smilingly looked down at his wife.

"Jane, I'm penitent.... Really and truly, I'm ashamed of myself for letting fly at you just now. But you did rile me awfully by saying you hadn't _got_ the money. Anyhow, I've come back to ask for pardon."

"Or have you come back to ask for the money again?"

"No, no. Wash that out. If you don't want to part, there's no more to be said. Forget all about it. Wash it all out. The word is, As you were--eh?... Old Girl?"

He was leaning down towards her, putting out his hand; and she was shrinking away from him, watching him with terror in her eyes. Before the hand could touch her face, she sprang from the chair and threw it over, to make a barrier against his movement.

"Janey! What's the matter with you? You naughty girl-- I've apologised, haven't I? Let bygones be bygones--won't you?"

She had run round the table, and was standing where he had stood an hour ago. As he advanced she dodged away from him, keeping the length or the breadth of the table between them.

"Janey? What are you playing at? Hide and Seek--Catch who, Catch can?

How silly you are!"

"Then stop. Don't touch me."

"Well, I never!" He had stopped, and he laughed gaily. "What next? This is a funny way to treat your lord and master. Janey, dear, you are forgetting your duties. You're very, very naughty."

He laughed again, and joined his hands in an att.i.tude of devotion.

"There, I'm praying to you--like a repulsed sweetheart, and not like a husband who is being set at defiance. d.i.c.ky prays you to make it up.

Janey, be nice--be good.... Dear old Janey--don't you know what this means?"

"Yes--it means that you want the money very badly."

Her face, that till now was so white, had flushed to a bright crimson.

"What a horrid thing to say! I'd forgotten all about the money. Why can't _you_ forget it?... No, hang the money. Money isn't everything....

But, Jane, I've been thinking--for a long time--about the way you and I are going on together." And he changed his tone again, and spoke with affected solemnity. "It isn't _right_, you know. It has been going on a good deal too long, Janey--and it's just how real estrangements begin.... I don't know which of us is to blame--but I want to get back into our jolly old ways."

"That's impossible. We can never get back."

"Oh, rot, my dear. Skittles to that. When we used to have a tiff--well, we always made it up soon. It was like a lovers' squabble, and it only made us fonder of each other.... Janey, I want to make it up."

And with outstretched arms he advanced a step or two, pausing as she retreated.

"Oh, Janey--how can you?"

Then he brought out all the old seductions--the half-closed eyes, from which the simulated light of love was glittering; the half-opened lips, that trembled with a mimic pa.s.sion; the soft caressing tones, made to vibrate with echoes of a feigned desire. To her it was all horrible--the most miserable of failures, an effort to charm that merely produces disgust. But he never was able to read her thoughts. He acted his little comedy to the end--like the c.o.c.kbird who has started his amatory dance to fascinate the timid hen, he was perhaps too busy to observe results till the dance had finished.

"d.i.c.k--I implore you. Stop this hideous pretence."

Then he saw how entirely he had failed.

"All that is done with forever." Her face had become livid; she s.h.i.+vered, and her mouth twitched, as if a wave of nausea had come sweeping upward to her brain. "On my side it is dead--utterly dead;" and she struck her breast with a closed hand. "On your side it never existed.... So don't--don't think I can ever be deceived again." And she spoke with a concentrated force that completely staggered him. "If you didn't understand it--if you attempted to compel me, I believe--before G.o.d--that I should go out and buy a revolver, and kill myself--or kill you."

"I say. Steady."

He shrugged his shoulders, and turned away. Before he spoke again, he had picked up the overturned chair and seated himself by the fire.

"Very well, Jane. I twig;" and he laughed languidly.

"I'm not such a cad as to make love to a lady against her will. I'm all obedience. The next overture must come from you."

She could read his thoughts always, though he could never read hers.

Moreover, he had ceased to act, and perhaps made no attempt to conceal the sense of relief that sounded with such a brutal plainness.

"But we can be friends, d.i.c.k--if you don't make it impossible. There must be shreds of our self-respect left. We can patch them together--if you don't tear them into smaller pieces."

"Oh, you're having it all your own way now."

"I'm bound to you; and I won't rebel--unless you drive me to despair.

I'm your wife still." As she said it, a sob choked the last words, and tears suddenly filled her eyes. "I'm your wife still. I'll carry the chain--until you consent to break it."