The Limit Part 42

It struck him that Romer looked very odd, and as he noted a slightly greyish tinge in Romer's face, he turned pale himself under his becoming sunburn.

"What is the matter?" repeated Harry, who could not be quiet. His weakness lay in the fact that he never, under any circ.u.mstances, could entirely "hold his tongue."

Romer put down his stick and hat, which he had been holding, took a chair exactly opposite Harry, stared him in the face, and said in a dry, hard voice, much less slowly than usual--

"There's something I wish you to do."

"You wish me to----"

"Yes. Write to Miss Walmer definitely breaking off your engagement."

"My--engagement?"

"I heard what you said yesterday afternoon. I came back from my walk--there was a nail in my boot. I heard every word from the window in my room."

"You listened?"

"Yes, I listened."

"Romer, my dear fellow, I swear to you that ..."

"Don't swear anything to me," said Romer quietly. "And don't dare to defend Valentia to me.... I advise you not."

Harry was silent, utterly bewildered.

"I find that your----friends.h.i.+p, instead of being a pleasure to her, is making her miserable. For some reason she likes to have you about. She doesn't wish you to marry Miss Walmer. Well, you shan't! Do you hear that? You shan't! You're not going to marry that girl and then come dangling about again."

He waited a minute and then said--

"Valentia's got to be happy. You're not going to have everything _you_ want. You can surely make a little sacrifice to be her friend!" Then for one moment only Romer nearly lost his control. He said--

"We've been married five years, and I've never said a word or done a thing that she didn't like. And _you_ made her cry. You! You made her cry!"

"My dear Romer, I a.s.sure you it's all ..."

Romer interrupted him in a low voice, impatiently.

"Oh, shut up, will you? I want no talk or discussion. I want only one thing. You're to write immediately, definitely putting an end to this engagement. While you write the letter I'll wait, and then I'll post it myself. Will you do it?"

"My dear fellow, of course I'll do anything. But how strange you are! I should have thought----"

"I don't want to know what you would have thought, and I don't care a straw what you think of my att.i.tude. On condition you do what I say, I shall never refer to the subject again, and everything shall be as it has been."

Harry was obviously greatly relieved.

"I will do whatever you wish," he said, looking and feeling ashamed of himself.

Seeing that Romer was evidently in a hurry for the letter, he drew writing materials to him.

Then Romer said--

"One more thing. You are not to tell Valentia anything about this. She's not to know I overheard. I won't have her distressed. Remember that."

"I give you my word of honour," said Harry.

"Very well. And when I've posted the letter we'll wipe out the whole thing. Don't even say you saw me in town."

"Of course I won't."

As Harry bent his head low over the writing-table, Romer, who was sitting motionless, looked at a curious dagger that was hanging on the wall, with a horrible sudden longing to plunge it in Harry's neck....

Horrified at his own fancy, he looked away from it and thought of Valentia. Valentia would smile and be happy now, and everything would go smoothly again. He would not have to say anything painful to her; she would never be uncomfortable in his presence. In time she would probably grow tired of Harry and could turn to him, Romer, again, with more affection than if anything painful had pa.s.sed between them.... His att.i.tude had been extraordinarily unselfish, and yet it had its root in the deep scheming selfishness and subtle calculation of the pa.s.sion of love. To get Valentia back, as he vaguely hoped, some time, however distant, he had acted most wisely, and he knew it. For he cared for her far too much ever to have conventional thoughts on the subject. It never even occurred to him to try to act as the husband ought to act, or as by the incessant insidious influence of plays and novels most of us have been brought up to think he ought to act. Most people are far more guided than they know in their views of life by the artificial conventions of the theatre and of literature, or by tradition. In fact, most people are other people. Romer was himself. He thought simply for himself, like a child. And so it happened that he acted in a crisis terrible to him, more wisely for his own interest than the most sophisticated of men....

"Here is the letter. Will you read it?"

Romer read it and put it back in the envelope. Then he said--

"All right. You're going back to the Green Gate this afternoon?"

"If I may."

"I shall be back to-morrow," said Romer, in his ordinary voice.

Harry accompanied him to the door and held out his hand.

Romer hesitated a moment. Then he said--

"Good-bye," with a nod, and went away, taking no notice of it.

"By Jove!" said Harry, to himself.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

THE LIMIT

Romer went back to his hotel that evening feeling happier than he had ever expected to be again. He felt sure now that everything would be perfectly right. He refused to allow himself to dwell for a moment on possibilities, and on what had been, or on what might have been. But he was like a man who had been slightly stunned by a blow on the head and was beginning to feel the pain the next day. Yet the pain was not very acute; he did not quite realise it, but, unconsciously, it made him feverish. And he was still a little stupefied. It did not occur to him to go to the Club, or to look up any friends, and he remained in the little hotel in Jermyn Street, filled at this time of the year princ.i.p.ally by Americans, and he dined alone there--dined well, and smoked a long cigar. Then he went for a walk. London at the beginning of August was not empty, but stale, crowded, untidy, hot--unlike itself. He tried not to think of the garden of the Green Gate. Suddenly, with a stab, he imagined Harry and Valentia; probably now he was telling her that the engagement was broken off, and she was smiling and happy. Well!

it was what he wished. Since what had happened he felt his great love for Valentia was much less vivid than it had been. He cared for her more remotely. She seemed at a great distance. He thought that he felt more to her as if she were a dear sister and living far away. Yes, that was it; he loved her now like a sister.

Surprised at his own calm, and much pleased with his behaviour in the matter, he retired to bed. The instant he had closed his eyes he seemed to see, with the clearness of an hallucination, Harry's head bending low over the writing-table, and, hanging above him on the wall of the studio, the curious dagger; a j.a.panese weapon that was one of Harry's treasures. And Romer felt again precisely the same horrible longing that he had felt that morning at the studio--the sudden longing to plunge it into Harry's neck. Horrified at the fancy and at himself, he turned up the light and tried to read. He could not fix his attention on a word of the article "Silk and Stuff" in the _Pall Mall_....

Of course he was not angry with Valentia; how could she help it? She must be made happy. But she seemed dim, distant, remote. It was an effort to recall her face.... Harry--Harry did not seem very real to him either. It was all unreal. But he, Romer, had done the right thing.