Love's Shadow Part 43

He didn't at all fancy the idea of the smallest amount of this tribute being diminished. Suppose he offered never to see Eugenia again? After all, he had avoided her until today. He could continue to do so. But he had just arranged with her that they should all be friends. It would seem ridiculous. Besides, he _wanted_ to see her!

Oh! what an infernal nuisance the whole thing was! It was such an awkward situation. As the thought developed, gradually, that he really would have to choose, there could be no sort of doubt that he would choose Hyacinth.... Yes, his fancy for Eugenia was the shadow, a will-o'-the-wisp; Hyacinth was the reality--a very lovely and loving reality. Hers was the insidious charm that grows rather than dazzles, the attraction that increases with time. He could not imagine, however long they might be married, her becoming ever a comrade merely. Mentally and physically, she held him far more since their marriage than before; he had found in her a thousand delightful qualities of which he had never dreamed.

Then that mad, capricious creature, Eugenia, meeting him, must make him take her for a drive and spoil it all! He began to get rather angry with her. Certainly since this row about her, he felt he liked her less. Why couldn't she stick to Uncle Ted--as she thought him so marvellous--and leave _him_ alone?

With this unjust and inconsistent movement of irritation, he again attempted speaking to Hyacinth through the door, a.s.suring her that if she would only open it, he would convince her. But as he received no answer, he was too proud to say any more, and retired sulkily to his own room.

To his great surprise, he fell asleep almost immediately.

The next morning he went out without seeing Hyacinth, but left a message that he would be in at one, and wished to speak to her. He thought this would give her time to recover, or even perhaps to speak to Anne. At heart he did not believe Anne would give her any but sensible advice, though he now began to feel a little jealous of her influence.

When he came back he found Hyacinth in the boudoir. She looked pale, but particularly pretty, with a little air of tragic composure.

'May I ask if you still think seriously of leaving me?' he asked sarcastically.

'I haven't settled anything yet.'

'Why is that? Won't Anne go with you?'

She avoided answering, but said, 'I've been thinking things over, Cecil, and a.s.suming that what you told me yesterday was true--that you met _that woman_ for the first time again yesterday--I will not--go away. We will remain outwardly as we have been. But as long as I believe, as I do, that you are in love with her, I intend to be merely a friend to you.'

'A friend? What utter nonsense! I refuse to consent to anything so absurd. I won't stand it!'

'I shall not,' continued Hyacinth, taking no notice, 'interfere with your freedom at all. I don't ask you not to see her. You can go there when you like. I couldn't bear the idea that I was putting a restraint on your liberty, so that even if you offered--which you haven't--to give up seeing her at all--I wouldn't accept such a _sacrifice_!'

Cecil laughed impatiently.

'Considering I've avoided her till yesterday--'

'Ah, you admit it! That shows--that proves you care for her.'

'Don't you own yourself you were probably wrong--that you misunderstood about the drive?' he asked.

'I a.s.sume that I can believe your word--that is why I'm not leaving you.

Do you accept my terms?'

His eyes flashed; he walked towards her violently, overturning a little table.

'No, I don't,' he said, 'and I never shall! It's infernal, unjust, ridiculous. You are my wife!'

She seemed not offended at his violence, but she said--

'Think it over till tomorrow. You understand that unless you agree to our each going our own way I shall not remain here.'

He came a step nearer. At this moment the door opened and the servant announced lunch.

Cecil, without saying another word, went out of the house. The door banged loudly.

At the sound Hyacinth burst into tears. 'Oh, why am I so miserable?' she sobbed.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI

Raggett's Sense of Humour

'Edith,' said Bruce, 'I'm rather worried about Raggett.'

'Are you? Why?'

'Well, the last time I met him, he came up and asked me if I knew the difference between a sardine and a hedgehog. Of course I said no, thinking it was some riddle, but he only answered, "Then you _must_ be a fool!"'

Edith smiled.

'Is that all?'

'No, it is _not_ all. It will give you a shock, what I'm going to tell you now. At the office--at the _office_, mind--I received a letter from Raggett, written on a crumpet.'

'On a what?'

'On a crumpet. The letter was gummed on; the thing had a stamp, and was properly addressed to me, and it came through the post. The note itself was quite rational, but the postscript--what do you suppose the postscript said?'

'I can't think.'

'It said, "PS--Please excuse my writing to you on a crumpet, as I haven't a m.u.f.fin!"'

Edith laughed.

'It's all very well to laugh, but it's a very sad thing. The poor chap is going off his head. I don't know what to do about it.'

'He isn't really, Bruce. I know what it is. I can explain the whole thing. Last time I saw him--he called the day you were rehearsing--he said he had given up being a Legitimist, and was going to try, if possible, to develop a sense of humour. He thinks for one thing it will please _me_. I'm sure he hopes you will tell me the story about the crumpet, and that I shall admire him for it.'

'Do you seriously mean that he's trying to be funny on your account?'

'That's the idea.'

'But what have you to do with his career? What is it to you? I mean, what is it to him--whether you like people to be funny or serious?'

'Nothing, really.'

'You admit openly, Edith, that you know he has such a liking for you that he is becoming a clown in the hope that you will think him witty?'

'That is it. He's afraid he's a bore--too dull. He wants to amuse me.

That's all.'