Denzil Quarrier Part 47

Back, then, to politics! There he knew his force. He was looking to the first taste of Parliament with decided eagerness.

In Madeira he chanced to make acquaintance with an oldish man who had been in Parliament for a good many years; a Radical, an idealist, sore beset with physical ailments. This gentleman found pleasure in Denzil's society, talked politics to him with contagious fervour, and greatly aided the natural process whereby Quarrier was recovering his interest in the career before him.

"My misfortune is," Denzil one day confided to this friend, "that I detest the town and the people that have elected me."

"Indeed?" returned the other, with a laugh. "Then lay yourself out to become my successor at----when a general election comes round again. I hope to live out this Parliament, but sha'n't try for another."

About the same time he had a letter from Mrs. Wade, now in London, wherein, oddly enough, was a pa.s.sage running thus:

"You say that the thought of representing Polterham spoils your pleasure in looking forward to a political life. Statesmen (and you will become one) have to be trained to bear many disagreeable things.

But you are not bound to Polterham for ever--the G.o.ds forbid! Serve them in this Parliament, and in the meantime try to find another borough."

It was his second letter from Mrs. Wade; the first had been a mere note, asking if he could bear to hear from her, and if he would let her know of his health. He replied rather formally, considering the terms on which they stood; and, indeed, it did not gratify him much to be a.s.sured of the widow's constant friends.h.i.+p.

CHAPTER XXVII

Something less than a year after his marriage, Glazzard was summoned back to England by news of his brother's death. On the point of quitting Highmead, with Ivy, for a sojourn abroad, William Glazzard had an apoplectic seizure and died within the hour. His affairs were in disorder; he left no will; for some time it would remain uncertain whether the relatives inherited anything but debt.

Eustace and his wife took a house in the north of London, a modest temporary abode. There, at the close of March, Serena gave birth to a child.

During the past year Glazzard had returned to his old amus.e.m.e.nt of modelling in clay. He drew and painted, played and composed, at intervals; but plastic art seemed to have the strongest hold upon him.

Through April he was busy with a head for which he had made many studies--a head of Judas; in Italy he had tried to paint the same subject, but ineffectually. The face in its latest development seemed to afford him some satisfaction.

One morning, early in May, Serena was sitting with him in the room he used as a studio. Experience of life, and a certain measure of happiness, had made the raw girl a very pleasing and energetic woman; her face was comely, her manner refined, she spoke softly and thoughtfully, but with spirit.

"It is wonderful," she said, after gazing long, with knitted brows, at the Judas, "but horrible. I wish it hadn't taken hold of you so."

"Taken hold of me? I care very little about it."

"Oh, nonsense! That's your worst fault, Eustace. You seem ashamed of being in earnest. I wish you had found a pleasanter subject, but I am delighted to see you _do_ something. Is it quite finished?"

A servant appeared at the door.

"Mr. Quarrier wishes to see you, sir."

Denzil entered, and had a friendly greeting. The Glazzards did not see much of him, for he was over head and ears in politics, social questions, philanthropic undertakings--these last in memory of Lilian, whose spirit had wrought strongly in him since her death. He looked a much riper and graver man than a year ago. His language was moderate; he bore himself reservedly, at moments with diffidence. But there was the old frank cordiality undiminished. To Serena he spoke with the gentle courtesy which marks a man's behaviour to women when love and grief dwell together in his heart.

"Our friend Judas?" he said, stepping up to the model. "Finished at last?"

"Something like it." Glazzard replied, tapping the back of his hand with a tool.

"Discontented, as usual! I know nothing about this kind of thing, but I should say it was very good. Makes one uncomfortable--doesn't it, Mrs.

Glazzard? Do something pleasanter next time."

"Precisely what I was saying," fell from Serena.

They talked awhile, and Mrs. Glazzard left the room.

"I want to know your mind on a certain point," said Denzil. "Mrs. Wade has been asking me to bring her together with your wife and you. Now, what is your feeling?"

The other stood in hesitation, but his features expressed no pleasure.

"What is _your_ feeling?" he asked, in return.

"Why, to tell you the truth, I can't advise you to make a friend of her. I'm sorry to say she has got into a very morbid state of mind. I see more of her than I care to. She has taken up with a lot of people I don't like--rampant women--extremists of many kinds. There's only one thing: it's perhaps my duty to try and get her into a more sober way of life, and if all steady-going people reject her----Still, I don't think either you or your wife would like to have her constantly coming here."

"I think not," said Glazzard, with averted face.

"Well, I shall tell her that she would find you very unsympathetic. I'm sorry for her; I wish she could recover a healthy mind."

He brooded for a moment, and the lines that came into his face gave it an expression of unrest and melancholy out of keeping with its natural tone.

In a few minutes he was gone, and presently Serena returned to the studio. She found her husband in a dark reverie, a mood to which he often yielded, which she always did her best to banish.

"Do you think, Eustace," she asked, "that Mr. Quarrier will marry again?"

"Oh, some day, of course."

"I shall be sorry. There's something I have often meant to tell you about his wife; I will now."

He looked up attentively. Serena had never been admitted to his confidence regarding Lilian's story; to her, the suicide was merely a woful result of disordered health.

"But for her," she continued, smiling archly, "I should perhaps not have married you. I was with doubts about myself and about you. Then I went to Mrs. Quarrier, and--what a thing to do!--asked her what she thought of you! She told me, and I came away without a doubt left.--That's why I cried so much when we heard of her death. I should have told you then if you hadn't got vexed with me--I'm sure I don't know why."

Glazzard laughed, and dismissed the subject carelessly.

Not long after, he was alone. After much pacing about the room, he came to a stand before his clay masterpiece, and stared at it as though the dull eyes fascinated him. Of a sudden he raised his fist and with one blow beat the head into a shapeless ma.s.s.

Then he went out, locking the door behind him.

On leaving the Glazzards, Quarrier pursued the important business that had brought him into this part of London. He drove to a hospital, newly opened, with which he was connected in the capacity of treasurer. Talk with the secretary occupied him for half an hour; about to set forth again, he encountered on the staircase two ladies, the one a hospital nurse, the other Mrs. Wade.

"Could you grant me five minutes?" asked the widow, earnestly. "I didn't hope to see you here, and must have called upon you--but you are so busy."

There was a humility in her suppressed voice which, had the speaker been another person, would have prepared Denzil for some mendicant pet.i.tion of the politer kind. She spoke hurriedly, as if fearing a rebuff.

"Let us step this way," he said, opening a door which led into an unoccupied room.

Mrs. Wade was dressed rather more simply than had been her wont when she lived at Polterham. One conjectured that her circ.u.mstances were not improved. She looked tired, hara.s.sed; her eyes wanted something of their former brightness, and she had the appearance of a much older woman.

There were no seats in the room. Quarrier did not refer to the fact, but stood in an att.i.tude of friendly attention.

"I saw Northway yesterday," Mrs. Wade began.

The listener's face expressed annoyance.