Bird of Paradise Part 32

"And there you are perfectly right, Kellynch."

Percy started up, looking a little pale.

Nigel had got a little of his revenge.

He had annoyed the comfortable Percy.

"But let me say that all this time I have never, never shown it by word or look. Our talks were almost entirely about Madeline Irwin and my brother, or about Rupert Denison. Your wife is so exceedingly kind and good that she wished to see Miss Madeline as happy as herself."

"Yes, yes, I know all that," said Percy impatiently.

"I shall follow your wishes to the very letter," said Nigel. "You see how very open I've been. How will you explain to her that I drop your acquaintance?"

"I think I shall tell her now," said Percy, "that I had received a letter and that I've seen you. But I shall tell her we parted the best of friends, and nothing must be done, above all things, to annoy or agitate her."

He looked at the closed leather case again.

"Just now I want to take special care of her. I daresay she won't notice not meeting you, as we're not going out in the evening the rest of the season nor entertaining."

Nigel looked amazed. An idea occurred to him that caused him absurd mortification. It dawned upon his mind that perhaps Bertha was going to have her wish. If so, he would be forgotten more completely than ever.

"Forgive me for asking, Kellynch. I think you've been very good to me, really. I trust your wife is not ill?"

"Ill?--oh dear, no."

Percy smiled a smile that to Nigel seemed maddeningly complacent. "She merely wants a little care for a time. We shall go to the country very early this year. As a matter of fact, it's something she's very pleased about." He stopped.

Nigel gave a pale smile. Percy was too irritating!

"Well, you were right not to worry her about the letters. I'm very sorry for the whole thing. I think it's been hard on me, Kellynch."

He stood up.

"Good-bye, Hillier!"

Nigel held out his hand; Percy shook it coldly.

As he went to the door, taking up his hat and stick, Nigel said:

"I sincerely hope you won't miss me!"

CHAPTER XXIX

NIGEL AND MARY

Nigel rushed back. On his way, he decided that he had got a real excuse for a holiday; he had every right to go away for a time from such a wife; and he found himself thinking chiefly about where he would go and how he would amuse himself. If the husband had only known it, Bertha had already, if not exactly forbidden him the house, discouraged his calling, almost as distinctly, though more kindly, than Percy did.

Still, if Percy had not given him that piece of information, he would have remained in London, and left it to chance that they might meet again somehow. He was such an optimist, and was really so very much in love with her. Curious that this news of Bertha should annoy and should excite him so much! Why, it seemed to him to be a matter of more importance and far more interest than in his own wife's case. That he had taken quite as a matter of course, an ordinary everyday occurrence "which would give her something to do." He was really disappointed when he found that Mary did not absorb herself in her children, and found she was only anxious--foolishly anxious--that he should not think that they could take his place as companions.

Nigel was affectionate by nature, and if Mary had insisted on that note--if she had made him proud of his children, encouraged his affection for them, if she had played the madonna--his affection for her would have been immensely increased. She would have had a niche in his heart--a respect and tenderness, even if she had never been able to make him entirely faithful, which, perhaps, only one woman could have done.

But, instead of that, Mary had been jealous and silly and violently exacting. She wished him to be her slave and under her thumb, and yet she wanted him to be her lover. Every word she had ever spoken, everything she had ever done since their marriage had had the exact contrary effect of what she desired. She had sent him further and further away from her. That she knew he had married her for her money embittered her and yet made her tyrannical. She wanted to take advantage of that fact, in a way that no man could endure. Yet she was to be pitied. Anyone so exacting must be terribly unhappy.

It was not in Nigel, either, to care long for anyone who cared for him so much. And even if Bertha, who was now his ideal and his dream, had been as devoted to him as Mary, and shown it in anything like the same sort of way, he would in time have become cool and ceased to appreciate her. He thought now that he would always adore her, and yet, when they had been actually engaged, it had been he who had allowed it to lapse.

He might think that he cared for her far more now and understood her better, and now no worldly object would induce him to give up the possibility of their pa.s.sing their lives together. And yet the fact remained. She had loved him as a girl--worshipped him. But he had broken it off. So now that he has lost all hope of his wish, he does not, strictly speaking, deserve any sympathy; yet all emotional suffering appeals to one's pity rather than to one's sense of justice. And Nigel was miserable.

The letter Bertha had sent him the other day, though it put an end to their meeting, had a sort of fragrance; a tender kindness about it. He could make himself believe that she also was a little sorry. Perhaps she did it more from motives of duty than from her own wish; something about it left a little glamour, and he had still hope that somehow or other circ.u.mstances might alter so much that even so they might be friends again. But now! it was very different. Percy's quiet satisfaction showed that they were on the most perfect terms, and he could imagine Bertha's delight--her high spirits--and her charming little ways of showing her pleasure. It forced itself on his mind against his will, that she was very much in love with Percy after all these ten years, difficult as it seemed to him to realise it.

So they were hardly going out any more! So they were going to the country early to have a sort of second honeymoon! It seemed to him that after ten years of gay camaraderie they were now suddenly going to behave like lovers, like a newly married young couple.

How sickening it was, and how absorbed she would be now! People always made much more of an event like that when it happened after some years.

Personally he tried to think it made him like her less, at any rate it seemed to make her far more removed from him. But all the real estrangement had been caused undoubtedly by his wife.

On the whole, to be just, that pompous a.s.s, as he called him, Percy Kellynch, had really behaved very well. He had accused Nigel of nothing; he had suggested nothing about his wife, who was still, evidently, on a pedestal; he had really done the right thing and been considerate to her in the highest degree. Any man who cared for his wife would have naturally requested him, Nigel, to keep away. And it was really decent, frightfully decent of him, to let him see the letters, really kind and fair. Of course what put old Percy in a good temper, in spite of all, was this news, and, no doubt, Bertha was being angelic to him.

Nigel made up his mind to try and throw it off. But he couldn't do it by staying with his wife.

To look at her would be agonising now.

Still he made up his mind he would be calm, he would not be unkind to her; he would be firm, and, as far as possible, have no sort of scene.

When he went in, she was sitting in the boudoir looking out of the window as usual. She saw him before he came in. It was not six o'clock yet and quite light.

"Well, Nigel darling?" She ran up to him.

He moved away.

"Please don't, Mary. I've got something serious to speak to you about."

She turned pale, guiltily.

"What is it? What on earth is it?"

"You shall hear. Shall we talk about it now, or wait till after dinner?

I think I'd rather wait. I've got a bit of a headache."

"After dinner, then," murmured Mary.

This was very unlike her. Had she had nothing on her conscience, nothing she was afraid of, she would never have ceased questioning and worrying him to get it all out of him.