Bird of Paradise Part 8

"Well," he said, "suppose you give just one party this year. Just to 'keep our circle together,' as they say--then we can stop it again, if you like."

"What sort of party?"

"Any sort. Musical, if you like."

"Oh! that means having horrid singers and players, and performers! I don't like that set, Nigel."

"All right. Let's give a dance. We've got a splendid floor."

"A _dance_? Oh no. I don't dance; and I couldn't bear to see you dancing with anyone."

"This is all very flattering, my dear, but you know you're really rather absurd. Girls wouldn't be fighting to dance with an old married man like me. Altogether,--the way you regard me,--the way you imagine I'm the marked-down prey of every woman you know,--would be too comical if it wasn't so pathetic."

"Oh, really? So you say! You're thirty-five;--you're better-looking than ever."

"Thanks. It's very kind of you to think so." He laughed rather contemptuously. "What a fatuous idiot I should be if I believed you.

But--to go back to what we were talking about--it really is in a way rather a pity you're gradually dropping everybody like that. It seems to me that one should either have a cosy, clever, interesting little set of amusing and really intimate _friends_; or else, a large circle of acquaintances; or both. I'm not speaking of parties, for me. No man of course cares about all that sort of rot; it's only for you; women like going out as a rule."

"I didn't care much about the sort of society you introduced me to when we first married. I didn't like any of them much."

"What's the matter with them?" he asked. He knew she had always felt morbidly and bitterly out of it because she mistakenly believed that everybody was interested in the fact that her grandfather had made a fortune in treacle, and that her husband was Lord Wantage's nephew. As a matter of fact, no one who came to the house cared in the slightest degree about either of these circ.u.mstances (even if they knew them) but merely wished candidly to enjoy themselves in a large, jolly, hospitable house, owned by a very attractive man with a large number of amusing friends and, apparently, a harmless and good-natured little wife. Mary detested and soon put a stop to intimate or Bohemian friends who sat up all night smoking, talking art or literature, or being musical; and she managed rapidly to reduce their circle to a much smaller one at a much greater distance. She had not a single intimate friend. With women she only exchanged cards. "What's wrong with them all?" Nigel repeated, for he was beginning to lose patience.

"Oh! their manners are all right. If you really want to know what I think of the whole set--I mean that sort of half-clever, half-smart set you were in--the barristers and writers, artists, sporting and gambling men, and women mad on music and the theatre--well, it is that the men are silly and frivolous, and the women horrid and--and _fast_! Some are cold and just as hard as nails, others are positively _wicked_! I admit most of the men have nice manners and the women are not stupid. They all dress well."

Nigel was silent a moment.

"Well, after all, if you don't like them, why should you see them?" he said, good-naturedly enough. He did not feel inclined to defend all his acquaintances. "But may I ask, do you consider that this set, as you call it, lead a _useless_ life?"

"Yes; of course I do."

"Oh! Good. That's all I wanted to know."

"I see what you mean quite well," she said, walking up and down the room. "You think _I_ lead a useless life--that I'm not accomplished or literary or even domestic, or social. You think I lead an empty life with all my money."

"Well, why shouldn't you, if you like it? But I wish you enjoyed it yourself more, that's the point."

"I can never enjoy myself--if you want to know, Nigel--except when I'm with you; and even then I'm often not happy, because I think you don't care to be with me."

"Oh, Mary! really! How awful you are! What rot all this is! I can't say more than that you can do whatever you like from morning to night, and that I don't wish to interfere with you in any possible way."

"But I should like you to be _with_ me more."

He restrained the obvious retort (that she didn't make herself agreeable).

"Well, I _am_ with you." He humoured her gently.

"Yes--at this moment."

"Aren't we going to dine together?"

"Yes, we are. But about an hour afterwards I know you'll find some sort of excuse either to go out, or to go into the library and read. Why can't you read while I'm looking at you? Why not?"

"Don't be always looking forward, meeting troubles half way," he said jokingly. "Perhaps I sha'n't read." Then, after a moment's pause: "Excuse my saying so, my dear, but if _you_ sometimes read a book, or the papers, or saw more people, you would have more to tell me when we did meet, wouldn't you?"

"It doesn't matter about that. You can tell me what you've been reading or seeing. Who did you see at the picture gallery? Was Mrs. Kellynch there?"

"Look here"--he was looking at the paper--"would you like to go to the opera after dinner? Let's go one of these days soon."

"No; I shouldn't like it at all."

He stared at her in surprise.

"Why not, pray? I thought you enjoyed it the other night?"

"_You_ enjoyed it," she replied.

"I thought you seemed rather pleased with yourself when we went out, with all your furs and tiaras and things. You looked very smart," he said pleasantly.

"Well, I tell you I hated it, Nigel."

"And why?"

Mary was at least candid, and she spoke bluntly.

"Because we met Mrs. Kellynch; and you talked to her and seemed pleased to see her."

"Oh, good heavens! I can hardly cut dead all the women I ever knew before we were married."

"Do you think her pretty?" said Mary.

"Yes, of course I do; and so does everyone. She is pretty. It's a well-known fact. But what does it matter? It's of no interest to me."

"Are you sure it isn't? Didn't you tell me you were almost engaged once?"

"Oh, _do_ let's drop the prehistoric," he entreated, appearing bored.

"Never mind about ancient history now. She's married and seems very happy." (He stopped himself in time from saying like us.) "Kellynch is a very good sort."

"Is he? Do you envy him?"

"Mary, really, don't be absurd. Let me tell you that there's not one man in a hundred who could stand ..." and he moved a step farther away.

"Could stand what?" She came nearer to him. "My caring for you so much?"

Half-a-minute pa.s.sed in something near torture, as she played with his tie again, and he controlled himself and spoke with a determinedly kind smile.

"Go along and dress for dinner," he said.

"What shall I wear?"