The Lady of the Basement Flat Part 26

"I _do_! I may say I am much attached to Evelyn. She has faults (judicially), but she is a pleasant, well-meaning girl. She has been (unctuously) very kind to me."

"She is kind to everyone," he said shortly, "except myself! Of course she has faults! Plenty of them. You could not know her without seeing that."

I glared, outraged. Oh, indeed! If my faults are so many and so obvious, why on earth does he--?

"You are very keen-sighted for a lover, Mr Maplestone," I said coldly.

"If I were Evelyn, I should prefer the idealism which is usual under the circ.u.mstances. But perhaps you do not pose as an ordinary lover."

"I don't know," he said shortly--"I don't know. This is a new experience to me. I can only say one thing"--his voice softened, swelled into deep, low notes--"she is my life. She means everything-- the beginning and the end. I shall fight on and on until she is mine."

Miss Harding coughed, and twitched at her shawl, and blinked at the ceiling, and feebly shook her grey head.

"It is a pity," she said weakly, "to make too sure! In these matters force is--er--is out of place. Evelyn must decide. She should not be coerced. If I know her nature, coercion will do no good. She is inclined to obstinacy."

"Coercion would fail, but _love_--Your niece is very feminine. She would be unhappy alone. She needs to be loved. I have love to give her--enough to satisfy any girl--more than enough! At the bottom of her heart she knows it. She ran away because she was afraid. Left no address."

"Mr Maplestone, I am sorry to appear unkind, but Miss Wastneys' plans were made before she guessed your wishes."

That was true, and hit him hard. His face fell, and he looked so quelled, so dejected, that my heart ached with remorse. What foolish thing I might have said I don't know, but at that moment the door burst open, and Winifred and Marion precipitated themselves into my arms.

Taking no notice of the strange man, they proceeded to confide the adventures of their walk. It was "Miss Harding, this; darling Miss Harding, that; Miss Harding, dear, the other," while I undid their m.u.f.flers, and smoothed their hair, and smiled in benevolent interest.

What could be a finer testimony to Miss Harding's verisimilitude than the blandishments of these sweet innocents?

For some minutes Mr Maplestone's presence was ignored, but when I looked at him again it was to realise with surprised curiosity that his bearing had undergone a startling change. His cheeks had flushed, the weary lines had disappeared, he looked young, brisk, a.s.sured. Nothing had happened to account for it; nothing had been said, bearing in the remotest sense on his affairs. I had made no slip of any kind, but had been laboriously elderly and restrained, and yet, there it was--an unmistakable air of satisfaction and relief.

He rose, held out his hand.

"I see you are busy. I won't detain you longer. If you will allow me I will call again."

"Mr Maplestone, excuse my want of hospitality, but it is quite useless."

He retained my hand in his; he spoke in a pleading voice.

"I am a very lonely man. I have no one else to whom I can speak. It would be a pleasure just to see anyone who belonged--I will promise not to be a nuisance. Please let me come!"

"Well!" I said helplessly. "Well!"

Short of being absolutely brutal, what else could I say? Besides--it may be a pleasure to me, too!

That same evening a letter arrived from Charmion. Nothing like having all one's excitements at the same time. It was good to see the dear writing again, and I was in the mood when I badly needed some words of comfort. I tore open the envelope, hoping to find them inside.

This is the letter:--

"Evelyn, Dear,--How is it faring with you, I wonder, in your grey London world, while I laze beneath Italian skies? It is a rest to know that you understand my silence, and don't need to be reminded that it does not mean forgetfulness. That big heart of yours can be very patient and forbearing. I have good cause to know that, but I also know that no one in the world more keenly enjoys a word of love and appreciation, so here's a confession for you, dear. Read it, lock it up in your heart, and never, never refer to it in words! This is it, then. During these last weeks, when I have been fighting the old battle of the last six years, I have discovered to my surprise, and--let me confess it--dismay, that my point of view has strangely altered. I still consider that I have been the victim of one of the cruellest deceptions which a woman could endure; I still believe that in that first ghastly hour of discovery, flight was justified and natural, but--Well, Evelyn, dear! I have been living for months in very close intimacy with a little girl who thinks no evil, and is always ready to find a good explanation for what may on the surface appear to be unkind, and it has had its effect.

"I keep asking myself, 'In my place, what would Evelyn have done?' and the answer disturbs my sleep. You are impulsive, my dear, and your temper is not beyond reproach. If you loved deeply you would be exacting, and would fiercely resent deceit. You would have run away even more impetuously than I did myself, but--but--you would not have kept up your resentment for six long years, or refused the offender a right to speak! If I know my Evelyn, before a month had pa.s.sed her heart would have softened, and she would be turning special pleader in his defence, racking her brain for extenuating explanations. And if there had been none--I can imagine you, Evelyn, shouldering your burden with a set, gallant little face, going back to your husband, and saying to yourself, 'Am I a coward to be daunted by the failure of one little month? He married me for my money--very well, he shall have his price!

I will give it to him, freely and willingly, but I will give him other things too--companionship, interest, sympathy, so that in time to come he shall love me for myself! I am young and pretty and intelligent--I can do it if I care enough to be patient and unselfish. I married him for better or worse. With G.o.d's help, I will turn this "worse" into "better" before our lives are done!'

"Oh, I a.s.sure you, my dear, I cut a poor figure in my own eyes, when I contrast my conduct with what yours would have been in my place. If we had met years ago things might have gone differently, but now it is too late. Too late for apologies and recantations, that is to say, for they would not be acceptable, even if I could bring myself to the point of offering them. This sounds as if your example had had no real effect after all, but it is not so. Outward circ.u.mstances may remain the same, but some of the inward bitterness has gone! Do you remember the old fairy story about the unfortunate king who had three iron bands clamped tightly round his heart? It was the result of a spell, of course, and the only thing which could break their hold was when some mortal did some really fine and n.o.ble deed, then with a great bang one of the bands broke loose and conveniently disappeared.

"Well, dear little girl, if your present crack-brained mission is not working out to your satisfaction, if your neighbours in the 'Mansions'

(?) are unappreciative or appreciative in objectionable ways--comfort yourself with the reflection that your sweet example has burst one of Charmion's iron bands. I think on reflection one might almost say _two_, and that she daily blesses you for the relief!

"I can't send you an address. I have no idea where I am going next, but before very long you will see me again. I'll burst in upon you some day, with a Paris hat on my head (and another in my box for a pretty friend!) and s.n.a.t.c.h you away from your fads and fancies, and carry you off to 'Pastimes,' to gloat over, all to myself! Don't have anything to say to any presumptuous man who may try to lure you away. For the period of our lease you belong to me, and I am not going to give you up.

"Charmion."

I smiled, wiped a furtive tear, and carefully folded up the sheet. It _did_ comfort me to know that I had helped Charmion. I thought happily of seeing her again, of all the long interesting talks we would have together.

Incidentally I thought of our lease. If we paid a penalty, we could break it at three years.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

STRANGE CONVERSATIONS.

Billie is slowly recovering. He is sitting up in his cot, languidly permitting himself to be adored, waited upon by obsequious attendants, and fed upon the fat of the land. This is the period when outsiders cry gushingly to an invalid's relations, "How happy you must be!" But as a cold matter of fact they usually feel very depressed and snappy and bored. This sounds thankless, but it is nothing of the sort; the thankfulness is all there, stored up for later realisation, but for the moment tired nerves are in the ascendant, and pay one out for the long-drawn strain.

Relieved from acute anxiety, Mr Thorold began to think of the cost, count up doctors' visits, and sigh like a furnace; Miss Brown gave notice. "She wasn't blind and she wasn't deaf. She was aware that she was not giving satisfaction, and it would be better for both parties--"

The general servant, who had been quite heroic during the time when work went on the twenty-four hours round, now took to banging dishes and muttering as she left the room. Old Miss Harding, having lost much sleep, and spent her few leisure hours in reading aloud to her small guests, exhibited a tendency to tears and self-pity. Mr Hallett, disappointed of a hoped-for holiday with his friend as companion, shrugged his shoulders, and inquired dismally: "What can you expect?

Things always go wrong in this miserable world!"

Each man in turns paid visits to my flat, and discussed his troubles at length. Mr Thorold's were mostly financial. What could he do to cut down expenses? Would I recommend sending the children to live in the country? Ridiculously cheap houses could be had, if one did not mind living miles from a station. He himself must, of course, remain in town; but in a cheap boarding-house he could manage to live on very little--say a hundred a year--and when he took a holiday he could "run down to the country". It would be good for the children.

"While it lasted," I said drily. "Their father might live--with luck-- for a year or eighteen months. It seems hardly worth while having the expense of a removal for such a short time."

He sighed, looked for a moment as if he were going to declare that he would be glad to be out of it, then pulled himself together and said:--

"Well, but I must pull in somehow to pay for all these extra expenses!

Have you anything to suggest?"

"You might let this flat furnished for a few months in spring. The porters tell me there are tenants to be found at that time. Odd, isn't it, that the season should affect 'Weltham Mansions'? It's the lap of the waves, I suppose, but it seems a long way to flow. I could help you to find cheap country quarters, and you could fit in your own holiday at the same time, and so save travelling expenses. Lazing about in a garden may not be exciting, but it's the rest you need. I knew a very tired man who went off for a golfing week with a friend. His wife told me he took a fortnight to recover. She said so to the doctor, and he said, 'Of course! What did you expect? It would have been better if he had gone to bed.'"

He shrugged impatiently.

"Maybe it is quite true. I suppose it is. But when a man has only one fortnight in the year, he might be allowed to enjoy it in his own way!

It's an idea, though--letting the flat. Thanks for the suggestion.

I'll speak to an agent."

Mr Hallett rested his big shoulders against my cushions, and said in his low, grave tones:--

"You are a woman--you understand these things. Is there any way in which I can help? It's pretty tough to see an old friend worried to death, and just sit and look on--but Thorold's proud, and it's difficult to interfere. It seems a cruel thing that illness should fall so heavily upon the middle cla.s.ses. The rich are independent, the poor have hospitals; but a man in Thorold's position is no sooner through with the mental torture than he is up against an army of bills. It seems that Billie is bound to keep his nurses for several weeks longer.

That's a big item in itself."

It was! Often during these last weeks I had thought to myself what a grand occupation it would be for an independent woman to train as a nurse, and then give one or two doctors leave to call her in to serve-- without payment--in cases like the present, where need was great and means were small. I went off into a day-dream in which I saw myself, in cap and ap.r.o.n, acting as ministering angel to the suffering middle cla.s.s, to be roused by Mr Hallett's voice saying tentatively:--

"I'm a poor man, but I am alone in the world, so there's no object in saving. Why shouldn't I settle a few of the bills for Billie's illness and say nothing about it?"

I shook my head.