The Making of a Soul Part 12

Having completed her task Toni raised her eyes to look at her husband, and found him lying back in his chair watching her with a very kindly glance.

"Finished, little girl? That's good. I'll just initial it and send it back." He took the sheets she handed him and raised his eyebrows at the numerous corrections. "I say, they must be getting careless at the office to let all these slips go through!" He ran his eye over the page, more from force of habit than because he expected to find any more corrections necessary; and suddenly Toni, watching, saw him frown.

"I say, Toni, you've made a mistake." He tried not to speak sharply, for after all proof-reading is an art. "This line--'There may be Heaven, there must be h.e.l.l'--that's Robert Browning all right; but the next quotation is from the Sonnets to the Portuguese."

"Is it?" Toni did not understand.

"Well, Mrs. Browning wrote those, you know." He was busy repairing Toni's mistake. "And the next is hers, too. And----" he was skimming down the page "--why, you little goose, it was Dante Rossetti who wrote 'The Blessed Damosel.'"

"Was it? I thought her name was Christina." Toni's voice faltered; for though she did not yet realize the enormity of her offence, she knew that Owen was annoyed by her stupidity.

"_Her_ name? Why, of course _her_ name was Christina; but this happens to be his poem, you see."

"His? Whose?" Toni was fl.u.s.tered, or she would never have betrayed herself so utterly.

"Whose?" Owen, his nerves strained almost to breaking point by his bodily pain, spoke irritably, and Toni shrank miserably into her chair.

"Why, Toni, have you never heard of the poet Rossetti? Good Heavens, child, don't you ever open a book?"

She said nothing, though the tears welled slowly into her eyes; and Owen went on reading, finding still further evidences of his wife's lack of acquaintance with the giants of literature as he read.

In an ordinary way he would have let her down gently. After all it is no crime to confuse two poets of the same name; and to "correct" a quotation by transposing two words into a more ordinary sequence is not a very heinous offence; but to Owen, racked with pain, the whole affair was an instance of the most flagrant ignorance, and he let fly one or two biting sarcasms as he bent over the papers, which reduced Toni to a state of trembling, impotent misery.

To do him justice Owen repented as soon as he had spoken, and when he saw how he had hurt her, he threw aside the proof-sheets and devoted himself to making amends for his harshness.

He succeeded finally in winning back something of her usual serenity; but to both the incident was oddly discomposing; to Toni because for the first time she saw the critic in the husband, and trembled to think how often she must fall short of his high standard; to Owen because the affair seemed to open up such vast tracts of ignorance in the woman who was his wife, and showed, more clearly than ever before, the dividing line between intellect and ordinary shrewdness.

For just one illuminating moment he saw Toni as she was; a pretty, winning, half-educated little girl, to whom the world of art and literature was a sphere apart, its shibboleths mere meaningless babble in her ears, its greatest exponents but so many confusing names, divorced from any enlightening personalities.

Where, he asked himself half desperately, was there any common meeting ground for two beings so widely diverse as they, husband and wife though they were? Surely they were as widely sundered as the poles....

And then the sight of Toni's face, her eyes filled with tears, her childish mouth quivering, lighted a sudden flame in his heart which consumed, for the time being, all doubts and petty vexations. After all, she was only a child--and she loved him; and so he took her in his arms and kissed away the tears with a remorseful tenderness which might well pa.s.s--with an uncritical being like Toni--for love.

But Toni was not thinking of that dreadful episode on this brilliant June morning. Rather she was trying to realize that she was the mistress of this beautiful place, that Greenriver, with its grounds, its flowers, its lofty rooms, was to be her home; and to the girl who had lived in Winter Road, Brixton, Greenriver was indeed a revelation.

They had been home a week; and so far Owen had not left her for more than a few hours, on the occasion of a business visit to London. The weather had been superb; and they had spent several long afternoons on the river, thereby missing, to Toni's great content, three or four callers who had come to see what manner of woman Owen Rose had married.

That these calls must be returned Toni knew very well; but it must be confessed she shivered at the prospect; more especially as Owen had told her, laughingly, that she must not count upon his aid on those purely social occasions.

As the thought of the terrible duty-calls flashed through her mind Toni slipped down from her perch on the bal.u.s.trade and made her way down to the towing path beneath. She often walked beside the river in these quiet morning hours, alone unless her dog Jock, an Airedale terrier of unimpeachable ancestry and cheerful disposition, was at hand to accompany her.

Jock had been presented to her by Barry as a wedding gift; and Toni, who had never before been on an intimate footing with a dog, found his companionship both delightful and stimulating. Although he was nearly two years old Jock was a puppy at heart. He did his best to comport himself as a full-grown dog should do: but had lapses into babyhood, when a shoe carelessly left about seemed too tempting; or, after a muddy walk, a soft satin cushion gave him an invitation to repose which could not possibly be denied.

He was a lovable creature, however, and a perfect gentleman as regards cats--a very desirable trait in an animal belonging to Toni, who loved all cats and would certainly have quarrelled with any dog who waged war upon the furry tribe.

To her satisfaction Jock came bounding over the terrace to follow her as she stepped on to the towing path; and together they strolled by the river in the fresh morning air, Toni gazing half-absently towards the distant hills, Jock keeping one eye and ear anxiously c.o.c.ked in antic.i.p.ation of any unwary rat who should show himself upon the river-bank.

Although Willowhurst was comparatively far from town there were a good many visitors on the river during the summer months. There was a perfect reach for punting just here, and many people came down to occupy the bungalows built on the opposite bank to that on which Greenriver stood.

To Owen these little summer dwellings were in the nature of an eyesore.

Fond as he was of his own beautiful house he would have liked to keep the neighbourhood free from this essentially modern phase of river-life; but to Toni the gay little bungalows had a charm of their own. They were all specially spick and span just now, having been newly painted and garnished with flowers for the season; and Toni looked across the river with frank interest at the Cot, the d.i.n.ky House, the Mascot, and the rest of the tiny shanties. She liked the houseboats, too, with their gaily-striped awnings, their hanging baskets filled with gaudy pink geraniums and bright lobelia. Their primly-curtained little windows amused her; and in the evenings she would lure Owen out on to the terrace to look down the river to where the Chinese lanterns hung on their poles like globes of magic light against the darkening sky.

Toni and Jock had strolled about a quarter of a mile down the path when they were brought sharply to a halt by the sound of a deep bark from the other side of the water; and looking across they found they were not the only waking creatures in this apparently sleeping world.

In one of the little gardens opposite to where they stood were a couple of friends like themselves; but in this case the human being was a man in his shirt sleeves, and the canine was a singularly beautiful white wolfhound, who stood, at the moment, barking defiance at the intruders on the opposite bank.

Jock, whose natural pugnacity was always easily aroused, returned the compliment with the most evident sincerity; but the Borzoi, having flung down the gage of battle and a.s.serted her dignity, retired gracefully from the contest, and walking daintily up to her master rose and placed her slender paws on his shoulders, an action which said plainly that honour was satisfied.

The animal was so striking-looking, from her long, graceful head to her plumy tail, that Toni could not resist a second look; and the dog's master had a good view of the girl whom he guessed to be the young mistress of Greenriver, the house which he had often admired as he pa.s.sed by in his boat during the summer days.

As she stood, gazing almost childishly across the intervening water, she looked barely more than a schoolgirl; and her short skirt and simple white blouse aided the illusion. It was only the sight of the coils of black hair which bound her head, and the gleam of the gold wedding-ring on her finger, which placed her definitely in the category of womanhood; and the man who watched her felt a strange sensation of something like pity for the girl launched so early on the sea of matrimony, a sea whose perils he, of all men, had cause to dread.

But suddenly Toni became aware of the indecorousness of her conduct. It was the height of discourtesy to stand staring; and with a blush she called Jock and turned hastily away to retrace her steps.

The man and the dog watched her go; and only when she was nearly out of sight did they turn back and re-enter the little white bungalow which was known locally as the Hope House.

At breakfast Owen asked Toni kindly if she felt inclined for a day on the river.

"I thought we might take our lunch and go quite a long way," he said.

"I'm afraid this must be our last holiday jaunt for a little time. I shall have to be busy after this."

"Will you?" She looked a trifle wistful; and Owen was sorry for her.

"Well, I daresay I can manage a day off now and then. To-morrow's Thursday, isn't it? I must be up in town then, and I'm afraid I shall be late home. There's a dinner I rather wanted to attend, but it would mean a long evening alone for you."

"I don't mind." She smiled rea.s.suringly. "I've got Jock to keep me company and there are plenty of people in the house."

"Well, Andrews is a pretty st.u.r.dy young chap, and of course there are three or four women. There's the telephone, too, you know, so you really needn't be nervous--especially now, when the river is as full of traffic as Bond Street!"

"I'm not a bit nervous," she said. "I ... I was just wondering----"

She broke off, flushing, and Owen felt an unwonted curiosity as to her meaning.

"Well?" He spoke kindly, but Toni seemed unable to proceed.

"I was thinking ... I mean ..." Suddenly impatient of her own cowardice she took her courage in both hands and spoke bravely. "I was wondering whether you would allow me to ask f.a.n.n.y--my cousin--down for the afternoon. You see, if you are away----"

"Why, of course, dear!" Owen spoke the more heartily because he felt a slight compunction at the thought of her relations. "Ask your cousin by all means. You must remember that this is your house, Toni, and you need not ask my leave to invite your friends."

"Thank you." She was looking down as she spoke, but her cheeks were scarlet. "I will ask her then ... but ..." suddenly her words came with a rush "... I know my people aren't like yours ... I couldn't let them meet your friends ... I mean--I'll ask them when you are not at home, and then----"

"Don't be a goose, Toni!" Owen hoped his voice betrayed nothing. "Your people are my people now, you know, and I don't want you to get any silly ideas into your head at the start."

She stretched out her hand impulsively and laid it on his arm.

"Owen, you're too good to me. I know so well that we belong to different worlds, but ... if you mean that----"

"Of course I mean it." He rose as he spoke and patted her shoulder.

"Don't be a little silly--and now run away and write to your cousin at once. If she can't come to-morrow, suggest Friday."

"Oh, she couldn't come then," returned Toni navely. "You see the shop closes on Thursday afternoon, and it's f.a.n.n.y's only free day."