The Odd Women Part 40

'Haven't they made up their mind yet about the school? I'm sure it's the right thing for them to do. If the venture were to fail, and they lost money, we would see that they never came to want.'

'They're so timid about it. And it wouldn't be nice, you know, to feel they were going to be dependent upon us for the rest of their lives. I had better go and see Virgie to-morrow morning, and bring her back for dinner.

'If you like,' Widdowson a.s.sented slowly. 'But why not send a message, and ask her to come here?'

'I had rather go. It makes a change for me.'

This was a word Widdowson detested. Change, on Monica's lips, always seemed to mean a release from his society. But he swallowed his dissatisfaction, and finally consented to the arrangement.

Virginia came to dinner, and stayed until nightfall. Thanks to her sister's kindness, she was better clad than in former days, but her face signified no improvement of health. The enthusiasm with which Rhoda Nunn had inspired her appeared only in fitful affectations of interest when Monica pressed her concerning the projected undertaking down in Somerset. In general she had a dreamy, reticent look, and became uncomfortable when any one gazed at her inquiringly. Her talk was of the most insignificant things; this afternoon she spent nearly half an hour in describing a kitten which Mrs. Conisbee had given her; care of the little animal appeared to have absorbed her whole attention for many days past.

Another visitor to-day was Mr. Newd.i.c.k, the City clerk who had been present at Monica's wedding. He and Mrs. Luke Widdowson were the sole friends of her husband that Monica had seen. Mr. Newd.i.c.k enjoyed coming to Herne Hill. Always lugubrious to begin with, he gradually cheered up, and by the time for departure was loquacious. But he had the oddest ideas of talk suitable to a drawing-room. Had he been permitted, he would have held forth to Monica by the hour on the history of the business firm which he had served for a quarter of a century. This subject alone could animate him. His anecdotes were as often as not quite unintelligible, save to people of City experience. For all that Monica did not dislike the man; he was a good, simple, unselfish fellow, and to her he behaved with exaggeration of respect.

A few days later Monica had a sudden fit of illness. Her marriage, and the long open-air holiday, had given her a much healthier appearance than when she was at the shop; but this present disorder resembled the attack she had suffered in Rutland Street. Widdowson hoped that it signified a condition for which he was anxiously waiting. That, however, did not seem to be the case. The medical man who was called in asked questions about the patient's mode of life. Did she take enough exercise? Had she wholesome variety of occupation? At these inquiries Widdowson inwardly raged. He was tormented with a suspicion that they resulted from something Monica had said to the doctor.

She kept her bed for three or four days, and on rising could only sit by the fireside, silent, melancholy. Widdowson indulged his hope, though Monica herself laughed it aside, and even showed annoyance if he return to the subject. Her temper was strangely uncertain; some chance word in a conversation would irritate her beyond endurance, and after an outburst of petulant displeasure she became obstinately mute. At other times she behaved with such exquisite docility and sweetness that Widdowson was beside himself with rapture.

After a week of convalescence, she said one morning,--

'Couldn't we go away somewhere? I don't think I shall ever be quite well staying here.'

'It's wretched weather,' replied her husband.

'Oh, but there are places where it wouldn't be like this. You don't mind the expense, do you, Edmund?'

'Expense? Not I, indeed! But--were you thinking of abroad?'

She looked at him with eyes that had suddenly brightened.

'Oh! would it be possible? People do go out of England in the winter.'

Widdowson plucked at his grizzled beard and fingered his watch-chain.

It was a temptation. Why not take her away to some place where only foreigners and strangers would be about them? Yet the enterprise alarmed him.

'I have never been out of England,' he said, with misgiving.

'All the more reason why we should go. I think Miss Barfoot could advise us about it. She has been abroad, I know, and she has so many friends.'

'I don't see any need to consult Miss Barfoot,' he replied stiffly. 'I am not such a helpless man, Monica.'

Yet a feeling of inability to grapple with such an undertaking as this grew on him the more he thought of it. Naturally, his mind busied itself with such vague knowledge as he had gathered of those places in the South of France, where rich English people go to escape their own climate: Nice, Cannes. He could not imagine himself setting forth to these regions. Doubtless it was possible to travel thither, and live there when one arrived, without a knowledge of French; but he pictured all sorts of humiliating situations resulting from his ignorance. Above everything he dreaded humiliation in Monica's sight; it would be intolerable to have her comparing him with men who spoke foreign languages, and were at home on the Continent.

Nevertheless, he wrote to his friend Newd.i.c.k, and invited him to dine, solely for the purpose of talking over this question with him in private. After dinner he broached the subject. To his surprise, Newd.i.c.k had ideas concerning Nice and Cannes and such places. He had heard about them from the junior partner of his firm, a young gentleman who talked largely of his experiences abroad.

'An immoral lot there,' he said, smiling and shaking his head. 'Queer goings on.'

'Oh, but that's among the foreigners, isn't it?'

Thereupon Mr. Newd.i.c.k revealed his acquaintance with English literature.

'Did you ever read any of Ouida's novels?'

'No, I never did.'

'I advise you to before you think of taking your wife over there. She writes a great deal about those parts. People get mixed up so, it seems. You couldn't live by yourself. You have to eat at public tables, and you'd have all sorts of people trying to make acquaintance with Mrs. Widdowson. They're a queer lot, I believe.'

He abandoned the thought, at once and utterly. When Monica learnt this--he gave only vague and unsatisfactory reasons--she fell back into her despondent mood. For a whole day she scarcely uttered a word.

On the next day, in the dreary afternoon, they were surprised by a call from Mrs. Luke. The widow--less than ever a widow in externals--came in with a burst of exuberant spirits, and began to scold the moping couple like an affectionate parent.

'When are you silly young people coming to an end of your honeymoon? Do you sit here day after day and call each other pretty names? Really it's very charming in its way. I never knew such an obstinate case.--Monica, my black-eyed beauty, change your frock, and come with me to look up the Hodgson Bulls. They're quite too awful; I can't face them alone; but I'm bound to keep in with them. Be off, and let me pitch into your young man for daring to refuse my dinner. Don't you know, sir, that my invitations are like those of Royalty--polite commands?'

Widdowson kept silence, waiting to see what his wife would do. He could not with decency object to her accompanying Mrs. Luke, yet hated the thought of such a step. A grim smile on his face, he sat stiffly, staring at the wall. To his inexpressible delight, Monica, after a short hesitation, excused herself; she was not well; she did not feel able--

'Oh!' laughed the visitor. 'I see, I see! Do just as you like, of course. But if Edmund has any _nous_'--this phrase she had learnt from a young gentleman, late of Oxford, now of Tattersall's and elsewhere--'he won't let you sit here in the dumps. You _are_ in the dumps, I can see.'

The vivacious lady did not stay long. When she had rustled forth again to her carriage, Widdowson broke into a paean of amorous grat.i.tude.

What could he do to show how he appreciated Monica's self-denial on his behalf? For a day or two he was absent rather mysteriously, and in the meantime made up his mind, after consultation with Newd.i.c.k, to take his wife for a holiday in Guernsey.

Monica, when she heard of this project, was at first moderately grateful, but in a day or two showed by reviving strength and spirits that she looked forward eagerly to the departure. Her husband advertised for lodgings in St. Peter Port; he would not face the disagreeable chances of a hotel. In a fortnight's time all their preparations were made. During their absence, which might extend over a month, Virginia was to live at Herne Hill, in supervision of the two servants.

On the last Sunday Monica went to see her friends in Queen's Road.

Widdowson was ashamed to offer an objection; he much disliked her going there alone, but disliked equally the thought of accompanying her, for at Miss Barfoot's he could not pretend to sit, stand, or converse with ease.

It happened that Mrs. Cosgrove was again calling. On the first occasion of meeting with Monica this lady paid her no particular attention; to-day she addressed her in a friendly manner, and their conversation led to the discovery that both of them were about to spend the ensuing month in the same place. Mrs. Cosgrove hoped they might occasionally see each other.

Of this coincidence Monica thought better to say nothing on her return home. She could not be sure that her husband might not, at the last moment, decide to stay at Herne Hill rather than incur the risk of her meeting an acquaintance in Guernsey. On this point he could not be trusted to exercise common sense. For the first time Monica had a secret she desired to keep from him, and the necessity was one which could not but have an unfavourable effect on her manner of regarding Widdowson. They were to start on Monday evening. Through the day her mind was divided between joy in the thought of seeing a new part of the world and a sense of weary dislike for her home. She had not understood until now how terrible would be the prospect of living here for a long time with no companionship but her husband's. On the return that prospect would lie before her. But no; their way of life must somehow be modified; on that she was resolved.

CHAPTER XVI

HEALTH FROM THE SEA

From Herne Hill to St. Peter Port was a change which made of Monica a new creature. The weather could not have been more propitious; day after day of still air and magnificent sky, with temperature which made a brisk walk at any hour thoroughly enjoyable, yet allowed one to sit at ease in the midday sunshine. Their lodgings were in the best part of the town, high up, looking forth over blue sea to the cliffs of Sark.

Widdowson congratulated himself on having taken this step; it was like a revival of his honeymoon; never since their settling down at home had Monica been so grateful, so affectionate. Why, his wife was what he had thought her from the first, perfect in every wifely attribute. How lovely she looked as she sat down to the breakfast-table, after breathing sea air at the open windows, in her charming dress, her black hair arranged in some new fashion just to please him! Or when she walked with him about the quays, obviously admired by men who pa.s.sed them. Or when she seated herself in the open carriage for a drive which would warm her cheeks and make her lips redder and sweeter.

'Edmund,' she said to him one evening, as they talked by the fireside, 'don't you think you take life rather too gravely?'

He laughed.

'Gravely? Don't I seem to enjoy myself?'

'Oh yes; just now. But--still in a rather serious way. One would think you always had cares on your mind, and were struggling to get rid of them.'

'I haven't a care in the world. I am the most blessed of mortals.'