The Odd Women Part 44

'Yes. It's very sad. I must bear up under it. The worst of it is, I am naturally subject to depression. In solitude I sink, sink. But the subject is too painful. Don't let us darken the last hours with such reflections.'

Widdowson retained his indulgent opinion of the facetious young wine merchant. He even laughed now and then in recalling some phrase or other that Bevis had used to him.

Subsequently, Monica had several long conversations with the old lady.

Impelled to gossipy frankness about all her affairs, Mrs. Bevis allowed it to be understood that the chief reason for two of the girls always being with their brother was the possibility thus afforded of their 'meeting people'--that is to say, of their having a chance of marriage.

Mrs. Cosgrove and one or two other ladies did them social service.

'They never _will_ marry!' said Monica to her husband, rather thoughtfully than with commiseration.

'Why not? They are nice enough girls.'

'Yes, but they have no money; and'--she smiled--'people see that they want to find husbands.'

'I don't see that the first matters; and the second is only natural.'

Monica attempted no rejoinder, but said presently--

'Now they are just the kind of women who ought to find something to do.'

'Something to do? Why, they attend to their mother and their brother.

What could be more proper?'

'Very proper, perhaps. But they are miserable, and always will be.'

'Then they have no _right_ to be miserable. They are doing their duty, and that ought to keep them cheerful.'

Monica could have said many things, but she overcame the desire, and laughed the subject aside.

CHAPTER XVII

THE TRIUMPH

Nor till mid-winter did Barfoot again see his friends the Micklethwaites. By invitation he went to South Tottenham on New Year's Eve, and dined with them at seven o'clock. He was the first guest that had entered the house since their marriage.

From the very doorstep Everard became conscious of a domestic atmosphere that told soothingly upon his nerves. The little servant who opened to him exhibited a gentle, noiseless demeanour which was no doubt the result of careful discipline. Micklethwaite himself, who at once came out into the pa.s.sage, gave proof of a like influence; his hearty greeting was spoken in soft tones; a placid happiness beamed from his face. In the sitting-room (Micklethwaite's study, used for reception because the other had to serve as dining-room) tempered lamplight and the glow of a hospitable fire showed the hostess and her blind sister standing in expectation; to Everard's eyes both of them looked far better in health than a few months ago. Mrs. Micklethwaite was no longer so distressingly old; an expression that resembled girlish pleasure lit up her countenance as she stepped forward; nay, if he mistook not, there came a gentle warmth to her cheek, and the momentary downward glance was as graceful and modest as in a youthful bride. Never had Barfoot approached a woman with more finished courtesy, the sincere expression of his feeling. The blind sister he regarded in like spirit; his voice touched its softest note as he held her hand for a moment and replied to her pleasant words.

No undue indication of poverty disturbed him. He saw that the house had been improved in many ways since Mrs. Micklethwaite had taken possession of it; pictures, ornaments, pieces of furniture were added, all in simple taste, but serving to heighten the effect of refined comfort. Where the average woman would have displayed pretentious emptiness, Mrs. Micklethwaite had made a home which in its way was beautiful. The dinner, which she herself had cooked, and which she a.s.sisted in serving, aimed at being no more than a simple; decorous meal, but the guest unfeignedly enjoyed it; even the vegetables and the bread seemed to him to have a daintier flavour than at many a rich table. He could not help noticing and admiring the skill with which Miss Wheatley ate without seeing what was before her; had he not known her misfortune, he would hardly have become aware of it by any peculiarity as she sat opposite to him.

The mathematician had learnt to sit upon a chair like ordinary mortals.

For the first week or two it must have cost him severe restraint; now he betrayed no temptation to roll and jerk and twist himself. When the ladies retired, he reached from the sideboard a box which Barfoot viewed with uneasiness.

'Do you smoke here--in this room?'

'Oh, why not?'

Everard glanced at the pretty curtains before the windows.

'No, my boy, you do _not_ smoke here. And, in fact, I like your claret; I won't spoil the flavour of it.'

'As you please; but I think f.a.n.n.y will be distressed.'

'You shall say that I have abandoned the weed.'

Emotions were at conflict in Micklethwaite's mind, but finally he beamed with grat.i.tude.

'Barfoot'--he bent forward and touched his friend's arm--'there are angels walking the earth in this our day. Science hasn't abolished them, my dear fellow, and I don't think it ever will.'

'It falls to the lot of but few men to encounter them, and of fewer still to entertain them permanently in a cottage at South Tottenham.'

'You are right.' Micklethwaite laughed in a new way, with scarcely any sound; a change Everard had already noticed. 'These two sisters--but I had better not speak about them. In my old age I have become a worshipper, a mystic, a man of dream and vision.'

'How about worship in a parochial sense?' inquired Barfoot, smiling.

'Any difficulty of that point?'

'I conform, in moderation. Nothing would be asked of me. There is no fanaticism, no intolerance. It would be brutal if I declined to go to church on a Sunday morning. You see, my strictly scientific att.i.tude helps in avoiding offence. f.a.n.n.y can't understand it, but my lack of dogmatism vastly relieves her. I have been trying to explain to her that the scientific mind can have nothing to do with materialism. The new order of ideas is of course very difficult for her to grasp; but in time, in time.'

'For heaven's sake, don't attempt conversion!'

'On no account whatever. But I _should_ like her to see what is meant by perception and conception, by the relativity of time and s.p.a.ce--and a few simple things of that kind!'

Barfoot laughed heartily.

'By-the-bye,' he said, shifting to safer ground, 'my brother Tom is in London, and in wretched health. _His_ angel is from the wrong quarter, from the nethermost pit. I seriously believe that she has a plan for killing her husband. You remember my mentioning in a letter his horse-accident? He has never recovered from that, and as likely as not never will. His wife brought him away from Madeira just when he ought to have stopped there to get well. He settled himself at Torquay, whilst that woman ran about to pay visits. It was understood that she should go back to him at Torquay, but this she at length refused to do.

The place was too dull; it didn't suit her extremely delicate health; she must live in London, her pure native air. If Tom had taken any advice, he would have let her live just where she pleased, thanking Heaven that she was at a distance from him. But the poor fellow can't be away from her. He has come up, and here I feel convinced he will die. It's a very monstrous thing, but uncommonly like women in general who have got a man into their power.'

Micklethwaite shook his head.

'You are too hard upon them. You have been unlucky. You know my view of your duty.'

'I begin to think that marriage isn't impossible for me,' said Barfoot, with a grave smile.

'Ha! Capital!'

'But as likely as not it will be marriage without forms--imply a free union.'

The mathematician was downcast.

'I'm sorry to hear that. It won't do. We must conform. Besides, in that case the person decidedly isn't suitable to you. You of all men must marry a lady.'

'I should never think of any one that wasn't a lady.'

'Is emanc.i.p.ation getting as far as that? Do ladies enter into that kind of union?'

'I don't know of any example. That's just why the idea tempts me.'

Barfoot would go no further in explanation.