The Reflections of Ambrosine Part 16

My books have come--quant.i.ties of books!--and I spend hours in my boudoir, never lifting my eyes from the pages to be distracted by the glaring, mustard-brocade walls around me.

Mrs. Gurrage treats me with respect. There is a gradual but complete change in her manner to me, from what cause I do not know. I am invariably polite to her and consider all her wishes, and she often tells me she is very proud of me; but all trace of the familiarity she exercised towards me in the beginning has disappeared.

I am sorry for her, as she is deeply anxious, also, about this question of the Yeomanry going to the war.

Augustus is still her idol.

Perhaps I am wicked to be so indifferent to them all. Perhaps it is not enough just to submit and to have gentle manners. I ought to display interest; but I cannot--oh, I cannot.

It is the very small things that jar upon me--their sordid views upon no matter what question--the importance they attach to trifles.

Sometimes in the afternoons, after tea, Amelia reads the _Family Herald_ to Mrs. Gurrage.

"A comfort it was to me in my young days, my dear," she often tells me.

The delinquencies of the house-maids are discussed at dinner, the smallest piece of gossip in Tilchester society.

I cannot, try as I will, remember the people's different names, or whom Miss Jones is engaged to, or whom Miss Brown. Quant.i.ties of these people come out to tea, and those afternoons are difficult to bear. I feel very tired when evening comes, after having had to sit there and hear them talk. Their very phraseology is as of a different world.

Augustus has not been drunk since the night at Harley, but often I think his eyes look as if he had had too much to drink, and it is on these occasions he is rude to me.

I believe in his heart he is very fond of me still, but his habit of bullying and bl.u.s.tering often conceals it.

He continually accuses me of being a cold statue, and regrets that he has married a lump of ice. And when I ask him in what way I could please him better, he says I must love him.

"I told you before we were married that I never should, but I would be civil to you," I said to him at last, exasperated beyond all endurance. "You agreed to the bargain, and I do my best to keep it.

I never disobey you or cross you in a single thing. What have you to complain of?"

"Everything!" he said, in a fury, thumping the table so hard that a little Dresden-china figure fell down and broke into pieces on the parquet floor. "Everything! Your great eyes are always sad. You never take the least interest in anything about any of us. You are docile--yes; and obedient--yes; and when I hold you in my arms I might be holding a stuffed doll for all the response you make. And when I kiss you, you shudder!"

He walked up and down the room excitedly.

"Oh, we have all noticed it!" he continued. "You are polite, and quiet, and--and--d.a.m.ned cold! Does Amelia ever let herself go before you? Never! The mater herself feels it. You are as different to any of us as if you came from Mars!"

"But you knew that always. You used to tell me that was what you liked about me," I said, wearily. "I cannot change my nature any more than--than Amelia can hers."

"Why not, pray?"

"Have you never thought," I said, driven at last to defend myself, "that there may be a side in the question for me also? I feel it as badly as you do--your all being different to me."

He stopped in his angry walk and looked at me. This idea was one of complete newness to him.

"Well, you'd better get out of it and change, for we sha'n't," he said, at last. "You owe everything to me. You would have been in the gutter now if I had not had the generosity to marry you."

I did not answer, but I suppose my eyes spoke, for he came close up to me and shook his fist in my face.

"I'll break that proud spirit of yours--see if I don't!" he roared--"daring to look at me like that! What good are you to me, I should like to know? You do not have a child, and, of all things, I want an heir!"

A low growl came from the hearth-rug, where Roy had been lying, and the dear dog rose and came to my side. I was afraid he would fly at Augustus, shaking his fist as if he was going to strike me. I put my hand on Roy's soft, black head and held his collar.

In a moment Augustus turned round and rushed to the door.

"I'll have that dog poisoned," he said, as he fled from the room.

I took up a volume of La Rochefoucauld, which was lying on the table near--grandmamma's copy--and I chanced to open it at this maxim:

"_On n'est jamais si heureux ni si malheureux qu'on s'imagine._"

About happiness I do not know, but for the rest--well, I must tell myself that to feel miserable is only foolish imagination, when I have a fire, and food, and a diamond necklace, and three yards of pearls, and a carriage with prune-and-scarlet servants, and a boudoir with mustard-silk walls, and--and numbers of other things.

Roy put his nose into my hand.

"Why did we not go on the long journey with grandmamma?" I said to him. And then I remembered that it is ridiculous to be morbid and dramatic, and so I rang for my maid--a dour Scotchwoman whom I like--and told her to bring my out-door things here to the boudoir-fire. And soon Roy and I were a mile from the house.

Lady Tilchester has been in Scotland almost ever since we spent our four days at Harley. When she comes back I shall ask her if she will come over here. She may help me to awake.

I am sure if any one could read what I have written, they would say that poor Augustus had a great deal to put up with in having a wife like me. Probably, from his point of view, I am thoroughly tiresome and irritating. I do not exonerate myself.

After a brisk walk I felt better, and by lunch-time was able to come back to the house and behave as usual. Augustus, I found, had gone to London.

Mrs. Gurrage was uneasy. She dropped her h's once or twice, a sure sign, with her, of perturbation and excitement.

When the servants had left the room she said to Amelia:

"Quite time you were off with that basket for Mary Higginson."

And Amelia took the hint meekly and got up from her seat, leaving a pear unfinished.

"Shut the door now, and don't stand loitering there!" my mother-in-law further commanded.

Amelia is a poor relation, and has often to put up with unfinished manners.

"Look here, my dear," Mrs. Gurrage said, when she felt sure we were alone, "I don't like it--and that's flat!"

"What do you not like?" I said, respectfully.

"Gussie's goings-on! If you tried to coax him more he would not be forever rushin' up to London to see that viscountess of his. I wonder you don't show no spark of jealousy. Law! I'd have scratched her eyes out had she interfered between me and Mr. Gurrage as she is doing between you two, even if she was a d.u.c.h.ess!"

"I do not understand," I said.

"Well, you must have your eyes glued shut," Mrs. Gurrage continued, emphatically. "That Lady Grenellen, I mean. A nice viscountess she is, lookin' after other people's husbands! Why, you can't never have even glanced at the letters Gussie's got from her!"

"Oh, but _of course_ not!"

"Well, I have. My suspicions began to be aroused directly after you got back from Harley. I caught sight of a coronet on the envelope"

(Mrs. Gurrage p.r.o.nounces it "envellup"), "and I said to myself, there's something queer in that, Gussie never sayin' a word--he as would be so proud of a letter with a crown on it."