Mrs. Wylie

“ In the course of a few hours Theodore Trist was quite at home at Wyl's Hall. These three people had lived together before, and knew each other's little ways. Mrs. Wylie, the personification of comfort—Theo Trist, possessing no real comprehension of the word—Brenda, midway between them, with a youthful faculty for adapting herself to either. The narrow limits of a ship soon break down the smaller social barriers, and the memory of life on board the Hermione knitted the inmates of Wyl's Hall in a close and pleasant familiarity. ”

“ Wylie, 'that you must be gifted with a wonderful amount of patience, or you would never bother with your young men. The obligation and the pleasure must be all on their side.'
'It is,' put in Trist cynically, 'a sort of mother's agency. We ought to issue a circular for the benefit of provincial parents: "Young men's morals looked after; confidences received and kindly forgotten. Youths without dull female relatives preferred. Address, Mrs. Wylie, Suffolk Mansions, London, and Wyl's Hall, Wyvenwich."'
Mrs. Wylie laughed comfortably. ”

“ The woman lay outstretched on the frowsy, tumbled bed. She was quite quiet. Now that her features were composed and the fair hair lay spread out upon the pillow, there was a kind of austere power and dignity in her clumsy ugliness. One hand, drenched with an icy sweat, held Mrs. Franklin's hand so that she dared not move. But she did not want to move. She was breathless, and the old nausea rose and fell in her throat like a tide. But she was oddly content. She had managed. She was little and delicate, and she had lifted this big woman by herself. And the woman clung to her. ”

“ The door opened and closed, and he heard no sound. It was only when a voice called him by name that he started violently, and as he saw the figure standing on the opposite side of the table thrust the jewel-case hastily back into its place.
“Miss East!”
“Yes. I am afraid I startled you. You were very—intent on something. You did not hear.”
He turned the key of the drawer and flung it down carelessly. Then, with a rather twisted smile, he removed his hat.
“Nothing—only business. You see what a boor I am. I am scarcely civilized. Won't you sit down?” ”

“ She did not stop, in fact, till chance brought her to the Thames Embankment, where, having ascertained that there was no policeman in sight, she leaned exhaustedly against the parapet and contemplated the gaunt outlines of the wharves opposite and the chill blackness of the water at her feet. She had never seen the river from that point of view before, and it completed her depression. She saw her folly in all its completeness. She was an elderly duchess and there was no escaping the fact. Nor did she want to escape; the impulse toward freedom and youth had evaporated. ”

“ He went home like a man walking in a dream. The little Cornish girl who tidied for him muttered something about a young lady and a letter, but he pushed her aside and went into his own room and locked the door. A groan burst from his lips.
“Dyed!” he said under his breath, “Dyed! False—everything!”
Then he saw the letter lying on the table. He seized upon it and tore it open. It was a very brief little letter. The handwriting set his broken heart beating at the double.
“I came to tell you I don't care two pins about my silly old ancestors,” the Lady Angela had scrawled. ”

“ The girl laughed out loud.
“Why don't you call me Margaret as you did the other evening when you helped me to keep my head? Monkhouse isn't my name really, you know—heaven knows what it is—I haven't got one—but I'm going to have one—one of my very own. And I'm not crying. Why should I cry? I'm going to be married. That's not a crying matter, is it?”
Ray East made no answer for a minute, but she came and sat by the girl's side, leaning her delicate oval face on her hand in an attitude of grave thoughtfulness. ”

“ We want taking out of ourselves.'
Mrs. Wylie nodded in a moderately sympathetic way. The three ladies knew that Theodore Trist was in Paris, and Mrs. Wylie, without looking in Brenda's direction, had seen a change come over the girl's face at the mention of the word. A singular change it was for so young a face—rather unpleasant, too, in its effect. For a moment her features appeared to contract, and a gray set look came into her eyes. This singular effect was slowly fading when Alice again mentioned Paris, and instantaneously the apathetic chill seemed to spread over Brenda's being again. ”

“ I met him on the stairs....'
'And...'
'And he did not shoot,' said Trist with a short laugh as he turned and faced Mrs. Wylie.
Then he did a somewhat remarkable thing—remarkable, that is, for a man who never gave way to a display of the slightest emotion, demonstrating either sorrow or joy, hatred or affection. He took Mrs. Wylie's two hands within his, and forced her to sit in the deep basket-work chair near the fire with its back towards the window. ”

“ He saw her lifted face in the light of a street lamp—a pale, girl's face, elfishly beautiful, ardent and proud and candid.
She held out her hand.
"Shall we? Because we both understood?"
He stammered, half laughing.
"Why, that doesn't seem a reason, does it? For saying good-bye like that. Wouldn't you let me see you safe through the fog? I'm awfully, horribly respectable."
"I don't know that I am. I think I'm an adventuress. That isn't respectable, is it? But if you want to, my rooms aren't far from here." ”

“ Something would come, some change for good or evil, and the powers—the infinite womanly powers of love and self-sacrifice—would have a larger scope. Meanwhile she did her duty by Mrs. Wylie with unfailing energy and inexhaustible cheerfulness. Between these two women, as between the elder and Theo Trist, there had been no definite exchange of sentiments. ”

“ My season here is over."
"Migratory birds do not fly alone," he retorted, laughing back at her. "They have their mates, princess."
They had been standing, facing each other like enemies. Now she sat down, as though her strength had gone from her, and the next instant he was at her feet, his arms about her, his face pressed against her breast. It was no mastering, possessive passion. It was adoration and surrender. He gave himself to her. He lost himself in her mystery. He had ceased to be the strong self-sufficient man, arid of emotion and faith. ”

“ Even in the growing darkness, he could see the depth of feeling in her wide-open eyes.
“I shall not forget,” she said. “Vengeance is not womanly, and I am very much a woman. But I have been hurt too much not to understand. And I will make up to you, Wilfred; I will make good all this present trouble.”
He kissed her with a passion that was almost brutal.
“I know. I trust you. You have lifted a weight——” He stopped, arrested by the sound of footsteps on the gravel pathway, and she disengaged herself gently from his arms. ”

“ He squared his great shoulders and a new youth and strength crept into his bearing. “Now we must act quickly, and you must act for me. You love Margaret—and I—don't know what I feel. It is platitudinous to say so, but love and hatred are so close to one another—” He went back to his writing-table and sat down. “Now tell me what I am to do?”
But her passion and energy seemed to have left her. A great pallor had driven back the flush of excitement from her cheek and her lips quivered. He deliberately looked away from her.
“Miss East, you trust this man? You believe he will make her happy?” ”

“ She had a brief, outrageous impulse to thrust him aside and slam the door against him. Something about him—trivial details— his perfect grooming, his air of authority—exasperated her like a blow across the face or a taunting insult. It was as though a supercilious unbeliever had intruded on a holy place. But then a kind of weariness came over her. She didn't care. Perhaps they would shut her up. But life itself was a prison. The only escape lay in one's own spirit.
“I don't understand,” he said. “What is this room—to whom does it belong?”
“To my son—” she answered, “—to Andy.” ”

“ She smiled a little, and the smile was sadder than her gravity.
“Sometimes one lives for it—baby.”
He frowned up at the tablet in puzzled silence, and then she drew him on, out of the church and down the avenue of old yew trees to where a carriage waited for them. Neither spoke on the home road. The boy sat close to her, his hand thrown out, unclasped, upon her knee, his head against her shoulder; and as they swerved in sight of a tall house, cut clear against the evening sky, he crept still nearer, seeming almost to seek shelter. She bent her head down to him. ”

“ A fitful wind blew the grit and darkness of it all against her face. Up at River's-End the sun had been shining, but here it rained—perhaps it always rained. The cobbles and broken pavement which petered out by the last house shone with a leprous moisture, and a squalid stream ran in the ill-made gutter.
Of course Mrs. Franklin knew that there were places like this, because on their treasure-hunting trips Harry had always taken such care to avoid them. He hated ugliness. He had always shielded her from ugliness as from contamination. But now he had gone, and Mrs. Franklin could not escape. ”

“ Margaret looked up. She liked this strange and unexpected companion who had been thrust upon her. She was the first friend to whom the mystery and trouble of her life were known fully—the first woman, older than herself, on whom she had been able to depend without reserve. To the girl, brought up amidst servants and people: whose attitude towards her had always been one of half good-natured curiosity, this friendship had been the sheet-anchor in her bad hour: And yet now she looked up into the beautiful face with something of antagonism in her eyes. Ray East stopped short, looking at her. ”

“ Most people would have thought from his tone and manner that he was ready and willing to accede at once to any proposition, to follow any course of action, to obey without complaint or hesitation; but, as hinted on a previous page, Mrs. Wylie knew the ways of this man.
She did not meet his glance, but continued to gaze in a practically-abstracted way into the fender, while with one hand she smoothed a corner of her sealskin jacket. ”

“ SHE was almost voiceless now. That she suffered hideously Uloth knew, but not from her. Before them all she bore herself gayly—yes gallantly. It was that gallantry of hers that nursed him, that would not let him rest or forget.
And she was pitifully alone. The woman in the hospital had not been more forsaken. But every day the press man did his work, filling the gossip columns with hints of wild, erratic doings.
An illustrated paper produced her full-length portrait. She sat amid the flowers of her absurd fountain and her hand was raised in a gesture of laughing farewell. ”

“ She was like an exquisite, many-hued bird preening itself after the storm, or a butterfly that had broken from its chrysalis. The dying, necessitous human being had gone. She lay there because she chose—luxuriating and beautiful—rising slenderly out of a foam of white, her dark hair crowned with gold, and something shining in the delicate oval face that he had never seen before.
He went toward her because she was watching him and waiting. But he went heavily. She gave him her hand. How often he had kissed its piteousness, its veined and bony piteousness. ”

“ Five minutes later she was on her way downstairs, a worn-out fur cap drawn down over her curls, her hands incased in gloves that had once been black, and were now white with age. but she made a neat, even an arresting, figure, in spite of the thinly veneered marks of destitution and the lines of hunger about the rather large, but well-formed, mouth.
At the bottom of the stairs a gaunt, big-boned woman watched her descent with poverty's frowning suspicion of all things poor. Her arms, bare to the elbow, were hidden under her dirty blue apron, her whole attitude was sullenly belligerent. ”

“ She looked at him steadily. “Do you not remember—you said only a few minutes ago that there is one thing that matters more than ourselves, our loves, our lives—something that demands the highest of all sacrifices—our country? Have you so soon forgotten?”
He put up his hand as though to ward off a crushing blow. “My God!” he said under his breath. “No, I have not forgotten!”
“So, you will not try to persuade me. You will let me do what is right. If I succeed, I shall give the papers to the English government. In any case—it is good-by between us two.” ”

“ Her thoughts wandered back to what was for her the real issue. They were both silent. In the glass opposite she saw the reflection of a fair-haired girl in a shining golden frock. She saw how lovely she was. In the dark, massively furnished room she had a fragile, fairy quality, a look of gracious aloofness from all the roughness and turmoil of life. She looked at the slender feet in their brocaded slippers—feet that were meant to dance lightly down smooth and sheltered paths. ”

“ I've been trying to persuade myself that it's all been very silly—a boy and girl affair—that neither of us is serious—let's think of it in that way—help me—”
“You can think of it as you like, he burst out. “I shan't help you to humbug yourself.” He seized her hands roughly. “You know as well as I do that for me, at any rate, this is either the beginning or the end of all things. I am not a boy any longer, but even if I were—boys also have their constancies. It's you or no one in this life, Margaret. I'd storm heaven itself for you. ”