A Duet, with an Occasional Chorus, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle [reading books for 5 year olds txt] 📗

fool of myself. I don't err upon the sentimental side as a rule. I suppose it is about time that I thought of catching my train for town. I have a theatre engagement which I must not miss.'

'How strange it is!' said Maude, looking at her own pretty tear- marked face in the mirror. 'You have only been here a few minutes, as time goes, and yet I feel that in some things I am more intimate with you than with any woman I have ever met. How can it be? What bond can there be to draw us together like this? And it is the more extraordinary, because I felt that you disliked me when you entered the room, and I am sure that you won't be offended if I say that when you had been here a little I thought that I disliked you. But I don't. On the contrary, I wish you could come every day. And I want to come and see you also when I am in town.'

Maude, for all her amiability, was not gushing by nature, and this long speech caused her great astonishment when she looked back upon it. But at the moment it came so naturally from her heart that she never paused to think of its oddity. Her enthusiasm was a little chilled, however, by the way in which her advances were received. Violet Wright's eyes were more kindly than ever, but she shook her head.

'No, I don't suppose we shall ever meet again. I don't think I could ask you to visit me in London. I wanted to see you, and I have seen you, but that, I fear, must be the end of it.'

Maude's lip trembled in a way which it had when she was hurt.

'Why did you wish to see me, then?' she asked.

'On account of that slight acquaintance with your husband. I thought it would be interesting to see what sort of wife he had chosen.'

'I hope you are not disappointed,' said Maude, making a roguish face.

'He has done very well--better than I expected.'

'You had not much respect for his taste, then?'

'Oh yes, I always thought highly of his taste.'

'You have such a pretty way of putting things. You know my husband very slightly, but still I can see that you know the world very well. I often wonder if I am really the best kind of woman that he could have married. Do you think I am, Mrs. Wright?'

Her visitor looked in silence for a little at the gentle grace and dainty sympathetic charm of the woman before her.

'Yes,' she said slowly, as one who weighs her words. 'I think you are. You are a lady with a lady's soul in you. A woman can draw a man down very low, or she can make him live at his very highest. Don't be soft with him. Don't give way when you know that your way is the higher way. Pull him up, don't let him ever pull you down. Then his respect for you will strengthen his love for you, and the two together are so much greater than either one apart. Your instinct would be to do this, and therefore you are the best sort of woman for him.'

Her opinion was given with so much thought, and yet so much decision, that Maude glowed with pride and with pleasure. There was knowledge and authority behind the words of this unaccountable woman.

'How sweet you are!' she cried. 'I feel that what you say is true. I feel that that is what a wife should be to her husband. Please God, I will be so to Frank!'

'And one other piece of advice before I leave you,' said Violet Wright. 'Don't ever take your husband for granted. Don't ever accept his kiss or caress as a routine thing. Don't ever relax those little attentions which you showed him in the earliest days. Don't let the freshness go out of love, for the love may soon follow it, even when duty keeps the man true. It is the commonest mistake which married women make. It has caused more unhappiness than any other. They do not realise it until it is too late. Be keenly watchful for your husband's wants and comforts. It is not the comfort but the attention which he values. If it is not there he will say nothing, if he is a good fellow, but he notices it all the same. She has changed, he thinks. And from that moment he will begin to change also. Be on your guard against that. It is very unselfish of me to give you all this wise counsel.'

'It is very good of you, and I feel that it is all so true. But why is it unselfish of you?'

'I only meant that I had no interest in the matter. What does it matter to me whether you keep his love or not. And yet I don't know.' She suddenly put her arms round Maude, and kissed her upon the cheek. 'You are a good little sort, and I hope you will be happy.'

Frank Crosse had disentangled himself from the rush of City men emerging from the Woking station, and he was walking swiftly through the gathering gloom along the vile, deeply-rutted road, which formed a short cut to The Lindens. Suddenly, with a sinking heart, he was aware of a tall graceful figure which was sweeping towards him. There could not be two women of that height, who carried themselves in that fashion.

'Violet!'

'Hullo, Frankie! I thought it might be you, but those tall hats and black overcoats make every one alike. Your wife will be glad to see you.'

'Violet! You have ruined our happiness. How could you have the heart to do it! It is not for myself I speak, God knows. But to think of her feelings being so abused, her confidence so shaken--'

'All right, Frankie, there is nothing to be tragic about.'

'Haven't you been to my house?'

'Yes, I have.'

'And seen her?'

'Yes.'

'Well then--'

'I didn't give you away, my boy. I was a model of discretion. I give you my word that it is all right. And she's a dear little soul, Frankie. You're not worthy to varnish those pretty patent leathers of hers. You know you're not. And by Jove, Frankie, if you had stayed with me yesterday I should never have forgiven you--no, never! I'll resign in her favour. I will. But in no one else's, and if ever I hear of your going wrong, my boy, or doing anything but the best with that sweet trusting woman, I'll make you curse the day that ever you knew me--I will, by the living Jingo.'

'Do, Violet--you have my leave.'

'All right. The least said the soonest mended. Give me a kiss before we part.'

She raised her veil, and he kissed her. He was wearing some withered flower in his overcoat, and she took it from him.

'It's a souvenir of our friendship, Frankie, and rather a good emblem of it also. So-long!' said she, as she turned down the weary road which leads to the station. A young golfer, getting in at Byfleet, was surprised to see a handsome woman weeping bitterly in the corner of a second-class carriage. 'Comm' up from roastin' somebody at that damned crematory place,' was his explanation to his companion.

Frank had a long and animated account from Maude of the extraordinary visitor whom she had entertained. 'It's such a pity, dear, that you don't know her well, for I should really like to hear every detail about her. At first I thought she was mad, and then I thought she was odious, and then finally she seemed to be the very wisest and kindest woman that I had ever known. She made me angry, and frightened, and grieved, and grateful, and affectionate, one after the other, and I never in my life was so taken out of myself by any one. She IS so sensible!'

'Sensible, is she?'

'And she said that I was--oh! I can't repeat it--everything that is nice.'

'Then she IS sensible.'

'And such a high opinion of your taste.'

'Had she indeed.'

'Do you know, Frank, I really believe that in a quiet, secret, retiring sort of way she has been fond of you herself.'

'O Maude, what funny ideas you get sometimes! I say, if we are going out for dinner, it is high time that we began to dress.'


CHAPTER XX--NO. 5 CHEYNE ROW


Frank had brought home the Life of Carlyle, and Maude had been dipping into it in the few spare half-hours which the many duties of a young housekeeper left her. At first it struck her as dry, but from the moment that she understood that this was, among other things, an account of the inner life of a husband and a wife, she became keenly interested, and a passionate and unreasonable partisan. For Frederick and Cromwell and the other great issues her feelings were tolerant but lukewarm. But the great sex-questions of 'How did he treat her?' and of 'How did she stand it?' filled her with that eternal and personal interest with which they affect every woman. Her gentle nature seldom disliked any one, but certainly amongst those whom she liked least, the gaunt figure of the Chelsea sage began to bulk largely. One night, as Frank sat reading in front of the fire, he suddenly found his wife on her knees upon the rug, and a pair of beseeching eyes upon his face.

'Frank, dear, I want you to make me a promise.'

'Well, what is it?'

'Will you grant it?'

'How can I tell you when I have not heard it?'

'How horrid you are, Frank! A year ago you would have promised first and asked afterwards.'

'But I am a shrewd old married man now. Well, let me hear it.'

'I want you to promise me that you will never be a Carlyle.'

'No, no, never.'

'Really?'

'Really and truly.'

'You swear it?'

'Yes, I do.'

'O Frank, you can't think what a relief that is to me. That dear, good, helpful, little lady--it really made me cry this morning when I thought how she had been used.'

'How, then?'

'I have been reading that green-covered book of yours, and he seemed so cold and so sarcastic and so unsympathetic. He never seemed to appreciate all that she did for him. He had no thought for her. He lived in his books and never in her--such a harsh, cruel man!'

Frank went upstairs, and returned with a volume in his hand.

'When you have finished the 'Life,' you must read this, dear.'

'What is it?'

'It is her letters. They were arranged for publication after her death, while her husband was still alive. You know that--'

'Please take it for granted, darling, that I know nothing. It is