Sinister Street, Compton Mackenzie [classic books for 10 year olds .TXT] 📗

may as well tell you that this marriage is impossible. I don’t know where you found her again, and I don’t care. It wouldn’t make the slightest difference to me what she had been, if I thought she had a chance of ever being anything else. But, Michael, she’s flabby. You’ll hate me for saying so, but she is, she really is! In a year you’ll admit that; you’ll see her growing older and flabbier, more and more vain; emptier and emptier, if that’s possible. Even her beauty won’t last. These very fair girls fall to pieces like moth-eaten dolls. I’ve tried to find something in her during this fortnight. I’ve tried and tried; but there’s nothing. You may be in love with her now, though I don’t believe you are. I think it’s all a piece of sentimentalism. I’ve often teased you about getting married, but please don’t suppose that I haven’t realized how almost impossible it would be, ever to find a woman that would stand the wear and tear of your idealism. I’m prepared to bet that behind your determination to marry this girl there’s a reason, a lovely, unpractical, idealistic reason. Isn’t there? You’ve been away with her for a weekend, and have tortured yourself into a theory of reparation. Is that it? Or you’ve fallen in love with the notion of yourself in love at eighteen. Oh, you can’t marry her, you foolish old darling.”

“Your oratory would be more effective if you wouldn’t keep whistling to that infernal dog,” said Michael. “If this marriage is so terrible, I should have thought you’d have forgotten there were such animals as cocker-spaniels. It’s rubbish for you to say you’ve tried to find something in Lily. You haven’t made the slightest attempt. You’ve criticized her from the moment she entered the house. You’re sunk deep already in the horrible selfishness of being happy. A happy marriage is the most devastating joint egotism in the world. Damn it, Stella, when you were making a fool of yourself with half the men in Europe, I didn’t talk as you’ve been talking to me.”

“No, you were always very cautiously fraternal,” said Stella. “Ah, no, I won’t say bitter things, for, Michael, I adore you; and you’ll break my heart if you marry this girl.”

“You won’t do anything of the kind,” he contradicted. “You’ll be whistling to spaniels all the time.”

“Michael, it’s really unkind of you to try and make me laugh, when I’m feeling so wretched about you.”

“It’s all fine for you to sneer at Lily,” said Michael. “But I can remember your coming back from Vienna and crying all day in your room over some man who’d made a fool of you. You looked pretty flabby then.”

“How dare you remind me of that?” Stella cried, in a fury. “How dare you? How dare you?”

“You brought it on yourself,” said Michael coldly.

“You’re going to pieces already under the influence of that girl. Marry her, then! But don’t come to me for sympathy, when she’s forced you to drag yourself through the divorce court.”

“No, I shall take care not to come to you for anything ever again,” said Michael bitterly. “Unless it’s for advice when I want to buy a spaniel.”

They had turned again in the direction of the Hall, and over the windy fields they walked silently. Michael was angry with himself for having referred to that Vienna time. After all, it had been the only occasion on which he had seen Stella betray a hint of weakness; besides, she had always treated him generously in the matter of confidences. He looked sidelong at her, but she walked on steadily, and he wondered if she would tell Alan that they had been nearer to quarreling than so far they had ever been. Perhaps this sort of thing was inevitable with marriage. Chains of sympathy and affection forged to last eternally were smashed by marriage in a moment. He had heard nothing said about Stella’s music lately. Was that also to vanish on account of marriage? The sooner he and Lily left Hardingham, the better. He supposed he ought to suggest going immediately. But Lily would be a problem until he could find a place for her to live, and someone to chaperone her. They would be married next month, and he would take her abroad. He would be able to see her at last in some of the places where in days gone by he had dreamed of seeing her.

“I suppose you wouldn’t object to keeping Lily here two or three days more, while I find a place in town?” said Michael. It only struck him when the request was out how much it sounded like asking for a favor. Stella would despise him more than ever.

“Michael,” Stella exclaimed, turning round and stopping in his path. “Once more I beg you to give up this idea of marriage. Surely you can realize how deeply I feel about it, when even after what you said I’m willing actually to plead with you. It’s intolerable to think of you tied to her!”

“It’s too late,” said Michael. “I must marry her. Not for any reasons that the world would consider reasons,” he went on. “But because I want to marry her. The least you can do for me is to pretend to support me before the world.”

“I won’t, I won’t, I won’t! It’s all wrong. She’s all wrong. Her people are all wrong. Why, even Alan remembers them as dreadful, and you know how casual he is about people he doesn’t like. He usually flings them out of his mind at once.”

“Oh, Alan’s amazing in every way,” said Michael. He longed to say that he and Lily would go by the first train possible, but he dreaded so much the effect of bringing her back to London without any definite place to which she could go, that he was willing to leave her here for a few days, if she would stay. He hated