New Grub Street, George Gissing [10 best books of all time TXT] 📗

upon her cheeks, and it was not difficult to detect a look of doubt in the eyes of the listener. She grew angry with herself for being dishonest, and with her husband for making such dishonesty needful.

The female friend with whom she had most trouble was Mrs. Carter. You remember that on the occasion of Reardon’s first meeting with his future wife, at the Grosvenor Gallery, there were present his friend Carter and a young lady who was shortly to bear the name of that spirited young man. The Carters had now been married about a year; they lived in Bayswater, and saw much of a certain world which imitates on a lower plane the amusements and affectations of society proper. Mr. Carter was still secretary to the hospital where Reardon had once earned his twenty shillings a week, but by voyaging in the seas of charitable enterprise he had come upon supplementary sources of income; for instance, he held the post of secretary to the Barclay Trust, a charity whose moderate funds were largely devoted to the support of gentlemen engaged in administering it. This young man, with his air of pleasing vivacity, had early ingratiated himself with the kind of people who were likely to be of use to him; he had his reward in the shape of offices which are only procured through private influence. His wife was a good-natured, lively, and rather clever girl; she had a genuine regard for Amy, and much respect for Reardon. Her ambition was to form a circle of distinctly intellectual acquaintances, and she was constantly inviting the Reardons to her house; a real live novelist is not easily drawn into the world where Mrs. Carter had her being, and it annoyed her that all attempts to secure Amy and her husband for five-o’clock teas and small parties had of late failed.

On the afternoon when Reardon had visited a secondhand bookseller with a view of raising money⁠—he was again shut up in his study, dolorously at work⁠—Amy was disturbed by the sound of a visitor’s rat-tat; the little servant went to the door, and returned followed by Mrs. Carter.

Under the best of circumstances it was awkward to receive any but intimate friends during the hours when Reardon sat at his desk. The little dining-room (with its screen to conceal the kitchen range) offered nothing more than homely comfort; and then the servant had to be disposed of by sending her into the bedroom to take care of Willie. Privacy, in the strict sense, was impossible, for the servant might listen at the door (one room led out of the other) to all the conversation that went on; yet Amy could not request her visitors to speak in a low tone. For the first year these difficulties had not been felt; Reardon made a point of leaving the front room at his wife’s disposal from three to six; it was only when dread of the future began to press upon him that he sat in the study all day long. You see how complicated were the miseries of the situation; one torment involved another, and in every quarter subjects of discontent were multiplied.

Mrs. Carter would have taken it ill had she known that Amy did not regard her as strictly an intimate. They addressed each other by their Christian names, and conversed without ceremony; but Amy was always dissatisfied when the well-dressed young woman burst with laughter and animated talk into this abode of concealed poverty. Edith was not the kind of person with whom one can quarrel; she had a kind heart, and was never disagreeably pretentious. Had circumstances allowed it, Amy would have given frank welcome to such friendship; she would have been glad to accept as many invitations as Edith chose to offer. But at present it did her harm to come in contact with Mrs. Carter; it made her envious, cold to her husband, resentful against fate.

“Why can’t she leave me alone?” was the thought that rose in her mind as Edith entered. “I shall let her see that I don’t want her here.”

“Your husband at work?” Edith asked, with a glance in the direction of the study, as soon as they had exchanged kisses and greetings.

“Yes, he is busy.”

“And you are sitting alone, as usual. I feared you might be out; an afternoon of sunshine isn’t to be neglected at this time of year.”

“Is there sunshine?” Amy inquired coldly.

“Why, look! Do you mean to say you haven’t noticed it? What a comical person you are sometimes! I suppose you have been over head and ears in books all day. How is Willie?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“Mayn’t I see him?”

“If you like.”

Amy stepped to the bedroom door and bade the servant bring Willie for exhibition. Edith, who as yet had no child of her own, always showed the most flattering admiration of this infant; it was so manifestly sincere that the mother could not but be moved to a grateful friendliness whenever she listened to its expression. Even this afternoon the usual effect followed when Edith had made a pretty and tender fool of herself for several minutes. Amy bade the servant make tea.

At this moment the door from the passage opened, and Reardon looked in.

“Well, if this isn’t marvellous!” cried Edith. “I should as soon have expected the heavens to fall!”

“As what?” asked Reardon, with a pale smile.

“As you to show yourself when I am here.”

“I should like to say that I came on purpose to see you, Mrs. Carter, but it wouldn’t be true. I’m going out for an hour, so that you can take possession of the other room if you like, Amy.”

“Going out?” said Amy, with a look of surprise.

“Nothing⁠—nothing. I mustn’t stay.”

He just inquired of Mrs. Carter how her husband was, and withdrew. The door of the flat was heard to close after him.

“Let us go into the study, then,” said Amy, again in rather a cold voice.

On Reardon’s desk were lying slips of blank paper. Edith, approaching on tiptoe with what