moreover so complex is the thought of man, there was also another stream of mental activity flowing in the darker recesses of mr. brumley's mind. unobtrusively he was trying to count the money in his pockets and make certain estimates.
it had been his intention to replenish his sovereign purse that afternoon at his club and he was only reminded of this abandoned plan when he paid off his taxi at the gates of hampton court. the fare was nine and tenpence and the only piece of gold he had was a half-sovereign. but there was a handful of loose silver in his trouser pocket and so the fare and tip were manageable. "will you be going back, sir?" asked the driver.
and mr. brumley reflected too briefly and committed a fatal error. "no," he said with his mind upon that loose silver. "we shall go back by train."
now it is the custom with taxi-cabs that take people to such outlying and remote places as hampton court, to be paid off and to wait loyally until their original passengers return. thereby the little machine is restrained from ticking out twopences which should go in the main to the absent proprietor, and a feeling of mutuality is established between the driver and his fare. but of course this cab being released presently found another passenger and went away....
i have written in vain if i have not conveyed to you that mr. brumley was a gentleman of great and cultivated delicacy, that he liked the seemly and handsome side of things and dreaded the appearance of any flaw upon his prosperity as only a man trained in an english public school can do. it was intolerable to think of any hitch in this happy excursion which was to establish he knew not what confidence between himself and lady harman. from first to last he felt it had to go with an air—and what was the first class fare from hampton court to putney—which latter station he believed was on the line from hampton court to london—and could one possibly pretend it was unnecessary to have tea? and so while lady harman talked about her husband's business—"our business" she called it—and shrank from ever saying anything more about the more intimate question she had most in mind, the limits to a wife's obedience, mr. brumley listened with these financial solicitudes showing through his expression and giving it a quality of intensity that she found remarkably reassuring. and once or twice they made him miss points in her remarks that forced him back upon that very inferior substitute for the apt answer, a judicious "um."
(it would be quite impossible to go without tea, he decided. he himself wanted tea quite badly. he would think better when he had had some tea....)
the crisis came at tea. they had tea at the inn upon the green that struck mr. brumley as being most likely to be cheap and which he pretended to choose for some trivial charm about the windows. and it wasn't cheap, and when at last mr. brumley was faced by the little slip of the bill and could draw his money from his pocket and look at it, he knew the worst and the worst was worse than he had expected. the bill was five shillings (should he dispute it? too ugly altogether, a dispute with a probably ironical waiter!) and the money in his hand amounted to four shillings and sixpence.
he acted surprise with the waiter's eye upon him. (should he ask for credit? they might be frightfully disagreeable in such a cockney resort as this.) "tut, tut," said mr. brumley, and then—a little late for it—resorted to and discovered the emptiness of his sovereign purse. he realized that this was out of the picture at this stage, felt his ears and nose and cheeks grow hot and pink. the waiter's colleague across the room became interested in the proceedings.
"i had no idea," said mr. brumley, which was a premeditated falsehood.
"is anything the matter?" asked lady harman with a sisterly interest.
"my dear lady harman, i find myself——ridiculous position. might i borrow half a sovereign?"
he felt sure that the two waiters exchanged glances. he looked at them,—a mistake again—and got hotter.
"oh!" said lady harman and regarded him with frank amusement in her eyes. the thing struck her at first in the light of a joke. "i've only got one-and-eightpence. i didn't expect——"
she blushed as beautifully as ever. then she produced a small but plutocratic-looking purse and handed it to him.
"most remarkable—inconvenient," said mr. brumley, opening the precious thing and extracting a shilling. "that will do," he said and dismissed the waiter with a tip of sixpence. then with the open purse still in his hand, he spent much of his remaining strength trying to look amused and unembarrassed, feeling all the time that with his flushed face and in view of all the circumstances of the case he must be really looking very silly and fluffy.
"it's really most inconvenient," he remarked.
"i never thought of the—of this. it was silly of me," said lady harman.
"oh no! oh dear no! the silliness i can assure you is all mine. i can't tell you how entirely apologetic——ridiculous fix. and after i had persuaded you to come here."
"still we were able to pay," she consoled him.
"but you have to get home!"
she hadn't so far thought of that. it brought sir isaac suddenly into the picture. "by half-past five," she said with just the faintest flavour of interrogation.
mr. brumley looked at his watch. it was ten minutes to five.
"waiter," he said, "how do the trains run from here to putney?"
"i don't think, sir, that we have any trains from here to putney——"
an a.b.c. railway guide was found and mr. brumley learnt for the first time that putney and hampton court are upon two distinct and separate and, as far as he could judge by the time-table, mutually hostile branches of the south western railway, and that at the earliest they could not get to putney before six o'clock.
mr. brumley was extremely disconcerted. he perceived that he ought to have kept his taxi. it amounted almost to a debt of honour to deliver this lady secure and untarnished at her house within the next hour. but this reflection did not in the least degree assist him to carry it out and as a matter of fact mr. brumley became flurried and did not carry it out. he was not used to being without money, it unnerved him, and he gave way to a kind of hectic savoir faire. he demanded a taxi of the waiter. he tried to evolve a taxi by will power alone. he went out with lady harman and back towards the gates of hampton court to look for taxis. then it occurred to him that they might be losing the 5.25 up. so they hurried over the bridge of the station.
he had a vague notion that he would be able to get tickets on credit at the booking office if he presented his visiting card. but the clerk in charge seemed to find something uncongenial in his proposal. he did not seem to like what he saw of mr. brumley through his little square window and mr. brumley found something slighting and unpleasant in his manner. it was one of those little temperamental jars which happen to men of delicate sensibilities and mr. brumley tried to be reassuringly overbearing in his manner and then lost his temper and was threatening and so wasted precious moments what time lady harman waited on the platform, with a certain shadow of doubt falling upon her confidence in him, and watched the five-twenty-five gather itself together and start londonward. mr. brumley came out of the ticket office resolved to travel without tickets and carry things through with a high hand just as it became impossible to do so by that train, and then i regret to say he returned for some further haughty passages with the ticket clerk upon the duty of public servants to point out such oversights as his, that led to repartee and did nothing to help lady harman on her homeward way.
then he discovered a current time-table and learnt that now even were all the ticket difficulties over-ridden he could not get lady harman to putney before twenty minutes past seven, so completely is the south western railway not organized for conveying people from hampton court to putney. he explained this as well as he could to lady harman, and then led her out of the station in another last desperate search for a taxi.
"we can always come back for that next train," he said. "it doesn't go for half an hour."
"i cannot blame myself sufficiently," he said for the eighth or ninth time....
it was already well past a quarter to six before mr. brumley bethought himself of the london county council tramcars that run from the palace gates. along these an ample four-pennyworth was surely possible and at the end would be taxis——there must be taxis. the tram took them—but oh! how slowly it seemed!—to hammersmith by a devious route through interminable roads and streets, and long before they reached that spot twilight had passed into darkness, and all the streets and shops were flowering into light and the sense of night and lateness was very strong. after they were seated in the tram a certain interval of silence came between them and then lady harman laughed and mr. brumley laughed—there was no longer any need for him to be energetic and fussy—and they began to have that feeling of adventurous amusement which comes on the further side of desperation. but beneath the temporary elation lady harman was a prey to grave anxieties and mr. brumley could not help thinking he had made a tremendous ass of himself in that ticket clerk dispute....
at hammersmith they got out, two quite penniless travellers, and after some anxious moments found a taxi. it took them to putney hill. lady harman descended at the outer gates of her home and walked up the drive in the darkness while mr. brumley went on to his club and solvency again. it was five minutes past eight when he entered the hall of his club....
6
it had been lady harman's original intention to come home before four, to have tea with her mother and to inform her husband when he returned from the city of her entirely dignified and correct disobedience to his absurd prohibitions. then he would have bullied at a disadvantage, she would have announced her intention of dining with lady viping and making the various calls and expeditions for which she had arranged and all would have gone well. but you see how far accident and a spirit of enterprise may take a lady from so worthy a plan, and when at last she returned to the victorian baronial home in putney it was very nearly eight and the house blazed with crisis from pantry to nursery. even the elder three little girls, who were accustomed to be kissed goodnight by their "boofer muvver," were still awake and—catching the subtle influence of the atmosphere of dismay about them—in tears. the very under-housemaids were saying: "where ever can her ladyship 'ave got to?"
sir isaac had come home that day at an unusually early hour and with a peculiar pinched expression that filled even snagsby with apprehensive alertness. sir isaac had in fact returned in a state of quite unwonted venom. he had come home early because he wished to vent it upon ellen, and her absence filled him with something of that sensation one has when one puts out a foot for the floor and instead a step drops one down—it seems abysmally.
"but where's she gone, snagsby?"
"her ladyship said to lunch, sir isaac," said snagsby.
"good gracious! where?"
"her ladyship didn't say, sir isaac."
"but where? where the devil——?"
"i have—'ave no means whatever of knowing, sir isaac."
he had a defensive inspiration.
"perhaps mrs. sawbridge, sir isaac...."
mrs. sawbridge was enjoying the sunshine upon the lawn. she sat in the most comfortable garden chair, held a white sunshade overhead, had the last new novel by mrs. humphry ward upon her lap, and was engaged in trying not to wonder where her daughter might be. she beheld with a distinct blenching of the spirit sir isaac advancing towards her. she wondered more than ever where ellen might be.
"here!" cried her son-in-law. "where's ellen gone?"
mrs. sawbridge with an affected off-handedness was sure she hadn't the faintest idea.
"then you ought to have," said isaac. "she ought to be at home."
mrs. sawbridge's only reply was to bridle slightly.
"where's she got to? where's she gone? haven't you any idea at all?"
"i was not favoured by ellen's confidence," said mrs. sawbridge.
"but you ought to know," cried sir isaac. "she's your daughter. don't you know anything of either of your daughters. i suppose you don't care where they are, either of them, or what mischief they're up to. here's a man—comes home early to his tea—and no wife! after hearing all i've done at the club."
mrs. sawbridge stood up in order to be more dignified than a seated position permitted.
"it is scarcely my business, sir isaac," she said, "to know of the movements of your wife."
"nor georgina's apparently either. good god! i'd have given a hundred pounds that this shouldn't have happened!"
"if you must speak to me, sir isaac, will you please kindly refrain from—from the deity——"
"oh! shut it!" said sir isaac, blazing up to violent rudeness. "why! don't you know, haven't you an idea? the infernal foolery! those tickets. she got those women——look here, if you go walking away with your nose in the air before i've done——look here! mrs. sawbridge, you listen to me——georgina. i'm speaking of georgina."
the lady was walking now swiftly and stiffly towards the house, her face very pale and drawn, and sir isaac hurrying beside her in a white fury of expostulation. "i tell you," he cried, "georgina——"
there was something maddeningly incurious about her. he couldn't understand why she didn't even pause to hear what georgina had done and what he had to say about it. a person so wrapped up in her personal and private dignity makes a man want to throw stones. perhaps she knew of georgina's misdeeds. perhaps she sympathized....
a sense of the house windows checked his pursuit of her ear. "then go," he said to her retreating back. "go! i don't care if you go for good. i don't care if you go altogether. if you hadn't had the upbringing of these two girls——"
she was manifestly out of earshot and in full yet almost queenly flight for the house. he wanted to say things about her. to someone. he was already saying things to the garden generally. what does one marry a wife for? his mind came round to ellen again. where had she got to? even if she had gone out to lunch, it was time she was back. he went to his study and rang for snagsby.
"lady harman back yet?" he asked grimly.
"no, sir isaac."
"why isn't she back?"
snagsby did his best. "perhaps, sir isaac, her ladyship has experienced—'as hexperienced a naxident."
sir isaac stared at that idea for a moment. then he thought, 'someone would have telephoned,' "no," he said, "she's out. that's where she is. and i suppose i can wait here, as well as i can until she chooses to come home. degenerate foolish nonsense!..."
he whistled between his teeth like an escape of steam. snagsby, after the due pause of attentiveness, bowed respectfully and withdrew....
he had barely time to give a brief outline of the interview to the pantry before a violent ringing summoned him again. sir isaac wished to speak to peters, lady harman's maid. he wanted to know where lady harman had gone; this being impossible, he wanted to know where lady harman had seemed to be going.
"her ladyship seemed to be going out to lunch, sir isaac," said peters, her meek face irradiated by helpful intelligence.
"oh get out!" said sir isaac. "get out!"
"yes, sir isaac," said peters and obeyed....
"he's in a rare bait about her," said peters to snagsby downstairs.
"i'm inclined to think her ladyship will catch it pretty hot," said snagsby.
"he can't know anything," said peters.
"what about?" asked snagsby.
"oh, i don't know," said peters. "don't ask me about her...."
about ten minutes later sir isaac was heard to break a little china figure of the goddess kwannon, that had stood upon his study mantel-shelf. the fragments were found afterwards in the fireplace....
the desire for self-expression may become overwhelming. after sir isaac had talked to himself about georgina and lady harman for some time in his study, he was seized with a great longing to pour some of this spirited stuff into the entirely unsympathetic ear of mrs. sawbridge. so he went about the house and garden looking for her, and being at last obliged to enquire about her, learnt from a scared defensive housemaid whom he cornered suddenly in the conservatory, that she had retired to her own room. he went and rapped at her door but after one muffled "who's that?" he could get no further response.
"i want to tell you about georgina," he said.
he tried the handle but the discreet lady within had turned the key upon her dignity.
"i want," he shouted, "to tell you about georgina.... georgina! oh damn!"
silence.
tea awaited him downstairs. he hovered about the drawing-room, making noises between his teeth.
"snagsby," said sir isaac, "just tell mrs. sawbridge i shall be obliged if she will come down to tea."
"mrs. sawbridge 'as a 'eadache, sir isaac," said mr. snagsby with extreme blandness. "she asked me to acquaint you. she 'as ordered tea in 'er own apartment."
for a moment sir isaac was baffled. then he had an inspiration. "just get me the times, snagsby," he said.
he took the paper and unfolded it until a particular paragraph was thrown into extreme prominence. this he lined about with his fountain pen and wrote above it with a quivering hand, "these women's tickets were got by georgina under false pretences from me." he handed the paper thus prepared back to snagsby. "just take this paper to mrs. sawbridge," he said, "and ask her what she thinks of it?"
but mrs. sawbridge tacitly declined this proposal for a correspondence viâ snagsby.
