dinner had something of the stiffness of court ceremonial.
mrs. sawbridge, perhaps erring on the side of discretion, had consumed a little soup and a wing of chicken in her own room. sir isaac was down first and his wife found him grimly astride before the great dining-room fire awaiting her. she had had her dark hair dressed with extreme simplicity and had slipped on a blue velvet tea-gown, but she had been delayed by a visit to the nursery, where the children were now flushed and uneasily asleep.
husband and wife took their places at the genuine sheraton dining-table—one of the very best pieces sir isaac had ever picked up—and were waited on with a hushed, scared dexterity by snagsby and the footman.
lady harman and her husband exchanged no remarks during the meal; sir isaac was a little noisy with his soup as became a man who controls honest indignation, and once he complained briefly in a slightly hoarse voice to snagsby about the state of one of the rolls. between the courses he leant back in his chair and made faint sounds with his teeth. these were the only breach of the velvety quiet. lady harman was surprised to discover herself hungry, but she ate with thoughtful dignity and gave her mind to the attempted digestion of the confusing interview she had just been through.
it was a very indigestible interview.
on the whole her heart hardened again. with nourishment and silence her spirit recovered a little from its abasement, and her resolution to assert her freedom to go hither and thither and think as she chose renewed itself. she tried to plan some way of making her declaration so that she would not again be overwhelmed by a torrent of response. should she speak to him at the end of dinner? should she speak to him while snagsby was in the room? but he might behave badly even with snagsby in the room and she could not bear to think of him behaving badly to her in the presence of snagsby. she glanced at him over the genuine old silver bowl of roses in the middle of the table—all the roses were good new sorts—and tried to estimate how he might behave under various methods of declaration.
the dinner followed its appointed ritual to the dessert. came the wine and snagsby placed the cigars and a little silver lamp beside his master.
she rose slowly with a speech upon her lips. sir isaac remained seated looking up at her with a mitigated fury in his little red-brown eyes.
the speech receded from her lips again.
"i think," she said after a strained pause, "i will go and see how mother is now."
"she's only shamming," said sir isaac belatedly to her back as she went out of the room.
she found her mother in a wrap before her fire and made her dutiful enquiries.
"it's only quite a slight headache," mrs. sawbridge confessed. "but isaac was so upset about georgina and about"—she flinched—"about—everything, that i thought it better to be out of the way."
"what exactly has georgina done?"
"it's in the paper, dear. on the table there."
ellen studied the times.
"georgina got them the tickets," mrs. sawbridge explained. "i wish she hadn't. it was so—so unnecessary of her."
there was a little pause as lady harman read. she put down the paper and asked her mother if she could do anything for her.
"i—i suppose it's all right, dear, now?" mrs. sawbridge asked.
"quite," said her daughter. "you're sure i can do nothing for you, mummy?"
"i'm kept so in the dark about things."
"it's quite all right now, mummy."
"he went on—dreadfully."
"it was annoying—of georgina."
"it makes my position so difficult. i do wish he wouldn't want to speak to me—about all these things.... georgina treats me like a perfect nonentity and then he comes——it's so inconsiderate. starting disputes. do you know, dear, i really think—if i were to go for a little time to bournemouth——?"
her daughter seemed to find something attractive in the idea. she came to the hearthrug and regarded her mother with maternal eyes.
"don't you worry about things, mummy," she said.
"mrs. bleckhorn told me of such a nice quiet boarding-house, almost looking on the sea.... one would be safe from insult there. you know——" her voice broke for a moment, "he was insulting, he meant to be insulting. i'm—upset. i've been thinking over it ever since."
10
lady harman came out upon the landing. she felt absolutely without backing in the world. (if only she hadn't told a lie!) then with an effort she directed her course downstairs to the dining-room.
(the lie had been necessary. it was only a detail. it mustn't blind her to the real issue.)
she entered softly and found her husband standing before the fire plunged in gloomy thoughts. upon the marble mantel-shelf behind him was a little glass; he had been sipping port in spite of the express prohibition of his doctor and the wine had reddened the veins of his eyes and variegated the normal pallor of his countenance with little flushed areas. "hel-lo," he said looking up suddenly as she closed the door behind her.
for a moment there was something in their two expressions like that on the faces of men about to box.
"i want you to understand," she said, and then; "the way you behaved——"
there was an uncontrollable break in her voice. she had a dreadful feeling that she might be going to cry. she made a great effort to be cold and clear.
"i don't think you have a right—just because i am your wife—to control every moment of my time. in fact you haven't. and i have a right to make engagements.... i want you to know i am going to an afternoon meeting at lady beach-mandarin's. next week. and i have promised to go to miss alimony's to tea."
"go on," he encouraged grimly.
"i am going to lady viping's to dinner, too; she asked me and i accepted. later."
she stopped.
he seemed to deliberate. then suddenly he thrust out a face of pinched determination.
"you won't, my lady," he said. "you bet your life you won't. no! so now then!"
and then gripping his hands more tightly behind him, he made a step towards her.
"you're losing your bearings, lady harman," he said, speaking with much intensity in a low earnest voice. "you don't seem to be remembering where you are. you come and you tell me you're going to do this and that. don't you know, lady harman, that it's your wifely duty to obey, to do as i say, to behave as i wish?" he brought out a lean index finger to emphasize his remarks. "and i am going to make you do it!" he said.
"i've a perfect right," she repeated.
he went on, regardless of her words. "what do you think you can do, lady harman? you're going to all these places—how? not in my motor-car, not with my money. you've not a thing that isn't mine, that i haven't given you. and if you're going to have a lot of friends i haven't got, where're they coming to see you? not in my house! i'll chuck 'em out if i find 'em. i won't have 'em. i'll turn 'em out. see?"
"i'm not a slave."
"you're a wife—and a wife's got to do what her husband wishes. you can't have two heads on a horse. and in this horse—this house i mean, the head's—me!"
"i'm not a slave and i won't be a slave."
"you're a wife and you'll stick to the bargain you made when you married me. i'm ready in reason to give you anything you want—if you do your duty as a wife should. why!—i spoil you. but this going about on your own, this highty-flighty go-as-you-please,—no man on earth who's worth calling a man will stand it. i'm not going to begin to stand it.... you try it on. you try it, lady harman.... you'll come to your senses soon enough. see? you start trying it on now—straight away. we'll make an experiment. we'll watch how it goes. only don't expect me to give you any money, don't expect me to help your struggling family, don't expect me to alter my arrangements because of you. let's keep apart for a bit and you go your way and i'll go mine. and we'll see who's sick of it first, we'll see who wants to cry off."
"i came down here," said lady harman, "to give you a reasonable notice——"
"and you found i could reason too," interrupted sir isaac in a kind of miniature shout, "you found i could reason too!"
"you think——reason! i won't," said lady harman, and found herself in tears. by an enormous effort she recovered something of her dignity and withdrew. he made no effort to open the door, but stood a little hunchbacked and with a sense of rhetorical victory surveying her retreat.
