As the summer glided by, in a succession
of golden, cloudless days, Owen began to ask himself,
rather drearily, whether his marriage was going to
turn out a success or an irretrievable failure.
When once the novelty of Toni’s
companionship had worn off, when he had grown used
to her pretty, childish ways, accustomed to the sense
of youth and light-hearted joy which she diffused
about the old house, he began to find, to his dismay,
that these were not all the attributes a man looked
for in the woman he had made his wife.
He had never expected to find Toni
clever in an intellectual sense; but neither had he
deemed her quite so shallow as she was proving herself
to be. She seemed absolutely incapable of making
any mental effort; the world of art and literature
was a closed book to her, and, what was still more
disappointing, she cared nothing for any of the social
or political questions of the day, and took absolutely
no interest in the contemporary life of the world
about her.
Reading she disliked. Music appealed
to her, for Toni was emotional, with the quick, facile
emotionalism of the South; but she was no musician
herself, and the grand piano in the drawing-room was
silent through these sunshiny days. She had rather
a talent for housekeeping, and in a smaller establishment
would doubtless have been a success; but at Greenriver
there was little for her to do, and she knew quite
well that the housekeeper resented any interference
with her particular province. Toni’s household
duties, therefore, were confined to the arrangement
of the flowers and the care of her husband’s
desk a labour of love which she performed
with so much good will that Owen felt it would be
churlish to find fault with any inconvenience arising
therefrom.
Owen often wondered how his wife managed
to fill the days which must be so terribly empty.
He himself was working harder than usual, since beside
the review he was contributing articles, by invitation,
to several well-known journals; and he often worked
till late into the night; but Toni had no work, no
hobbies, nothing with which to fill the long, sunny
hours.
She did not complain. Indeed,
she seemed happy enough in her idleness; and by this
time she knew a good many people in the neighbourhood,
though she had not made many friends.
At the Vicarage she was not looked
upon with much favour, owing to an unfortunate conversation
with the Vicar’s wife, when in response to various
leading questions Toni had shown a lamentable ignorance
of the great gulf which yawns between Church and Chapel a
quite conceivable ignorance on the part of the London
tradesman’s niece, who had attended Chapel with
her aunt and uncle on Sunday evenings as cheerfully
as she joined in the more attractive service in the
Church which the genteel Fanny generally patronized
on Sunday mornings.
When, further, Toni innocently admitted
that, although baptized into the Church of England,
she had usually attended the Roman Catholic Church
and Sunday School during her Italian childhood, the
wife of the Vicar was appalled; and ever afterwards
she spoke of Mrs. Rose as unsound in her views, a
condemnation which in the somewhat old-fashioned neighbourhood
carried full weight.
Lady Martin also strongly disapproved
of the young mistress of Greenriver, though probably
only she herself and her spinster daughter could have
adduced any reason for their dislike of Toni and all
her works.
The story of the shrimps had long
since amused Lady Martin’s large circle of acquaintances;
and although no one had ventured to breathe a word
before either Owen Rose or his wife, it was hardly
surprising that Toni came to be considered rather
amusingly unsophisticated; so that the slightest gaucherie
into which the unconscious Toni was betrayed during
those first weeks of her introduction into the society
of the district was eagerly noted and joyfully magnified
in a dozen drawing-rooms.
There was the laughable story of the
Roses’ late arrival at an important dinner-party,
and Mrs. Rose’s ingenuous explanation to her
rather irascible host that she had torn her frock
at the last moment while playing with her dog, and
had been obliged to change it for another and
this to an elderly man who “liked dogs in their
proper place,” by which statement one may measure
the depth of his liking very accurately.
There was the occasion on which Mrs.
Rose, being pressed by a mischievous fellow-guest,
had accepted a cigarette under the impression the
other ladies were about to do likewise an
impression quickly dispelled by the stony glare of
her hostess and the ominous whispers of the other
women.
The hostess, indeed, had uttered one
short, biting comment which had reduced Toni, already
overwhelmed by the magnitude of her offence, almost
to tears; but though it is only fair to say that her
tempter apologized most handsomely, and was her firm
friend and defender ever afterwards, the description
of Mrs. Rose as a half-foreign and wholly-Bohemian
young woman, of cigarette-smoking tendencies, was duly
retailed at several dinner-tables during the following
weeks.
At first Toni took her social failures
very much to heart; but Owen, who was no snob, reassured
her valiantly; and since Toni was only too anxious
to be comforted she did her best to dismiss these unpleasant
experiences from her mind.
Presently, indeed, she found two congenial
spirits. The doctor’s pretty old house,
known locally as Cherry Orchard, harboured two lively
and athletic young women who were only too pleased
to be friends with the merry and vivacious Toni.
They were honest, unintellectual girls, enthusiastic
over all sports and excelling in most; and they took
Toni to their sporting hearts and promised to introduce
her to the local tennis and golf clubs without loss
of time.
On her part, Toni felt at ease with
them immediately, and when once she had learned to
distinguish between Molly and Cynthia a
distinction made the more difficult owing to their
peculiar habit of addressing each other as Toby she
thoroughly enjoyed their companionship.
In the matter of tennis, Toni, who
had only played occasionally at a third-rate suburban
club, was at first no match for them; but the two
Tobies, who were the essence of good nature, coached
her so well and so vigorously that before long she
was a capital player; and when once Toni realized
that Owen wished her to be as hospitable as she could
possibly desire to be, she rejoiced in giving little
impromptu tea-parties on the lawn, under the shade
of one of the noble elms which were a feature of Greenriver.
Sometimes she took the girls motoring;
and between tennis, golf, river picnics and motor
excursions, the days simply flew for Toni; so that
at last even Owen began to realize that he need not
pity her, since she was living a life which exactly
suited her.
Once he realized this, his pity was
directed towards himself.
This was not the sort of married life
he had contemplated; and although he was too just
to blame his wife for her lack of sympathy with his
aims and ideals, he began to wish that Toni would
sometimes lay aside her frivolity and exchange her
light and ceaseless chatter about trifling matters
for a slightly more profitable style of conversation.
Owen had called upon James Herrick
at his bungalow, the Hope House, to thank him for
rescuing Toni; and the other man had duly returned
his call; but although Owen gave Herrick a very cordial
general invitation to Greenriver the two men had not
much in common save a mutual love of good books.
Owen thought Herrick peculiar, eccentric
in his ways. It seemed odd for a man to live
alone as he lived, doing his own work except for the
occasional aid of a woman whom he called Mrs. Swastika.
If he had had any particular work or hobby which necessitated
solitude Owen could have understood it; but Herrick
seemed to spend his days as idly, as aimlessly, as
Toni herself.
He went on the river a good deal,
took long walks with his dog, but beyond that he seemed
to do nothing but lounge in a chair on the lawn, shabbily
clad, with a pipe between his lips and a book, generally
unopened, on his knee. His political views seemed
to Owen to be as vague as were Toni’s; and he
had an irritating habit of setting aside any recognized
standard of perfection as though the world’s
seal of approval meant less than nothing.
He would demolish a given institution
in a few lazy words, but he never attempted to set
up another in its place. He seemed content to
put his finger on the weak spot in any system without
troubling to point out a remedy; and to Owen, whose
eager mind was ever ready to remedy abuses, this attitude
of half-pitying, half-amused toleration was vaguely
irritating.
Herrick seemed to view life, indeed,
with a kind of large detachment, as though from the
height of some soaring pinnacle one might watch, with
only half-awakened interest, the doings of the dwellers
on the plain; and Owen, who liked to be in the midst
of things, to add his quota to the world’s doings,
found in this attitude of mind a pose, a half-insolent
pretence at superiority, which was galling.
Without saying a disparaging word
Herrick appeared to belittle the efforts made by Owen
and his fellows to enlighten the world; and since
everyone knows that the criticism of a non-worker is
a hundred times more irritating than that of a co-operator,
Owen may be excused for finding Herrick uncongenial.
And yet by nature Herrick was a kindly,
cheery soul enough, who had been fired in his youth
by an excessive love for humanity for all
the humanities. But shortly after his marriage
he had faced a tremendous crash; and though, when
the first shock was over, he had pulled himself together,
and gathered up, as best he might, the fragments of
his life, he had lost for ever that eager, humane,
half-Quixotic spirit which had made his young manhood
pass like a joyous race.
As time went on Owen got into the
habit of spending most of his days in town, where
he found it easier to work than at home. He begged
Toni to tell him honestly whether she found herself
lonely in his absence, but Toni assured him truthfully
that she was perfectly happy sitting in her beautiful
old garden or taking lunch and tea on the river, either
alone, or in the company of her friends, Molly and
Cynthia Peach. Punting alone was forbidden, but
seeing Toni’s disappointment, her husband had
purchased for her a stout little dinghy in which she
was perfectly safe, and this same craft was a source
of delight to its owner.
At first Owen had asked Toni to come
up to town with him, to do some shopping or go to
a matinee, but London in summer was no novelty
to Toni, and she infinitely preferred to stay at Willowhurst
and amuse herself in her own way.
One night it chanced that Owen arrived
home much earlier than usual. The weather had
broken a day or two previously, and the air was heavy
with thunder. Consequently Owen’s head
ached furiously, with one of the neuralgic headaches
which since his accident he had good cause to dread;
and the fact that he had an important piece of work
to finish without loss of time fretted his nerves
to racking-point.
London was particularly hot and malodorous
to-day; and it was with a sigh of relief that Owen
steered his car away from the stuffy streets towards
the green and fragrant valley of the Thames. There
was a coppery glow in the sky which presaged a storm,
and puffs of hot air blew gustily into his face; but
it would be fresher at Willowhurst, and if the storm
should break there would be a delightful hour or two
afterwards, when the earth, cooled by the rain, would
send up its incense of sweet odours into the summer
darkness, and the evening breeze would bring refreshment
to weary, throbbing brows.
True, the work must be done, if human
endurance could do it; and with a sigh of relief Owen
remembered that Toni would be disengaged and able to
help him in some way, if only by typing the manuscript
when he had brought it to a close. There was
also a little research work to be done, one or two
quotations to be verified, a few short extracts to
be made work which came well within the
scope of Toni’s powers; and he knew that she
would be only too pleased to give him what help she
could.
But he had reckoned without his host.
On leaving home in the morning he had told his wife
he would probably be late in returning, and had apologized
for leaving her so long alone. So far from feeling
aggrieved at his absence, however, Toni seized the
opportunity of inviting Mollie and Cynthia over for
tennis; and the girls accepted blithely, bringing
over with them a young cousin, just through Sandhurst,
who was an adept at the game.
Toni welcomed the boy happily; and
the four young people played tennis vigorously, with
an interval for tea, until the elder Toby began regretfully
to talk of going home.
There were already rumblings of thunder,
and the sky behind the big cedar trees looked strangely
lurid; and Toni, who hated a storm, was loth to let
them go.
An idea striking her, she begged them
all to stay and have a late supper with her; after
which Mr. Cooper and Mollie, being musical, might give
the others an impromptu concert a plan to
which, after a little decent hesitation, the trio
assented gaily.
Toni, pleased that she was not to
be left alone to face the storm, took them indoors
to get tidy, and then danced off to the kitchen to
interview the cook.
Mrs. Blades, lighting the Ten Little
Ladies earlier than usual on account of the gloom,
was inclined to look askance at the invasion; but
Martha and Maggie the latter filling the
place of Kate, enjoying her “evening off” fell
into the plan with alacrity; and while the former
brought out the cold chickens and the galantine intended
for the morrow’s lunch, Maggie bustled round
the oval table laying extra places and making such
preparations as commended themselves to her ever-fertile
mind.
Owing to the stormy dusk it was necessary
to light the candles on the supper-table, where bowls
of great crimson roses made pools of colour on the
white cloth; and very attractive the table looked to
the four hungry people who presently sat down to eat
and chatter.
There was plenty of gay laughter over
the meal. Jokes were bandied hither and thither,
shocking puns were made and greeted with shrieks of
mirth, and if the conversation was eminently frivolous,
at least it was good-humoured, hearty, wholesome frivolity.
Yet when Owen reached home in his
car and entered the hall with rather a weary step,
the somewhat noisy merriment which greeted him brought
a frown to his forehead.
He questioned Andrews as to what was
going on, and the young butler informed him, with
a complacency which Owen in his present mood found
irritating, that Mrs. Rose was entertaining the two
Misses Peach and a gentleman to supper.
“Oh!” Owen paused in his
walk towards the dining-room door. “In that
case, I think I will just have a whisky and soda in
the library and a few sandwiches.”
“Very good, sir,” the
man was beginning, when there was a peal of laughter
from behind the closed door; and the next moment, Toni
came flying out of the room, holding aloft a large
bunch of grapes, while Mr. Cooper pursued her hotly,
making grabs at the fruit as he did so.
Unable to stop herself, Toni cannoned
violently into her husband, and the unfortunate youth
from Sandhurst, brought to an unexpected halt, found
himself face to face with an unknown man whose expression
was not exactly inviting.
“Owen, is it you? How you
startled me!” Toni lifted two sparkling eyes
to her husband’s face. “When did you
come? You said you wouldn’t be home till
after ten!”
“I’ve just arrived,”
he said, striving hard to keep any hint of annoyance
out of his tone. “You were making such a
noise you didn’t hear the car! Well, Toni,
won’t you introduce me to your friend?”
On being presented, Mr. Cooper, held
out his hand rather awkwardly.
“I’m afraid we were making
an awful din,” he said, apologetically.
“We got ragging over the dessert and Mrs. Rose
stole my grapes ?”
“Oh, you fibber!” Toni
was not going to stand that. “They were
mine, and you took them off my plate when I wasn’t
looking!”
“I’m afraid they aren’t
much good to anyone now,” said Owen with a smile.
“They are pretty well squashed, Toni, and I fancy
your frock’s got the worst of the encounter!”
“Well, it’s only my tennis-frock,”
said Toni, her first involuntary qualms driven away
by the friendly sound in Owen’s voice. “We’ll
go back and finish now. You’ll come, Owen?
I’ll tell Maggie to bring back the food.”
“No, don’t bother.”
He spoke quietly. “I’ll go and brush
off some of the London dust while you and your friends
finish your supper. I’ll have a bite later
on. Don’t worry about me.” He
turned to the boy. “I’m afraid we’re
in for a storm. I felt a few drops as I came up
the drive.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Toni left her
husband and returned to the dining-room, where the
Tobies anxiously awaited her coming. They had
practically finished their meal, and a few moments
later rose from the table and went into the drawing-room,
where Toni presently excused herself and went in search
of her husband.
She found him in the library, where
Andrew had just brought him a slender repast; and
even the unobservant Toni was struck by the look of
fatigue which brooded over his face as he sat poring
over some closely-written sheets.
“Owen, I’m sure you ought
not to do that now. Do leave it till to-morrow
and come and listen to some music in the drawing-room
instead.”
She laid one small hand on the sheets
as though to wrest them from his grasp; but he lifted
her fingers aside with a rather weary gesture.
“No, dear, I can’t leave
this.” His voice was flat and toneless.
“I’ve promised to send it off the first
thing to-morrow morning, and there’s a lot to
be done yet.”
“But I’m sure you’re ill! Have
you got neuralgia again?”
“A little oh, it’s
nothing, only the thunder in the air. You might
tell Andrews to bring me some phenacetin, will you,
dear? And now, my child, run away to your guests they’ll
think it queer if you leave them alone much longer.”
Toni turned obediently to the door,
but she was not yet easy in her mind.
“Owen, are you sure there is nothing I can do?”
“Nothing, thank you, dear. I believe the
storm is passing after all.”
He spoke the truth, for with a few
more mutterings the thunder died away in the distance;
and though the promised coolness did not come, both
Owen and Toni were relieved by the lightening atmosphere Toni
because she was an arrant coward where thunderstorms
were concerned; Owen because he felt that the clash
of the elements would render the neuralgic pains in
his head almost unbearable.
For long after Toni, relieved, had
gone back to her visitors he sat doing nothing, lacking
the energy to attack his task. Now and then he
heard a few notes on the piano, and once he opened
the door to listen to the elder Miss Peach’s
rendering of a song he knew, for Mollie Peach had
a sweet, limpid soprano voice which no amount of chatter
and noisy laughter could destroy.
When, however, the young man from
Sandhurst started to shout a comic song, Owen shut
the door hastily and wished the boy at Jericho.
He began to think the visitors would
never go. At first he had hoped that their departure
would set Toni free to help him after all; but when
the clock in the hall chimed the half hour after ten,
and still the music and laughter continued, he knew
it was useless to expect any aid to-night.
At eleven the party broke up.
The bicycles were brought round, and the four went
gaily out of the front door to light lamps and see
to suspiciously slack tyres.
Owen had charged Toni with polite
messages to the two girls; and they, being somewhat
in awe of a real live writer, were not sorry to avoid
a meeting with their host; but Toni seemed so loth
to part with them that she detained them all on the
steps, chattering eagerly while the stars winked down
out of the clearing sky and the owls hooted in melancholy
fashion from the tops of the tall trees behind the
house.
Finally the last farewells were said,
the last appointments made; and Toni, yawning, turned
to Andrews and bade him lock up safely.
She was still yawning when she came
into the library a moment later; and in the lamplight
Owen caught a glimpse of her little red mouth gaping
behind her hand as she came up to the table.
“How sleepy I am!” Indeed
her eyes were bright, like those of a sleepy child.
“Aren’t you coming, Owen? It’s
ever so late.”
“Why didn’t you pack your
friends off a little earlier then?”
“Oh, I didn’t want them
to go.” She yawned childishly once more.
“Owen” suddenly a thought struck
her “you’re not cross, are you?
You didn’t mind me having them here? You
know, I thought it was going to be a storm ”
“Of course I didn’t mind,”
he said, disarmed by her sudden appeal. “It
was my fault for turning up unexpectedly. But
now, Toni, supposing you run away to bed? I really
must finish this work, and it’s getting late.”
She agreed, docilely, and kissing
him lightly, ran away to bed as she was commanded,
falling asleep as soon as she was safely there.
But Owen sat late in the library sat,
indeed, till the short summer night began to recede
with stealthy, sliding footsteps before the victorious
onrush of the dawn; and in those quiet, lamp-lit hours
he asked himself despairingly why he had been in such
haste to marry.
One consolation lay in the fact that
Toni herself had not the slightest idea that her marriage
was anything but a success. She did not know that
her idleness, her incessant chatter about trivial things,
her constant interruptions, her unauthorized intrusions
into the privacy of his working hours, worried him
almost beyond measure.
Bubbling over with youth and joy,
she had no eyes for the look of strain, of weariness
on another’s face; and to her it seemed quite
right that her husband should write and study while
she danced through the summer hours as she would.
He liked his work, she supposed; and
in Toni’s world it was the usual thing for the
men to work to support their wives. But that the
wives had equal duties, that it was theirs to share
the burdens of the men’s spiritual and mental
labour, she had, as yet, no idea.
“At least,” said Owen
wearily to himself, as he rose stiffly from his chair
and moved to the oriel window to watch the marvel of
the dawn, “at least I have made her happy; and
as for me, it’s my own mistake, and I must bear
the consequences!”
With which philosophical reflection
he extinguished the lamp and went slowly upstairs
to bed.