Kitabı oku: «The Painted Veil / Узорный покров», sayfa 2

IX

She had known him but a little while. She had no idea when or where they had first met till after their engagement he told her that it was at a dance to which some friends had brought him. She certainly paid no attention to him then and if she danced with him it was because she was good-natured and was glad to dance with any one who asked her. She didn’t recognize him when a day or two later at another dance he came up and spoke to her. Then she remarked that he was at every dance she went to.

“You know, I’ve danced with you at least a dozen times now and you must tell me your name,” she said to him at last in her laughing way.

He was obviously taken aback.

“Do you mean to say you don’t know it? I was introduced to you.”

“Oh, but people always mumble. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if you hadn’t an idea what my name was.”

He smiled at her. His face was serious, but his smile was very sweet.

“Of course I know it.” He was silent for a moment or two. “Have you no curiosity?” he asked then.

“As much as most women.”

“It didn’t occur to you to ask somebody or other what my name was?”

“Well, what is it?”

“Walter Fane.”

She did not know why he came to dances, he did not dance very well, and he seemed to know few people. He certainly did not behave like any of the other youths who had been in love with her. Most of them told her so frankly and wanted to kiss her: a good many did. But Walter Fane never talked of her and very little of himself. He was rather silent; she did not mind that because she had plenty to say and it pleased her to see him laugh when she made a funny remark; but when he talked it was not stupidly. He was evidently shy. It appeared that he lived in the East and was home on leave.

One Sunday afternoon he appeared at their house in South Kensington. There were a dozen people there, and he sat for some time, feeling a bit uncomfortable, and then went away. Her mother asked her later who he was.

“I haven’t an idea. Did you ask him to come here?”

“Yes, I met him at the Baddeleys. He said he’d seen you at various dances. I said I was always at home on Sundays.”

“His name is Fane and he’s got some sort of job in the East.”

“Yes, he’s a doctor. Is he in love with you?”

“I really don’t know!”

“I thought you knew by now when a young man was in love with you.”

“I wouldn’t marry him if he were,” said Kitty lightly. Mrs. Garstin did not answer. Her silence was heavy with displeasure. Kitty flushed: she knew that her mother did not care now whom she married so long as somehow she got her off her hands.

X

During the next week she met him at three dances and now he was a bit more communicative. He was a doctor, certainly, but he did not practise; he was a bacteriologist (Kitty had only a very vague idea what that meant) and he had a job at Hong Kong. He was going back in the autumn. He talked a lot about China. She knew how to look interested in whatever people talked to her of, but indeed the life in Hong Kong sounded quite exciting; there were clubs and tennis and racing and polo and golf.

“Do people dance much there?”

“Oh, yes, I think so.”

She wondered whether he told her these things with a motive. He seemed to like her society, but never by a pressure of the hand, by a glance or by a word, did he give the smallest indication that he looked upon her as anything but a girl whom you met and danced with. On the following Sunday he came again to their house. Her father was at home, and he and Walter Fane had a long chat. She asked her father afterwards what they had talked of.

“It appears he works at Hong Kong. The Chief Justice¹⁴ is an old friend of mine. He seems an unusually intelligent young man.”

“It’s not often you like any of my young men, father,” she said.

His kind, tired eyes rested upon her.

“Are you going to marry him by any chance?”

“Certainly not.”

“Is he in love with you?”

“He shows no sign of it.

“Do you like him?”

“I don’t think I do very much. He irritates me a little.”

He was not her type at all. He was short, but thin; dark and clean-shaven, with very regular, clear-cut features. His eyes were almost black, but not large; they were curious, but not very pleasant eyes. With his straight, delicate nose, his fine brow and well-shaped mouth he ought to have been good-looking. But surprisingly enough he was not. His expression was slightly sarcastic and now that Kitty knew him better she realized that she was not quite comfortable with him. He had no cheerfulness.

By the end of the season they had seen a lot of one another, but he had remained as distant and impenetrable as ever. He was not exactly shy with her, but embarrassed. Kitty came to the conclusion that he was not in love with her. She thought he liked her and found her easy to talk to, but when he returned to China in November he would not think of her again.

Then came the announcement of Doris’s engagement to Geoffrey Dennison. Doris, at eighteen, was making quite a suitable marriage, and she was twenty-five and single. Supposing she did not marry at all? Kitty’s heart sank.

XI

But one afternoon when she was walking home from Harrod’s she met Walter Fane. He stopped and talked to her. Then, casually, he asked her if she would walk with him in the Park. She had no particular wish to go home. They strolled along, talking as they always talked, of casual things, and he asked her where she was going for the summer.

“Oh, we always bury ourselves in the country. You see, father is exhausted after the term’s work and we just go to the quietest place we can find.”

Kitty spoke with her tongue in her cheek¹⁵, for she knew quite well that her father had not enough work to tire him and even if he had his convenience would never matter in the choice of a holiday. But a quiet place was a cheap place.

“Don’t you think those chairs look rather inviting?” said Walter suddenly.

She saw two green chairs under a tree on the grass.

“Let us sit in them,” she said.

But when they were seated he seemed to grow strangely distant. He was an odd creature. Suddenly he turned to her. His face was white.

“I want to say something to you.”

She looked at him quickly and she saw that his eyes were filled with a painful anxiety.

“I want to ask you if you’ll marry me.”

“I didn’t expect it at all,” she answered, extremely surprised.

“Didn’t you know I was awfully in love with you?”

“You never showed it.”

“I’m very awkward and clumsy. I always find it more difficult to say the things I mean than the things I don’t.”

Her heart began to beat a little more quickly. She had been proposed too often before, but no one had ever asked her to marry him in a manner which was so strangely tragic.

“It’s very kind of you,” she said, doubtfully.

“I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. I wanted to ask you before, but I could never make myself do it. I didn’t want to lose hope. But now you’re going away and in the autumn I have to go back to China.”

“I’ve never thought of you in that way,” she said helplessly.

He said nothing more. He looked down on the grass gloomily. She was a little frightened, but she was thrilled also.

“You must give me time to think.”

Still he did not say anything. She must talk it over with her mother. She had waited, thinking he would answer, and now, she did not know why, she found it difficult to make a movement. When you sat close to him you saw how good his features were, and how cold his face.

“I don’t know you, I don’t know you at all,” she said tremulously.

He gave her a look. His eyes had a tenderness which she had never seen in them before, but there was something pleading in them, like a dog’s that has been whipped, which slightly annoyed her.

It was certainly the oddest proposal she had ever had. She was not in the least in love with him. She did not know why she hesitated to refuse him at once.

“I’m awfully stupid,” he said. “I want to tell you that I love you more than anything in the world, but I find it so awfully difficult to say.”

Now that was odd too, for inexplicably enough it touched her; he wasn’t really cold, of course, it was his manner that was unfortunate: she liked him at that moment better than she had ever liked him before. Doris was to be married in November. He would be on his way to China then and if she married him she would be with him. It wouldn’t be very nice to be a bridesmaid at Doris’s wedding. She would be glad to escape that. And then Doris as a married woman and herself single! Everyone knew how young Doris was and it would make her seem older. It wouldn’t be a very good marriage for her, but it was a marriage, and the fact that she would live in China made it easier. She was afraid of her mother’s bitter tongue. Why all the girls who had come out with her were married long ago and most of them had children; she was tired of going to see them and smiling at their babies. Walter Fane offered her a new life. She turned to him.

“When would you want to marry me?”

He gave a sudden gasp of delight, and his white cheeks flushed.

“Now. At once. As soon as possible. We’d go to Italy for our honeymoon. August and September.”

That would save her from spending the summer in the country with her father and mother. She imagined the announcement in the Morning Post that the bridegroom has to return to the East, so the wedding would take place at once. For the moment at least Doris would be in the background and when Doris’s much grander wedding took place she would be far away.

She stretched out her hand.

“I think I like you very much. You must give me time to get used to you.”

“Then it’s yes?” he interrupted.

“I suppose so.”

XII

She knew him very little then, and now, though they had been married for nearly two years, she knew him just a little more. At first she had been touched by his kindness and flattered, though surprised, by his passion. He was extremely considerate; he was very attentive to her comfort. He was constantly giving her little presents. And he was always exceedingly polite. He rose to his feet when she entered a room, he gave her his hand to help her out of a car, if he chanced to meet her in the street he took off his hat, he opened the door for her when she left a room, he never came into her bedroom or her boudoir without a knock. He treated her not as Kitty had seen most men treat their wives. It was pleasing and yet a trifle comic. Their relations didn’t draw her closer to him. He was passionate then, fierce, oddly hysterical too, and sentimental.

He was really emotional. His self-control was due to shyness or to long training, she did not know which. When there was a party and every one started singing Walter could never make himself join in. He sat there smiling to show that he was pleased and amused, but his smile was forced: it was more like a sarcastic grin, and you could not help feeling that he thought all those people enjoying themselves a pack of fools. He could not make himself play the round games which Kitty with her high spirits liked so much. On their journey out to China he had absolutely refused to put on fancy dress when everyone else was wearing it.

Kitty was lively; she was willing to chatter all day long and she laughed easily. His silence disconcerted her. If it was raining and she said: “It’s raining cats and dogs,” she expected him something to say. But he remained silent. Sometimes it was awful.

“I said it was raining cats and dogs,” she repeated.

“I heard you,” he answered, with his affectionate smile.

It showed that he had not meant to be offensive. He did not speak because he had nothing to say. But if nobody spoke unless he had something to say, Kitty reflected, with a smile, the human race would very soon lose the use of speech.

XIII

The fact was, of course, that he had no charm. That was why he was not popular, and she had not been long in Hong Kong before she discovered that he was not. She remained very vague about his work. She realized that to be the government bacteriologist was no great importance. He didn’t discuss that part of his life with her. Because she was willing to be interested in anything at first she had asked him about it. He put her off with a jest.

“It’s very dull and technical,” he said on another occasion. “And it’s extremely underpaid.”

He was very reserved. All she knew about his birth, his education, and his life before he met her, she had learnt by direct questioning. It was odd, the only thing that seemed to annoy him was a question. She understood that he did not care to reply not because he had anything to hide from her, but merely from a natural secretiveness. It bored him to talk about himself. It made him shy and uncomfortable. He did not know how to be open. He was fond of reading, but he read books which seemed to Kitty very dull. He never relaxed. He was fond of only two games: tennis and bridge.

She wondered why he had ever fallen in love with her. And yet it was quite certain that he loved her madly. He would do anything in the world to please her. He was like wax in her hands. She supposed he was clever, everyone seemed to think he was, but except very occasionally when he was with two or three people he liked and was in the mood, she had never found him entertaining. He did not precisely bore her, he left her indifferent.

XIV

Though Kitty had met his wife at various tea-parties she had been some weeks in Hong Kong before she saw Charles Townsend. She was introduced to him only when with her husband she went to dine at his house. Charles Townsend was Assistant Colonial Secretary and Kitty didn’t want to allow him to use her with the arrogance which she saw in Mrs. Townsend. The room in which they were received was spacious. It was a large party. They were the last to come and as they entered Chinese servants in uniform were handing round cocktails and olives. Mrs. Townsend greeted them in her casual fashion and looking at a list told Walter whom he was to take in to dinner.

Kitty saw a tall and very handsome man approaching them.

“This is my husband.”

“I have the privilege of sitting next to you,” he said.

She immediately felt at ease and the sense of hostility vanished from her bosom. Though his eyes were smiling she had seen in them a quick look of surprise. She understood it perfectly.

“I won’t be able to eat any dinner,” he said, “and if I know Dorothy the dinner’s damned good”.

“Why not?”

“Some one really had to warn me.”

“What about?”

“No one said a word. I didn’t know that I was going to meet a real beauty.”

“Now what should I say to that?”

“Nothing. Leave me to do the talking. And I’ll say it over and over again.”

When they were sitting side by side at table he told her that he had known Walter Fane ever since he came to the Colony.

“We play bridge together. He’s the best bridge player at the Club.”

She told Walter on the way home.

“That’s not saying very much, you know.”

“How does he play?”

“Not badly, but when he has bad cards he goes all to pieces.”

“Does he play as well as you?”

“I have no illusions about my play. I should describe myself as a very good player in the second class. Townsend thinks he’s in the first. He isn’t.”

“Don’t you like him?”

“I neither like him nor dislike him. I believe he’s not bad at his job and everyone says he’s a good sportsman. He doesn’t very much interest me.”

It was not the first time that Walter’s moderation had exasperated her. She asked herself why it was necessary to be so prudent: you either liked people or you didn’t. She had liked Charles Townsend very much. And she had not expected to. He was probably the most popular man in the Colony. It was supposed that the Colonial Secretary would retire soon and everyone hoped that Townsend would succeed him. He played tennis and polo and golf. He kept racing ponies. He was always ready to help. He put on no airs.¹⁶ Kitty did not know why she had thought that he was snobbish: she had been extremely silly; you couldn’t accuse him of that.

She had enjoyed her evening. They had talked of the theatres in London, and of all the things she knew about; and later, when the men came into the drawing-room after dinner, he had strolled over and sat beside her again. Of course he had charm. That was what made him so pleasant.

He was tall, six foot two at least, she thought, and he had a beautiful figure. He was well-dressed, the best-dressed man in the room, and he wore his clothes well. His face was deeply sunburned, but the sun had not taken the healthy colour from his cheeks. She liked the little curly moustache which did not hide his full red lips. He had short black hair. But of course his eyes, under thick, bushy eyebrows, were his best feature: they were so very blue, and they had a laughing tenderness. No man with those blue eyes could hurt any one.

She knew that she had made an impression on him. When she shook hands with him to say good-bye, he gave her hand a pressure that she could not mistake.

“I hope we’ll see you again soon,” he said casually, but his eyes gave his words a meaning which she could not fail to understand.

“Hong Kong is very small, isn’t it?” she said.

XV

Nobody could think then that within three months they would be on such terms¹⁷. He had told her since that he was crazy about her on that first evening. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She knew that he was in love with her before he told her, and a little frightened she kept him at a distance. It was difficult. She was afraid to let him kiss her, for the thought of his arms about her made her heart beat so fast. She had never been in love before. It was wonderful. And now that she knew what love was she felt a sudden sympathy for the love that Walter had for her. She teased him, playfully, and saw that he enjoyed it. She had been perhaps a little afraid of him, but now she had more confidence. He was surprised and pleased. One of these days, she thought, he would become quite human.

And when Charlie became her lover the situation between herself and Walter seemed absolutely absurd. She could hardly look at him, so serious and self-controlled, without laughing. She was too happy to feel unkindly towards him. She had hesitated some time before the final step, not because she did not want to give way to Charlie’s passion, her own was equal to his, but because her upbringing and all the conventions of her life limited her. The final act was due to accident; neither of them had seen the opportunity till it was face to face with them.

XVI

Her happiness, sometimes almost more than she could bear, renewed her beauty. Her starry eyes gained a more significant expression; her skin was dazzling. She looked eighteen once more. She was at the height of her glowing loveliness. It was impossible not to remark it and her women friends asked her if she was going to have a baby.

They managed their intrigue with skill. They could not meet often alone, sometimes in the curio shop, now and then after lunch in her house when no one was about; but she saw him a lot here and there.

She worshipped him. He was splendid. In tennis clothes he looked just like a boy. Of course he was proud of his figure: it was the best figure she had ever seen. He never ate bread or potatoes or butter. And he did a lot of exercise. She liked the care he took of his hands; he was manicured once a week. He was a wonderful athlete and the year before he had won the local tennis championship. Certainly he was the best dancer she had ever danced with; it was a dream to dance with him. No one would think he was forty. She told him she did not believe it.

“I believe it’s all bluff and you’re really twenty-five.”

He laughed. He was well pleased.

“Oh, my dear, I have a son of fifteen. I’m middle-aged. In another two or three years I’ll just be a fat old man.”

“You’ll be adorable when you’re a hundred.”

She did not believe there was anything he could not do: he was very clever at his work too and she shared his pleasure when he told her that the Governor had particularly congratulated him on the way he had done some difficult job.

Oh, how she wished that she were his wife rather than Walter’s!