Man and Maid

E >> Elinor Glyn >> Man and Maid

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"You laugh sometimes, too?" I asked with assumed surprise. "That is
delightful! I adore the 'twinkle in the eye,' but I was afraid you would
never unbend far enough so that we could laugh together!"

I think this offended her.

"Life would be impossible without a sense of humor, even if it is a grim
one."

"Well, nothing need be grim any more, and we can both smile at the
rather absurd situation between us, which, however, suits us both
admirably. You will never interfere with me, or I with you."

"No--" There was a tone in this which let me feel that her thoughts had
harked back to Suzette.

"The Duchesse is going to have a little tea party for us on Saturday,
you know, so that you may be introduced as my wife."

Alathea became embarrassed at once.

"Will people know my real name?"

"No--we shall tell no stories, but we shall not be communicative. You
will be introduced as an old English friend of the Duchesse's."

She looked at me for an instant and there was gratitude in her
expression.

"Alathea, I want you to forget all about the troubles which must have
clouded your life. They are all over now, and some day, perhaps you will
introduce me to your mother and little sister."

"I will, of course when they come back from the South. My mother has
often been so ill."

"I want you to feel that I would do anything for them. Are you sure they
have all they want?"

She protested.

"Indeed--yes, far more. You have given too much already."

She raised her head with that indescribable little gesture of hauteur,
which becomes her so beautifully. I could read her mind. It said, "I
loathe receiving anything from him, with that woman in the background!"

When we went into the salon I wondered what she would do. I did not
speak. She took my crutch and shook up my cushion, taking great care not
to touch me. I could not look up. I knew that a powerful electric
current would pass from my eye to hers, if I did, and that she would see
that I was only longing to take her to my heart.

I remained silent and gazed into the fire. She sat down quietly on the
sofa at the side, so that I would have to turn my head to look at her.
Thus we remained for quite five minutes, speechless. The air throbbed
with emotion. I dared not move.

At last she said, "Would you care that I should read to you again, or
play?"

"Play for a little." My voice was chilly. I was quite determined the
iciness should come from me first, not her, for a few days.

She went to the piano, and she began the Debussy she had played that
afternoon when I had first asked her to play--I never can remember its
name--and when she had finished she stopped.

"What made you play that now?" I asked.

"I felt like it."

"It wrenches my nerves. What makes you feel all unrestful and rebellious
and defiant, Alathea, am I not keeping the bargain?"

"Yes, of course."

"You are bored to death then?"

"No, I am wondering."

"Wondering what?"

She did not answer. I could not see her without getting up out of my
chair.

"Please come here," I asked in an indifferent cold voice. "You know it
is so difficult for me to move."

She came back and sat down upon the sofa again. The light of the apricot
lamp fell softly on her hair.

"Now tell me about what you were wondering."

Her mouth grew stubborn and she did not speak.

"It is so unlike you to do these very female things, beginning sentences
and not going on. I never saw anyone so changed; once I looked upon you
as the model for all that was balanced, and unlike your sex. It was I
who used to feel nervous and ineffectual, now, ever since we have been
engaged, you seem to be disturbed, and to have lost your serenity. Don't
you think as it is the first evening that we are alone together that it
would be a wise thing to try and get at each other's point of view? Tell
me the truth Alathea, what has caused the alteration in you?"

Now she looked straight at me, and there was defiance in her expressive
eyes.

"That is just what I was wondering about. It is true, I seem to have
lost my serenity, I am self-conscious--I am conscious of you."

A delicious sensation of joy flowed through me, and the feeling of
triumph began which is with me still. If she is conscious of me--!

"Do you mind if I smoke?" I asked with complete casualness to hide my
emotions. She shook her head, and I lit a cigarette.

"You were uneasy because you did not trust me, you thought underneath
there might be some trap, and that I would seize you once you belonged
to me. There was a moment when I might have felt inclined to do so,
though I would never have broken my word, but you have cured me of all
that, and there is nothing to prevent our being quite good
acquaintances,--even if your prejudice does not ever allow you to be
friends."

For a second a blank look came into her expression. I was banking on my
knowledge of the psychology of a human mind, the predatory instinct must
inevitably be aroused in her by my attitude of indifference, if I can
only act well enough and keep it up! I should certainly win in a fairly
short space of time. But she is so attractive, I do not yet know if I
shall have the strength of mind to do so.

"Are you not going to give me some regular work to do each day?" she
asked with a tone of mock respect in her voice. "None of the letters
have been answered lately, or the bills paid."

"Yes. I scrambled through them all myself while I was waiting, but if
you will look over the book again, we might finally send it to a
publisher."

"Very well."

"I don't want you to feel that you have ever to stay in or do any work
you don't feel inclined for. We shall have lots of time, for the rest of
our lives. No doubt to-morrow you would wish to spend with your mother,
if she is going away."

"I said good-bye to her this morning. There is no need for me to go
back. I came prepared to stay. Unless of course you would rather be
alone, then I can go out for a walk." This last with a peculiar tone in
the words.

"Naturally you will want to go for walks, and drives, and shopping. You
don't imagine that I shall expect you to be a prisoner, just waiting on
my beck and call!"

"Yes, that is how I took the bargain. It is quite unfair otherwise. I am
here as a paid dependant and receiving really too high wages for any
possible work I can give in return. I would not have entered into it
otherwise or on any other terms. I loathe to receive favors."

"Madame Lucifer!"

She flashed blue sparks at me!

"I am not forced to command you to work you know," I went on "that is
not part of the bargain, the bargain is entirely concerned with my not
asking _you_ to give me any favors, personal favors, like affection, or
caresses, etcetera, or that I shall ever expect you to be really my
wife."

She frowned.

"Well, you may put your mind entirely at rest, you have been so awfully
disagreeable to me for so long, ever since we were at Versailles in the
summer, that you don't attract me at all now, except your intellect and
your playing. So if you will talk sometimes and play sometimes, that
will be all right. I don't desire anything else. Now, assured about
this, can't you be at ease and restful again?"

I know why she wore glasses. She cannot control the expression of her
eyes! The pupils dilate and contract and tell one wonderful things! I
know that this attitude of mine is having a powerful effect upon her,
the feminine in her hates to feel that she has lost power over me--even
over my senses. I could have laughed aloud, I was so pleased with my
success, but I did not dare to look at her much, or I could never have
kept the game up. She was more delectable than I can ever describe.

"It would interest me so much to know why your hands used to be so red,"
I asked after a little pause. "They are getting so much whiter now."

"I had work to do, dishes to wash, our old nurse was too ill, as well as
my mother, and my little brother then--" there was a break in her soft
voice. "I do not like red hands any more than you do. They distressed
my father always. I will try to take care of them now."

"Yes--do."

The evening post had come in, and been put by Burton discreetly on a
side table. He naturally thought such mundane things could not interest
me on my wedding night. I caught sight of the little pile and asked
Alathea to bring them to me.

She did. One from Coralie was lying on top and one immediately under it
from Solonge de Clerte! Alathea saw that they were both in female
writing. The rest were bills and business.

"Do you permit me to open them?" I asked punctiliously.

"Of course," and she reddened. "Are you not master here? How absurd to
ask me!"

"It is not; you are Lady Thormonde, even if you are not my wife, and
have a right to courtesy."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Why did you put--'To Alathea from her husband' on the bracelets? You
are 'Sir Nicholas' and not my husband."

"It was a _betise_, a slip of the pen; I admit you are right," and
indifferently I opened Coralie's effusion, smiling over it. I put up my
hand as if to shade my eye, and looked at Alathea through the fingers.
She was watching me with an expression of slightly anxious interest. I
could almost have believed that she was _jealous_!

My triumph increased.

I removed my hand and appeared only to be intent upon Coralie's letter.

"Perhaps we each have friends which might bore the other, so when you
want to have parties tell me, and I will arrange to go out, and when I
want to, I will tell you. In that way we can never have any jars."

"Thank you, but I have no friends except the Duchesse, or very humble
people who don't want to come to parties."

"But you will be making plenty of new friends now. I have some which you
will meet out in the world which I daresay you won't care about, and
some who come and dine with me sometimes, who probably you would
dislike."

"Yes,--I know."

"How do you know?" I asked innocently, affecting surprise.

"I used to hear them when I was typing."

I smiled. I did not defend them.

"If you should chance to meet, would you be civil to them?"

"Of course, 'Coralie,' 'Odette,' and 'Alice,' the Duchesse has often
described them all! It was 'Coralie' who came to talk to you at
Versailles in the park, was it not?"

Her voice was contemptuously amused and indifferent, but her little
nostrils quivered. Underneath she was disturbed I knew.

"Yes, Coralie is charming, she knows more about how to put clothes on
becomingly than any other woman."

"Do they dine often? Because I could perhaps arrange to go and have my
music lesson with Monsieur Trani on those evenings, twice a week or
oftener?"

"You would refuse to meet them?" I pretended to be annoyed.

"Certainly not, one does not do ridiculous things like that. I will meet
whoever you wish. I only thought it might spoil your pleasure if I were
there, unless of course you have told them that I am only a permanent
secretary masquerading under the name of your wife--so that they need
not restrain themselves."

Her face had become inscrutable. She was quite calm now. I grew
uncertain again for a moment. Had I carried the bluff far enough?

"They have all quite charming manners, but as you infer they might not
be so amused to come to the dinner of a married man. I think the last
part of your speech was rather a reflection upon my sense of being a
gentleman though. I of course have not informed anyone of our quaint
relations.--But remember you told me once you did not think I was a
gentleman, so I must not be offended now."

She did not speak, she was looking down and her eyelashes made a shadow
on her cheeks. Her mouth was sad.

Suddenly something pathetic about her touched me. She is such a gallant
little fighter. She has had such an ugly cruel life, and Oh! God she is
growing to love me, and soon shall I be able to tell her that I worship
the ground she walks on, and appreciate her proud spirit and great
self-respect? But I cannot chance anything. I must go on and follow what
I know to be sound psychological reasoning.

I felt my will weakening then, she looked so perfectly exquisite there
in the corner of the sofa. We were alone.--It was nearly ten o'clock at
night, the flowers were scenting the air, the lights were soft, the
dinner had been perfection. After all I am a man, and she legally
belongs to me. I felt the blood rushing wildly in my veins. I had to
clench my hands and shut my eye.

"I expect you are tired now," I said a little breathlessly. "So I will
say good-night--Milady, and hope that you will sleep well the first
night in your new home."

I got up and she came forward quickly to hand me my crutch.

"Good-night," she whispered quite low, but she never looked at me, then
she turned and went slowly from the room, never glancing back. And when
she had gone instead of going to bed I once more sank into my chair. I
felt queerly faint, my nerves are not sound yet I expect.

Well, what a strange wedding night!

Burton's face was a mask when he came to undress me. Among the many
strange scenes he has witnessed and assisted at, after forty years
spent in ministering to the caprices of the aristocracy, I believe he
thinks this is the strangest!

When I was in bed and he was about to go, I suddenly went into a peal of
bitter laughter. He stopped near the door.

"Beg pardon, Sir Nicholas?" he said as though I had called to him.

"Aren't women the weirdest things in the world, Burton!"

"They are indeed, Sir Nicholas," and he smiled. "One and all, from
Mam'zelle to ladies like her Ladyship, they do like to feel that a man
belongs to themselves."

"You think that is it, Burton?"

"Not a doubt of it, Sir Nicholas."

"How do you know them so well, never having married, you old scallywag!"

"Perhaps that's why, Sir. A married man looses his spirit like--and his
being able to see!"

"I seem lonely, don't I Burton," and I laughed again.

"You do, Sir Nicholas, but if I may make so bold as to say so, I don't
think you will be so very long. Her Ladyship sent out for a cup of tea
directly she got to her room."

And with an indescribable look of blank innocence in his dear old eyes,
this philosopher, and profound student of women, respectfully left the
room!

XXIV

The day after my marriage I did not come into the salon until just
before luncheon, at half-past twelve o'clock. My bride was not there.

"Her Ladyship has gone out walking, Sir Nicholas," Burton informed me as
he settled me in my chair.

I took up a book which was lying upon the table. It was a volume of
Laurence Hope's "Last Poems." It may have come in a batch of new
publications sent in a day or two ago, but I had not remarked it. It was
not cut all through, but someone had cut it up to the 86th page and had
evidently paused to read a poem called "Listen Beloved," the paper knife
lay between the leaves. Whoever it was must have read it over and over,
for the book opened easily there, and one verse struck me forcibly:

"Sometimes I think my longing soul remembers
A previous love to which it aims and strives,
As if this fire of ours were but the embers
Of some wild flame burnt out in former lives.
Perchance in earlier days I _did_ attain
That which I seek for now, so all in vain.
Maybe my soul and thine were fused and wed
In some great night, long since dissolved and dead."

And then my eye travelled on to the bottom of the page.

"Or has my spirit a divine prevision
Of vast vague passions stored in days to be
When some strong souls shall conquer their division
And two shall be as one eternally."

We are both strong souls, shall we have the strength to conquer outside
things and be really "one eternally"?

Alathea must have been looking at this not an hour or more ago, what did
it make her think of, I wonder?

I determined to ask her to read the whole poem presently, when we should
be sitting together in the afternoon.

It had come on to rain and was a wretched dismal day, I wondered why
Alathea had gone out. Probably she is as restless as I am, and being
free to move, she can express her mood in rapid walking!

I began to plan my course of action.

To go on disturbing her as much as possible--

To give her the impression that I once thought her perfection, but that
she herself has disillusioned me, and that I am indifferent to her now.

That I am cynical, but am amused to discuss love in the abstract.

That I have friends who divert me, and that I really only want her to be
a secretary and companion, and that any interest I may show in her is
merely for my own vanity, because she is, to the world, my wife!

If I can only keep this up, and not soften should I see her distressed,
and not weaken or give the show away, I must inevitably win the game,
perhaps sooner than I dare hope!

I felt glad she had not been there, so that I could pull myself
together, and put my armour on, so to speak, before we met.

I heard her come in just before luncheon and go to her room, and then
she came on to the sitting-room without her hat.

Her taste is as good as Coralie's, probably her new clothes come from
the same place, she appeared adorable, and now that I can observe her at
leisure, she seems extremely young,--the childish outline, and the
perfect curve of the little cheek! She does not look over eighteen years
old, in spite of the firm mouth and serene manner.

I had the poems in my hand.

"I see you have been reading these," I remarked after we had given each
other a cold good-morning.

The pupils of her eyes contracted for a second, she was annoyed with
herself that she had left the paper cutter in the book.

"Yes."

"After lunch will you read to me?"

"Of course."

"You like poetry?"

"Yes, some."

"This kind?"

Her cheeks became softly pink.

"Yes, I do. I daresay I should have more classical tastes, but these
seem real, these poems, as if the author had meant and felt what she was
writing about. I am no judge of poetry in the abstract, I only like it
if it expresses some truth, and some thought--which appeals to me."

This was quite a long speech for her!

"Then poems about love appeal to you?" I asked surprised.

"Why not?"

"Why not indeed, only you always have seemed so austere and aloof, I
hardly thought such a subject would have interested you!"

She gave a little shrug of her shoulders.

"Perhaps even the working bees have dreams."

"Have you ever been in love?"

She laughed softly, the first time I have ever heard her laugh. It gave
me a thrill.

"I don't think so! I have never talked to any men. I mean men of our
class."

This relieved me.

"But you dream?"

"Not seriously."

Burton announced luncheon at that moment, and we went in.

We spoke of the rain, and she said she liked being out in the wet. She
had walked all down the _Avenue Henri Martin_ to the _Bois_. We spoke of
the war news, and the political situation, and at last we were alone
again in the salon.

"Now read, will you please."

I lay back in my chair and shaded my eye with my hand.

"Do you want any special poem?"

"Read several, and then get to 'Listen Beloved,' there is a point in it
I want to discuss with you."

She took the book and settled herself with her back to the window, a
little behind me.

"Come forward, please. It is more comfortable to listen when one can see
the reader."

She rose reluctantly, and pulled her chair nearer me and the fire, then
she began. She chose those poems the least sensuous, and the more
abstract. I watched her all the time. She read "Rutland Gate," and her
voice showed how she sympathized with the man. Then she read "Atavism,"
and her little highly bred face looked savage! I realized with a quiver
of delight that she is the most passionate creature,--of course she is,
with that father and mother! Wait until I have awakened her enough, and
she will break through all the barriers of convention and reserve, and
pride.

Ah! That will be a moment!

"Now read 'Listen Beloved.'"

She turned the pages, found it, and began, and when she reached the two
verses which had so interested me, she looked up for a second, and her
lovely eyes were misty and far away. Then she went on and finished,
letting the book drop in her lap.

"That accords with your theory of reincarnation, that souls meet again
and again?"

"Yes."

"In one of the books I got upon the subject it said all marriages were
karmic debts or rewards. I wonder what our marriage is, don't you?
Perhaps we were two enemies who injured each other, and now have to
make up by being of use, each to each."

"Probably," she was looking down.

"Do you ever have that strange feeling that you are searching for
something all the time, something of the soul, that you are
unsatisfied?"

"Yes, often."

"Read those last verses again."

Her voice is the most beautiful I have ever heard, modulated,
expressive, filled with vibrant vitality and feeling, but this is the
first time she has read anything appertaining to love. I could hear that
she was restraining all emphasis, and trying to give the sensuous
passionate words a commonplace cold interpretation. Never before has she
read so monotonously. I knew, ("sensed" is the modern word), that this
was because she probably felt and understood every line and did not want
to let me see it. Suddenly I found myself becoming suffused with
emotion.

Why all the delay, the fencing, the fighting, to obtain this desired
thing! This woman--my mate!

That she is my mate I know. My mate because my love is not based upon
the senses alone, but is founded upon reverence and respect. I
hope--believe--I _am certain_ that we shall one day realize the truth of
the words:

"When some strong-souls shall conquer their division,
And two shall be as one eternally!
Finding at last upon each others breasts
Unutterable calm and infinite rest."

For me, that means love, not the mere gratifying of the hunting
instinct, not the mere primitive passion for the longed for body, but a
union of the souls, which can be satisfied, having soared beyond the
laws of change.

What is it which causes unrest? Obviously because something is wanting
upon one of the planes on which we love, and so that part which is
unsatisfied, unconsciously struggles to have its hunger assuaged
elsewhere.

There is no aspect of mind, body and soul in me, which I feel would find
no counterpart in Alathea. If I reached out to any height spiritually,
she could go as high, or higher. The cleverest working of the brain I
could hope to manifest would find a complete comprehension in her. And
as for the body! Any student of physiognomy can see that those delicate
little nostrils show passion, and that cupid's bow of a mouth will
delight in kisses!

Oh! My loved one, do not make we wait too long!

* * * * *

Ye Gods! What a state of exaltation I was in when I wrote those lines
last night! But they are the truth, even if I now laugh at my expansion!

I wonder how many men are romantic underneath like I am and ashamed to
show it?

When Alathea had finished the verses for the second time, she again
dropped the book in her lap.

"What is your conception of love?" I asked casually.

"As I shall always have to crush it out of my life from now onward I
would rather not contemplate what my conception of it might have been."

"Why must you crush it out?" I asked blandly. "Your fidelity to me was
not part of the bargain, fidelity has to do with the sex relationships,
which do not concern us. One would not ask a secretary to become a nun,
on account of one. One would only ask her to behave decently, so as not
to shock the world's idea of the situation she was supposed to be
filling."

Her face grew subtle, a look came into the eyes which might have come
into George's or mine. I suddenly realized how well she really knows the
world from the hard school the circumstances of her life have caused her
to learn in.

"Then I may take a lover, some day, should I desire to?" she asked a
little cynically.

"Certainly, if you tell me about it and don't deceive me, or make me
look ridiculous. The bargain would be too unfair to you at your age
otherwise."

She looked straight into my eye now and hers were a little fierce.

"And you--shall you take a mistress?"

I watched the smoke of my cigarette curling.

"Possibly," I answered lazily, as though the matter were too much a
foregone conclusion to discuss. "Should you mind?"

A faint movement showed in her throat as if she had stopped herself
swallowing. She looked down. I know she finds it very difficult to lie,
and could not possibly do so if we were gazing at each other.

"Why should I mind?"

"No of course, why should you?"

She looked up then, but not at me. Her eyes flashed and her lip curled
in contempt.

"Two seems vulgar though," she snapped.

"I agree with you, the idea wounds my aesthetic senses."

"Then we need not expect another--in the flat just yet?"

At last it was out!

I appeared not to understand, and smoked on calmly, and before I could
answer the telephone rang. She handed me the instrument, and I said
"Hello." It was Coralie! She spoke very distinctly, and Alathea, who was
near, must have been able to hear most of the words in the silence.

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