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Page 40
After all, he would not have had it otherwise. The charm, he told
himself, was in the levity of the situation. The thread by which she held
him was so fine that it could be broken any day. There would be no pangs
of conscience, no tears, no reproaches; no tyrannies of the heart and
revolutions of the soul. It was to Mrs. Nevill Tyson's eternal credit
that she made no claims. Clearly, when a tie can be broken to-morrow,
there is no urgent necessity for breaking it to-day.
So in the afternoon Stanistreet called again at Ridgmount Gardens.
Whether or no Mrs. Nevill Tyson ignored the possibility of passion, she
had the largest ideas of the scope and significance of friendship. She
made no claims, but she exacted from Louis a multitude of small services
for which he was held to be sufficiently repaid in smiles. Whether she
knew it or not, she had grown dependent on him. She had always shown an
affecting confidence in the integrity of masculine judgment, and she
consulted him about her dividends and the pattern of her gowns with
equally guileless reliance.
To-day he found her in a state of agitated perplexity. She put a letter
into his hands. He was to read it; he might skip the first page, it was
all about calico. There--that was what she meant.
The letter was from Mrs. Wilcox imploring her to go back to Drayton "till
this little cloud blows over."
"I don't want to go to Drayton, to those people. They talk. I know they
talk, and I don't like them. Besides, I want to stay in London. Nobody
knows me here except you."
"Do I know you?"
"Well, if you don't, you ought to--by now. I wonder if mother wants me.
She might come here, though I'd rather she didn't. She talks too, you
know; she doesn't mean to, but she can't help it. What I like about you
is--you never talk."
"You won't let me."
"What ought I to do?" she asked helplessly. "Must I go?"
"No," said Louis emphatically. "Don't."
"Why not?"
He tossed the letter aside, and their eyes met.
"It would look like defeat."
CHAPTER XIII
MRS. WILCOX TO THE RESCUE
So Nevill Tyson had left his wife. This was the most exciting act in the
drama that had entertained Drayton Parva for two years. He had brought
down the house. Presently it seemed that Drayton Parva was not unprepared
for the catastrophe. Miss Batchelor was sadly afraid that something of
this sort had been going on for long enough. But she had not condemned
Nevill Tyson wholesale and without a hearing; in these cases there are
always faults on both sides. A man as much in love with his wife as he
was would never have left her without some grounds. (I cannot think why
Miss Batchelor, being so clever, didn't see through Tyson; but there is
a point at which the cleverness of the cleverest woman ceases.) Anyhow,
if Mrs. Nevill Tyson was as innocent as one was bound to suppose, why did
she not come back to Drayton, to her mother? That was the proper thing
for her to do under the circumstances.
Have you ever sat by the seashore playing with pebbles in an idle mood?
You are not aiming at anything, you are much too lazy to aim; but some
god directs your arm, and, without thinking, you hit something that, ten
to one, you never would have hit if you had thought about it. After that
your peace is gone; you feel that you can never leave the spot till you
have hit that particular object again, with deliberate intent. So Miss
Batchelor, sitting by the shore of the great ocean of Truth, began by
throwing stones aimlessly about; and other people (being without sin)
picked them up and aimed them at Mrs. Nevill Tyson. Sometimes they hit
her, but more often they missed. They were clumsy. Then Miss Batchelor
joined in; and, because she found that she was more skillful than the
rest, she began, first to take a languid interest in the game, then to
play as if her life depended on it. She aimed with mathematical
precision, picking out all the tiny difficult places that other people
missed or grazed. Amongst them they had ended by burying Mrs. Nevill
Tyson up to her neck in a fairly substantial pile of pebbles. It only
needed one more stone to complete the work. Still, as I said before, Mrs.
Nevill Tyson's enemies were not particularly anxious to throw it.
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