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Page 46
Another moment and the expression of her face had changed again; he saw
something there that he had never seen before, something unguarded and
appealing. He was near the end of doubt.
He felt that if he stayed with her another moment he would lose his head,
and he did not want to lose it--yet! He struggled desperately between his
desire to stay and his will to go--if there was any difference between
desire and will.
His struggles were cut short by the entrance of Tyson.
He walked into the room at half-past five, greeted Stanistreet cheerfully
(his eyes twinkling), ordered fresh tea, and began to talk to his wife as
if nothing had happened. If Louis had not known him so well, he would
have said he was immensely improved since the remarkable occasion on
which they had last met. He had quarreled with his best friend; he had
betrayed his wife and then left her; and he could come back with a
twinkle in his eye.
From where Stanistreet sat Mrs. Nevill Tyson's face was a _profil perdu_;
but he could hear her breath fluttering in her throat like a bird.
"Didn't I see you two at the 'Criterion' last night?" said Tyson. "What
did you think of 'Rosemary,' Molly?"
"I--I thought it was very good."
"From a purely literary point of view, eh? As you sat with your back to
the stage your judgment was not biased by such vulgar accessories as
scenery and acting. No doubt that is the way to enjoy a play. What are
your engagements for to-night?"
"Mine? I have none, Nevill."
"Ah--well, then, you might tell them to get my room ready for me. Don't
go, Stanistreet."
He had come home to stay.
CHAPTER XV
CONFLAGRATION
To see his wife casually in a crowd, and to fall desperately in love with
her for the second time, was a unique experience even in Tyson's life.
But it had its danger. He had never been jealous before; now a feeling
very like jealousy had been roused by seeing her with Stanistreet. He had
followed her to the "Criterion"; he had hurried out before the end of the
piece, and hung about Ridgmount Gardens till he had seen her homecoming.
Stanistreet's immediate departure was a relief to a certain anxiety that
he was base enough to feel. And still there remained a vague suspicion
and discomfort. He had to begin all over again with her. In their first
courtship she was a child; in their second she was a woman. Hitherto, the
creature of a day, she had seemed to spring into life afresh every
morning, without a memory of yesterday or a thought of to-morrow; she had
had no past, not even an innocent one. And now he had no notion what
experiences she might not have accumulated during this year in which he
had left her. That was her past; and they had the future before them.
They had been alone together for three days, three days and three nights
of happiness; and on the evening of the fourth day Tyson had found her
reading--yes, actually reading!
He sat down opposite her to watch the curious sight.
Perhaps she had said to herself: "Some day I shall be old, and very
likely I shall be ugly. If I am stupid too, he will be bored, and perhaps
he will leave me. So now--I am going to be his intellectual companion."
He was amused, just as Stanistreet had been. "I say, I can't have that,
you know. What have you got there?"
She held up her book without speaking. "Othello," of all things in the
world!
"Shakespeare? I thought so. When a woman's in a damned bad temper she
always reads Shakespeare, or Locke on the Human Understanding. Come out
of that."
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