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Page 28
Perfetta looked suspicious when she heard the account.
"What did you say to him?" She crossed herself.
"Hardly anything," said Lilia and crossed herself also.
Thus did the two women pay homage to their outraged male.
It was clear to Lilia at last that Gino had married her
for money. But he had frightened her too much to leave any
place for contempt. His return was terrifying, for he was
frightened too, imploring her pardon, lying at her feet,
embracing her, murmuring "It was not I," striving to define
things which he did not understand. He stopped in the house
for three days, positively ill with physical collapse. But
for all his suffering he had tamed her, and she never
threatened to cut off supplies again.
Perhaps he kept her even closer than convention
demanded. But he was very young, and he could not bear it
to be said of him that he did not know how to treat a
lady--or to manage a wife. And his own social position was
uncertain. Even in England a dentist is a troublesome
creature, whom careful people find difficult to class. He
hovers between the professions and the trades; he may be
only a little lower than the doctors, or he may be down
among the chemists, or even beneath them. The son of the
Italian dentist felt this too. For himself nothing
mattered; he made friends with the people he liked, for he
was that glorious invariable creature, a man. But his wife
should visit nowhere rather than visit wrongly: seclusion
was both decent and safe. The social ideals of North and
South had had their brief contention, and this time the
South had won.
It would have been well if he had been as strict over
his own behaviour as he was over hers. But the incongruity
never occurred to him for a moment. His morality was that
of the average Latin, and as he was suddenly placed in the
position of a gentleman, he did not see why he should not
behave as such. Of course, had Lilia been different--had she
asserted herself and got a grip on his character--he might
possibly--though not probably--have been made a better husband
as well as a better man, and at all events he could have
adopted the attitude of the Englishman, whose standard is
higher even when his practice is the same. But had Lilia
been different she might not have married him.
The discovery of his infidelity--which she made by
accident--destroyed such remnants of self-satisfaction as her
life might yet possess. She broke down utterly and sobbed
and cried in Perfetta's arms. Perfetta was kind and even
sympathetic, but cautioned her on no account to speak to
Gino, who would be furious if he was suspected. And Lilia
agreed, partly because she was afraid of him, partly because
it was, after all, the best and most dignified thing to do.
She had given up everything for him--her daughter, her
relatives, her friends, all the little comforts and luxuries
of a civilized life--and even if she had the courage to break
away, there was no one who would receive her now. The
Herritons had been almost malignant in their efforts against
her, and all her friends had one by one fallen off. So it
was better to live on humbly, trying not to feel,
endeavouring by a cheerful demeanour to put things right.
"Perhaps," she thought, "if I have a child he will be
different. I know he wants a son."
Lilia had achieved pathos despite herself, for there are
some situations in which vulgarity counts no longer. Not
Cordelia nor Imogen more deserves our tears.
She herself cried frequently, making herself look plain
and old, which distressed her husband. He was particularly
kind to her when he hardly ever saw her, and she accepted
his kindness without resentment, even with gratitude, so
docile had she become. She did not hate him, even as she
had never loved him; with her it was only when she was
excited that the semblance of either passion arose. People
said she was headstrong, but really her weak brain left her cold.
Suffering, however, is more independent of temperament,
and the wisest of women could hardly have suffered more.
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