A Mummer's Wife Part 34

'I'm sure he hasn't kissed anyone since he knew you. I can't put it plainer than that, can I?'

'I'm glad to hear you say so. I don't think you'd tell me a lie; it would be too cruel, wouldn't it? For you know what a position I am in: if d.i.c.k were to desert me to-morrow what should I do?'

'You're in a mournful humour. Why should d.i.c.k desert you? And even if he did, I don't see that it would be such an awful fate.'

Startled, Kate raised her eyes suddenly and looked him straight in the face.

'What do you mean?' she said.

The abruptness of her question made him hesitate. In a swift instant he regretted having risked himself so far, and reproached himself for being false to his friend; but the temptation was irresistible, and overcome by the tenderness of the day, and irritated by the memory of years of vain longing, he said:

'Even if he did desert you, you might, you would, find somebody better--somebody who'd marry you.'

Kate did not answer and they sat listening to the rattle of the train. At last she said:

'I could never marry anyone but d.i.c.k.'

'Why? Do you love him so much?'

'Yes, I love him better than anything in the world; but even if I didn't, there are reasons which would prevent my marrying anyone but him.'

'What reasons?'

A desire that someone should know of her trouble smothered all other considerations, and after another attempt to speak she again dropped into silence.

Montgomery tried to rouse her: 'Tell me,' he said, 'tell me why you couldn't marry anyone but d.i.c.k.'

The sound of his voice startled her, and then, in a moment of sudden naturalness, she answered:

'Because I'm in the family way.'

'Then there's nothing else for him to do but to marry you.'

She knew he was at that moment his own proper executioner, but the intensity of her own feelings did not leave her time for pity.

Why after all shouldn't she marry d.i.c.k? Why hadn't she asked for this reparation before? 'I dare say you're right,' she said. 'When I tell him----'

'What! haven't you told him yet?' Montgomery cried.

'No,' Kate answered timidly, 'I was afraid he wouldn't care to hear it.'

'Then you must do so at once,' Montgomery said, and the poor vagrant musician, whom n.o.body had ever loved, said: 'I will speak to him about it the first time I get a chance. It would be wicked of him not to. He couldn't refuse even if he didn't love you, which he does.'

The last streak of yellow had died out of the sky telling of the day that had gone by, and in a deep tranquillity of mind Kate inhaled the sweetness of her luck as a convalescent might a bunch of freshly culled violets.

XVIII

It never rains but it pours. She was called before the curtain after every act in _Madame Angot_ and _Les Cloches de Corneville_, and d.i.c.k told her that she would cut out all the London prima donnas, giving them the go-by, and establish herself one of the great Metropolitan favourites if he could get a new work over from France.

'Why a new work?' she asked, and he told her that to draw the attention of the critics and the public upon her, she must appear in a new t.i.tle role, and sitting in his armchair when they came home from the theatre at night, he brooded many projects, the princ.i.p.al one of which was to obtain a new work from France. But which of the three ill.u.s.trious composers, Herve, Offenbach and Lecocq, should he choose to write the music? The book of words would have to be written before the music was composed, and so far as he knew the only French composer who could set English words was Herve.

It seemed to Kate that he never would cease to draw forth a cigarette case, or to cross and uncross his legs. Did this man never wish to go to bed? She hated stopping up after one o'clock in the morning. But, anxious to be a serviceable companion to him on all occasions, she strove against her sleepiness and listened to him whilst he considered whether her voice was heard to most advantage in Offenbach or in Herve. She had not yet played the _Grande d.u.c.h.esse_, and there were parts in that opera that would suit her very well. He would like to see her in _La Belle Helene_ and the _Princess of Trebizond_, but the last-named opera was never a success in England, and he was not certain about the power of _La Perichole_ to draw audiences in the provinces.

It was pleasant to Kate to hear her talent discussed, a.n.a.lyzed, set forth in the works of great men, but her thought had now turned from her artistic career to her domestic. She wanted to be married.

It had always been vaguely understood that they were to be married, that is to say, it had been taken for granted that when a fitting occasion presented itself they would render their cohabitation legal. This understanding had satisfied her till now. In the first months, in the first year after the escape from Hanley, her happiness had been so great that she had not had a thought of pressing matters further. She had feared to do anything lest she might destroy her happiness by doing so, and d.i.c.k, who let everything slide until necessity forced him to take steps, had not troubled himself about his marriage, although quite convinced that he would end by marrying Kate. He had treated his marriage exactly as he did his theatrical speculations.

'There is no hurry,' he answered her, and proposed that they should be married in London.

'But why in London?'

He spoke of his relations and his friends. He would like Kate to know his old mother.

'But, d.i.c.k, dear, why not at once? We're living in a life of sin, and at times the thought of the sin makes me miserable.'

Out of his animal repose d.i.c.k smiled at the religious argument, and being on the watch always for a sneer, the blood rushed to her face instantly and she exclaimed:

'If you did seduce me, if you did drag me away from my peaceful home, if you did make a travelling actress of me, you might at least refrain from insulting my religion.'

d.i.c.k looked up, surprised. Kate had put down her knife and fork and was pouring herself out a large gla.s.s of sherry. She was evidently going to work herself up into one of her rages.

'I a.s.sure you, my dear, I never intended to insult your religion; and I wish you wouldn't drink all that wine, it only excites you.'

'Excites me! What does it matter to you if I excite myself or not?'

'My dear Kate, this is very foolish of you. I don't see why--if you'll only listen to reason----'

'Listen to reason!' she said, spilling the sherry over the table, 'ah! it would have been better if I'd never listened to you.'

'You really mustn't drink any more wine; I can't allow it,' said d.i.c.k, pa.s.sing his arm across her and trying to take away the decanter.

This was the climax, and her pretty face curiously twisted, she screamed as she struggled away from him:

'Leave me go, will you! leave me go! Oh! I hate you!' Then clenching her teeth, and more savagely, 'No, I'll not be touched! No! no! no! I will not!'

d.i.c.k was so astonished at this burst of pa.s.sion that he loosed for a moment the arms he was holding, and profiting by the opportunity Kate seized him by the frizzly hair with one hand and dragged the nails of the other down his face.

At this moment Montgomery entered; he stood aghast, and Kate, whose anger had now expended itself, burst into a violent fit of weeping.

'What does this mean?' Montgomery said, speaking very slowly.

Neither answered. The man sought for words; the woman walked about the room swinging herself; and as she pa.s.sed before him Montgomery stopped her and begged for an explanation. She gave him a swift look of grief, and breaking away from him, shut herself in the bedroom.

'What does this mean?'

d.i.c.k looked round vaguely, astonished at the authoritative way the question was put, but without inquiring he answered: