The Whirligig of Time Part 48

"No, no. Don't know the fellahs--I should feel out of it. Wiggers was right.--Besides, I'd rather stay with you."

Beatrice wondered if she had intended to make Tommy say that.

They wandered off through the hotel grounds and saw other couples doing the same. Doing rather more, in fact. After some search they found an empty bench and sat down.

Tommy's education had been in many ways a narrow one, but it had equipped him perfectly for making use of such situations as the present.

He turned about on the bench, leaning one arm on its back and facing Beatrice's profile squarely.

"Jove!" he said reminiscently. "Haven't done that since Oxford."

"What?"

"That." He waved his head in the direction of the well populated shadows.

"Oh," answered Beatrice carelessly. The profound lack of interest in her tone had its effect.

"I did it to you once, by Jove! Remember?"

"No. You never did, Tommy; you know that perfectly well."

"Well, I will now, then!"

He did.

The next moment he rather wished he had not, Beatrice's slow smile of contemptuous tolerance made him feel like such a child.

"Tommy, it's only you, of course, so it really doesn't matter, but if you try to do that again I shall punish you."

Her power over him was as comforting to her as it was disconcerting to him. For a moment; after that she felt a pang of irritation. The idea of a married woman being kissed by a man not her husband was in itself rather revolting, and the thought that she was that married woman stung.

As if that was not enough, the thought came to her that she could have stopped Tommy at any moment and had not. Had she not, in fact, secretly--even to herself--intended that he should do that very thing when they first sat down? She had used her power for contemptible ends.

The thought that after all it was only poor ineffectual Tommy only increased her sense of degradation. All her pleasure had fled.

"Come along, Tommy," she said, rising; "it's time to go home."

It was indeed late--long after twelve. The launch, as she remembered it, was to make its last trip back to the yacht at half-past; they would be just in time. Tommy walked the length of the dock two or three times calling "Halcyone! Halcyone!" but there was no response from the already dwindling throng of launches. They sat down to wait, both moody and silent.

From the very first Beatrice suspected that they had been left. It was the natural sequence of the preceding episode; that was the way things happened. Her sense of disillusionment and irritation increased. The dancing had stopped, but the drinking continued; people were wandering or lying about the lawn in disgusting states of intoxication. What had been a joyous baccha.n.a.l had degenerated into a horrid saturnalia. Once, as they walked down to see if the launch had arrived, a man stumbled by them with a lewd remark. Beatrice remained on the verandah and made Tommy go down alone after that. His mournful "Halcyone!" floated up like the cry of a soul from Acheron.

By one o'clock or so it became obvious to everybody that they had been forgotten, and Beatrice instructed Tommy to hire any boat he could get to take them to the yacht. He had a long interview with the chief nautical employee of the hotel, who promised to see what he could do.

That appeared to be singularly little. At last, with altered views of the American way of running things, Beatrice went down herself and talked to him. He would do what he could, but.... It was two o'clock; the dock was deserted.

Beatrice knew he would do nothing and bethought herself of the two rooms in the hotel that Aunt Cecilia had engaged. Her impression was that they were not being used to-night; their party was smaller than it had been the night before. She went to the hotel office and asked if there were some rooms engaged for Mrs. James Wimbourne and if they were already occupied. After some research it appeared that there were and they weren't. Well, Beatrice and Tommy would take them. The night clerk was interested. He understood the situation perfectly and refrained from commenting upon their lack of baggage.

So Beatrice was shown into one room and Tommy into the other, the two parting with a brief good night in the corridor.

The first thing Beatrice noticed about the room was that there was a communicating door between it and Tommy's room. She saw that there was a bolt on her side, however, and made sure that it was shut.

Then she rang for a chambermaid and asked for a nightgown and toothbrush.

CHAPTER X

MR. AND MRS. ALFRED LAMMLE

It was generally looked upon as rather a good joke. Aunt Cecilia, of course, was prolific of apologies; the launch had made so many trips, and every one thought Beatrice and Lord Clairloch had gone at another time; there had been no general gathering afterward, they had all gone to bed as soon as they reached the yacht, and James, as Beatrice knew, had gone to bed early with a headache; how clever it was of Beatrice to have thought of those two rooms and wasn't it lucky they had been engaged, after all, and so forth. But most of the others were inclined to be facetious. Breakfast, thanks to their efforts, was quite a merry meal.

For the two most nearly concerned the situation was almost devoid of embarra.s.sment. They arrived at the yacht shortly after eight in a launch they had ordered the night before at the hotel, and repaired to their respective rooms without even being seen in their evening clothes. By the time breakfast was over Beatrice had quite recovered from her irritation at Tommy and had even almost ceased to blame herself for the events of the previous night.

The party broke up after lunch, the yacht proceeding to Bar Harbor and the guests going their various ways. Beatrice and James went directly back to New York. James was very silent in the train, as silent as he had been on the way up, but Beatrice was less inclined to find fault with him for that than before. As she looked at him quietly reading in the chair opposite her it even occurred to her that his silence was preferable to Tommy's companionable chirpings, even at their best. And with Tommy at his worst, as he had been last night, there was no comparison. Oh, yes, she was thoroughly tired of Tommy!

Dinner in their apartment pa.s.sed off almost as quietly as the journey, yet quite pleasantly, in Beatrice's opinion. The night was cool, and a refres.h.i.+ng breeze blew in from the harbor. After the maid had left the room and they sat over their coffee and cigarettes, James spoke.

"About last night," he began, and stopped.

"Yes?" said Beatrice encouragingly.

"I thought at first I wouldn't mention it, and then I decided it would be rather cowardly not to ... I want to say that--"

"That what?"

"That I have no objections."

"To what?" Her bewilderment was not feigned.

"To last night! I don't want you to think I'm jealous, or unsympathetic, or anything like that.... You are at liberty to do what you please--to get pleasure where you can find it. I understand."

"You don't understand at all!" Her manner was still one of bewilderment, though possibly other feelings were beginning to enter.

"I understand, and shall understand in the future. I shan't mention the matter again. Only one thing more--whenever our--our bargain interferes too much, you can end it. I shan't offer any opposition."

She sat frozen in her chair, making no sign that she had understood, so he explained in an almost gentle tone of voice: "I mean you can divorce me, you know."

"Divorce!"

"Oh, very well, just as you like. Of course our marriage ceases to be such from now on...."

So unprepared, so at peace with herself and the world had she been that it was only now that she fully comprehended his meaning. James was accusing her, making the great accusation ... James thought that she....

Of course, not being the kind of a woman who dissolves in tears at that accusation, her first dominant emotion was one of anger; an anger sharper than any she had ever felt; an anger she would have thought to be impossible to her, after all these months of la.s.situde, all these years of chastening. She rose from her chair and made a step toward the door; her impulse being to walk out of the room, out of the house, out of James' life, without a word. Not a word of self-defense; some charges are too vile to merit reply!

Then commonsense flared up, conquering anger and pride. No, she must not give way to her pride; she must act like a sensible being. After all, James was her husband, he had some right to accuse if he thought proper; the falseness of his accusation did not take away his right of explanation; he should be made to see.

Slowly she turned and went back to her place. She sat down squarely facing James with both hands on the table in front of her, and prepared to talk like a lawyer presenting a case. James was watching her quietly, interested, perhaps ever so slightly amused, but not in the least moved.

"James, as I understand it, you think that I--that Tommy and I...."

"Yes?"