Bird of Paradise Part 25

His extreme desire that she should come to their entertainment, his various implications--that Mary should think there was something in it if she didn't come--then this new suggestion that he was not happy at home, and, on looking back, Percy's extraordinary behaviour, suddenly made her see things in a different light. She saw that Nigel probably now imagined himself in love with her, and that it was not entirely Percy's imagination; that it was even more necessary than she had thought to put an end to the friends.h.i.+p. It made her furious when she thought of it--the selfishness, the treachery--meanly to throw her over because Mary was rich, and afterwards to try and come back and spoil both their homes in amusing himself by a romance with her. Even if Bertha had not cared for her husband, Nigel would have been the very last man in the world she could have looked upon from that point of view. Amusing as he was, she never thought of him without a slightly contemptuous smile. And she loved Percy so very much; he was so entirely without self-interest: he might have a certain amount of harmless vanity, but he was purely unworldly, generous, broadminded and good, and his own advantage was the very last thing that ever entered his head.

Until the trouble about Nigel she had feared he was growing cold, but Percy's conduct on that subject had thoroughly satisfied her. He had been very jealous but kind to her: he trusted and believed in her when she was frank, and he certainly seemed more in love with her than ever.

Percy was so reliable, so true and _real_. She took up the dignified, charmingly flattered photograph of him. ... What a n.o.ble forehead! What a beautiful figure he had! And though he seemed so calm and so cold, he was pa.s.sionate and could be violent. His intellect was not above the average, but his power of emotion most certainly was. ... Dear Percy!

And now she had promised to go to Nigel's house, she would get Percy to agree that evening.

Bertha told him of Nigel's visit, and of the request.

He frowned.

"You've accepted, and that's enough. I suppose you had to say you were going. You can easily write Mrs. Hillier an excuse the next day. Dozens of people will do it."

"Percy, I want to go."

He looked up angrily and in surprise.

"You want to go? You certainly can't. I don't wish it. Why, remember what you promised. Is this infernal intimacy beginning again?"

"Percy, to-day is only the third time I've seen him since we talked about it! And I hadn't the faintest idea he was coming to-day. I was surprised and annoyed to see him. Since Madeline broke it off with Charlie, we've heard nothing about them. Don't you believe me?"

"Naturally, I do. But it's a very odd thing a man should call here, and beg you to promise to come to his wife's party! Isn't it?"

"Perhaps it is. We stopped seeing him so suddenly, you see."

"What's that got to do with it?" said Percy, with angry impatience. The typewritten letters were torturing him. He had long been ashamed of not having shown them to Bertha, and made a clean breast of it. It was another reason why he hated Nigel and wanted the whole subject absolutely put aside and forgotten.

"In my opinion it suggests a very curious relation his coming here to-day like this. Not on your side, dear," he continued gently, putting his hand on hers. "But, if you don't mind my saying so, you don't know very much of the world, dear little Bertha, and in your innocence you are liable to be imprudent."

This was Percy's mistaken view of Bertha, but she did not dislike it.

She was so determined now to be completely open that she did not try to put him off, and said candidly:

"It may be perfectly true that he's rather more anxious for me to be at the party than he need be. But, after all, there's not much harm in that, Percy. All I want is to go in with you for twenty minutes or half-an-hour, and then go away quite quickly. After that, if you like, I'll give you my word of honour not to see him again."

"What's the object of it? No, I'm hanged if I go to that man's house."

"I promised as a special favour that I'd go."

"But what's the reason? Why is he so desperate you should be seen there?"

Percy frowned and thought a moment.

"Has his wife--do you think it's been noticed he doesn't come here so often?"

"It may have been. He didn't say so."

"Then it's d.a.m.ned impertinence of him to dare to come and ask you. Why should I take you there to make things comfortable with him and his wife?"

"Oh, Percy!"

"I don't want to have anything to do with them," Percy repeated, frowning angrily at her.

She paused and said sweetly:

"Don't look worried, darling. Won't you anyhow think it over for a day or two?"

Percy thought. He was a lawyer and it struck him that if the letters were to be really ignored it might be better for them to go in and be seen at the party, and if Bertha promised never to see him again, he knew she was telling the truth. But it was hard; it jarred on him.

"We'll leave the subject for a few days, Bertha," he said. "I'll think it over. But what I decide then must be final."

"Very well, Percy. ... I've got _such_ a lovely new dress! Pale primrose colour."

"The dress I saw you trying on? The canary dress?"

"Yes."

"No. I'm hanged if you'll wear that there!" he exclaimed.

Bertha went into fits of laughter.

"Oh, Percy, _how_ sweet of you to say that! You're becoming a regular jealous husband, do you know? Darling! How delightful!"

CHAPTER XX

RUPERT AGAIN

After the first reaction, Rupert felt, of course, to a certain extent, relieved and grateful to think that he was not engaged to Madeline.

Undoubtedly, had he cared for her as she did for him, he would not have declined to marry her because of her accepting Charlie, more or less out of pique, or in despair. Yet, after having once really proposed he felt his emotions stirred, and almost as soon as he had sent her back (so to speak) to Charlie, he began to regret it--he began to be unhappy. _Au fond_ he knew she would break it off with Charlie now, and would wait vaguely in hope for him. At first to recover from the intense annoyance of the whole thing, he thought he would, before Venice, go in a little for the gaieties of Paris. Rupert was still young enough to believe that the things presented to him as gaiety must necessarily be gay. A certain delicacy prevented his telling Madeline this now; though formerly when he had been to Paris, especially when he had had no intention of accepting any Parisian opportunities of amus.e.m.e.nt, he had often rubbed it in to her about the dazzling and dangerous charms of the gay city's dissipations, at which she was suitably impressed. But a nicer feeling made him now wish her to think of him as gliding down the lagoons of Venice, and dreaming of what might have been.

Madeline herself was really entirely without hope. She was certain she had lost all the prestige that she had had in his eyes; and she thought that she thoroughly deserved what had happened. She resolved to remain unmarried, and try to do good. Though she was hurt, and thought it showed how much less was Rupert's love than hers, still she respected him and admired him all the more for refusing to take her after accepting Charlie. She did not see that Rupert was a little too serious to be taken quite seriously.

Her mother added immensely to her depression. Mrs. Irwin was a woman who detested facts, so much so that she thought statistics positively indecent (though she would never have used the expression). When she was told there were more women than men in England, she would bite her lips and change the subject. She had had all the Victorian intense desire to see her daughter married young, and all the Victorian almost absurd delicacy in pretending she didn't. When, in one week, her only daughter--a girl who was not remarkably pretty, and had only a little money--should have proposals from no less than two attractive and eligible young men and should have muddled it up so badly that, though she had been prepared to accept both of them, she was now unable to marry either, her mother was, naturally, pained and disgusted.

Madeline, who was usually gentle and amiable to her, in this case spoke with a violence and determination that left no possible hope of her returning to Charlie Hillier. She left Mrs. Irwin nothing to do but to put on an air of refined resignation, of having neuralgia, which she now called neuritis, because Madeline had annoyed her so much, and of behaving, when Madeline sat with her, as much as possible like a person who was somewhere else.

Bertha was Madeline's only consolation and resource. Bertha took life with such delightful coolness.