The Betrayal of John Fordham. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

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СКАЧАТЬ Little differences will arise, and it is our duty to try and smooth them over. That is what I did, and you will be delighted to hear that they are content to let byegones be byegones, and are burning to see you."

      "I will think over it."

      "I have thought over it for you, dear. They are coming to dinner this evening."

      "Do you consider it right, Barbara, to invite them without consulting me?"

      "I do, my dear. I am a peacemaker. Our housewarming will be quite a family party."

      I submitted, wondering to what length Barbara would go in her duplicity, and whether she or I was mistaken in our recollection of the circumstances in connection with this particular letter. I did not wonder long. I knew that I was right.

      Maxwell made his appearance an hour before dinner, and – having made up my mind – I received him with a cordiality which I did not feel.

      "Well, here you are," he said, with a searching glance at me, "a regular married man after your lovely holiday tour. Enjoyed yourself?"

      "Barbara has given you a full account, no doubt," I replied, all the evil that was in my nature aroused by his mocking voice; "judge from that."

      "You must be a model husband, then," he said, laughing quietly to himself, "and she a model wife. I owe you an apology for not joining you on the Continent. The fact is" – he looked to see that Barbara was out of hearing – "I was not traveling alone, and upon considering the matter I came to the conclusion that our company might not suit you. A question of morals, you know."

      "I am obliged to you."

      "For keeping away? Good. One to you. Where are you going, Barbara?"

      "Domestic affairs," she replied. "To do the cooking." And she left the room.

      "Was your accident very serious?" I asked.

      "Accident!" he exclaimed. "What accident?"

      "Then you did not meet with one?"

      "Not that I am aware of. I had the jolliest time."

      I dropped the subject, and we talked of other matters, with a lame attempt at civility on both sides, until Barbara re-entered the room, when he cried out:

      "I say, Barbara, what is this about my meeting with an accident on the Continent?"

      "You did meet with an accident," she said, boldly.

      "Did I? Well, then, I did." He looked me full in the face, and laughed.

      "I am disgusted with you, Maxwell," Barbara exclaimed. "Don't pay any attention to him, John; you can't believe a word out of his mouth."

      Thereupon he laughed still more boisterously, winding up with, "Don't expect me to take a hand in your matrimonial squabbles; you must settle them yourselves."

      "We don't have any, do we, John?" said Barbara, in her sweetest tone.

      Maxwell appeared to be immensely amused, and they had a bantering bout, in which I took neither share nor interest. When they appealed to me I replied in monosyllables, until Barbara said:

      "There, you have offended him. Ask his pardon immediately. I won't have my dear boy annoyed."

      His eyes twinkled as he held out his hand, which I was compelled to take to avoid an open rupture. "I ask your pardon, John."

      "That's all right," said Barbara, gaily. "For goodness sake, don't let us have any quarreling on our house-warming day."

      I felt as if I were in a hornets' nest.

      A few minutes afterwards my stepmother and Louis were announced, and Barbara ran forward to welcome them.

      "I am so glad you have come! There's no need of an introduction, is there? I am John's wife, Barbara. You must call me Barbara – yes, I insist upon it. This is my brother Maxwell. Maxwell, Mrs. Fordham – how funny there should be two of us! And this is your son, Mr. Louis Fordham, John's brother. I hate formality. You mustn't be shocked at my saying that I am a bit of a Bohemian. So is Maxwell, but he goes farther than I do, of course, as he is a man. I hope you are one, too, Mr. Louis?"

      "I will become one," said Louis, gallantly, "under your instructions. How do you do, John? What a pretty house you've got!"

      I shook hands with him and with my stepmother. Louis was cordial enough in his manner; my stepmother was frigid. Years had passed since I had seen her or Louis, but she had not forgotten, and never would forget. Only with her death would the old animosity die out. She was no older in appearance; Louis had grown into a well-built man, and she doted on him, as she had done since his birth. A good-looking man, too, but for the scar on his forehead. As I raised my eyes to it – with no evil meaning, I am sure – the blood rushed into it, and it became scarlet, while a dark look flashed into my stepmother's eyes.

      "He will bear it with him to his grave," said my stepmother.

      "What a pity!" said Barbara, who had observed this bye-play. "How did it happen?"

      "John gave it him," said my stepmother, coldly.

      "But they were boys then," said Barbara, defending me maliciously, "and boys are so cruel."

      "The boy is father to the man," remarked my stepmother, with venomous emphasis.

      "Now, John," said Barbara, "what have you to say to it?"

      My impulse was to reply that the story was false, but I checked myself in time, and simply said:

      "Nothing. Either my memory or yours" – to my stepmother – "is at fault."

      "You have a shocking memory, John," said Barbara. "Not your fault, my dear – you were born with it. We all forgive you, don't we, Mrs. Fordham – and you, too, Louis? It would be dreadful if we nursed every little grievance, and saved disagreeable things for future use against one another. Let us talk of something pleasant."

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