The Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (33 Works in One Edition). Уильям Сомерсет Моэм

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СКАЧАТЬ crock to make up the pat-ball set.” Edward had such a charming, frank manner, one could not help liking him.

      Bertha watched the two men go and turned very white.

      “I must just go into the house a moment,” she said to Miss Glover. “Go and entertain Mrs. Branderton, there’s a dear.” And precipitately she fled.

      She ran to her room, and flinging herself on the bed, burst into a flood of tears. The humiliation seemed dreadful. She wondered how Eddie, whom she loved above all else in the world, could treat her so cruelly. What had she done? He knew—ah, yes, he knew well enough the happiness he could cause her—and he went out of his way to be brutal. She wept bitterly, and jealousy of Miss Glover (Miss Glover, of all people!) stabbed her to the heart.

      “He doesn’t love me,” she moaned, her tears redoubling.

      Presently there was a knock at the door.

      “Who is it?” she cried.

      The handle was turned and Miss Glover came in, red with nervousness.

      “Forgive me for coming in, Bertha. But I thought you seemed unwell. Can’t I do something for you?”

      “Oh, I’m all right,” said Bertha, drying her tears, “Only the heat upset me and I’ve got a headache.”

      “Shall I send Edward to you?”

      “What do I want with Edward?” replied Bertha, petulantly. “I shall be all right in five minutes. I often have attacks like this.”

      “I’m sure he didn’t mean to say anything unkind. He’s kindness itself, I know.”

      Bertha flushed. “What on earth do you mean, Fanny? Who didn’t say anything unkind?”

      “I thought you were hurt by Edward’s saying you were a duffer and a beginner.”

      “Oh, my dear, you must think me a fool.” Bertha laughed hysterically. “It’s quite true that I’m a duffer. I tell you it’s only the weather. Why, if my feelings were hurt each time Eddie said a thing like that I should lead a miserable life.”

      “I wish you’d let me send him up to you,” said Miss Glover, unconvinced.

      “Good heavens! Why? See, I’m all right now.” She washed her eyes and passed the powder-puff over her face. “My dear, it was only the sun.”

      With an effort she braced herself, and burst into a laugh joyful enough almost to deceive the Vicar’s sister.

      “Now, we must go down, or Mrs. Branderton will complain more than ever of my bad manners.”

      She put her arm round Miss Glover’s waist and ran her down the stairs to the mingled terror and amazement of that good creature. For the rest of the afternoon, though her eyes never rested on Edward, she was perfectly charming—in the highest spirits, chattering incessantly, laughing; every one noticed her good humour and commented upon her obvious felicity.

      “It does one good to see a couple like that,” said General Hancock, “just as happy as the day is long.”

      But the little scene had not escaped Miss Ley’s sharp eyes, and she noticed with agony that Miss Glover had gone to Bertha. She could not stop her, being at the moment in the toils of Mrs. Branderton.

      “Oh, these good people are too officious! Why can’t she leave the girl alone to have it out with herself!”

      But the explanation of everything now flashed across Miss Ley.

      “What a fool I am!” she thought, and she was able to cogitate quite clearly while exchanging honeyed impertinences with Mrs. Branderton. “I noticed it the first day I saw them together. How could I ever forget it!” She shrugged her shoulders and murmured the maxim of La Rochefoucauld—

      “Entre deux amants il-y-a toujours un qui aime, et un qui se laisse aimer.”

      And to this she added another, in the same language, which, knowing no original, she ventured to claim as her own; it seemed to summarise the situation.

      “Celui qui aime a toujours tort.”

      Chapter XIV

       Table of Contents

       BERTHA and Miss Ley passed a troubled night, while Edward, of course, after much exercise and a hearty dinner, slept the sleep of the just and of the pure at heart. Bertha was nursing her wrath; she had with difficulty brought herself to kiss her husband before, according to his habit, he turned his back upon her and began to snore. Miss Ley, with her knowledge of the difficulties in store for the couple, asked herself if she could do anything. But what could she do? They were reading the book of life in their separate ways, one in italics, the other in the big round letters of the copy-book; and how could she help them to find a common character? Of course the first year of married life is difficult, and the weariness of the flesh adds to the inevitable disillusionment. Every marriage has its moments of utter despair. The great danger is in the onlooker, who may pay to them too much attention and, by stepping in, render the difficulty permanent—cutting the knot instead of letting time undo it. Miss Ley’s cogitations brought her not unnaturally to the course which most suited her temperament; she concluded that far and away the best plan was to attempt nothing, and let things right themselves as best they could. She did not postpone her departure, but, according to arrangement, went on the following day.

      “Well, you see,” said Edward, bidding her good-bye, “I told you that I should make you stay longer than a week.”

      “You’re a wonderful person, Edward,” said Miss Ley, drily. “I have never doubted it for an instant.”

      He was pleased seeing no irony in the compliment. Miss Ley took leave of Bertha with a suspicion of awkward tenderness that was quite unusual; she hated to show her feelings, and found it difficult, yet wanted to tell Bertha that if she was ever in difficulties she would always find in her an old friend and a true one. All she said was—

      “If you want to do any shopping in London, I can always put you up, you know. And for the matter of that, I don’t see why you shouldn’t come and stay a month or so with me—if Edward can spare you. It will be a change.”

      When Miss Ley drove with Edward to the station, Bertha felt suddenly an extreme loneliness. Her aunt had been a barrier between herself and her husband, coming opportunely when, after the first months of mad passion, she was beginning to see herself linked to a man she did not know. A third person in the house had been a restraint. She looked forward already to the future with something like terror; her love for Edward was a bitter heartache. Oh yes, she loved him well, she loved him passionately; but he—he was fond of her, in his placid, calm way; it made her furious to think of it.

      The weather was rainy, and for two days there was no question of tennis. On the third, however, the sun came out again, and the lawn was soon dry. Edward had driven over to Tercanbury, but returned towards evening.

      “Hulloa!” he said, “you haven’t got your tennis things on. You’d better hurry up.”

      This was СКАЧАТЬ