Collected Works. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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СКАЧАТЬ so,” he said, “on receiving this you rushed out in the cold and came all the way to Lyvern. Now, it seems to me that you must either love me very much—”

      “I don’t. I hate you.”

      “Or else love yourself very much.”

      “Oh!” And she wept afresh. “You are a selfish brute, and you do just as you like without considering anyone else. No one ever thinks of me. And now you won’t even take the trouble to deny that shameful letter.”

      “Why should I deny it? It is true. Do you not see the irony of all this? I amuse myself by paying a few compliments to a schoolgirl for whom I do not care two straws more than for any agreeable and passably clever woman I meet. Nevertheless, I occasionally feel a pang of remorse because I think that she may love me seriously, although I am only playing with her. I pity the poor heart I have wantonly ensnared. And, all the time, she is pitying me for exactly the same reason! She is conscience-stricken because she is only indulging in the luxury of being adored ‘by far the cleverest man she has ever met,’ and is as heart-whole as I am! Ha, ha! That is the basis of the religion of love of which poets are the high-priests. Each worshipper knows that his own love is either a transient passion or a sham copied from his favorite poem; but he believes honestly in the love of others for him. Ho, ho! Is it not a silly world, my dear?”

      “You had no right to make love to Agatha. You have no right to make love to anyone but me; and I won’t bear it.”

      “You are angry because Agatha has infringed your monopoly. Always monopoly! Why, you silly girl, do you suppose that I belong to you, body and soul?—that I may not be moved except by your affection, or think except of your beauty?”

      “You may call me as many names as you please, but you have no right to make love to Agatha.”

      “My dearest, I do not recollect calling you any names. I think you said something about a selfish brute.”

      “I did not. You called me a silly girl.”

      “But, my love, you are.”

      “And so YOU are. You are thoroughly selfish.”

      “I don’t deny it. But let us return to our subject. What did we begin to quarrel about?”

      “I am not quarrelling, Sidney. It is you.”

      “Well, what did I begin to quarrel about?”

      “About Agatha Wylie.”

      “Oh, pardon me, Hetty; I certainly did not begin to quarrel about her. I am very fond of her—more so, it appears, than she is of me. One moment, Hetty, before you recommence your reproaches. Why do you dislike my saying pretty things to Agatha?”

      Henrietta hesitated, and said: “Because you have no right to. It shows how little you care for me.”

      “It has nothing to do with you. It only shows how much I care for her.”

      “I will not stay here to be insulted,” said Hetty, her distress returning. “I will go home.”

      “Not to-night; there is no train.”

      “I will walk.”

      “It is too far.”

      “I don’t care. I will not stay here, though I die of cold by the roadside.”

      “My cherished one, I have been annoying you purposely because you show by your anger that you have not ceased to care for me. I am in the wrong, as I usually am, and it is all my fault. Agatha knows nothing about our marriage.”

      “I do not blame you so much,” said Henrietta, suffering him to place her head on his shoulder; “but I will never speak to Agatha again. She has behaved shamefully to me, and I will tell her so.”

      “No doubt she will opine that it is all your fault, dearest, and that I have behaved admirably. Between you I shall stand exonerated. And now, since it is too cold for walking, since it is late, since it is far to Lyvern and farther to London, I must improvise some accommodation for you here.”

      “But—”

      “But there is no help for it. You must stay.”

      CHAPTER IX

      Next day Smilash obtained from his wife a promise that she would behave towards Agatha as if the letter had given no offence. Henrietta pleaded as movingly as she could for an immediate return to their domestic state, but he put her off with endearing speeches, promised nothing but eternal affection, and sent her back to London by the twelve o’clock express. Then his countenance changed; he walked back to Lyvern, and thence to the chalet, like a man pursued by disgust and remorse. Later in the afternoon, to raise his spirits, he took his skates and went to Wickens’s pond, where, it being Saturday, he found the ice crowded with the Alton students and their half-holiday visitors. Fairholme, describing circles with his habitual air of compressed hardihood, stopped and stared with indignant surprise as Smilash lurched past him.

      “Is that man here by your permission?” he said to Farmer Wickens, who was walking about as if superintending a harvest.

      “He is here because he likes, I take it,” said Wickens stubbornly. “He is a neighbor of mine and a friend of mine. Is there any objections to my having a friend on my own pond, seein’ that there is nigh on two or three ton of other people’s friends on it without as much as a with-your-leave or a by-your-leave.”

      “Oh, no,” said Fairholme, somewhat dashed. “If you are satisfied there can be no objection.”

      “I’m glad on it. I thought there mout be.”

      “Let me tell you,” said Fairholme, nettled, “that your landlord would not be pleased to see him here. He sent one of Sir John’s best shepherds out of the country, after filling his head with ideas above his station. I heard Sir John speak very warmly about it last Sunday.”

      “Mayhap you did, Muster Fairholme. I have a lease of this land—and gravelly, poor stuff it is—and I am no ways beholden to Sir John’s likings and dislikings. A very good thing too for Sir John that I have a lease, for there ain’t a man in the country ‘ud tak’ a present o’ the farm if it was free to-morrow. And what’s a’ more, though that young man do talk foolish things about the rights of farm laborers and such-like nonsense, if Sir John was to hear him layin’ it down concernin’ rent and improvements, and the way we tenant farmers is put upon, p’raps he’d speak warmer than ever next Sunday.”

      And Wickens, with a smile expressive of his sense of having retorted effectively upon the parson, nodded and walked away.

      Just then Agatha, skating hand in hand with Jane Carpenter, heard these words in her ear: “I have something very funny to tell you. Don’t look round.”

      She recognized the voice of Smilash and obeyed.

      “I am not quite sure that you will enjoy it as it deserves,” he added, and darted off again, after casting an eloquent glance at Miss Carpenter.

      Agatha disengaged herself from her companion, made a circuit, and passed near СКАЧАТЬ