THE ESSENTIAL GEORGE BERNARD SHAW COLLECTION. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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СКАЧАТЬ the Hoskyns drive away in a neat carriage; and Herbert, who had never in his bachelor days envied any man the possession of such a luxury, felt sorry that he had to hire a hansom for his wife’s accommodation.

      Adrian had not yet found a suitable permanent residence. They lived on the first floor of a house in the Kensington Road. Aurélie, who had always left domestic matters to her mother, knew little about housekeeping, and could not be induced to take an interest in house-hunting. The landlady at Kensington Road supplied them with food; and Adrian paid a heavy bill every week, Aurélie exclaiming that the amount was unheard of, and the woman wicked, but not taking any steps to introduce a more economical system.

      They reached their lodging at a quarter before twelve; and Adrian, when Aurélie had gone upstairs, turned out the gas and chained the door, knowing that the rest of the household were in bed. As he followed her up, he heard the pianoforte, and, entering the room, saw her seated at it. She did not look round at him, but continued playing, with her face turned slightly upward and to one side — an attitude habitual to her in her musical moments. He moved uneasily about the room for some time; put aside his overcoat; turned down a jet of gas that flared; and rearranged some trifles on the mantelpiece. Then he said:

      “Is it not rather late for the pianoforte, Aurélie? It is twelve o’clock: and the people of the house must be asleep.”

      Aurélie started as if awakened; shrugged her shoulders; closed the instrument softly; and went to an easy chair, in which she sat down wearily.

      Herbert was dissatisfied with himself for interrupting her, and angry with her for being the cause of his dissatisfaction Nevertheless, looking at her as she reclined in the chair, and seemed again to have forgotten his existence, he became enamored.

      “My darling!”

      “Eh?” she said.waking again, “Qu’est-ce, que c’est?”

      “It has turned rather cold tonight Is it wise to sit in that thin dress when there is no fire?”

      “I do not know.”

      “Shall I get you a shawl?”

      “It does not matter: I am not cold.” She spoke as if his solicitude only disturbed her.

      “Aurélie,” he said, after a pause: “I heard tonight that my mother has returned to town.”

      No answer.

      “Aurélie,” he repeated petulantly. “Are you listening me?”

      “Yes. I listen.” But she did not look at him.

      “I said that my mother was in town. I think we had better call on her.*

      “Doubtless you will call on her, if it pleases you to do so. Is she not your mother?”

      “But you will come with me, Aurélie, will you not”

      “Never. Never.”

      “Not to oblige me. Aurélie?”

      “It is not the same thing to oblige you as to oblige your mother. I am not married to your mother.”

      Herbert winced. “That is a very harsh speech to English ears,” he said.

      “I do not speak in English: I speak the language of my heart. Your mother has insulted me; and you are wrong to ask me to go to her. My mother has never offended you; and yet I sent her away because you did not like her, and because it is not the English custom that she should continue with me. I know you did not marry her; and I do not reproach you with harshness because she is separated from me. I will have the like freedom for myself.”

      “Aurélie,” cried Herbert, who had been staring during most of her speech: “you are most unjust. Have I ever failed in courtesy towards your mother? Did I ever utter a word expressive of dislike to her?”

      “You were towards her as you were towards all the world. You were very kind: I do not say otherwise.”

      “In what way can my mother have insulted you? You have never spoken to her; and since a month before our wedding she has been in Scotland.”

      “Where she went lest I should speak to her, no doubt. Why did she not speak to me when I last met her? She knew well that I was betrothed to you. She is proud, perhaps. Well, be it so. I also am proud. I am an artist; and queens have given me their hands frankly. Your mother holds that an English lady is above all queens. I hold that an artist is above all ladies. We can live without one another, as we have done hitherto. I do not seek to hinder you from going to her; but I will not go.”

      “You mistake my mother’s motive altogether. She is not proud — in that way. She was angry because I did not allow her to choose a wife for me.”

      “Well, she is angry still, no doubt. Of what use is it to anger her further?”

      “She has too much sense to persist in protesting against what is irrevocable. You need not fear a cold welcome, Aurélie. I will make sure, before I allow you to go, that you shall be properly received.”

      “I pray you, Adrian, annoy me no more about your mother. I do not know her: I will not know her. It is her own choice; and she must abide by it. Can you not go to her without me?”

      “Why should I go to her without you”’ said Adrian, distressed. “Your love is far more precious to me than hers. You know how little tenderness there is between her and me. But family feuds are very objectionable. They are always in bad taste, and often lead to serious consequences. I wish you would for this once sacrifice your personal inclination, and help me to avert a permanent estrangement.”

      “Ah yes,” exclaimed Aurélie,” rising indignantly. “You will sacrifice my honor to the conventions of your world.”

      “It is an exaggeration to speak of such a trifle as affecting your honor. However, I will say no more. I would do much greater things for you than this that you will not do for me, Aurélie. But then I love you.”

      “I do not want you to love me,” said Aurélie, turning towards the door with a shrug. “Go and love somebody else. Love Madame Hoskyn; and tell her how badly your wife uses you.”

      Herbert made a step after her. “Aurélie,” he said: “if I submit to this treatment from you, I shall be the most infatuated slave in England.”

      “I cannot help that. And I do not like you when you are a slave. It grows late.”

      “Are you going to bed already?”

      “Already! My God, it is half an hour after midnight! You are going mad, I think.”

      “I think I am. Aurélie: tell me the truth honestly now: I cannot bear to discover it by the slow torture of watching you grow colder to me. Do you no longer love me?”

      “Perhaps,” she said, indifferently. “I do not love you tonight, that is certain. You have been very tiresome.” And she left the room without looking at him. For some moments after her departure he remained motionless. Then he set his lips together; went to a bureau and took some money from it; put on his hat and overcoat; and took a sheet of paper from his desk. But after dipping a pen in the ink several times, he cast it aside without writing anything. As he did so, he saw on the mantelpiece СКАЧАТЬ