Getting Married

alike, and tried the thirteen shilling kind because it seemed cheap. It proved unexpectedly inferior to the family Silkstone; and in the irritation into which the first scuttle threw me, I called at the shop and made an idiot of myself as she described. Sykes Well, suppose you did! Laugh at it, man. Hotchkiss At that, yes. But there was something worse. Judge of my horror when, calling on the coal merchant to make a trifling complaint at finding my grate acting as a battery of quick-firing guns, and being confronted by his vulgar wife, I felt in her presence an extraordinary sensation of unrest, of emotion, of unsatisfied need. I’ll not disgust you with details of the madness and folly that followed that meeting. But it went as far as this: that I actually found myself prowling past the shop at night under a sort of desperate necessity to be near some place where she had been. A hideous temptation to kiss the doorstep because her foot had pressed it made me realize how mad I was. I tore myself away from London by a supreme effort; but I was on the point of returning like a needle to the lodestone when the outbreak of the war saved me. On the field of battle the infatuation wore off. The Billiter affair made a new man of me: I felt that I had left the follies and puerilities of the old days behind me forever. But half-an-hour ago⁠—when the Bishop sent off that ring⁠—a sudden grip at the base of my heart filled me with a nameless terror⁠—me, the fearless! I recognized its cause when she walked into the room. Cecil: this woman is a harpy, a siren, a mermaid, a vampire. There is only one chance for me: flight, instant precipitate flight. Make my excuses. Forget me. Farewell. He makes for the door and is confronted by Mrs. George entering. Too late: I’m lost. He turns back and throws himself desperately into the chair nearest the study door; that being the furthest away from her. Mrs. George Coming to the hearth and addressing Reginald. Mr. Bridgenorth: will you oblige me by leaving me with this young man. I want to talk to him like a mother, on your business. Reginald Do, ma’am. He needs it badly. Come along, Sykes. He goes into the study. Sykes Looks irresolutely at Hotchkiss.⁠—? Hotchkiss Too late: you can’t save me now, Cecil. Go. Sykes goes into the study. Mrs. George strolls across to Hotchkiss and contemplates him curiously. Hotchkiss Useless to prolong this agony. Rising. Fatal woman⁠—if woman you are indeed and not a fiend in human form⁠— Mrs. George Is this out of a book? Or is it your usual society small talk? Hotchkiss Recklessly. Jibes are useless: the force that is sweeping me away will not spare you. I must know the worst at once. What was your father? Mrs. George A licensed victualler who married his barmaid. You would call him a publican, most likely. Hotchkiss Then you are a woman totally beneath me. Do you deny it? Do you set up any sort of pretence to be my equal in rank, in age, or in culture? Mrs. George Have you eaten anything that has disagreed with you? Hotchkiss Witheringly. Inferior! Mrs. George Thank you. Anything else? Hotchkiss This. I love you. My intentions are not honorable. She shows no dismay. Scream. Ring the bell. Have me turned out of the house. Mrs. George With sudden depth of feeling. Oh, if you could restore to this wasted exhausted heart one ray of the passion that once welled up at the glance at the touch of a lover! It’s you who would scream then, young man. Do you see this face, once fresh and rosy like your own, now scarred and riven by a hundred burnt-out fires? Hotchkiss Wildly. Slate fires. Thirteen shillings a ton. Fires that shoot out destructive meteors, blinding and burning, sending men into the streets to make fools of themselves. Mrs. George You seem to have got it pretty bad, Sinjon. Hotchkiss Don’t dare call me Sinjon. Mrs. George My name is Zenobia Alexandrina. You may call me Polly for short. Hotchkiss Your name is Ashtoreth⁠—Durga⁠—there is no name yet invented malign enough for you. Mrs. George Sitting down comfortably. Come! Do you really think you’re better suited to that young sauce box than her husband? You enjoyed her company when you were only the friend of the family⁠—when there was the husband there to show off against and to take all the responsibility. Are you sure you’ll enjoy it as much when you are the husband? She isn’t clever, you know. She’s only silly-clever. Hotchkiss Uneasily leaning against the table and holding on to it to control his nervous movements. Need you tell me? fiend that you are! Mrs. George You amused the husband, didn’t you? Hotchkiss He has more real sense of humor than she. He’s better bred. That was not my fault. Mrs. George My husband has a sense of humor too. Hotchkiss The coal merchant?⁠—I mean the slate merchant. Mrs. George Appreciatively. He would just love to hear you talk. He’s been dull lately for want of a change of company and a bit of fresh fun. Hotchkiss Flinging a chair opposite her and sitting down with an overdone attempt at studied insolence. And pray what is your wretched husband’s vulgar conviviality to me? Mrs. George You love me? Hotchkiss I loathe you. Mrs. George It’s the same thing. Hotchkiss Then I’m lost. Mrs. George You may come and see me if you promise to amuse George. Hotchkiss I’ll insult him, sneer at him, wipe my boots on him. Mrs. George No you won’t, dear boy. You’ll be a perfect gentleman. Hotchkiss Beaten; appealing to her mercy. Zenobia⁠— Mrs. George Polly, please. Hotchkiss Mrs. Collins⁠— Mrs. George Sir? Hotchkiss Something stronger than my reason and common sense is holding my hands and tearing me along. I make no attempt to deny that it can drag me where you please and make me