Captain Huston tugged at his drooping moustache pensively. He walked to the window, with the assurance of one who knew his way amidst the furniture, and stood for some time looking down into the street. Presently he returned, avoiding Mrs. Wylie’s eyes; but she saw his face, and her own grew suddenly very sympathetic.
He played nervously with the ornaments upon the mantelpiece for some moments, deeply immersed in thought. There was a chair drawn forward to the fire, at the opposite end of the fur hearthrug to that occupied by Mrs. Wylie. This he took, sitting hopelessly with his idle hands hanging at either side.
“What am I to do?” he asked, half cynically.
Before replying, the widow looked at him—gauging him.
“Do you really mean that?”
“Of course—I am helpless. A man is no match for three women.”
“To begin with, you must have more faith in other people. In myself … Brenda … Theo Trist.”
The last name was uttered with some significance. Its effect was startling. Huston’s bloodshot eyes flashed angrily, his limp fingers clenched and writhed until the skin gave forth a creaking sound as of dry leather.
“D⸺n Trist!” he exclaimed. “I will shoot him if he comes across my path!”
Mrs. Wylie did not shriek or faint, as ladies are usually supposed to do when men give way to violent language in their presence. But there came into her eyes a slight passing shade of anxiety, which she suppressed with an effort.
“But first of all,” she said, “you must learn to restrain yourself. You must understand that bluster of any description is quite useless against myself or Theo. Alice may be afraid, but Brenda is not; and with Alice fear is closely linked with disgust. Do not forget that.”
She spoke quite calmly, with a force which a casual observer would not have anticipated. In her eagerness she leant forward, with a warning hand outstretched.
“And,” he muttered, “I suppose I am to suppress all my feelings, and go about the world like a marble statue. It seems to me that that fellow Trist leaves his impression on you all. His doctrine is imperturbability at any price. It isn’t mine!”
“Nor mine, Captain Huston. All I preach is a little more restraint. Theo goes too far, and his reticence leads to mistakes. You have been misled. You think that … your wife and Theo Trist … love each other.”
The soldier looked at her steadily, his weak nether lip quivering with excitement. Then he slowly nodded his head.
“That—is my impression.”
Mrs. Wylie evinced no hurry, no eagerness now. She had difficult cards, and her full attention was given to playing them skilfully. She leant back again in her comfortable chair, and crossed her hands upon her lap.
“Using primary argument,” she said concisely, “and meeting opinion with opinion, I contend that you are mistaken. I will be perfectly frank with you, Captain Huston, because you have a certain claim upon my honesty. In some ways Alice is a weak woman. It has been her misfortune to be brought up and launched upon society as a beauty; a man who marries such a woman is assuming a responsibility which demands special qualifications. Judging from what I have observed, I am very much afraid that you possess these qualifications in but a small degree. Do you follow me?”
The man smiled in an awkward way.
“Yes. You were going to say, ‘I told you so.’ ”
“That,” returned the widow, “is a remark I never make, because it is profitless. Moreover, it would not be true, because I never told you so. Circumstances have in a measure been against you. You could scarcely have chosen a more dangerous part of the world in which to begin your married life than Ceylon. As it happens, you did not choose, but it was forced upon you. In England we live differently. A young married woman is thrown more exclusively upon the society of her husband; there is less temptation. You will find it less difficult …”
“Is married life to be described as a difficulty?” he interrupted.
Mr. Wylie did not reply at once. She sat with placidly crossed hands gazing into the fire. There was a slight tension in the lines of her mouth.
“Life,” she replied, “in any form, in any sphere, in any circumstances, is a difficulty.”
After a moment she resumed in a more practical tone:
“Again, Alice is scarcely the woman to make a soldier’s wife in times of peace. War … would bring out her good points.”
Huston moved restlessly. Mrs. Wylie turned her soft gray eyes towards his face, and across her sympathetic features there passed an expression of real pain. She had divined his next words before his lips framed them.
“I am not a soldier, Mrs. Wylie.”
“Resigned … ?” she whispered.
“No; turned out.”
Unconsciously she was swaying backwards and forwards a little, as if in lamentation, while she rubbed one hand over the other.
“Drink,” continued Huston harshly; “… drink, and Alice drove me to it.”
There was a long silence in the room after this. The glowing fire creaked and crackled at times; occasionally a cinder fell with considerable clatter into the fender, but neither of these people moved. At last Mrs. Wylie looked up.
“Captain Huston,” she said pleadingly.
“Yes.”
He looked across, and saw the tears quivering on her lashes.
“Come back to me tomorrow morning,” was her prayer. “I cannot … I cannot advise you yet … because I do not quite understand. Theo Trist is coming to lunch today. Will you come back tomorrow?”
“I will,” he answered simply, and left the room.
XI
Mrs. Wylie Leads
As Theodore Trist mounted the broad bare staircase of Suffolk Mansions, his quick ears detected the sound of Mrs. Wylie’s door being drawn forcibly to behind departing footsteps.
He continued his way without increase of speed. The person whose descent was audible came slowly to meet him, and in a few moments they were face to face upon a small stone-paved landing.
Neither departed from the unwritten code by which
