The Painted Veil

xix As soon as she could next morning she rang Townsend up at his office. "Yes, what is it?" "I want to see you." "My dear, I'm awfully busy. I'm a working man." "It's very important. Can I come down to the office?" "Oh, no, I wouldn't do that if I were you." "Well, come here then." "I can't possibly get away. What about this afternoon? And don't you think it would be better if I didn't come to your house?" "I must see you at once." There was a pause and she was afraid that she had been cut off. "Are you there?" she asked anxiously. "Yes, I was thinking. Has anything happened?" "I can't tell you over the telephone." There was another silence before he spoke again. "Well, look here, I can manage to see you for ten minutes at one if that'll do. You'd better go to Ku-Chou's and I'll come along as soon as I can." "The curio shop?" she asked in dismay. "Well, we can't meet in the lounge at the Tching Yen Hotel very well," he answered. She noticed a trace of irritation in his voice. "Very well. I'll go to Ku-Chou's." xx She got out of her rickshaw in the Victoria Road and walked up the steep, narrow lane till she came to the shop. She lingered outside a moment as though her attention were attracted by the bric-à-brac which was displayed. But a boy who was standing there on the watch for customers, recognising her at once, gave her a broad smile of connivance. He said something in Chinese to someone within and the master, a little, fat-faced man in a black gown, came out and greeted her. She walked in quickly. "Mr. Townsend no come yet. You go top-side, yes?" She went to the back of the shop and walked up the rickety, dark stairs. The Chinese followed her and unlocked the door that led into the bedroom. It was stuffy and there was an acrid smell of opium. She sat down on a sandalwood chest. In a moment she heard a heavy step on the creaking stairs. Townsend came in and shut the door behind him. His face bore a sullen look, but as he saw her it vanished, and he smiled in that charming way of his. He took her quickly in his arms and kissed her lips. "Now what's the trouble?" "It makes me feel better just to see you," she smiled. He sat down on the bed and lit a cigarette. "You look rather washed out this morning." "I don't wonder," she answered. "I don't think I closed my eyes all night." He gave her a look. He was smiling still, but his smile was a little set and unnatural. She thought there was a shade of anxiety in his eyes. "He knows," she said. There was an instant's pause before he answered. "What did he say?" "He hasn't said anything." "What!" He looked at her sharply. "What makes you think he knows then?" "Everything. His look. The way he talked at dinner." "Was he disagreeable?" "No, on the contrary, he was scrupulously polite. For the first time since we married he didn't kiss me good night." She dropped her eyes. She was not sure if Charlie understood. As a rule Walter took her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers and would not let them go. His whole body grew tender and passionate with his kiss. "Why do you imagine he didn't say anything?" "I don't know." There was a pause. Kitty sat very still on the sandalwood box and looked with anxious attention at Townsend. His face once more was sullen and there was a frown between his brows. His mouth drooped a little at the corners. But all at once he looked up and a gleam of malicious amusement came into his eyes. "I wonder if he is going to say anything." She did not answer. She did not know what he meant. "After all, he wouldn't be the first man who's shut his eyes in a case of this sort. What has he to gain by making a row? If he'd wanted to make a row he would have insisted on coming into your room." His eyes twinkled and his lips broke into a broad smile. "We should have looked a pair of damned fools." "I wish you could have seen his face last night." "I expect he was upset. It was naturally a shock. It's a damned humiliating position for any man. He always looks a fool. Walter doesn't give me the impression of a fellow who'd care to wash a lot of dirty linen in public." "I don't think he would," she answered reflectively. "He's very sensitive, I've discovered that." "That's all to the good as far as we're concerned. You know, it's a very good plan to put yourself in somebody else's shoes and ask yourself how you would act in his place. There's only one way in which a man can save his face when he's in that sort of position and that is to pretend he knows nothing. I bet you anything you like that that is exactly what he's going to do." The more Townsend talked the more buoyant he became. His blue eyes sparkled and he was once more his gay and jovial self. He irradiated an encouraging confidence. "Heaven knows, I don't want to say anything disagreeable about him, but when you come down to brass tacks a bacteriologist is no great shakes. The chances are that I shall be Colonial Secretary when Simmons goes home, and it's to Walter's interest to keep on the right side of me. He's got his bread and butter to think of, like the rest of us: do you think the Colonial Office are going to do much for a fellow who makes a scandal? Believe me, he's got everything to gain by holding his tongue and everything to lose by kicking up a row." Kitty moved uneasily. She knew how shy Walter was and she could believe that the fear of a scene, and the dread of public attention, might have influence upon him; but she could not believe that he would be affected by the thought of a material advantage. Perhaps she didn't know him very well, but Charlie didn't know him at all. "Has it occurred to you that he's madly in love with me?" He did not answer, but he smiled at her with roguish eyes. She knew and loved that charming look of his. "Well, what is it? I know you're going to say something awful." "Well, you know, women are often under the impression that men are much more madly in love with them than they really are." For the first time she laughed. His confidence was catching. "What a monstrous thing to say!" "I put it to you that you haven't been bothering much about your husband lately. Perhaps he isn't quite so much in love with you as he was." "At all events I shall never delude myself that you are madly in love with me," she retorted. "That's where you're wrong." Ah, how good it was to hear him say that! She knew it and her belief in his passion warmed her heart. As he spoke he rose from the bed and came and sat down beside her on the sandalwood box. He put his arm round her waist. "Don't worry your silly little head a moment longer," he said. "I promise you there's nothing to fear. I'm as certain as I am of anything that he's going to pretend he knows nothing. You know, this sort of thing is awfully difficult to prove. You say he's in love with you; perhaps he doesn't want to lose you altogether. I swear I'd accept anything rather than that if you were my wife." She leaned towards him. Her body became limp and yielding against his arm. The love she felt for him was almost torture. His last words had struck her: perhaps Walter loved her so passionately that he was prepared to accept any humiliation if sometimes she would let him love her. She could understand that; for that was how she felt towards Charlie. A thrill of pride passed through her, and at the same time a faint sensation of contempt for a man who could love so slavishly. She put her arm lovingly round Charlie's neck. "You're simply wonderful. I was shaking like a leaf when I came here and you've made everything all right." He took her face in his hand and kissed her lips. "Darling." "You're such a comfort to me," she sighed. "I'm sure you need not be nervous. And you know I'll stand by you. I won't let you down." She put away her fears, but for an instant unreasonably she regretted that her plans for the future were shattered. Now that all danger was past she almost wished that Walter were going to insist on a divorce. "I knew I could count on you," she said. "So I should hope." "Oughtn't you to go and have your tiffin?" "Oh, damn my tiffin." He drew her more closely to him and now she was held tight in his arms. His mouth sought hers. "Oh, Charlie, you must let me go." "Never." She gave a little laugh, a laugh of happy love and of triumph; his eyes were heavy with desire. He lifted her to her feet and not letting her go but holding her close to his breast he locked the door. xxi All through the afternoon she thought of what Charlie had said about Walter. They were dining out that evening and when he came back from the Club she was dressing. He knocked at her door. "Come in." He did not open. "I'm going straight along to dress. How long will you be?" "Ten minutes." He said nothing more, but went to his own room. His voice had that constrained note which she had heard in it the night before. She felt fairly sure of herself now. She was ready before he was and when he came downstairs she was already seated in the car. "I'm afraid I've kept you waiting," he said. "I shall survive it," she replied, and she was able to smile as she spoke. She made an observation or two as they drove down the hill, but he answered curtly. She shrugged her shoulders; she was growing a trifle impatient: if he wanted to sulk, let him, she didn't care. They drove in silence till they reached their destination. It was a large dinner party. There were too many people and too many courses. While Kitty chatted gaily with her neighbours she watched Walter. He was deathly pale and his face was pinched. "Your husband is looking rather washed out. I thought he didn't mind the heat. Has he been working very hard?" "He always works hard." "I suppose you're going away soon?" "Oh, yes, I think I shall go to Japan as I did last year," she said. "The doctor says I must get out of the heat if I don't want to go all to pieces." Walter did not as usual when they were dining out give her a little smiling glance now and then. He never looked at her. She had noticed that when he came down to the car he kept his eyes averted, and he did the same when, with his usual politeness, he gave her his hand to alight. Now, talking with the women on either side of him, he did not smile, but looked at them with steady and unblinking eyes; and really his eyes looked enormous and in that pale face coal black. His face was set and stern. "He must be an agreeable companion," thought Kitty ironically. The idea of those unfortunate ladies trying to indulge in small talk with that grim mask not a little diverted her. Of course he knew; there was no doubt about that, and he was furious with her. Why hadn't he said anything? Was it really because, though angry and hurt, he loved her as much that he was afraid she would leave him. The thought made her ever so slightly despise him, but good-naturedly: after all, he was her husband and he provided her with board and lodging; so long as he didn't interfere with her and let her do as she liked she would be quite nice to him. On the other hand, perhaps his silence was due merely to a morbid timidity. Charlie was right when he said that no one would hate a scandal more than Walter. He never made a speech if he could help it. He had told her once that when he was subpœnaed as a witness on a case where he was to give expert evidence he had hardly slept for a week before. His shyness was a disease. And there was another thing: men were very vain, and so long as no one knew what had happened it might be that Walter would be content to ignore it. Then she wondered whether by any possibility Charlie was right when he suggested that Walter knew which side his bread was buttered. Charlie was the most popular man in the Colony and soon would be Colonial Secretary. He could be very useful to Walter; on the other hand he could make himself very unpleasant if Walter put his back up. Her heart exulted as she thought of her lover's strength and determination; she felt so defenceless in his virile arms. Men were strange: it would never have occurred to her that Walter was capable of such baseness, and yet you never knew; perhaps his seriousness was merely a mask for a mean and pettifogging nature. The more she considered it the more likely it seemed that Charlie was right; and she turned her glance once more on her husband. There was no indulgence in it. It happened that just then the women on either side of him were talking with their neighbours and he was left alone. He was staring straight in front of him, forgetful of the party, and his eyes were filled with a mortal sadness. It gave Kitty a shock. xxii Next day when she was lying down after luncheon dozing, she was aroused by a knock at her door. "Who is it?" she cried irritably. At that hour she was unaccustomed to be disturbed. "I." She recognized her husband's voice and she sat up quickly. "Come in." "Did I wake you?" he asked as he entered. "In point of fact you did," she answered in the natural tone she had adopted with him for the last two days. "Will you come into the next room? I want to have a little talk with you." Her heart gave a sudden beat against her ribs. "I'll put on a dressing-gown." He left her. She slipped her bare feet into mules and wrapped herself in a kimono. She looked in the glass; she was very pale and she put on some rouge. She stood at the door for a moment, nerving herself for the interview, and then with a bold face joined him. "How did you manage to get away from the Laboratory at this hour?" she said. "I don't often see you at this sort of time." "Won't you sit down?" He did not look at her. He spoke gravely. She was glad to do as he asked: her knees were a little shaky, and unable to continue in that jocular tone she kept silent. He sat also and lit a cigarette. His eyes wandered restlessly about the room. He seemed to have some difficulty in starting. Suddenly he looked full at her; and because he had held his eyes so long averted, his direct gaze gave her such a fright that she smothered a cry. "Have you ever heard of Mei-tan-fu?" he asked. "There's been a good deal about it in the papers lately." She stared at him in astonishment. She hesitated. "Is that the place where there's cholera? Mr. Arbuthnot was talking about it last night." "There's an epidemic. I believe it's the worst they've had for years. There was a medical missionary there. He died of cholera three days ago. There's a French convent there and of course there's the Customs man. Everyone else has got out." His eyes were still fixed on her and she could not lower hers. She tried to read his expression, but she was nervous, and she could only discern a strange watchfulness. How could he look so steadily? He did not even blink. "The French nuns are doing what they can. They've turned the orphanage into a hospital. But the people are dying like flies. I've offered to go and take charge." "You?" She started violently. Her first thought was that if he went she would be free and without let or hindrance could see Charlie. But the thought shocked her. She felt herself go scarlet. Why did he watch her like that? She looked away in embarrassment. "Is that necessary?" she faltered. "There's not a foreign doctor in the place." "But you're not a doctor, you're a bacteriologist." "I am an M.D., you know, and before I specialised I did a good deal of general work in a hospital. The fact that I'm first and foremost a bacteriologist is all to the good. It will be an admirable chance for research work." He spoke almost flippantly and when she glanced at him she was surprised to see in his eyes a gleam of mockery. She could not understand. "But won't it be awfully dangerous?" "Awfully." He smiled. It was a derisive grimace. She leaned her forehead on her hand. Suicide. It was nothing short of that. Dreadful! She had not thought he would take it like that. She couldn't let him do that. It was cruel. It was not her fault if she did not love him. She couldn't bear the thought that he should kill himself for her sake. Tears flowed softly down her cheeks. "What are you crying for?" His voice was cold. "You're not obliged to go, are you?" "No, I go of my own free will." "Please don't, Walter. It would be too awful if something happened. Supposing you died?" Though his face remained impassive the shadow of a smile once more crossed his eyes. He did not answer. "Where is this place?" she asked after a pause. "Mei-tan-fu? It's on a tributary of the Western River. We should go up the Western River and then by chair." "Who is we?" "You and I." She looked at him quickly. She thought she had heard amiss. But now the smile in his eyes had travelled to his lips. His dark eyes were fixed on her. "Are you expecting me to come too?" "I thought you'd like to." Her breath began to come very fast. A shudder passed through her. "But surely it's no place for a woman. The missionary sent his wife and children down weeks ago and the A. P. C. man and his wife came down. I met her at a tea-party. I've just remembered that she said they left some place on account of cholera." "There are five French nuns there." Panic seized her. "I don't know what you mean. It would be madness for me to go. You know how delicate I am. Dr. Hayward said I must get out of Tching-Yen on account of the heat. I could never stand the heat up there. And cholera. I should be frightened out of my wits. It's just asking for trouble. There's no reason for me to go. I should die." He did not answer. She looked at him in her desperation and she could hardly restrain a cry. His face had a sort of black pallor which suddenly terrified her. She saw in it a look of hatred. Was it possible that he wanted her to die? She answered her own outrageous thought. "It's absurd. If you think you ought to go it's your own lookout. But really you can't expect me to. I hate illness. A cholera epidemic. I don't pretend to be very brave and I don't mind telling you that I haven't pluck for that. I shall stay here until it's time for me to go to Japan." "I should have thought that you would want to accompany me when I am about to set out on a dangerous expedition." He was openly mocking her now. She was confused. She did not quite know whether he meant what he said or was merely trying to frighten her. "I don't think anyone could reasonably blame me for refusing to go to a dangerous place where I had no business or where I could be of no use." "You could be of the greatest use; you could cheer and comfort me." She grew even a little paler. "I don't understand what you're talking about." "I shouldn't have thought it needed more than average intelligence." "I'm not going, Walter. It's monstrous to ask me." "Then I shall not go either. I shall immediately file my petition." xxiii She looked at him blankly. What he said was so unexpected that at the first moment she could hardly gather its sense. "What on earth are you talking about?" she faltered. Even to herself her reply rang false, and she saw the look of disdain which it called forth on Walter's stern face. "I'm afraid you've thought me a bigger fool than I am." She did not quite know what to say. She was undecided whether indignantly to assert her innocence or to break out into angry reproaches. He seemed to read her thoughts. "I've got all the proof necessary." She began to cry. The tears flowed from her eyes without any particular anguish and she did not dry them: to weep gave her a little time to collect herself. But her mind was blank. He watched her without concern, and his calmness frightened her. He grew impatient. "You're not going to do much good by crying, you know." His voice, so cold and hard, had the effect of exciting in her a certain indignation. She was recovering her nerve. "I don't care. I suppose you have no objection to my divorcing you. It means nothing to a man." "Will you allow me to ask why I should put myself to the smallest inconvenience on your account?" "It can't make any difference to you. It's not much to ask you to behave like a gentleman." "I have much too great a regard for your welfare." She sat up now and dried her eyes. "What do you mean?" she asked him. "Townsend will marry you only if he is correspondent and the case is so shameless that his wife is forced to divorce him." "You don't know what you're talking about," she cried. "You stupid fool." His tone was so contemptuous that she flushed with anger. And perhaps her anger was greater because she had never before heard him say to her any but sweet, flattering and delightful things. She had been accustomed to find him subservient to all her whims. "If you want the truth you can have it. He's only too anxious to marry me. Dorothy Townsend is perfectly willing to divorce him and we shall be married the moment we're free." "Did he tell you that in so many words or is that the impression you have gained from his manner?" Walter's eyes shone with bitter mockery. They made Kitty a trifle uneasy. She was not quite sure that Charlie had ever said exactly that in so many words. "He's said it over and over again." "That's a lie and you know it's a lie." "He loves me with all his heart and soul. He loves me as passionately as I love him. You've found out. I'm not going to deny anything. Why should I? We've been lovers for a year and I'm proud of it. He means everything in the world to me and I'm glad that you know at last. We're sick to death of secrecy and compromise and all the rest of it. It was a mistake that I ever married you, I never should have done it, I was a fool. I never cared for you. We never had anything in common. I don't like the people you like and I'm bored by the things that interest you. I'm thankful it's finished." He watched her without a gesture and without a movement of his face. He listened attentively and no change in his expression showed that what she said affected him. "Do you know why I married you?" "Because you wanted to be married before your sister Doris." It was true, but it gave her a funny little turn to realise that he knew it. Oddly enough, even in that moment of fear and anger, it excited her compassion. He faintly smiled. "I had no illusions about you," he said. "I knew you were silly and frivolous and empty-headed. But I loved you. I knew that your aims and ideals were vulgar and commonplace. But I loved you. I knew that you were second-rate. But I loved you. It's comic when I think how hard I tried to be amused by the things that amused you and how anxious I was to hide from you that I wasn't ignorant and vulgar and scandal-mongering and stupid. I knew how frightened you were of intelligence and I did everything I could to make you think me as big a fool as the rest of the men you knew. I knew that you'd only married me for convenience. I loved you so much, I didn't care. Most people, as far as I can see, when they're in love with someone and the love isn't returned feel that they have a grievance. They grow angry and bitter. I wasn't like that. I never expected you to love me, I didn't see any reason that you should, I never thought myself very lovable. I was thankful to be allowed to love you and I was enraptured when now and then I thought you were pleased with me or when I noticed in your eyes a gleam of good-humoured affection. I tried not to bore you with my love; I knew I couldn't afford to do that and I was always on the lookout for the first sign that you were impatient with my affection. What most husbands expect as a right I was prepared to receive as a favour." Kitty, accustomed to flattery all her life, had never heard such things said to her before. Blind wrath, driving out fear, arose in her heart: it seemed to choke her, and she felt the blood-vessels in her temples swell and throb. Wounded vanity can make a woman more vindictive than a lioness robbed of her cubs. Kitty's jaw, always a little too square, protruded with an apish hideousness and her beautiful eyes were black with malice. But she kept her temper in check. "If a man hasn't what's necessary to make a woman love him, it's his fault, not hers." "Evidently." His derisive tone increased her irritation. She felt that she could wound him more by maintaining her calm. "I'm not very well educated and I'm not very clever. I'm just a perfectly ordinary young woman. I like the things that the people like among whom I've lived all my life. I like dancing and tennis and theatres and I like the men who play games. It's quite true that I've always been bored by you and by the things you like. They mean nothing to me and I don't want them to. You dragged me round those interminable galleries in Venice: I should have enjoyed myself much more playing golf at Sandwich." "I know." "I'm sorry if I haven't been all that you expected me to be. Unfortunately I always found you physically repulsive. You can hardly blame me for that." "I don't." Kitty could more easily have coped with the situation if he had raved and stormed. She could have met violence with violence. His self-control was inhuman and she hated him now as she had never hated him before. "I don't think you're a man at all. Why didn't you break into the room when you knew I was there with Charlie? You might at least have tried to thrash him. Were you afraid?" But the moment she had said this she flushed, for she was ashamed. He did not answer, but in his eyes she read an icy disdain. The shadow of a smile flickered on his lips. "It may be that, like a historical character, I am too proud to fight." Kitty, unable to think of anything to answer, shrugged her shoulders. For a moment longer he held her in his immobile gaze. "I think I've said all I had to say: if you refuse to come to Mei-tan-fu I shall file my petition." "Why won't you consent to let me divorce you?" He took his eyes off her at last. He leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette. He smoked it to the end without saying a word. Then, throwing away the butt, he gave a little smile. He looked at her once more. "If Mrs. Townsend will give me her assurance that she will divorce her husband and if he will give me his written promise to marry you within a week of the two decrees being made absolute, I will do that." There was something in the way he spoke which disconcerted her. But her self-respect obliged her to accept his offer in the grand manner. "That is very generous of you, Walter." To her astonishment he burst suddenly into a shout of laughter. She flushed angrily. "What are you laughing at? I see nothing to laugh at." "I beg your pardon. I daresay my sense of humour is peculiar." She looked at him, frowning. She would have liked to say something bitter and wounding, but no rejoinder occurred to her. He looked at his watch. "You had better look sharp if you want to catch Townsend at his office. If you decide to come with me to Mei-tan-fu it would be necessary to start the day after to-morrow." "Do you want me to tell him to-day?" "They say there is no time like the present." Her heart began to beat a little faster. It was not uneasiness that she felt, it was, she didn't quite know what it was. She wished she could have had a little longer; she would have liked to prepare Charlie. But she had the fullest confidence in him, he loved her as much as she loved him, and it was treacherous even to let the thought cross her mind that he would not welcome the necessity that was forced upon them. She turned to Walter gravely. "I don't think you know what love is. You can have no conception how desperately in love Charlie and I are with one another. It really is the only thing that matters and every sacrifice that our love calls for will be as easy as falling off a log." He gave a little bow, but said nothing, and his eyes followed her as she walked with measured step from the room.