Read the book: «The Painted Veil / Узорный покров»

…the painted veil which those who live call Life.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

© Загородняя И. Б., адаптация, сокращение, словарь, 2017

© ООО «Издательство «Антология», 2017

I

She gave a startled cry.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

In the darkness of the room he saw terror on her face.

“Someone just tried to open the door.”

“Well, perhaps it was the amah¹, or one of the boys.”

“They never come at this time. They know I always sleep after lunch.”

“Who else could it be?”

“Walter,” she whispered. Her lips were trembling.

She pointed to his shoes and gave him a shoe horn. Then she slipped into a kimono and in her bare feet went over to her dressing-table. She had a short haircut and with a comb she had repaired its disorder before he had laced his second shoe. She handed him his coat.

“How will I get out?”

“You’d better wait a bit. I’ll look out and see that it’s all right.”

“It can’t be Walter. He doesn’t leave the laboratory till five.”

“Who is it then?”

They spoke in whispers now. Suddenly they saw the white china knob of the handle slowly turn. They had heard no one walk along the verandah. It was terrifying to see that silent motion. A minute passed and there was no sound. Then, in the same noiseless and horrifying manner, they saw the white china knob of the handle at the other window turn also. It was so frightening that Kitty opened her mouth to scream; but, seeing what she was going to do, he quickly put his hand over it.

Silence. She leaned against him, her knees were shaking, and he was afraid she would faint. Frowning, he carried her to the bed and sat her down upon it. She was as white as the sheet and in spite of his tan his cheeks were pale too. He stood by her side looking with fascinated gaze at the china knob. They did not speak. Then he saw that she was crying.

“For God’s sake don’t do that,” he said irritably. “If we’re in for it we’re in for it². We’ll just have to look confident and not ashamed.”

She gave him the shadow of a smile. His voice reassured her and she took his hand and affectionately pressed it. He gave her a moment to collect herself.

“Where’s your hat?” she asked suddenly.

“I left it downstairs.”

“Oh, my God!”

“Look here, we can’t stay here for ever,” he said then. “Can you go out on the verandah and have a look?”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Have you got any brandy in here?”

She shook her head. He was growing impatient; he did not quite know what to do. Suddenly she clutched his hand more tightly.

“Suppose he’s waiting there?”

He forced his lips to smile.

“That’s not very likely. Have a little courage, Kitty. How can it be your husband? Only a Chinese would turn a handle in that way.”

She felt better now.

“It’s not very pleasant even if it was only the amah.”

“If necessary, I’ll make her fear. There are not many advantages in being a government official, but you may get something out of it.”

He must be right. She stood up and turning to him stretched out her arms: he took her in his and kissed her on the lips. She adored him. He released her and she went to the window. There was not a soul. She slipped on to the verandah, looked into her husband’s dressing-room and then into her own sitting-room. Both were empty. She went back to the bedroom and said to him,

“Nobody.”

“I believe the whole thing was an optical delusion³.”

“Don’t laugh. I was terrified. Go into my sitting-room and sit down. I’ll put on my stockings and shoes.”

II

He did as she said and in five minutes she joined him. He was smoking a cigarette.

“Could I have a brandy and soda, Kitty?”

“Yes, I’ll ring.”

They waited in silence for the boy to answer. She gave the order.

“Ring up the laboratory and ask if Walter is there,” she said then. “They don’t know your voice.”

He took up the receiver and asked for the number. He inquired whether Dr. Fane was in. He put down the receiver.

“He hasn’t been in since lunch,” he told her. “Ask the boy whether he has been here.”

“I daren’t. It’ll look so funny if he has been here and I didn’t see him.”

The boy brought the drinks and Townsend helped himself. When he offered her some she shook her head.

“What should we do if it was Walter?” she asked.

“Perhaps he wouldn’t care.”

“Walter?”

Her tone was incredulous.

“He is rather shy. Some men can’t bear scenes, you know. He’s got sense enough to know that he can’t gain anything by making a scandal. I don’t believe for a minute it was Walter, but even if it was, my impression is that he’ll do nothing. I think he’ll ignore it.”

She reflected for a moment.

“He’s awfully in love with me.”

“Well, that’s all to the good.”

He gave her that charming smile of his which she had always found so irresistible. It was a slow smile which started in his clear blue eyes and travelled slowly to his attractive mouth. It was a very sensual smile and it made her heart melt in her body.

“I don’t very much care,” she said. “It was worth it.”

“It was my fault.”

“Why did you come? I was amazed to see you.”

“I couldn’t resist it.”

“You dear.”

She leaned a little towards him. Her dark and shining eyes were gazing passionately into his, her mouth was a little open with desire, and he put his arms round her.

“You know you can always count on me,” he said.

“I’m so happy with you. I wish I could make you as happy as you make me.”

“You’re not frightened any more?”

“I hate Walter,” she answered.

He did not quite know what to say to this, so he kissed her. But he took her wrist on which was a little gold watch and looked at the time.

“Do you know what I must do now?”

“Go?” she smiled.

He nodded. For one instant she clung to him more closely, but she felt his desire to go, and she pushed him away.

“You seem in a hurry to get rid of me,” he said lightly.

“You know that I hate to let you go.”

Her answer was low and deep and serious. He gave a flattered laugh.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about our mysterious visitor. I’m quite sure it was the amah. And if there’s any trouble I guarantee to get you out of it.”

“Have you had a lot of experience?”

His smile was amused and content.

“No, but I flatter myself that I’ve got a head on my shoulders.”

III

She went out on to the verandah and watched him leave the house. He waved his hand to her. It gave her a little thrill as she looked at him; he was forty-one, but he had the flexible figure and the springing step of a boy.

She could think only of her lover.

Of course it was stupid to behave as they had done that afternoon, but if he wanted her how could she be prudent? He had come two or three times after lunch, and not even the boys had seen him come and go. It was very difficult at Hong Kong. She hated the Chinese city and it made her nervous to go into the filthy little in which they regularly met. It was a curio dealer’s⁴; and the Chinese who were sitting about stared at her unpleasantly. The old man took her to the back of the shop and then up a dark flight of stairs. The room into which he led her was dirty and the large wooden bed against the wall made her shudder.

“This is disgusting, isn’t it?” she said to Charlie the first time she met him there.

“It was till you came in,” he answered.

Of course the moment he took her in his arms she forgot everything.

Oh, how hateful it was that she wasn’t free, that they both weren’t free! She didn’t like his wife, Dorothy Townsend. She was thirty-eight at least. But Charlie never spoke of her. Of course he didn’t care for her; she bored him to death. But he was a gentleman. Kitty smiled with affectionate irony: it was just like him, silly old thing; he might be unfaithful to her, but he would never allow a bad word of her to cross his lips. She was a tallish woman, taller than Kitty, neither stout nor thin, with light brown hair; her features were good enough but not remarkable, and her blue eyes were cold. And she dressed like – well, like what she was, the wife of the Assistant Colonial Secretary at Hong Kong. Kitty smiled and gave her shoulders a faint shrug.

Of course no one could deny that Dorothy Townsend had a pleasant voice. She was a wonderful mother, Charlie always said that of her, and she was what Kitty’s mother called a gentlewoman. But Kitty did not like her. The fact was, Kitty supposed, that she cared for nothing but her children: there were two boys at school in England, and another boy of six whom she was going to take home next year. Her face was a mask. She smiled and in her pleasant, well-mannered way said the things that were expected of her; but she held you at a distance. She had a few intimate friends in the Colony and they greatly admired her. Her father had been a Colonial Governor and of course it was very grand while it lasted – every one stood up when you entered a room and men took off their hats to you as you passed in your car – but what could be more insignificant than a Colonial Governor when he had retired? Dorothy Townsend’s father lived on a pension in a small house at Earl’s Court. Kitty’s mother would think it a dreadful bore if she asked her to call. Kitty’s father, Bernard Garstin, was а К. C.⁵ and it was more prestigious. Anyhow they lived in South Kensington.

IV

Kitty, coming to Hong Kong on her marriage, had found that her social position was determined by her husband’s occupation. Of course every one had been very kind and for two or three months they had gone out to parties almost every night; but she had understood quickly that as the wife of the Government bacteriologist she was of no particular importance. It made her angry.

“It’s too absurd,” she told her husband. “Why, there’s hardly any one here that could be invited by Mother to dine at our house.”

“You mustn’t let it worry you,” he answered. “It doesn’t really matter, you know.”

“Of course it doesn’t matter; it only shows how stupid they are.”

“From a social point of view the man of science does not exist,” he smiled.

She knew that now, but she had not known it when she married him.

Perhaps he felt the reproach behind her words, for he took her hand and shyly pressed it.

“I’m awfully sorry, Kitty dear, but don’t let it annoy you.”

“Oh, I’m not going to let it do that.”

V

No, it had not been Walter that afternoon. Probably it had been one of the servants and after all they didn’t matter. Chinese servants knew everything anyway. But they held their tongues.

She turned away from the verandah and went back into her sitting-room. She threw herself down on the sofa and stretched out her hand to get a cigarette. Suddenly she saw a note lying on the top of a book. She opened it. It was written in pencil.

Dear Kitty,

Here is the book you wanted. I was just going to send it when I met Dr. Fane and he said he’d bring it himself as he was passing the house.

V.H.

She rang the bell and when the boy came asked him who had brought the book and when.

“Master brought it after lunch,” he answered.

Then it had been Walter. She rang up the Colonial Secretary’s office at once and asked for Charlie. She told him what she had just learned. There was a pause before he answered.

“What shall I do?” she asked.

“I’m in the middle of an important consultation. I’m afraid I can’t talk to you now. My advice to you is to sit tight⁶.”

She put down the receiver. She understood that he was not alone.

She sat down again, at a desk, and decided to think over the situation. Of course Walter probably thought she was sleeping: there was no reason why she should not lock herself in. She tried to remember if they had been talking. Certainly they had not been talking loud. And there was the hat. But it was no use blaming Charlie for that, it was natural enough, and there was nothing to tell that Walter had noticed it. He was probably in a hurry and had just left the book and note on his way to some appointment. The strange thing was that he had tried the door and then the two windows. If he thought she was asleep it was unlike him to disturb her. What a fool she had been!

Charlie had said that he would stand by her, and if the worse came to the worse, well… Let Walter kick up a row⁷ if he chose. She had Charlie; what did she care? Perhaps it would be the best thing for Walter to know. She had never cared for Walter and she had loved Charlie Townsend. After all, she might tell her husband the truth.

VI

Within three months of her marriage she knew that she had made a mistake; but it had been her mother’s fault even more than hers.

There was a photograph of her mother, Mrs. Garstin, in the room and Kitty’s eyes fell on it. She did not know why she kept it there, for she was not very fond of her mother; there was one of her father too, but that was downstairs on the grand piano. He was a little man, with tired eyes, a long upper lip, and a thin mouth; a witty photographer had told him to look pleasant, but he had succeeded only in looking severe. Mother’s photograph showed her in the dress in which she had gone to Court when her husband was made a King’s Counsel. She was very impressive in the velvet gown, with feathers in her hair and flowers in her hand. She held herself straight. She was a woman of fifty, thin, with flat chest, prominent cheek-bones and a large, well-shaped nose. She had a great quantity of very smooth black hair, and Kitty had always suspected that it was dyed. Her fine black eyes were never still and this was the most noticeable thing about her. They moved from one part of you to another, to other persons in the room, and then back to you; you felt that she was criticizing you, watchful meanwhile of all that went on around her, and that the words she spoke had no connection with her thoughts.

VII

Mrs. Garstin was a hard, cruel, managing, ambitious, parsimonious, and stupid woman. She was the daughter, one of five, of a solicitor in Liverpool, and Bernard Garstin had met her when he was on the circuit⁸. He had seemed then a young promising man and her father said he would go far. He hadn’t. He was scrupulous, industrious, and capable, but he had not the will to advance himself. Mrs. Garstin despised him. But she recognized, though with bitterness, that she could only achieve success through him. She nagged him without mercy. She discovered that if she wanted him to do something which his sensitiveness revolted against she had only to give him no peace and eventually, exhausted, he would give up. She cultivated the people who might be useful. She flattered the solicitors who would send her husband briefs⁹ and was familiar with their wives. She made much of promising politicians.

In twenty-five years Mrs. Garstin never invited any one to dine at her house because she liked him. She gave large dinner parties at regular intervals. But parsimony was as strong in her as ambition. She hated to spend money. She could never persuade herself that people when they were eating and talking knew what they drank. She wrapped cheap sparkling wine in a napkin and thought her guests took it for champagne.

Bernard Garstin had a fair though not a large practice. Mrs. Garstin made him stand for parliament. The expense of the election was covered by the party, but she could not make herself spend enough money to nurse the voters. So Bernard Garstin was beaten. Though Mrs. Garstin wanted to be a member’s wife she bore her disappointment with courage. She had made contact with a number of prominent persons and she appreciated the addition to her social importance.

But he was still a junior and many younger men than he had already taken silk¹⁰. It was necessary that he should too, because it insulted her to go in to dinner after women ten years younger than herself. But here she encountered in her husband a stubbornness which she had not for years been accustomed to. He was afraid that as а К. C. he would get no work. A bird in the hand was worth two in the bush¹¹, he told her, to which she replied that a proverb was the last refuge of the weak-minded. He said that his income would be halved. She would not listen. She gave him no peace and at last, as always, he gave up. He applied for silk and it was promptly awarded him.

His doubts were justified. He made no carrier and his briefs were few. But he concealed any disappointment, and if he reproached his wife it was in his heart. He grew perhaps a little more silent, but he had always been silent at home, and no one in his family noticed a change in him. His daughters had never looked upon him as anything but a source of income; and now, understanding that through his fault money was less plentiful, the indifference they had felt for him was mixed with contempt. It never occurred to them to ask themselves what were the feelings of the little man who went out early in the morning and came home at night. He was a stranger to them, but because he was their father they took it for granted that he should love and cherish them.

VIII

But there was a quality of courage in Mrs. Garstin which was admirable. She let no one in her immediate circle, which to her was the world, see how embarrassed she was by the failure of her hopes. She made no change in her style of living. By careful management she was able to give as showy dinners as she had done before, and she met her friends with the same bright cheerfulness which she had so long cultivated. She was a useful guest among persons to whom small talk¹² did not come easily, for she was never at a loss with a new topic and could be trusted immediately to break an awkward silence with a suitable observation.

It was unlikely now that Bernard Garstin would ever become a judge of the High Court, but he might still hope for a County Court judgeship or at the worst an appointment in the Colonies. Meanwhile she had the satisfaction of seeing him appointed Recorder¹³ of a Welsh town.

Then Mrs. Garstin set her hopes on her daughters. By arranging good marriages for them she expected to compensate all the disappointments of her career. There were two, Kitty and Doris. Doris gave no sign of good looks, her nose was too long and her figure was lumpy. But Kitty was a beauty. When she was still a child she had large, dark eyes, brown, curling hair, exquisite teeth and a lovely skin. Her features would never be very good, for her chin was too square and her nose, though not so long as Doris’s, too big. Her beauty depended a lot on her youth, and Mrs. Garstin realized that she must marry in the first flush of her maidenhood. Kitty had a charming cheerfulness and the desire to please. Mrs. Garstin gave her all the affection, a competent, calculating affection, of which she was capable; she dreamed ambitious dreams; it was not a good marriage she aimed at for her daughter, but a brilliant one.

Kitty had been brought up with the knowledge that she was going to be a beautiful woman and she suspected her mother’s ambition. It accorded with her own desires. She was launched upon the world and she was a success. Very soon she had a dozen men in love with her. But none was suitable. Kitty was prepared to flirt with them, but when they proposed to her, she refused them with tact but decision.

Her first season passed without the perfect suitor presenting himself, and the second also; but she was young and could afford to wait. Mrs. Garstin told her friends that she thought it a pity for a girl to marry till she was twenty-one. But a third year passed and then a fourth. Kitty still danced a great deal; but still no one whose position and income were satisfactory asked her to marry him. Mrs. Garstin began to grow uneasy. She noticed that Kitty was beginning to attract men of forty and over. She reminded her that she would not be any longer so pretty in a year or two and that young girls were coming out all the time. Mrs Garstin warned her daughter that she would miss her market. Kitty shrugged her shoulders. She thought herself as pretty as ever, prettier perhaps, for she had learnt how to dress in the last four years, and she had plenty of time. If she wanted to marry just to be married there were a dozen boys who would jump at the chance. Surely the right man would come along sooner or later. But Mrs. Garstin judged the situation more shrewdly: with anger in her heart for the beautiful daughter who had missed her chances she set her standard a little lower. She looked about for a young lawyer or a business man whose future inspired her with confidence.

Kitty reached the age of twenty-five and was still unmarried. Mrs. Garstin was maddened. She asked her how much longer she expected her father to support her. She put down Kitty’s failure to stupidity. Then Doris came out. She had a long nose still, and a poor figure, and she danced badly. In her first season she became engaged to Geoffrey Dennison. He was the only son of a prosperous surgeon who had been given a baronetcy during the war. Geoffrey would inherit a title – it is not very grand to be a medical baronet, but a title, thank God, is still a title – and a very comfortable fortune.

Kitty in a panic married Walter Fane.

IX

She had known him but a little while. She had no idea when or where they had first met till after their engagement he told her that it was at a dance to which some friends had brought him. She certainly paid no attention to him then and if she danced with him it was because she was good-natured and was glad to dance with any one who asked her. She didn’t recognize him when a day or two later at another dance he came up and spoke to her. Then she remarked that he was at every dance she went to.

“You know, I’ve danced with you at least a dozen times now and you must tell me your name,” she said to him at last in her laughing way.

He was obviously taken aback.

“Do you mean to say you don’t know it? I was introduced to you.”

“Oh, but people always mumble. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if you hadn’t an idea what my name was.”

He smiled at her. His face was serious, but his smile was very sweet.

“Of course I know it.” He was silent for a moment or two. “Have you no curiosity?” he asked then.

“As much as most women.”

“It didn’t occur to you to ask somebody or other what my name was?”

“Well, what is it?”

“Walter Fane.”

She did not know why he came to dances, he did not dance very well, and he seemed to know few people. He certainly did not behave like any of the other youths who had been in love with her. Most of them told her so frankly and wanted to kiss her: a good many did. But Walter Fane never talked of her and very little of himself. He was rather silent; she did not mind that because she had plenty to say and it pleased her to see him laugh when she made a funny remark; but when he talked it was not stupidly. He was evidently shy. It appeared that he lived in the East and was home on leave.

One Sunday afternoon he appeared at their house in South Kensington. There were a dozen people there, and he sat for some time, feeling a bit uncomfortable, and then went away. Her mother asked her later who he was.

“I haven’t an idea. Did you ask him to come here?”

“Yes, I met him at the Baddeleys. He said he’d seen you at various dances. I said I was always at home on Sundays.”

“His name is Fane and he’s got some sort of job in the East.”

“Yes, he’s a doctor. Is he in love with you?”

“I really don’t know!”

“I thought you knew by now when a young man was in love with you.”

“I wouldn’t marry him if he were,” said Kitty lightly. Mrs. Garstin did not answer. Her silence was heavy with displeasure. Kitty flushed: she knew that her mother did not care now whom she married so long as somehow she got her off her hands.

X

During the next week she met him at three dances and now he was a bit more communicative. He was a doctor, certainly, but he did not practise; he was a bacteriologist (Kitty had only a very vague idea what that meant) and he had a job at Hong Kong. He was going back in the autumn. He talked a lot about China. She knew how to look interested in whatever people talked to her of, but indeed the life in Hong Kong sounded quite exciting; there were clubs and tennis and racing and polo and golf.

“Do people dance much there?”

“Oh, yes, I think so.”

She wondered whether he told her these things with a motive. He seemed to like her society, but never by a pressure of the hand, by a glance or by a word, did he give the smallest indication that he looked upon her as anything but a girl whom you met and danced with. On the following Sunday he came again to their house. Her father was at home, and he and Walter Fane had a long chat. She asked her father afterwards what they had talked of.

“It appears he works at Hong Kong. The Chief Justice¹⁴ is an old friend of mine. He seems an unusually intelligent young man.”

“It’s not often you like any of my young men, father,” she said.

His kind, tired eyes rested upon her.

“Are you going to marry him by any chance?”

“Certainly not.”

“Is he in love with you?”

“He shows no sign of it.

“Do you like him?”

“I don’t think I do very much. He irritates me a little.”

He was not her type at all. He was short, but thin; dark and clean-shaven, with very regular, clear-cut features. His eyes were almost black, but not large; they were curious, but not very pleasant eyes. With his straight, delicate nose, his fine brow and well-shaped mouth he ought to have been good-looking. But surprisingly enough he was not. His expression was slightly sarcastic and now that Kitty knew him better she realized that she was not quite comfortable with him. He had no cheerfulness.

By the end of the season they had seen a lot of one another, but he had remained as distant and impenetrable as ever. He was not exactly shy with her, but embarrassed. Kitty came to the conclusion that he was not in love with her. She thought he liked her and found her easy to talk to, but when he returned to China in November he would not think of her again.

Then came the announcement of Doris’s engagement to Geoffrey Dennison. Doris, at eighteen, was making quite a suitable marriage, and she was twenty-five and single. Supposing she did not marry at all? Kitty’s heart sank.

XI

But one afternoon when she was walking home from Harrod’s she met Walter Fane. He stopped and talked to her. Then, casually, he asked her if she would walk with him in the Park. She had no particular wish to go home. They strolled along, talking as they always talked, of casual things, and he asked her where she was going for the summer.

“Oh, we always bury ourselves in the country. You see, father is exhausted after the term’s work and we just go to the quietest place we can find.”

Kitty spoke with her tongue in her cheek¹⁵, for she knew quite well that her father had not enough work to tire him and even if he had his convenience would never matter in the choice of a holiday. But a quiet place was a cheap place.

“Don’t you think those chairs look rather inviting?” said Walter suddenly.

She saw two green chairs under a tree on the grass.

“Let us sit in them,” she said.

But when they were seated he seemed to grow strangely distant. He was an odd creature. Suddenly he turned to her. His face was white.

“I want to say something to you.”

She looked at him quickly and she saw that his eyes were filled with a painful anxiety.

“I want to ask you if you’ll marry me.”

“I didn’t expect it at all,” she answered, extremely surprised.

“Didn’t you know I was awfully in love with you?”

“You never showed it.”

“I’m very awkward and clumsy. I always find it more difficult to say the things I mean than the things I don’t.”

Her heart began to beat a little more quickly. She had been proposed too often before, but no one had ever asked her to marry him in a manner which was so strangely tragic.

“It’s very kind of you,” she said, doubtfully.

“I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. I wanted to ask you before, but I could never make myself do it. I didn’t want to lose hope. But now you’re going away and in the autumn I have to go back to China.”

“I’ve never thought of you in that way,” she said helplessly.

He said nothing more. He looked down on the grass gloomily. She was a little frightened, but she was thrilled also.

“You must give me time to think.”

Still he did not say anything. She must talk it over with her mother. She had waited, thinking he would answer, and now, she did not know why, she found it difficult to make a movement. When you sat close to him you saw how good his features were, and how cold his face.

“I don’t know you, I don’t know you at all,” she said tremulously.

He gave her a look. His eyes had a tenderness which she had never seen in them before, but there was something pleading in them, like a dog’s that has been whipped, which slightly annoyed her.

It was certainly the oddest proposal she had ever had. She was not in the least in love with him. She did not know why she hesitated to refuse him at once.

“I’m awfully stupid,” he said. “I want to tell you that I love you more than anything in the world, but I find it so awfully difficult to say.”

Now that was odd too, for inexplicably enough it touched her; he wasn’t really cold, of course, it was his manner that was unfortunate: she liked him at that moment better than she had ever liked him before. Doris was to be married in November. He would be on his way to China then and if she married him she would be with him. It wouldn’t be very nice to be a bridesmaid at Doris’s wedding. She would be glad to escape that. And then Doris as a married woman and herself single! Everyone knew how young Doris was and it would make her seem older. It wouldn’t be a very good marriage for her, but it was a marriage, and the fact that she would live in China made it easier. She was afraid of her mother’s bitter tongue. Why all the girls who had come out with her were married long ago and most of them had children; she was tired of going to see them and smiling at their babies. Walter Fane offered her a new life. She turned to him.

“When would you want to marry me?”

He gave a sudden gasp of delight, and his white cheeks flushed.

“Now. At once. As soon as possible. We’d go to Italy for our honeymoon. August and September.”

That would save her from spending the summer in the country with her father and mother. She imagined the announcement in the Morning Post that the bridegroom has to return to the East, so the wedding would take place at once. For the moment at least Doris would be in the background and when Doris’s much grander wedding took place she would be far away.

She stretched out her hand.

“I think I like you very much. You must give me time to get used to you.”

“Then it’s yes?” he interrupted.

“I suppose so.”

XII

She knew him very little then, and now, though they had been married for nearly two years, she knew him just a little more. At first she had been touched by his kindness and flattered, though surprised, by his passion. He was extremely considerate; he was very attentive to her comfort. He was constantly giving her little presents. And he was always exceedingly polite. He rose to his feet when she entered a room, he gave her his hand to help her out of a car, if he chanced to meet her in the street he took off his hat, he opened the door for her when she left a room, he never came into her bedroom or her boudoir without a knock. He treated her not as Kitty had seen most men treat their wives. It was pleasing and yet a trifle comic. Their relations didn’t draw her closer to him. He was passionate then, fierce, oddly hysterical too, and sentimental.

He was really emotional. His self-control was due to shyness or to long training, she did not know which. When there was a party and every one started singing Walter could never make himself join in. He sat there smiling to show that he was pleased and amused, but his smile was forced: it was more like a sarcastic grin, and you could not help feeling that he thought all those people enjoying themselves a pack of fools. He could not make himself play the round games which Kitty with her high spirits liked so much. On their journey out to China he had absolutely refused to put on fancy dress when everyone else was wearing it.

Kitty was lively; she was willing to chatter all day long and she laughed easily. His silence disconcerted her. If it was raining and she said: “It’s raining cats and dogs,” she expected him something to say. But he remained silent. Sometimes it was awful.

“I said it was raining cats and dogs,” she repeated.

“I heard you,” he answered, with his affectionate smile.

It showed that he had not meant to be offensive. He did not speak because he had nothing to say. But if nobody spoke unless he had something to say, Kitty reflected, with a smile, the human race would very soon lose the use of speech.

XIII

The fact was, of course, that he had no charm. That was why he was not popular, and she had not been long in Hong Kong before she discovered that he was not. She remained very vague about his work. She realized that to be the government bacteriologist was no great importance. He didn’t discuss that part of his life with her. Because she was willing to be interested in anything at first she had asked him about it. He put her off with a jest.

“It’s very dull and technical,” he said on another occasion. “And it’s extremely underpaid.”

He was very reserved. All she knew about his birth, his education, and his life before he met her, she had learnt by direct questioning. It was odd, the only thing that seemed to annoy him was a question. She understood that he did not care to reply not because he had anything to hide from her, but merely from a natural secretiveness. It bored him to talk about himself. It made him shy and uncomfortable. He did not know how to be open. He was fond of reading, but he read books which seemed to Kitty very dull. He never relaxed. He was fond of only two games: tennis and bridge.

She wondered why he had ever fallen in love with her. And yet it was quite certain that he loved her madly. He would do anything in the world to please her. He was like wax in her hands. She supposed he was clever, everyone seemed to think he was, but except very occasionally when he was with two or three people he liked and was in the mood, she had never found him entertaining. He did not precisely bore her, he left her indifferent.

XIV

Though Kitty had met his wife at various tea-parties she had been some weeks in Hong Kong before she saw Charles Townsend. She was introduced to him only when with her husband she went to dine at his house. Charles Townsend was Assistant Colonial Secretary and Kitty didn’t want to allow him to use her with the arrogance which she saw in Mrs. Townsend. The room in which they were received was spacious. It was a large party. They were the last to come and as they entered Chinese servants in uniform were handing round cocktails and olives. Mrs. Townsend greeted them in her casual fashion and looking at a list told Walter whom he was to take in to dinner.

Kitty saw a tall and very handsome man approaching them.

“This is my husband.”

“I have the privilege of sitting next to you,” he said.

She immediately felt at ease and the sense of hostility vanished from her bosom. Though his eyes were smiling she had seen in them a quick look of surprise. She understood it perfectly.

“I won’t be able to eat any dinner,” he said, “and if I know Dorothy the dinner’s damned good”.

“Why not?”

“Some one really had to warn me.”

“What about?”

“No one said a word. I didn’t know that I was going to meet a real beauty.”

“Now what should I say to that?”

“Nothing. Leave me to do the talking. And I’ll say it over and over again.”

When they were sitting side by side at table he told her that he had known Walter Fane ever since he came to the Colony.

“We play bridge together. He’s the best bridge player at the Club.”

She told Walter on the way home.

“That’s not saying very much, you know.”

“How does he play?”

“Not badly, but when he has bad cards he goes all to pieces.”

“Does he play as well as you?”

“I have no illusions about my play. I should describe myself as a very good player in the second class. Townsend thinks he’s in the first. He isn’t.”

“Don’t you like him?”

“I neither like him nor dislike him. I believe he’s not bad at his job and everyone says he’s a good sportsman. He doesn’t very much interest me.”

It was not the first time that Walter’s moderation had exasperated her. She asked herself why it was necessary to be so prudent: you either liked people or you didn’t. She had liked Charles Townsend very much. And she had not expected to. He was probably the most popular man in the Colony. It was supposed that the Colonial Secretary would retire soon and everyone hoped that Townsend would succeed him. He played tennis and polo and golf. He kept racing ponies. He was always ready to help. He put on no airs.¹⁶ Kitty did not know why she had thought that he was snobbish: she had been extremely silly; you couldn’t accuse him of that.

She had enjoyed her evening. They had talked of the theatres in London, and of all the things she knew about; and later, when the men came into the drawing-room after dinner, he had strolled over and sat beside her again. Of course he had charm. That was what made him so pleasant.

He was tall, six foot two at least, she thought, and he had a beautiful figure. He was well-dressed, the best-dressed man in the room, and he wore his clothes well. His face was deeply sunburned, but the sun had not taken the healthy colour from his cheeks. She liked the little curly moustache which did not hide his full red lips. He had short black hair. But of course his eyes, under thick, bushy eyebrows, were his best feature: they were so very blue, and they had a laughing tenderness. No man with those blue eyes could hurt any one.

She knew that she had made an impression on him. When she shook hands with him to say good-bye, he gave her hand a pressure that she could not mistake.

“I hope we’ll see you again soon,” he said casually, but his eyes gave his words a meaning which she could not fail to understand.

“Hong Kong is very small, isn’t it?” she said.

XV

Nobody could think then that within three months they would be on such terms¹⁷. He had told her since that he was crazy about her on that first evening. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She knew that he was in love with her before he told her, and a little frightened she kept him at a distance. It was difficult. She was afraid to let him kiss her, for the thought of his arms about her made her heart beat so fast. She had never been in love before. It was wonderful. And now that she knew what love was she felt a sudden sympathy for the love that Walter had for her. She teased him, playfully, and saw that he enjoyed it. She had been perhaps a little afraid of him, but now she had more confidence. He was surprised and pleased. One of these days, she thought, he would become quite human.

And when Charlie became her lover the situation between herself and Walter seemed absolutely absurd. She could hardly look at him, so serious and self-controlled, without laughing. She was too happy to feel unkindly towards him. She had hesitated some time before the final step, not because she did not want to give way to Charlie’s passion, her own was equal to his, but because her upbringing and all the conventions of her life limited her. The final act was due to accident; neither of them had seen the opportunity till it was face to face with them.

XVI

Her happiness, sometimes almost more than she could bear, renewed her beauty. Her starry eyes gained a more significant expression; her skin was dazzling. She looked eighteen once more. She was at the height of her glowing loveliness. It was impossible not to remark it and her women friends asked her if she was going to have a baby.

They managed their intrigue with skill. They could not meet often alone, sometimes in the curio shop, now and then after lunch in her house when no one was about; but she saw him a lot here and there.

She worshipped him. He was splendid. In tennis clothes he looked just like a boy. Of course he was proud of his figure: it was the best figure she had ever seen. He never ate bread or potatoes or butter. And he did a lot of exercise. She liked the care he took of his hands; he was manicured once a week. He was a wonderful athlete and the year before he had won the local tennis championship. Certainly he was the best dancer she had ever danced with; it was a dream to dance with him. No one would think he was forty. She told him she did not believe it.

“I believe it’s all bluff and you’re really twenty-five.”

He laughed. He was well pleased.

“Oh, my dear, I have a son of fifteen. I’m middle-aged. In another two or three years I’ll just be a fat old man.”

“You’ll be adorable when you’re a hundred.”

She did not believe there was anything he could not do: he was very clever at his work too and she shared his pleasure when he told her that the Governor had particularly congratulated him on the way he had done some difficult job.

Oh, how she wished that she were his wife rather than Walter’s!