§10
Lady Harman came out upon the landing. She felt absolutely without backing in the world. (If only she hadn’t told a lie!) Then with an effort she directed her course downstairs to the dining-room.
(The lie had been necessary. It was only a detail. It mustn’t blind her to the real issue.)
She entered softly and found her husband standing before the fire plunged in gloomy thoughts. Upon the marble mantel-shelf behind him was a little glass; he had been sipping port in spite of the express prohibition of his doctor and the wine had reddened the veins of his eyes and variegated the normal pallor of his countenance with little flushed areas. “Hel-lo,” he said looking up suddenly as she closed the door behind her.
For a moment there was something in their two expressions like that on the faces of men about to box.
“I want you to understand,” she said, and then; “The way you behaved——”
There was an uncontrollable break in her voice. She had a dreadful feeling that she might be going to cry. She made a great effort to be cold and clear.
“I don’t think you have a right—just because I am your wife—to control every moment of my time. In fact you haven’t. And I have a right to make engagements.... I want you to know I am going to an afternoon meeting at Lady Beach-Mandarin’s. Next week. And I have promised to go to Miss Alimony’s to tea.”
“Go on,” he encouraged grimly.
“I am going to Lady Viping’s to dinner, too; she asked me and I accepted. Later.”
She stopped.
He seemed to deliberate. Then suddenly he thrust out a face of pinched determination.
“You won’t, my lady,” he said. “You bet your life you won’t. No! So now then!”
And then gripping his hands more tightly behind him, he made a step towards her.
“You’re losing your bearings, Lady Harman,” he said, speaking with much intensity in a low earnest voice. “You don’t seem to be remembering where you are. You come and you tell me you’re going to do this and that. Don’t you know, Lady Harman, that it’s your wifely duty to obey, to do as I say, to behave as I wish?” He brought out a lean index finger to emphasize his remarks. “And I am going to make you do it!” he said.
“I’ve a perfect right,” she repeated.
He went on, regardless of her words. “What do you think you can do, Lady Harman? You’re going to all these places—how? Not in my motor-car, not with my money. You’ve not a thing that isn’t mine, that I haven’t given you. And if you’re going to have a lot of friends I haven’t got, where’re they coming to see you? Not in my house! I’ll chuck ’em out if I find ’em. I won’t have ’em. I’ll turn ’em out. See?”
“I’m not a slave.”
“You’re a wife—and a wife’s got to do what her husband wishes. You can’t have two heads on a horse. And in this horse—this house I mean, the head’s—me!”
“I’m not a slave and I won’t be a slave.”
“You’re a wife and you’ll stick to the bargain you made when you married me. I’m ready in reason to give you anything you want—if you do your duty as a wife should. Why!—I spoil you. But this going about on your own, this highty-flighty go-as-you-please,—no man on earth who’s worth calling a man will stand it. I’m not going to begin to stand it.... You try it on. You try it, Lady Harman.... You’ll come to your senses soon enough. See? You start trying it on now—straight away. We’ll make an experiment. We’ll watch how it goes. Only don’t expect me to give you any money, don’t expect me to help your struggling family, don’t expect me to alter my arrangements because of you. Let’s keep apart for a bit and you go your way and I’ll go mine. And we’ll see who’s sick of it first, we’ll see who wants to cry off.”
“I came down here,” said Lady Harman, “to give you a reasonable notice——”
“And you found I could reason too,” interrupted Sir Isaac in a kind of miniature shout, “you found I could reason too!”
“You think——Reason! I won’t,” said Lady Harman, and found herself in tears. By an enormous effort she recovered something of her dignity and withdrew. He made no effort to open the door, but stood a little hunchbacked and with a sense of rhetorical victory surveying her retreat.