XI
As she turned into Jermyn Street a middle-aged man, walking briskly in the same direction, came level with her. He was in evening dress, and his coat was open to the night air. He wore a soft hat, and a pipe projected from his mouth at a jaunty angle. As he walked he sang to himself as one who is glad.
Eve caught a glimpse of his features, and gave a little exclamation, whereupon the man turned and looked at her.
“Hallo!” he said, “I know you—but—good heavens! I’ve got you. But what in blazes are you doing here by yourself, tonight of all nights?”
“I’m walking home, Uncle Clementine.”
“Then, begad! it’s meself will walk with you. Always talk Irish when I’m excited—at least I believe I do; but what’s it matter? I’m excited enough to talk double Dutch tonight—aren’t you?”
“Rather,” responded Eve, for Uncle Clem awoke an echo of his mood in others.
“I should think you were. Splendid! Top-hole! Lord! Lord! Lord! What a production! Aren’t you proud?”
“Very.”
“He’s away, that young fellar of yours—he’s up and away. Always knew he had the stuff, from the day when I ran off with him in a station fly and talked fairies under the trees. He’s learnt—knew he would, and he has. Oh! he’s learnt well! Wouldn’t mind laying a fiver he’s taken a share of his knowledge from you.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“Not a bit—common sense! Tell you what, though—’tween us two—that speech was a mistake. Cheap and nasty! Drop him a hint, there’s a clever girl, to cut all that stuff right out.”
Eve smiled. “Have you ever tried to drop Wynne hints about things like that?”
“I’ve thrown him a slab of wisdom from time to time. Not that kind, perhaps. But that’s what I say—you tell him. You’ve the opportunity. Ha!” He threw up his head. “That’s one of the good things in life that I’ve missed.”
“What is?”
“To have some one who, in the night, will touch my foot with her littlest toe and breathe over the pillow all the naughty mistakes I’ve made during the day.”
“I see,” said Eve.
Something in her tone discouraged him.
“ ’Course that mayn’t be the way it’s done; I’ve no experience, but I’ve fondly imagined it was so.”
“So have I,” said Eve; “but, like yourself, I have no experience.”
“What d’you say?”
“If I stretched out my littlest toe I should bump it against the partition wall. That would be very sad, wouldn’t it?”
Uncle Clem stopped short.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. Don’t you remember our wedding talk?”
“Remember it!”
He began to walk very fast, so fast that she could scarcely keep pace with him. At last he jerked out the question:
“That travesty holds good, then? That’s why, on the night of his success, you’re walking home alone ’stead of feasting at a top-notch restaurant. Good God! And I’ve been shaking hands with myself these four hours past that my gloomy forebodings hadn’t come true—but, damn it! they have.”
“No,” exclaimed Eve, “you mustn’t say that; it isn’t so.”
“But it is.”
“No. The success was to come first. You remember we said so that day.”
“Well, what’s wrong with tonight’s success?—and you’re walking home alone.”
“Yes, tonight he has found himself.”
“And left you behind.”
“I don’t want to say that. I beg you not to say things like that. They hurt so.”
In an instant he was all sympathy.
“Why, my dear, don’t heed me. You understand the boy, and I’m only an onlooker who gets a glimpse here and there. That’s how it seemed to me at a snapshot glance—but I may be wrong. I don’t know what I’m talking about half the time. I love that husband of yours, he has such a splendid pluck.”
“Yes, he’s been so splendid, Uncle Clem—you must believe that. Never for an instant has he spared himself. He’s worked—worked—worked. That’s why he came out so finely tonight.”
“I know. But though a man does not spare himself he must always spare others—that’s the great science of life. Haven’t you worked too?”
“We’ve been partners, as we said we’d be until success was ours. And now he’s made the success, and—”
“Success as an artist, and he’s going to share it as a man?”
“I believe so—oh, I do believe so.”
Uncle Clem walked awhile in silence. When he began to talk it was almost as if he were speaking to himself.
“Queer trusting folk, we mortals,” he said. “And we set ourselves such wonderful tasks. How old Dame Nature must laugh at us and all our philosophies. Fancy two young people locking up the spark of love which had sprung between them, packing it away in a secret safe, and believing it could be brought to life when convenience allowed. How old Dame Nature must laugh! Can’t you imagine her peeping into the safe to see how the spark is getting along?” He turned suddenly upon Eve. “How is it getting along?”
“I keep it locked up here.” She pressed her hand upon her heart.
“Wonderful you!” said Uncle Clem. “God bless your trust. Hullo! This where you live?”
“Yes.”
“Can I come up for awhile?”
“Not tonight.”
“No—no—no. Of course not. He’ll come back with his pockets full of champagne, and his heart come to life. I like you, you know. I think you’re fine. You’re so damn good to look at, too. Ever hear of the purple patch?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Just thinking you’ve the leading light in your eyes that should guide a man there. Good-night.”
“Good-night, Uncle Clem.”
At two o’clock Eve took off her pretty frock, put on her plain cotton nightdress, and went to bed.