Grace’s husband had no sympathy with the Salvation Army—he didn’t feel the need of conversion; and Grace, for her part, had no patience with men who refused to sign the pledge. Mr. Somp took revenge for domestic wrongs in his official capacity, by moving his wife along when he found her beating her drum at street corners. Mrs. Somp punished him by keeping him awake at night while, to use his own words, she sneaked to God abart him. She even addressed God in the highways on this intensely private matter, when she saw her husband approaching. She followed St. Paul’s advice by being urgent in season and out in her rebuking, long-suffering, teaching and exhorting. Her lofty sense of right and wrong depressed him; he grew slack, lost his standing in the force and gradually ceased to work. His self-confidence melted before her superior morality.
So she went back to the Barringtons by the day to do charring and to give extra help. That was how Peter came to know all about her intimate matrimonial problems. He heard the other side from Mr. Grace and Mr. Somp, who now had a common grievance—they wanted to drink and Grace tried to prevent them. “Don’t you never marry a good woman,” they both advised him; “good wimen is bad.”
Grace, on the other hand, despite her frequent complaints, held that her husband was a very decent man, but bone-lazy. Having proved prayer useless, she could think of only one other remedy. “If I was ter die, father’d be sorry and my ‘usband ‘ad ‘ave ter work; but I ain’t got the ‘eart ter do it.”
To which Cookie would reply, “I’m sure yer ‘aven’t, dearie. It’s them as should do the dyin’.”
After Ocky’s arrest a period of flatness followed. The uncertainty which had kept the household nervous and hoping for the best no longer buoyed them up. Until they heard that Waffles had been sentenced, they could make no plans for Jehane’s future. Barrington placed money at his disposal for his defence and went to see him once. He never disclosed what happened; but his face was ashen when he returned. All that evening, when anyone spoke to him, he seemed to have to wake before he could answer. Next morning he told Jehane, “Ocky wants to see you.” She shook her head. “He’s dragged me low enough. I never intend to see him again.”
“If that’s the way you feel, you couldn’t help him; it’s better that you shouldn’t visit him.”
She looked into the shrewd gray eyes fiercely. She wanted to find anger there—she could resent anger; she found only quiet judgment. “You don’t mean that you actually expected me to go to him?”