“Not at all. She wanted to go very much, and he encouraged her, as I said.”
The motor stopped at this moment by the music shop where Hugh was to buy “Tristan,” and he got out.
“I shan’t be a minute,” he said. “Will you wait for me and drive me to Harley Street?”
For a moment after Hugh had left her Peggy seriously considered the propriety of telling the worse lie, breaking the previous engagement. She knew quite well that what she and Sir Thomas had been unable to do Hugh could do with the utmost ease. In a moment Edith would consent to go to Davos at once if Hugh wished it, but Hugh, in order to wish it, had to know what Peggy knew and was bound not to tell him. Yet her mind hesitated between the two courses, and for the first minute of waiting she had no idea whether she would break faith to Edith or really lie—properly lie to Hugh. She had seen that he was already more than half way toward suspicion. Either she had to quiet that by really magnificent lying, or by lying, quite as magnificent, break faith with her sister, and tell him all. Then, too, he was determined to see Sir Thomas. Perhaps Sir Thomas might not see his way to lying, if Hugh asked, as he probably would, more of these direct questions. And if Sir Thomas was to tell him, it was clearly much better that she should do so first. If anybody was to tell the truth, she had much better be the first to tell it.
And then the determining factor came into her mind, and that was the freedom and individuality of all persons. When vital matters, matters of life and death and love, came on to the stage, the ordering of the stage, the ordering of the crowd, the lights, the whole arrangement, must be made to fit the chief actor. Edith on this half-tragic, half-triumphant stage that was set for her had chosen the manner of the enactment. Peggy was but a figure in the crowd; Edith ordered her to stand thus, and to do thus, and to say thus. It was Edith’s show. She had ordered Hugh also into his place, that place where her heart was. And her lover, her beloved, had to obey no less than Peggy. This week of Munich was ordained. Edith knew the risks she ran, and she chose to run them, and, after all, it was her business. It might be expensive, but it was fine. It was young, too—gloriously, unwisely young—so young that it made Peggy feel dreadfully old. There was no calculation about it, no counting of cost. Edith was willing to risk anything to have the week she wanted, the week of the boisterous, unsuspecting Hugh. Oh! that passionate enjoyment of the pleasure of somebody else! The seven veils of the sanctuary lift there. It was the abandonment of love; and whether the tragedy to be paid for was long weeks of lingering illness, or any other supreme torture, the price was cheap. Peggy divined that; Edith knew it. And mentally Peggy abased herself when the light of that vision shone upon her, as it did while she waited in Berners Street for Hugh.
He did not keep her waiting long, and Peggy at once began to weave the web of the deceit that was forced on her. Few people had had less practice in that difficult art than she, and as she conducted this piece of diplomacy, she felt that she really must have a great natural gift that way. At the same time she remembered having been diplomatic to Hugh over the question of their going to Mannington in the summer, and her diplomacy had been blessed with singular success. Now she had two objects in view, one that Hugh should not go to Sir Thomas, the other that the vague uneasiness that was certainly rising, mist-like, from his mind should be dispelled. Edith should have the sunny week that her soul desired, and for that an unanxious, unsuspecting Hugh was necessary. She should have him, if Peggy could procure him.
“Such a wise idea of yours to go and see Sir Thomas!” she said, with extraordinary craft, “because he will certainly laugh at you, and that perhaps will set your mind at ease. And it’s most important that it should be at rest. Really it matters more than anything else.”
“Why? How is that?” asked Hugh.
“Oh! dear me, how stupid men are! Can’t you see that Edith is looking forward to Munich with the keenest, most vivid anticipations? Well, at the risk of making you more conceited than you are already, I will tell you why. It’s because she is going to be alone with you and your enjoyment. There is nothing in the world she loves as much as seeing you have a good time. And it will spoil it all for her if you are uneasy and causelessly anxious. That’s why I urge you to see Sir Thomas.”
This had a very distinct effect on Hugh.