“What an idea!” replied Lily, in a vexed tone. “Do you think I’m going to play the goody goody ‘lalerperlooser’? One has to do as others do and not make one’s self conspicuous.”
“Quite right!” said Trampy.
But she turned crimson with rage when Trampy, some other night, forgot himself so far as to monkey-claw the girls. There were short violent scenes when they returned home, chairs upset, angry words. Trampy could not understand this jealousy. When he was confronted with these outbursts, he was greatly surprised, sought for a reason, muttered Jimmy’s name—that was his sensitive point: he thought of it in spite of himself—ironically inquired of Lily if it was Jimmy who had put all that nonsense into her head. Lily was sorry to see the conversation take this turn. She flung her arms round her husband’s neck, loved him, kissed him prettily, the great silly: he knew better; he knew she never thought of Jimmy:
“Kiss me, darling! I wish you would make me happy,” said Lily, moved to pity for herself. “I want to be a good little wife!”
Thereupon they made it up. Lily did not feel, with her husband, that thrill which she had often noticed in other women: but she wanted to love him, stubbornly pursued the idea, fagged away at her love like a little school-girl only too anxious to learn. Trampy, on his side, could be amiable when he liked. He became the old Trampy again at times and treated Lily like a little playfellow. They would both run about in the Biergarten, in the morning, at practice-time, larking like children, hiding behind the tables, and their laughter enlivened the empty place, still soiled with the remnants of last night’s meal and littered with programs and cigar-stumps.
And time passed like this for weeks ... it was months now ... an existence like another, with good in it and bad ... and monotonous and common....
“I should have been better off, perhaps, at home,” she thought. “If this is marriage, it’s not much.”
For, she saw it quite clearly, that wasn’t love; Trampy didn’t understand her. A “girl” and a wife were all the same to Trampy: a mere pastime, both of them. He spoke of it lightly, through the smoke of his cigar. She learned to know him, heard him boast of his prowess, caught passing words:
“Girls, girls, my!”
She would have laughed, she would even have felt flattered at being chosen among so many, if he had put an end to his conquests. But he continued to prowl round the stage-girls, as he used to do before he was married. If even he had shone upon the stage, she would have understood that he had got “swelled head,” that he was yielding to temptation; but his success was only middling. He had not made a hit at Hamburg. The manager of Ludwig’s had told him flatly that he would do well to practise and practise a great deal. Trampy posed as a victim of jealousy, spoke of showing them—all of them, if once he put his back to it!—a new turn, a discovery that would show what he was made of! Meanwhile he had a new idea, as a sketch comedian, with a make-up of his own invention, the face painted white on one side and red on the other, with wrinkles cunningly drawn—a laughing Johnny and a crying Johnny, two men in one. He pestered Lily with his plans, made her cut out dresses for him, came back from the old-clothes shop laden with uniforms in rags, into which Lily had to put patches. And shoes, in particular, ran in his head; shoes of which the soles and the uppers yawned like lips; talking shoes, which said, “Papa!” and “Mamma!” This last suggestion made Lily laugh.