The Heart of Penelope

by Marie Belloc Lowndes

When he turned restive, as sometimes though rarely happened, Penelope dealt out the rope with no niggard hand, or, better still, provoked something tantamount to a quarrel, followed in due course by the inevitable healing reconciliation.

But not even his interest in Mrs. Robinson's affairs—for so he described, even to himself, the feeling which dominated him—had ever caused Winfrith to neglect his own work, or the public business with which he was concerned; and this divided allegiance, as he sometimes suspected, caused her more real annoyance than his frequent and frank criticisms of her actions, and his tacit refusal to join in the pretty flatteries of her other friends. As Penelope had learnt with anger, there were times and seasons when even the most imperious note, the most urgent appeal, could not bring him to her side. But while this state of things had irked her greatly, especially in the early days of the renewal of their friendship, she had always been aware that any ordinary pleasure or personal concern was always flung aside, counted as nothing to the delight of being with her and of acting as her confidential adviser and friend.

To-day, while looking into his plain face, aware of the sternness of the strong jaw, the ugly peculiarity of an exceptionally long upper lip, Penelope's heart contracted with sudden tenderness as she evoked the memory of the long years during which they had known one another with so deep, so wordless, an intimacy.

For a moment there was silence between them. Then he said, rather sharply: 'Well, what is it you want me to do? Of course I will give you the best advice in my power, and not, I hope, for the last time.'

As he spoke he stood up and placed himself with his back to the window, and for a moment Penelope saw the heavy, broad-shouldered figure outlined against the sea and sky, his face—and this vaguely relieved her—being in complete shadow. But she turned away, looked straight before her as she said quickly, her voice full of defiant decision: 'Yes, I want to ask your advice, and more, to beg you to help me about a certain matter.' She paused, and added: 'I have made some notes on a piece of paper. I think I laid it down before you came in.'

Winfrith wheeled round, and looked at the table against which he had been leaning. On coming into the room he had paid no attention to Penelope's preparations for their interview, but now, as he became aware of the odd little bundles of lawyer's letters, each tied together with tape, and of the despatch-boxes, inscribed with the initials M. W. R., he felt amused, and even a little touched. 'These look quite old papers,' he said kindly. 'Perhaps you forgot to bring your notes in here with you, or—wait a moment—what is that you are holding in your hand?'

She frowned with annoyance. 'How stupid I am!' But the little episode relieved the tension between them; and, as a child might have done to a play-fellow, she suddenly put out her hand, and, taking his, pulled him down beside her on the long, low, leather-covered couch. 'I want to speak to you about a really serious business, and I know—at least, I am afraid—that you will disapprove of what I want to do, and that you may try and make me alter my mind.'

She spoke nervously, with a new, a gentler, note in her voice. A blessed peace stole into Winfrith's heart; he chased the dread which had for the moment possessed him, and it was in his usual tone, with his usual half-bantering manner, that he asked the reproachful question, 'Why did you say that—I mean, as to this being the last time? Surely I have not deserved that you should say such things to me!'

'No, indeed—indeed you have not!' And the hurried humility with which she spoke might well have re-awakened his premonition of coming pain and parting. 'But you will soon understand what I meant, when I have explained everything.'

Again there was silence between them; but Winfrith, her last words sounding in his ears, feeling her dear nearness, though he had moved somewhat away from where she had placed him, was in no haste to hear her confidences. Secretly he pledged himself not to scold her—indeed, to listen patiently, and to help her, however unpractical and foolish the scheme for which she sought his help.