The Heart of Penelope

by Marie Belloc Lowndes

Wantley quickly laid down 'Persuasion.' He rose and went over to the bed, drew up a chair, and very tenderly and quietly took one of the thin hands lying across the counterpane in his. 'Yes, let me tell you all about ourselves,' he said quickly, forcing a light note into his voice. 'After our marriage—such a queer, quiet wedding——'

'Was Penelope there? I can't remember.'

'No, no! Penelope had already started on her travels. Just then I think she was in Japan.' He went on, speaking quickly, hardly knowing what he was saying. 'Well, Cecily had had a hard time at the Settlement—in fact, she was really quite tired out—so, to the great horror of Miss Wake, who had never heard of such a thing being done before, I took her the day we were married down to Brighton, although several people, including a brother of Miss Theresa's, offered us country-houses. In a sense we spent our honeymoon at Cecily's old convent, for we went out there almost every day. I got on splendidly with the nuns, especially with the one whom I suppose one would call the Mother Abbess. Such a woman, such a type! One of Napoleon's field-marshals in petticoats—knowing exactly what she wanted, and making the people round her do it.'

Wantley paused a moment, then went on: 'After three weeks of Brighton, this determined old lady made me take my wife to France, to Versailles. "Là vous l'aimerez bien, et vous la distrairez beaucoup!" she commanded; and of course I obeyed.'

There was a pause. 'And then you went on to Monk's Eype?' Lady Wantley raised herself on her pillows; she looked at him searchingly, but he avoided meeting her eyes. 'I felt surprised to hear of your going there,' she said, and the hand he was still holding trembled in his grasp.

'I was surprised to find myself going there'—Wantley spoke very slowly, very reluctantly—'but Cecily loves the place, and you would not have had me sell it, just after Penelope had so very generously given it over to us?'

'Oh no!' she said. And then again, 'Oh no! I did not mean that, Ludovic.'

'I have had the Beach Room taken away,' he said, almost in a whisper. 'It is entirely obliterated'; and then, trying again to speak more naturally: 'We had Philip Hammond with us part of the time; and also others of Cecily's Stratford friends, including one poor fellow who had never had more than two days' holiday in his life since he first began working! And then I want to tell you'—he was eager to get away from Monk's Eype—'about our life in town, and the sort of existence we had made for ourselves.'

Lady Wantley, for the first time, smiled. 'I know,' she said; 'people—acquaintances, and old fellow-workers of your uncle—have written to me full of joy.'

Wantley made a slight grimace. 'Well,' he observed rather shamefacedly, 'I have had to take to it all, if only in self-defence; otherwise I should never see anything of my own wife. Even as it is, I have offended a good many people, especially lately, by my determination that she shall not join any more committees or undertake any new work. Cecily is quite bewildered to find what a number of admirable folk there are in the world!'