Two hours later, when Piers himself opened the door, he found Vanna in practically the same attitude in which he had left her, crouched in the corner of the sofa. The fire had died out in the grate, and the air of the little room struck bleak and chill. The face turned towards him had the delicacy of an etching, the dark brows arched above the deep-set eyes, the finely moulded cheeks white and wan. Unlike most women, Vanna’s attraction was distinct from colour; she looked her best, not her worst, in minutes of mental strain. Piers closed the door, approached her hastily, and, taking her hands in his, drew her to his side. He spoke but two words, but they were prompted by the force which is the greatest diviner of the needs of the human heart, and the whole wealth of the language could not have added to their eloquence.
“My Joy!” he said, in that deep, full voice which Vanna had heard but once or twice before, in the great moments of their love.
They wept, and clung together, and Vanna’s hungry heart found comfort once more. After all, would she have been more content if Piers had not rebelled?
Chapter Twenty One.
Parted.
The next year passed slowly and heavily. In the spring Jean had an illness which made it necessary for her to spend several months on the sofa—a decree which she accepted with extraordinary resignation. Nothing could have demonstrated so powerfully the change which the last seven years had wrought in her physical condition as this willingness to be shut off from social life.
“I’ve been so tired,” she confided in Vanna, letting her head fall back on the pillow, and closing her eyes with a long-drawn sigh, “so tired, that it’s been a struggle to get through each day. It’s bliss to be lazy, and to feel that one is justified. When I wake up in the morning and remember that I needn’t get up for breakfast, I could whoop with joy. The doctor expected me to rebel. Goodness! I wonder how many thousand tired women would hail such a prescription—to lie in bed until eleven; dress quietly, and go down to the sofa; read amusing books; have a friend to tea; sleep again, to be fresh for the husband’s return; to bed at nine; and you must not be worried! My dear, it’s Heaven begun below! I don’t say I should like it as a permanency, but as a change from general servants’ work (which is plain English for a middle-class wife and mother) it is highly refreshing. We’ll have to get an extra maid, of course. I’ve worked like a slave to keep the house as it must be kept if I’m to have any peace in life. We have such heaps of silver and in town it needs constant cleaning, and the mending is everlasting, and the making for the children, and the shopping, and helping in the nursery to set nurse free to do some washing. The laundry bills are ruinous; but you must have children in white! It’s a nuisance having to spend more. It always happens like that with us. Just as we say, ‘the next quarter must be lighter; we shall need nothing new,’ bang comes another big drain, and sends us back farther than ever. Money is a trial! You don’t half realise how much you are saved by having a comfortable income, Vanna. That’s a big blessing, and you ought to be thankful for it.”
Vanna considered. No! she was not actively thankful. When at any special moment the subject was brought before her, she could indeed realise the benefit of a sufficiency of money, which enabled her to choose and carry on the work which was most congenial; but as a rule the accustomed good was calmly taken for granted, and brought no feeling of joy. She made a mental note, and passed on to the consideration of Jean’s problem.