When she got to the trees she looked round for a seat.
The snow on the ground was too soft for sitting purposes, even for her reckless strength to venture on, but she found at last safe anchorage on a broad wooden fence that skirted the grove, then she turned all her senses in on herself.
She fixed her eyes advisedly on a peaceful group of sheep, cuddled together on the lee side of an old beech, as being less disturbing to the mind than the tossing antlers of the deer, and then she fell to meditation.
“To begin with,” she said, “I am married. That is the one solid fact to argue from. Into the bargain I was, I believe, sane when I committed the deed which is beyond recall, even on the plea of insanity—that idea struck me once in the early days with tremendous force. I must then give up crying over spilt milk, it is a degrading pursuit and offers no loophole of escape, I must just face the future—ah, my dear, that wrings your withers, does it?” she muttered, as a cold shiver ran down her spine.
“Humphrey and I are playing at cross-purposes now, that must be put a stop to—well, perhaps it is as well to leave that to time which will do the business for him quite effectually. Ah, that picture! That has deluded the man, he has hampered himself with two wives—the sooner he returns to monogamy, the better for himself. This,” she said, touching her breast, “this is as nothing to that other! Men might fall down before her and call her blessed; they fall down before me, sure enough, but they don’t call me blessed—quite the contrary!—even Humphrey can’t go the length of that, but fancy him before that other! I wish I had never looked at her, I shall get to hate her yet, she confuses me, she complicates matters in the most annoying way! Pah! I never intended to dissect her to-day, why can’t I keep to myself, me, who belongs body and soul—soul!”
She looked down on herself with curling lips, “Soul! Well, any soul I have and all my body belongs to Humphrey Strange, as sure as any horse in his stable does. And he calls this thing wife and loves it, loves it, bless you! and in a most astonishing way. Then this wife, she honours Humphrey Strange, she obeys him, I have never gone contrary to him in one solitary thing and I never will—that is vulgar. But as for love! I don’t love the man; I see every good point in him; he dominates me in a way that is simply horrible; but love him! Why, every day it seems less possible to do it, yet it seems that one’s first and paramount duty in this amazing contract is to love—and now I have got to face this duty. How, I wonder?—Am I to set diligently to fall in love with this husband of mine, and how? And how?” she cried, with a short hard laugh.
Then she stopped thinking, and looked out on the whitened earth and the sheep huddled together still closer under a sudden sharp side blast, that whisked round their shelter and set the branches above them sighing and moaning.
The sun had sunk further into the West and had carried its glow away, and the snow had lost its glitter. Gwen shivered.
“It chokes one to think of it!” she said. Pulling her hands out of her muff, and taking off her hat, she turned her face to the blast, and let it beat her at its savage will.
“Oh, my hair—how heavy it is!” she muttered, and began pulling out the hairpins until the whole heavy mass fell about her and was caught by the wind, which shrieked with delight at its prize. “Ah, that’s better! Well—now, this duty! After all, it’s only sheer justice. I must, must, must face it! If only an earthquake would come into our lives, if I were dying or Humphrey mortally wounded, or if some catastrophe could fall on us, in the general shock and upheaval something might snap in me, some undiscovered spring might burst up and I might feel as duty demands! But in this everyday existence, in this flat country, among the flatter squires and squiresses, nothing ever happens, no one dies, no one gets a mortal wound, there is never a sign of an earthquake of any description, and yet this duty stands out as clear and as aggressive as ever.”