CHAPTER VI
UNE CHAMBRE À LOUER
There is some uncatalogued sense in man which seems immediately aware when a woman is at a loose end, when there is une chambre à louer in her heart. There is a story told of Don Juan which relates how the famous gallant was unsuccessful with three women in his life; one was a middle-class woman who adored her husband, the second was a nun who kept true to her vows, and the third was a cocotte who, having lived the “gay life” for many years and “ ... grown old in the service of pleasure, love no longer made any appeal.” The woman who is estranged from her husband, who no longer cares for him, has no need to proclaim the tidings upon the house-tops. Men are subtly and quickly aware that her heart is free, and consider not only that she is fair game for any arrows they may care to shoot, but that they are offering her something she cannot live without and that she is sure to accept from someone sooner or later. One often hears a man speak of an unhappy wife as that “poor little woman,” but he never doubts that he can make her happy where her spouse has failed.
The face of life seemed now to change for Claudia. Her admirers were bolder with their compliments, more pressing in their invitations; and although some of them were secretly rather intimidated by her direct-glancing, critical eyes and occasionally cynical tongue, they gave her plainly to understand that she need not waste her sweetness upon the desert air. She had lost that happy, absorbed look a woman wears when she is in love, but her personality had gained from the social point of view, for she was more arresting, more vivid, and she had always been accounted a good companion and conversationalist. But Claudia had not studied le monde où l’on s’ennuie for some years for nothing, and though she had hitherto kept a little aloof from certain phases, she was not ignorant, nor likely to let her vanity lead her into foolishness. The obvious love-hunter only amused her, and she used such men just as much as it suited her convenience.
Besides Frank Hamilton she found only one man that really interested her and whose companionship she enjoyed—Charles Littleton, the American publisher. She had met him since their first dinner-party at one or two houses she frequented, and a sort of cheery understanding had grown up between them. Her brain was much more subtle than his, but he always responded when she led the way. He had a sense of humour and all sorts of stories to tell her of authors whom she only knew between bookcovers. His talk was always racy, and he occasionally used quaint idioms and expressions that gave his conversation a different flavour from that which was usually poured into her ears at dinners and at homes.
The breach between Claudia and Gilbert had not been lessened by Jack’s mésalliance. Gilbert writhed under the publicity, and though he knew it was a nine-days’ wonder and would soon evaporate, he was infuriated with the house of Iverson and the offspring of Circe. A letter from his mother, quite illogical and trying to make him appear responsible for the marriage, made him more irritable. His reply to it was dignified, pointing out her untenable position—the attitude of a strong man towards women must be maintained, even with a mother—but he felt the sting of it all the same. His father, whom he met the next day, was not illogical, but there was an atmosphere of chilliness and silence on the subject which was probably more unpleasant to him than his mother’s letter. A comic paper came out with a cartoon showing him giving advice on her contracts to The Girlie Girl. In view of it all, Claudia’s attitude was the worst of all. She took up Jack’s own attitude, that he was at liberty to do as he pleased with his life. She was logical and perfectly calm during their discussions, and Gilbert, to his great disgust, found himself forced into becoming illogical, which is enough to exasperate any lawyer, even a briefless one.
“It’s a disgrace to us all,” he said stormily, his sombre grey eyes dark under the lowered lids, “a beastly scandal.”
“Why are we disgraced?” said Claudia calmly, also forced to assume a position she had never meant to take. “She’s not your wife, she’s Jack’s.” A satirical smile curved her lips as she tried to imagine Gilbert married to The Girlie Girl.