CHAPTER XIX
AN AMIABLE STUFFED ANIMAL
“I don’t understand it,” said Lady Currey, in tones of extreme annoyance, “my husband never had a nervous breakdown.”
She was lunching tête-à-tête with Claudia at the flat, for she and her husband had quartered themselves most considerably upon her directly they had heard of Gilbert’s illness. Lady Currey’s meaning was unmistakable. In some way, she evidently held Claudia responsible.
Claudia played with her toast, but she made no reply. Gilbert was better, and his memory had returned to him, but he was again very irritable and rebellious. After the two excitements had come the reaction, and she sat facing the window, her face quite expressionless, weariness and boredom in her eyes and on her lips. Her excursion into the realm of romance was over. She did not regret her decision, but now life seemed stale and unprofitable, like the drab sea-shore when the turbulent waters have receded. It seemed to her at the moment that she had come to an end of all things. Life stretched in a grey monotone before her. She was in a cage, and what release could she hope for? Gilbert would go to Le Touquet and get better, and things would continue on just the same lines as before, only, unless her nature radically changed, she could never experiment again with the modern solace of the dissatisfied married woman. A Rhoda Carnegie, a Circe might, but apparently for her it was impossible. As Jack had said, she would always see through the whole business.
She came out of her reverie to discover Lady Currey looking at her questioningly with her shallow eyes.
“I beg your pardon,” she said contritely.
“I asked you if you really gave attention to his having good, nourishing food. I’ve always made a point of having the best English meat and fresh vegetables.”
“I don’t think it’s a question of diet,” replied Claudia, with a faint smile, “and we can’t grow our vegetables on the balcony. Dr. Neeburg says it is overwork. Your husband once told me that hard work never yet hurt any man.”
“Fancy his being locked up in a common police-cell! I shall never get over that. My poor dear Gilbert! What his feelings must have been when he recovered himself! It seems to me the police were greatly to blame in exceeding their duty, but my husband tells me we cannot take action against them.... Do you give Gilbert porridge for his breakfast? I strongly believe in porridge myself.”
“You might talk to Dr. Neeburg,” suggested her daughter-in-law. Her only comfort was the great bowl of narcissi in the centre of the table and Billie’s warm, loving little body against her skirt. She was certain he looked up every now and then with sympathy in his soft eyes.