“Dammer and her arristocratic ways! Daughter of a Sir and a Lady, eh? Just wait till we get through with them Sirs and Ladies. We’ll mow ’em down. You’ll see. Robbin’ us poor toilers that does all the work! We’ll put an end to their peerages and their deer-parks. What Germany leaves of these birds we’ll finish up. And then we’ll take this rotten United States, the rottenest tyranny of all. Gawdammit! You just wait!”
His wife just waited till he had smashed the picture in the face, knocked the pretty lady’s portrait to the floor and walked on it as he strode out to his revolution. Incidentally he trod on little Sister’s hand, and she sent up a caterwaul. Her little brother howled in duet. Then father turned on them.
“Aw, shut up or I’ll––”
He did not finish his sentence. He rarely finished 69 anything––except his meals. He left his children crying and his wife in a new distress; but then, revolutions cannot pause for women and children.
When he had gone, and Sister’s tears had dried on her smutty face, Mrs. Nuddle picked up the smitten and trampled picture of England’s reigning beauty and thought how lucky Miss W. was to be in England, blissful on Sir and Lady Somebody-or-other’s estate.
CHAPTER VIII
When Mr. Verrinder left Marie Louise he took from her even the props of hostility. She had nothing to lean on now, nobody to fight with for life and reputation. She had only suspense and confusion. Agitated thoughts followed one another in waves across her soul––grief for her foster-father and mother, memory of their tendernesses, remorse for seeming to have deserted them in their last hours, remorse for having been the dupe of their schemes, and remorse for that remorse, grief at losing the lovable, troublesome children, creature distress at giving up the creature comforts of the luxurious home, the revulsion of her unfettered mind and her restless young body at the prospect of exchanging liberty and occupation for the half-death of an idle cell––a kind of coffin residence––fear of being executed as a spy, and fear of being released to drag herself through life with the ball and chain of guilt forever rolling and clanking at her feet.
Verrinder’s mind was hardly more at rest when he left her and walked to his rooms. He carried the regret of a protector of England who had bungled his task and let the wards of his suspicion break loose. The fault was not his, but he would never escape the reproach. He had no taste for taking revenge on the young woman. It would not salve his pride to visit on her pretty head the thwarted punishments due Sir Joseph and his consort in guilt. Besides, in spite of his cynicism, he had been touched by Marie Louise’s sincerities. She proved them by the very contradictions of her testimony, with its history of keen intelligence alternating with curious blindness. He knew how people get themselves all tangled up in conflicting duties, how they let evils slide along, putting off till to-morrow the severing of the cords and the stepping forth with freedom from obligation. He knew that the very best people, being those who are most sensitive to gratitude and 71 to other people’s pains, are incessantly let in for complications that never involve selfish or self-righteous persons.