The Heart of Denise, and Other Tales

by S. Levett Yeats

"Who makes her dresses?" she asked. "And now give me your arm and take me to your wife."

I should not have done it, I know I should not, but my hand was forced. If I had had the moral courage I should have got out of it somehow. It was just that want of moral courage that broke me. This is something like a verdict against myself, but it is worth while setting forth the whole indictment. I began to tire of Mary's rigid rules of honesty and strict economy. She tied me down too much. I should have been allowed a run now and again. The short of it was that I began to break out of bounds, and in a few months was leading my old life once again. There was this difference, however--that formerly I had nothing to fear, whereas now it was necessary to conceal things. I flattered myself that I was still her idol. I should have known she had long ago perceived that the idol was of the earth, earthy. I had occasionally to resort to falsehood, and was almost as invariably discovered. I had not a sufficiently good memory to be a complete liar. The shame of it was knowing I was discovered; but Mary never threw it up to my face. She set herself to her duty loyally, though day by day I could see the despair eating its way through her. I had taken to gambling again, and as usual had bad luck and lost heavily. This necessitated my having to borrow some more money, which I arranged to pay back by instalments; and then I had to tell my wife that, owing to an alteration in the scales of pay, my income was so much the less. I upbraided the rules of the service, and on this occasion Mary believed me. I resolved to gamble no more. About this time my wife got ill, and when she recovered there was a small Mary in the house. During her illness things were so upset that I was compelled to frequent my club more than ever. To add to the worry to which I was subjected, the child got ill, and really seemed very ill indeed. All this involved expenditure which I did not know how to meet, and in despair one evening I turned to the cards again. It was the only thing to do. It was absurd to lose all I had lost, for the want of a little pluck to pull it back again.

One evening I had just cut into a table when a note was put into my hands. It was from my wife, asking me to come home at once, as the child seemed very ill. It was rather hard luck being dragged home; and I could do nothing. So I dropped a note back to Mary to say she had better send for the doctor, and that I would come as soon as possible. I meant to go immediately after one rubber. I won. It would have been a sin to have turned on my luck, and I played on until the small hours of the morning, and for once was fortunate. I rode back in high spirits. Near my gate some one galloped past me; I thought I recognised Brasingham's (the doctor's) nag, but wasn't quite sure. At any rate, if it was, Mary had taken my advice. I rode in softly and entered the house. A dim light was burning in the sitting-room; beyond it was the baby's room. I lifted the curtain and entered. As I came in my wife's ayah rose and salaamed, then stole softly out. I cannot tell why, but I felt I was in the presence of death. Mary was kneeling by the little bed, and in it lay our child, very quiet and still. I stepped up to my wife and put my hand on her shoulder. She looked up at me with a silent reproach in her eyes. "Wife," I said, "give me one chance more"; and without a word she came to me and lay sobbing on my heart.

We went away after that for about a month; and I think that month was a more restful one than any we had spent since the first weeks of our marriage. By the end of it, however, I was weary of the new life. I must have been mad, but I longed to get again to the old excitements. I told Mary that when we came back she should go out as much as possible--that the distraction of society would be good for her. She agreed passively. We went out a great deal after that; and somehow my wife discovered the falsehood I had told her about the reduction in my income. She did not upbraid me, but she let me understand she knew, with a quiet contempt that stung me to the quick. From this moment she changed. Whilst formerly I had to urge her to mix in society, she now appeared to seek it with an eagerness that a little surprised me. Redvers was always with her. At any rate this made things more comfortable for me in one way, for I could more openly go my own path.

I renewed my acquaintance with Mrs. Cantilivre. She always said the right thing, and she understood men--at any rate she understood me. If Mrs. Cantilivre had been my wife I would have been a success in life. Bit by bit all my old feelings for her awoke again, and then the crash came. It was the night of the Cavalry Ball. I asked Myra Cantilivre for a dance; but she preferred to sit it out. I cannot tell how it happened, but ten minutes after I was at her feet, telling her I loved her more than my life--talking like a madman and a fool.

She bent down and kissed my forehead. "Poor boy!" she said; and as I looked up I saw Mary on Redvers' arm not six feet from us. I rose, and Myra Cantilivre leaned back in her chair and put up the big plumes of her fan to her face. Mary turned away without a word, and walked down the passage with her companion.

I followed, but dared not speak to her. Old Cramley, the Deputy Quartermaster General, buttonholed me. He was a senior officer, and I submitted. Half an hour later, when I escaped, my wife was gone. I reached home at last. Mary was there, in a dark grey walking dress, a small bag in her hand. I met her in the hall, and she stepped aside as if my touch would pollute her.

"Mary," I said, "I can explain all."

"I want no explanation: let me pass, please."

She went out into the night.