Hedvig walked about devoured by a silent consuming bitterness. Her feelings were a strange compound of jealousy of his overpowering interest in art and brooding anxiety at his wicked extravagance. This donation seemed to her like a challenge, like a theft from one who had sacrificed herself for him. Percy had allowed himself to be seduced, she thought. He has no power of resistance. But she dared not speak openly to him. She had a vague feeling that there was something within her that she must not betray. That is why she never went beyond her increasingly bitter reproaches that he overtired himself, and neglected himself. She wore an expression as if the crêpe were already floating round her. Yes, Percy thought sometimes that she assumed her widowhood in advance. There was something sharp and nervous in his answer:
“Why do you insist on wearing black?” he said. “I should understand you much better in sealing wax red or sulphur green.”
Her old method of holding him was no longer effective. Hedvig again began to feel his lack of respect for illness as a personal insult. By and by they almost quarrelled about Ohlesson, the chauffeur. Hedvig began to drive into town every day in the car. Then Percy would have no one to help him, she thought. Then he would be forced to rest. This made her a little easier. One day she did something she had been tempted to do for a long time. She ordered Ohlesson to drive to Selambshof.
The avenue was full of yellow leaves. Several of the old trees had blown down and there were ugly gaps as in a broken set of teeth.
Peter sat in the office puffing at an unlit cigar and looking at his papers. He had aged. He was bent, his face was flabby and yellow. Hedvig stood before him as Laura had done once upon a time. She could not help having been spoilt by so many beautiful and expensive things. For a moment she shivered at the ugliness of her brother. But in her inmost heart she tolerated him, had even a feeling of security in the presence of something intimate and familiar.
“Good-morning, Peter!”
“Good-morning, Hedvig. So the elegant Mrs. Hill visits this remote spot. Why this honour?”
Hedvig did not answer but looked out through the window with an expression of resignation.
Peter wore a look of injured innocence which suited him perfectly:
“Is it perhaps for the last dividends? Because Levy has long ago cashed them.”