There came no letter.
CHAPTER IV
That afternoon Marian had gone out, thinking it possible Maddison might call, and she was pleased to hear on her return that he had done so. He was anxious then: waiting makes the heart grow fonder.
But it had not occurred to her that he might stalemate her by adopting similar tactics to her own. Several days went by and he neither made any appearance nor gave any sign, so that she began to fear that she possessed either little or no influence over him.
If he failed her she could think of no means by which she could effect her escape from the life which she so loathed. Merely to leave her husband would be cutting herself off from the security of respectability without gaining any compensating advantages. To go to Maddison would be different; through him she would make friends and acquaintances, whom she did not doubt she could use to her advantage.
In the country the growth of her mind had been stunted, though, on the other hand, to those years of fresh air and simple life she owed her superb health. Her education had been scanty, with the one exception of music—singing and the pianoforte having been taught her by the church organist, an enthusiastic old bachelor of small means but of fine taste and accomplishment. She was not an expert performer; she had not a voice which could be coined into guineas; but to her own accompaniment she sang with feeling and effect simple ballads, sometimes those of her own countryside. Of literature and art she knew little and was content in her ignorance. Innate good taste enabled her to dress to advantage. In conversation she had the knack of making such use of the small knowledge she possessed as to hide deficiencies. With curious acuteness and minuteness she had taken stock of her capabilities and defects, realizing fully that on the whole she was well equipped for the world of adventure.
Two rules she had laid down for herself; never to lose control over her emotions and always to remember that the most powerful woman is she who seems most weak. She understood clearly that her chief handicap was lack of experience, but she believed that in a woman instinct takes the place of knowledge. She would feel her way carefully, step by step, watching and probing, but the first step and the most difficult was to free herself and to obtain a footing in the greater world. She had almost despaired of ever doing this, when so unexpectedly she had met with Maddison. She had watched his career with interest and with admiration of its brilliant and rapid success, and now she upbraided herself because it had never entered into her calculations that she might be able to utilize him in the attaining of her ambitions. She ought to have remembered how near to loving her he had once been.
So far, in her dealings with him, she did not think that she had made any error. She had shown no interest in him, which she believed was the best way to pique him into feeling interest in her. She had talked of herself, had told him enough to enable him to see clearly how dissatisfied she was with her present lot. She now felt that all that remained for her to do was to persuade him that she was worth winning, not merely for her beauty, but because she could add to the attractiveness and pleasure of his life. She, however, did not know anything of his way of life, and did not even know whether any other woman held the place she wished to obtain for herself.
He had vaguely said that he was willing to help her; he had shown anxiety by at once calling when she had failed to go to him; but, since then, silence. The next move was left to her, and with all her care she might make a false one. She knew that he was emotional, and conjectured that, once roused, no scruple of conventional morality would be a hindrance to him in achieving his desire.