A Duet, with an Occasional ChorusDoyle, Arthur Conan
General
A Duet, with an Occasional Chorus
Doyle, Arthur Conan
Married people -- Fiction
‘Besides, what rot it all is!’ she continued, laying her hand upon his
shoulder. ‘When did you begin to ride the high moral horse? You were
just as cheerful as the rest of them when last I saw you. You speak as
if a man ceased to live just because he is married. What has changed
you?’
‘I’ll tell you what has changed me,’ said he, looking up. ‘My wife has
changed me.’
‘Oh, bother your wife!’
A look which was new to her came over his face.
‘Stop that!’ said he sharply.
‘Oh, no harm! How has your wife made this wonderful change?’
His mood softened as his thoughts flew back to Woking.
‘By her own goodness—the atmosphere that she makes round her. If you
knew how wholesome she was, how delicate in her most intimate thoughts,
how fresh and how sweet and how pure, you would understand that the
thought of being false to her is horrible. When I think of her as she
sat at breakfast this morning, so loving and so innocent—’
He would have been more discreet if he had been less eloquent. The
lady’s temper suddenly overflowed.
‘Innocent!’ she cried. ‘As innocent as I am.’
He sprang to his feet with eyes which were more angry than her own.
‘Hold your tongue! How dare you talk against my wife! You are not fit
to mention her name.’
‘I’ll go to Woking,’ she gasped.
‘You can go to the devil!’ said he, and rang the bell for his bill. She
stared at him with a surprise which had eclipsed her anger, while she
pulled on her gloves with little sharp twitches. This was a new Frank
Crosse to her. As long as a woman gets on very well with a man, she is
apt, at the back of her soul, to suspect him of weakness. It is only
when she differs from him that she can see the other side, and it always
comes as a surprise. She liked him better than ever for the revelation.
‘I’m not joking,’ she whispered, as they went down the stair. ‘I’ll go,
as sure as fate.’
He took no notice, but passed on down the street without a word of
farewell. When he came to the turning he looked back. She was standing
by the curb, with her proud head high in the air, while the manager
screamed loudly upon a whistle. A cab swung round a distant corner.
Crosse reached her before it did.
‘I hope I haven’t hurt your feelings,’ said he. ‘I spoke too roughly.’
‘Trying to coax me away from Woking,’ she sneered. ‘I’m coming all the
same.’
‘That’s your affair,’ said he, as he handed her into the cab.
DANGER
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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