Corporal Sam and Other StoriesQuiller-Couch, Arthur
General
Corporal Sam and Other Stories
Quiller-Couch, Arthur
Short stories, English
'Then will you lead me to my seat, Captain Medhope? Yours is beside
me, on the right; yes, close there. My husband, at his end, can
enjoy the fire.'
We took our seats. I was hungry, and the dinner good. I ate of
everything, but can only recall an excellent grill of salmon and a
roast haunch of venison: the reason being that Lady Glynn kept me in
continued talk. Poor lady!--I had almost said, poor child!--for her
desperate artlessness became the more apparent to me the more she
persisted. Even I, who, as the reader has been told, have the
smallest skill in the ways of women, could see that here was one, of
high breeding but untutored, playing at a game at once above and
beneath her; almost as far above her achieving as it lay beneath her
true contempt. She knew that women can inveigle men; but in the
practice of it I am very sure that her dairymaid could have given her
lessons.
But what am I saying? Her poor coquetries did not deceive me, but
she never meant them to deceive me. They accomplished, after all,
just that for which she intended them. They deceived and maddened
her half-drunken lout of a husband. Her dress, too, was something
shameless. She wore above her scarlet skirt (which I verily believe
was the same she had ridden in) a bodice of the same bright colour,
low as a maid-of-honour's, that displayed her young neck and bust.
About her neck she had fastened a string of garnets. She had loaded
her fingers with old-fashioned rings, of which the very dullness made
me wince to see them employed in this sorry service. And I guessed
that before my entrance this unusual finery had provoked her husband
to fury.
A length of table lay between us and him. He sat silent, regarding
us under lowered brows, eating little, draining glass after glass.
Angry though he was, her voice seemed to lay a spell on him.
She talked of a thousand things, but especially of the Parliament
campaign, plying me with question after question--of our numbers, our
discipline, our hardships during the past three weeks, of our
general's plan of escape, and, in particular, of the part I had borne
in it. And when I answered she listened with smiles, as though King
and Parliament lay balanced in her affections. And this was the
termagant that a few hours ago had ridden us down and trampled across
poor Hutson's body!
All this I took at its true value, answering her with steady
politeness, telling myself that as her purpose was to goad her
husband, so no word of mine should give him an excuse for an
outbreak. It takes two to make a quarrel, they say. But when three
are mixed up in it (and one a woman), the third cannot always count
on remaining passive.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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