Adultery -- Fiction; Divorced women -- Fiction; Husband and wife -- Fiction; Triangles (Interpersonal relations) -- Fiction
He left her after half an hour, but drifted towards her again in the
afternoon. Insensibly they lost by degrees much of their constraint in
talking together. She told him of her father's illness, of her own life
in Balham; Heriot gave her some details of his appointment, explaining
that it was the duty of an Attorney-General and Solicitor-General to
reply to questions of law in the House, to advise the Government,
and conduct its cases, and the rest of it. By Wednesday night it was
difficult to him to realise that their first interview had occurred
only forty-eight hours ago. It had become his habit on deck to turn his
steps towards her, to sip tea by her side in the saloon, to saunter
with her after dinner in the starlight. Even at last he felt no
embarrassment as he moved towards her; even at last she came to smile
up at him as he drew near. Moments there could not fail to be when such
a state of things seemed marvellous and unnatural--when conversation
ceased, and they paused oppressed and tongue-tied by a consciousness
of the anomaly of their relations. Nevertheless such moments were but
hitches in an intercourse which grew daily more indispensable to them
both.
How indispensable it had become to herself the woman perceived as the
end of the voyage approached; and now she would have asked no better
than for them to sail on until she died. When she undressed at night,
she sighed, "Another day over"; when she woke in the morning, eagerness
quickened her pulses. On Saturday they would arrive; and when Friday
dawned, the reunion held less of strangeness than the reflection that
she and Heriot would separate again directly. To think that, as a
matter of course, they would say good-bye to each other, and resume
their opposite sides of an impassable gulf, looked more unnatural to
her than the renewed familiarity.
Their pauses were longer than usual on Friday evening. Both were
remembering that it was the last. Heriot had ascertained that Cheriton
had been able to leave her but little; and the notion of providing her
with the means to winter in some favourable climate was hot in his mind.
"It is understood," he said abruptly, "that you go to Drummond and do
exactly as he orders? You'll not be so mad as to refuse at the last
moment?"
"All right!" she answered apathetically, "I'll go. Shall I--will you
care to hear what he says?"
"Your aunt has promised to write to me. By the way, there's something
I want to say to-night. If what he advises is expensive, you must let
me make it possible for you. I claim that as my right. I intended
arranging it with Mrs. Baines, but she tells me you--you'd be bound to
know where the money came from. He'll probably tell you to live abroad."
"Thank you," she said after a slight start, "I could not take your
money. It is very good of you, but I would rather you didn't speak of
it. If you talked forever, I wouldn't consent."
"Mamie----"
"The very offer turns me cold. Please don't!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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