The Irrational Knot: Being the Second Novel of His NonageShaw, Bernard
General
The Irrational Knot: Being the Second Novel of His Nonage
Shaw, Bernard
Marriage -- Fiction; Social classes -- Fiction
Douglas knew that before the elopement he would have been asked to join
the party. “I suppose people have been pleased to talk a good deal
about me of late,” he said.
“Yes, I fear so. However, I hope it will pass over.”
“It shews no sign of passing over as yet, then?”
“Well, it has become a little stale as a topic; but there is undeniably
a good deal of feeling about it still. If you will excuse my saying so,
I think that perhaps you would do well to keep out of the way a little
longer.”
“Presuming, of course, that popular feeling is a matter about which I
am likely to concern myself.”
“That is a question for you to decide. Excuse the hint.”
“The question is whether it is not better to be on the spot, so as to
strangle calumny at its source, than to hide myself abroad whilst a
host of malicious tongues are busy with me.”
“As to that, Douglas, I assure you you have been very fairly treated.
The chief blame, as usual, has fallen on the weaker sex. Nothing could
exceed the moderation of those from whom the loudest complaints might
have been expected. Reginald Lind has hardly ever mentioned the
subject. Even to me, he only shook his head and said that it was an old
attachment. As to Conolly, we have actually reproached him for making
excuses for you.”
“Aye. A very astute method of bringing me into contempt. Allow me to
enlighten you a little, Jasper. Lind, whose daughter I have discovered
to be one of the worst of women, has just offered me ten thousand
pounds to marry her. That speaks for itself. Conolly, who drove her
into my arms by playing the tyrant whilst I played the lover, is only
too glad to get rid of her. At the same time, he is afraid to fight me,
and ashamed to say so. Therefore, he impudently pretends to pity me for
being his gull in the matter. But I will stop that.”
“Conolly is a particular friend of mine, Douglas, Let us drop the
subject, if you dont mind.”
“If he is your friend, of course I have nothing more to say. I think I
will turn in here and dine. Good-evening.”
They parted without any salutation: and Douglas entered the restaurant
and dined alone, he came out an hour later in improved spirits, and
began to consider whether he would go to the theatre or venture into
his club. He was close to a lamp at a corner of Leicester Square when
he stopped to debate the point with himself; and in his preoccupation
he did not notice a four-wheeled cab going slowly past him, carrying a
lady in an old white opera cloak. This was Mrs. Leith Fairfax, who,
recognizing him, called to the cabman to drive a little past the lamp
and stop.
“Good heavens!” she said in a half-whisper: “you here! What madness
possessed you to come back?”
“I had no further occasion to stay away.”
“How coolly you say so! You have iron nerves, all you Douglases. I have
heard all, and I know what you have suffered. How soon will you leave
London?”
“I have no intention of leaving it at present.”
“But you cannot stay here.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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