Perhaps it was a sense of homelessness that drove him to its open
doors—for it was not until well towards evening that he had summoned up
courage to enter his own dwelling, the little flat he had not yet lived
in, made ready for himself and Griselda. If there had been anywhere
else to go perhaps he never would have entered it; but his bachelor
lodging, he knew, was let to a new tenant, and he had not money enough
in his pocket to pay for a lodging elsewhere. His day had been spent on
foot; after his refusal at the recruiting station he had walked he knew
not whither—here, there, through street after street, that he might not
stop and think; and when, in the late afternoon, he found himself
sitting on the turf of Primrose Hill, he could not, for the life of him,
remember the route by which he had reached it. Sheer weariness of body
drove him to shelter, and half an hour later he was dragging his feet up
the stairs that led to the flat.
The woman who was to "do" for himself and Griselda had been installed on
the premises for some days past; since the outbreak of war she had been
in hourly expectation of the arrival of her master and mistress and in
some perturbation at the continued lack of news from them. As William
was about to walk past the door she had opened to him she stayed him
with an inquisitive question—he could not remember the form it took but
knew that it must have referred to Griselda’s absence, for he told her
abruptly that his wife had died in France. She threw up her hands with
a screaming exclamation as he hurried past her to shut himself into the
bedroom.
There, afraid of her curious sympathy and questions, he shut and locked
himself in; with the poignant loneliness of the brand-new furniture that
he and Griselda had chosen and lovingly admired; with the poignant
company of Griselda’s photograph, smiling self-consciously from the
centre of the mantelpiece and set in an ornate silver frame that was one
of her wedding presents. He held it in his hands till the tears blinded
him, kissed it sobbing and laid it face downwards.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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