Encounters: stories by Elizabeth Bowen, Robarts - University of Toronto Read Free Book Online
word in asking for help. There is a great deal I must do, and you could make things easier for me, if you will. I shall be very grateful for your help about some business; there are papers I must sign and I don't understand them quite. There were things that Howard had 66
never explained."She looked full at him for a moment and he knew that this was the first time she had uttered her husband's name. It would be easier now.
"He had told me everything,"he said quickly, as though to intercept the shutting of a door."I was always to be there if you should need me—I had promised him."She must realise that she owed him nothing for the fulfilment of a duty. He thought she did, for she was silent, uttering no word of thanks.
"Why did you so seldom come and see us?"she asked suddenly."Howard had begun to notice lately, and he wondered."
"I was in India."
"Before you went to India."A little inflection in her voice made him despise his evasion.
"There is a time for all things, and that was a time for keeping away."
"Because he was married:"
Stuart did not answer.
"We wanted you,"she said, "but you didn't understand, did you?"
She did not understand, how could she?
She must have discussed it all, those evenings, with the Majendie that belonged to her; he had not understood either.
"I was mistaken, I suppose,"he said."I—I should have learnt later."
There was a slight contraction of her fingers, and Stuart knew that he had hurt her. If he hurt her like this a little more, it would probably be possible to kill her; she was very defenceless here in the garden that Majendie had bought her, looking out at the unmeaning lake. He had crowded out all tenderness for her, and her loneliness was nothing but a fact to him.
"There were messages for you,"she said, turning her head again.
"Were there?"
"He said ,"her lips moved, she
glanced at him a little apprehensively and was silent."I have written down everything that he said for you. And I believe he left you a letter."
"Can you remember the messages?"he asked curiously.
"I wrote them down; I have them in the house."She looked at him again with 68
that shortsighted intensity; she knew every word of the messages, and with an effort he could almost have read them from her eyes.
"Did he expect to see me?"
"Yes, once he knew that he was ill. He knew that you could not possibly leave India before April, but he kept on—expecting. I wanted to cable to you and he wouldn't let me. But I know he still believed, above all reason, that you'd come."
"If I'd known, if"
"You think I should have cabled without telling him?"She thought he blamed her and she evidently feared his anger. Curious... He had been so conscious of her indifference, before; he had been a person who did not matter, the nice friend, the family dog—relegated. It was that that had stung and stung. After all he need never have gone to India, it had been a resource of panic. It had saved him nothing, and there had been no question of saving her. He wondered why she had not cabled; it was nothing to her whether he went or came, and Howard's happiness was everything.
"Yes, I wonder you didn't cable."
"I am sorry; I was incapable of anything. My resource was—sapped."
He looked at her keenly; it was a doctor's look.
"What have you been doing since."he asked (as the medical man, to whom no ground was sacred)."What are you going to do?"
"I was writing letters, shutting up the house. And here I'm trying to realise that there's nothing more to do, that matters. And afterwards"
"Well?"
"I don't know,"she said wearily;"I'd rather not, please... Afterwards will come of itself."
He smiled as now he took upon himself the brother-in-law, the nice, kind, doggy person."You should have somebody with you, Ellaline. You should, you owe it to yourself, you owe it to—"—he realised there was no one else to whom she owed it—"to yourself,"he repeated."You must think, you must be wise for yourself now."
She looked,
never explained."She looked full at him for a moment and he knew that this was the first time she had uttered her husband's name. It would be easier now.
"He had told me everything,"he said quickly, as though to intercept the shutting of a door."I was always to be there if you should need me—I had promised him."She must realise that she owed him nothing for the fulfilment of a duty. He thought she did, for she was silent, uttering no word of thanks.
"Why did you so seldom come and see us?"she asked suddenly."Howard had begun to notice lately, and he wondered."
"I was in India."
"Before you went to India."A little inflection in her voice made him despise his evasion.
"There is a time for all things, and that was a time for keeping away."
"Because he was married:"
Stuart did not answer.
"We wanted you,"she said, "but you didn't understand, did you?"
She did not understand, how could she?
She must have discussed it all, those evenings, with the Majendie that belonged to her; he had not understood either.
"I was mistaken, I suppose,"he said."I—I should have learnt later."
There was a slight contraction of her fingers, and Stuart knew that he had hurt her. If he hurt her like this a little more, it would probably be possible to kill her; she was very defenceless here in the garden that Majendie had bought her, looking out at the unmeaning lake. He had crowded out all tenderness for her, and her loneliness was nothing but a fact to him.
"There were messages for you,"she said, turning her head again.
"Were there?"
"He said ,"her lips moved, she
glanced at him a little apprehensively and was silent."I have written down everything that he said for you. And I believe he left you a letter."
"Can you remember the messages?"he asked curiously.
"I wrote them down; I have them in the house."She looked at him again with 68
that shortsighted intensity; she knew every word of the messages, and with an effort he could almost have read them from her eyes.
"Did he expect to see me?"
"Yes, once he knew that he was ill. He knew that you could not possibly leave India before April, but he kept on—expecting. I wanted to cable to you and he wouldn't let me. But I know he still believed, above all reason, that you'd come."
"If I'd known, if"
"You think I should have cabled without telling him?"She thought he blamed her and she evidently feared his anger. Curious... He had been so conscious of her indifference, before; he had been a person who did not matter, the nice friend, the family dog—relegated. It was that that had stung and stung. After all he need never have gone to India, it had been a resource of panic. It had saved him nothing, and there had been no question of saving her. He wondered why she had not cabled; it was nothing to her whether he went or came, and Howard's happiness was everything.
"Yes, I wonder you didn't cable."
"I am sorry; I was incapable of anything. My resource was—sapped."
He looked at her keenly; it was a doctor's look.
"What have you been doing since."he asked (as the medical man, to whom no ground was sacred)."What are you going to do?"
"I was writing letters, shutting up the house. And here I'm trying to realise that there's nothing more to do, that matters. And afterwards"
"Well?"
"I don't know,"she said wearily;"I'd rather not, please... Afterwards will come of itself."
He smiled as now he took upon himself the brother-in-law, the nice, kind, doggy person."You should have somebody with you, Ellaline. You should, you owe it to yourself, you owe it to—"—he realised there was no one else to whom she owed it—"to yourself,"he repeated."You must think, you must be wise for yourself now."
She looked,
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