Swamp Angel by Ethel Wilson Read Free Book Online Page A

blank sheet of paper were two two-dollar bills, thirty cents in stamps, and a feather. He seemed, now, to see the gray eyes, rimmed with dark lashes, of Mrs. Lloyd, looking at him across the empty envelope.
    I shall never see her again, he thought, and discovered that he felt unfairly deprived.

TEN
    “I saw Edward Vardoe today on the way home and I saw him yesterday,” said Hilda Severance to her mother.
    “He looks terrible.”
    “How d’you mean ‘terrible,’” said her mother.
    “Well, that jaunty look of his and his face black and pasty.” (“How can it be black and pasty,” murmured her mother.) “He’s going through some kind of a dreadful time. He looks quite wicked. I was frightened of him and I was sorry too.”
    “Did you speak to him?”
    “Me? I? No thank you. I’m not as fond of theater as you are. I put my parcels in the back of the car and drove off. It’s really a revelation – Maggie living with anyone who can look like that.”
    Mrs. Severance’s fingers patted the Swamp Angel absently. She was silent for some time. She reached across the table and pulled a writing pad from under the litter of weekly reviews that were her only reading. She lighted a cigarette and did not speak, thinking as she smoked. Hilda went into the garden. When she returned, her mother gave her a stamped envelope.
    “Mail this tonight, will you?”
    Hilda looked at the envelope and her fine brows went up. “Oh,” she said, with her special expression.
    On a Friday afternoon Edward Vardoe drove up to Mrs. Severance’s house in his new car. The car, it was true, proceeded forward, and within it was the person of Edward Vardoe, but the person within Edward Vardoe retreated backward. He did not wish to go to see Mrs. Severance, but something imperious in her letter had made him leave the office early and go through the mechanical motions that took him like fate to Mrs. Severance’s door, which was slightly ajar, and into the room. There she sat in her vast accustomed chair. Edward resented a feeling of being reduced by the large calm presence of Mrs. Severance. His anger, his righteousness, his arguments dispersed and he could do nothing about that. All that was left was self-defense, for and against. For and against what? He looked at her hands which were too small for her.
    “How do you do,” said Mrs. Severance politely. “How are you?”
    “I’m fine,” said Edward Vardoe, untruthfully.
    “Good. Sit down. Don’t put your hat on the table. You can hang it up. Have a cigarette.”
    “Thanks I don’t mind if I do,” said Edward Vardoe, jauntily ill at ease. He lighted a cigarette and sat down, bolt upright. He noticed at once the butt of the small revolver protruding from a paper on the table where it lay in its accustomed place.
    “I didn’t bring you here to talk about
why
this happened and to take sides,” said Mrs. Severance gently. “I am very sorry for you but that does not take away my license to be sorry for Maggie whose name we will not mention. I am going to bring you salvation if you want it.”
    Edward Vardoe stared at her and she saw that his face was pasty and that his brown eyes were dark caverns, so that he was, as Hilda had said, both black and pasty.
    “Are you eating well?”
    “My stummick’s out,” mumbled Mr. Vardoe. Mrs. Severance winced and went on.
    “Are you sleeping well?”
    “Not so good,” said Edward Vardoe, with bags under his eyes.
    “Do you face the day with a song? I mean how do you feel when you get up in the mornings?”
    “Rotten.”
    “You’re drinking more than you did, aren’t you?”
    “Say what are you trying to get at!” he cried, jumping to his feet.
    “Sit … down …” she commanded, and he sat. “Compose yourself, Mr. Vardoe, and I will do you good, but if you don’t compose yourself and listen, I shall spend no time on you.” (He hasn’t much control, has he, she thought.)
    He blinked, looking at her, and she narrowed her eyes