第128章 THE FIRST(7)

What can a record of contrived meetings, of sundering difficulties evaded and overcome, signify here? Or what can it convey to say that one looked deep into two dear, steadfast eyes, or felt a heart throb and beat, or gripped soft hair softly in a trembling hand?

Robbed of encompassing love, these things are of no more value than the taste of good wine or the sight of good pictures, or the hearing of music,--just sensuality and no more.No one can tell love--we can only tell the gross facts of love and its consequences.Given love--given mutuality, and one has effected a supreme synthesis and come to a new level of life--but only those who know can know.This business has brought me more bitterness and sorrow than I had ever expected to bear, but even now I will not say that I regret that wilful home-coming altogether.We loved--to the uttermost.Neither of us could have loved any one else as we did and do love one another.It was ours, that beauty; it existed only between us when we were close together, for no one in the world ever to know save ourselves.

My return to the office sticks out in my memory with an extreme vividness, because of the wild eagle of pride that screamed within me.It was Tuesday morning, and though not a soul in London knew of it yet except Isabel, I had been back in England a week.I came in upon Britten and stood in the doorway.

"GOD!" he said at the sight of me.

"I'm back," I said.

He looked at my excited face with those red-brown eyes of his.

Silently I defied him to speak his mind.

"Where did you turn back?" he said at last.

6

I had to tell what were, so far as I can remember my first positive lies to Margaret in explaining that return.I had written to her from Chicago and again from New York, saying that I felt I ought to be on the spot in England for the new session, and that I was coming back--presently.I concealed the name of my boat from her, and made a calculated prevarication when I announced my presence in London.

I telephoned before I went back for my rooms to be prepared.She was, I knew, with the Bunting Harblows in Durham, and when she came back to Radnor Square I had been at home a day.

I remember her return so well.

My going away and the vivid secret of the present had wiped out from my mind much of our long estrangement.Something, too, had changed in her.I had had some hint of it in her letters, but now I saw it plainly.I came out of my study upon the landing when I heard the turmoil of her arrival below, and she came upstairs with a quickened gladness.It was a cold March, and she was dressed in unfamiliar dark furs that suited her extremely and reinforced the delicate flush of her sweet face.She held out both her hands to me, and drew me to her unhesitatingly and kissed me.

"So glad you are back, dear," she said."Oh! so very glad you are back."I returned her kiss with a queer feeling at my heart, too undifferentiated to be even a definite sense of guilt or meanness.

I think it was chiefly amazement--at the universe--at myself.

"I never knew what it was to be away from you," she said.

I perceived suddenly that she had resolved to end our estrangement.

She put herself so that my arm came caressingly about her.

"These are jolly furs," I said.

"I got them for you."

The parlourmaid appeared below dealing with the maid and the luggage cab.

"Tell me all about America," said Margaret."I feel as though you'd been away six year's."We went arm in arm into our little sitting-room, and I took off the fur's for her and sat down upon the chintz-covered sofa by the fire.

She had ordered tea, and came and sat by me.I don't know what Ihad expected, but of all things I had certainly not expected this sudden abolition of our distances.

"I want to know all about America," she repeated, with her eyes scrutinising me."Why did you come back?"I repeated the substance of my letters rather lamely, and she sat listening.

"But why did you turn back--without going to Denver?""I wanted to come back.I was restless.""Restlessness," she said, and thought."You were restless in Venice.You said it was restlessness took you to America."Again she studied me.She turned a little awkwardly to her tea things, and poured needless water from the silver kettle into the teapot.Then she sat still for some moments looking at the equipage with expressionless eyes.I saw her hand upon the edge of the table tremble slightly.I watched her closely.A vague uneasiness possessed me.What might she not know or guess?

She spoke at last with an effort."I wish you were in Parliament again," she said."Life doesn't give you events enough.""If I was in Parliament again, I should be on the Conservative side.""I know," she said, and was still more thoughtful.

"Lately," she began, and paused."Lately I've been reading--you."I didn't help her out with what she had to say.I waited.

"I didn't understand what you were after.I had misjudged.Ididn't know.I think perhaps I was rather stupid." Her eyes were suddenly shining with tears."You didn't give me much chance to understand."She turned upon me suddenly with a voice full of tears.

"Husband," she said abruptly, holding her two hands out to me, "Iwant to begin over again!"

I took her hands, perplexed beyond measure."My dear!" I said.

"I want to begin over again."

I bowed my head to hide my face, and found her hand in mine and kissed it.

"Ah!" she said, and slowly withdrew her hand.She leant forward with her arm on the sofa-back, and looked very intently into my face.I felt the most damnable scoundrel in the world as I returned her gaze.The thought of Isabel's darkly shining eyes seemed like a physical presence between us....

"Tell me," I said presently, to break the intolerable tension, "tell me plainly what you mean by this."I sat a little away from her, and then took my teacup in hand, with an odd effect of defending myself."Have you been reading that old book of mine?" I asked.