CHAPTER III

ESTELLE knew that her heart was broken, but on the whole she did not find that she was greatly inconvenienced.

In an unhappy marriage the woman generally scores unless she is in love with her husband. Estelle never had been in love with Winn; she had had an agreeable feeling about him, and now she had a disagreeable feeling about him, but neither of these emotions could be compared with beaten-brass hot-water jugs, which she had always meant to have when she was married.

She said to herself and a little later to the nearest clergyman, "I must make an offering of my sorrow." She offered it a good deal, almost to every person she met. Even the cook was aware of it; but, like all servants, she unhesitatingly sided with the master. He might be in the wrong, but he was seldom if ever in the kitchen.

They had had to have a house and servants, because Estelle felt that marriage without a house was hardly legal; and Winn had given way about it, as he was apt to do about things Estelle wanted.

There was one point he never yielded: he firmly intended to rejoin his regiment in March.

The station to which they would have to go was five thousand feet up, lonely, healthy, and quite unfashionable. Winn had tried to make it seem jolly to her and had mentioned as a recommendation apparently that it was the kind of place in which one need n't wear gloves. It was close to the border, and women had to be a little careful where they rode.

Estelle had every intention of being careful; she would, she thought, be too careful ever to go to the Indian frontier at all. She had often heard of the tragic separations of Anglo-Indian marriages; it was true that they were generally caused by illness and children, but there must be other methods of obtaining the same immunities.

She had never had any difficulty with the doctor at home; she relied on him

entirely, and he had invariably ordered her what she wanted, after a nice quiet talk.

Travers, the regimental doctor, was different; he looked exactly like a vet and only understood things you had actually broken. Still Estelle put her trust in Providence; no self-respecting higher Power could wish a woman of her type to be wasted on a hill station. Something would happen to help her; and if not, she would be given grace to help herself.

One day Winn came down to breakfast with a particularly disagreeable expression. He said good morning into his newspaper as usual without noticing her pathetic little, smile.

He only unburied himself to take his second cup of coffee; then he said, without looking at her:

"It 's a beastly nuisance, the War Office want me to extend my leave. Hanged if I do."

Estelle thanked Heaven in a flash and passed him the marmalade. She had never dreamed the War Office could be so efficient.

"That shows," she said gracefully, "what they think of you!"

Winn turned his sardonic eyes toward her. "Thanks," he drawled, "I dare say it 's the kind of thing you 'd like. They propose that I should stay on here at the Staff College for another year and write 'em a damned red tape report on Tibet." His irony dropped from him. "If it was a job," he said in a low voice, "I 'd go like a shot."

Estelle sighed, and gazed pathetically out of the window. Her eyes rested on the bed where the hyacinths were planted, and beyond it to gorse bushes and a corrugated iron shed.

They were at Aldershot, which was really rather a good place for meeting suitable people. "What do you intend to do?" she asked, trembling a little. Winn was at his worst when questioned as to his intentions; he preferred to let them explode like fire-crackers.

"Do!" he snorted. "Write and tell 'em when they 've got any kind of job on the size of sixpence I 'll be in it. And if not, Tibet 's about as useful to draw up a report on-as ice in the hunting season. But I 'm off in March, and that 's that."

A tear rolled down Estelle's cheek and splashed on the table-cloth; she trembled harder until her teaspoon rattled. Winn looked at her.

without turning round. "He 's a doctor. I asked his opinion."

"Well," she said, "I think it was horrible of you-and-and most ungentlemanly."

"I suppose,” she said, prolonging a small sob, "you don't care what I feel about it!"

"But you knew we were always going out in March, did n't you?" he asked, as if that had anything to do with it.

"I never knew I should be so unhappy!" she moaned. Winn looked extremely foolish and rather consciencestricken.

"I'm sure I 'm awfully sorry," he said apologetically. "I suppose you mean you 're a bit sick of me, don't you?"

Estelle wiped her eyes, and returned to her toast.

"Can't you see," she asked bitterly, "that our life together is the most awful tragedy?"

"Oh, come now," said Winn, who associated tragedy solely with police courts and theaters. "It's not so bad as all that, is it? I dare say I 've been rather a brute, but I shall be a lot better company when I 'm back in the regiment. I don't like to bother you about it, but I think you 'd see things differently if we had a kid. I do really."

"How can you be so disgustingly coarse!" shuddered Estelle. "Besides, I 'm far too delicate. Not that you would care if I died; of course you 'd just marry again."

"Oh, no, I should n't do that," said Winn in his horrid quiet way which might mean anything. "You'd be a jolly sight stronger all the rest of your life. I asked Travers."

"Oh!" she cried, "you don't mean to tell me that you talked me over with that disgusting red-faced man!"

pervious to all refinement, born to outrage the nicer susceptibility of her own mind; but there were moments when it seemed as if he did n't think the susceptibilities of her mind were nice at all. He was not awed by her purity.

He did n't say anything of course, but he let certain subjects prematurely drop. Suddenly he turned round from the window and fixed his eyes on hers. She thought he was going to be very violent, but he was n't; he talked quietly.

"Look here," he said, "I 've thought of something, a kind of bargain. I 'll give in to you about this job, if you 'll give in to me about the other. If you 'll have a kid, I'll stay on here for a year more; if you won't, I 'll clear out in March. But if you do what I ask about the child, I 'll meet you all the way round. Only you must ride straight. If you play me any monkey tricks over it, you 'll never set eyes on me again; and I'm afraid you 'll have to have Travers, because I trust him, not some slippery old woman who 'd let you play him like a fish. D' you understand?"

Estelle stared aghast at this mixture of brutality and cunning. Her mind flew round and round like a squirrel in a cage.

She could have managed beautifully if it had n't been for Travers. Travers would be as impervious to handling as a battery mule. She really would n't be able to do anything with Travers. He looked as if he drank; but he did n't.

Of course having a baby was simply horrid; lots of women got out of it nowadays who were quite happily married. Her wistful blue eyes expanded.

"I can't," she said touchingly, "decide He could stay on for two years at the War Office, and Estelle meant him to stay without inconvenience to herself. He tried bargaining with her; but her idea of a bargain was to gain things for herself. One day she said:

"I sometimes feel as if you kept me out of everything."

"How do you mean?" he asked anxiously.

"Oh," she said contemplatively, "such heaps of things! One thing, I don't expect you 've ever noticed that you never ask your friends to stay here. I've had all mine; you 've never even asked your mother! It's as if you were ashamed of me."

"I 'll ask her like a shot if you like," he said eagerly. Estelle was not anxious for a visit from Lady Staines, but she thought it sounded better to begin with her. She let her pass.

"It 's not only your relatives," she went on; "it 's your friends. What must they think of a wife they are never allowed to see?"

"But they 're such a bachelor crew," he objected. "It never occurred to me you 'd care for them-just ordinary soldier chaps like me, not a bit clever or amusing."

Estelle did not say that crews of bachelors are seldom out of place in the drawing-room of a young and pretty woman. She looked past her husband to where in fancy she beheld the aisle of a church and the young Adonis who had been his best man with eyes full of reverence and awe gazing at her approaching figure.

"I thought," she said indifferently, "you liked that man you insisted on having instead of Lord Arlington at the wedding?"

"I do," said Winn. "He's my best friend. I meet him sometimes in town, you know."

"He must think it awfully funny," said Estelle, sadly, "our never having him down here."

"He's not that sort," said Winn. "He was my sub, you know. He would n't think anything funny unless I told him to. We know each other rather well."

"That makes it funnier still," said Estelle, relentlessly.

"Oh, all right," said Winn, after a moment's pause. "Have him down here if you like. Shall I write to him or will you?"

"He 's your friend," said Estelle, politely.

"Yes," said Winn, "but it's your idea." There was a peculiar look in his eyes, as if he wanted to warn her about something. He went to the door and then glanced back at her, apparently hoping that she had changed her mind.

Estelle had n't the faintest intention of changing her mind. She had already decided to put sweet peas in Lionel's room. and marked copy of "The Road Mender."

a

"You may as well ask him yourself," said Winn, "if you really want him to come."

CHAPTER IV

IT was time, Estelle felt, that the real things of life should come back to her. She had had them before marriage, these real things,-light, swift contacts with chosen spirits; friendships not untinged with a liability to become something less capable of definition. But since her marriage she had been forced into a world of secondary experiences. Winn, to begin with, had stood very much in the way; and when he had ceased to block the paths of sentiment she had not found a substitute. At Aldershot, where they lived, there was an unspoken rule that brides should be left alone. Women called, and men were polite, but when Estelle began those delicate personal conversations which led the way to deeper spiritual contacts she discovered that nothing followed. She could not say that she found the men elusive; stone walls are not elusive, but they do not lend themselves to an easy way across country. As to women, theoretically Estelle desired their friendship just as much as that of men; but in practice she generally found them unsympathetic, and incapable of the finest type of intimacy. They did not seem to know what the word devotion meant. Men did, especially young men, though the older ones talked more about it. Estelle had already seen herself after marriage as a confidante to Winn's young brother officers. It seemed to her that in Lionel Drummond she would find a perfect spiritual counterpart. She dreamed of a friendship with him too deep for mere friendliness, too late for accepted love; and it seemed to her exactly the kind of thing she wanted. Hand in hand they would tread the path of duty together, surrounded by a rosy mist.

They might even lead Winn to higher things; but at this point Estelle's imagination balked. She could not see Winn being led, he was too truculent, and he had never in his tenderest moments evinced the slightest taste for higher things. It would be better perhaps if they simply set him a good example. He would be certain not to follow it.

She and Lionel would have terrible moments, of course. Estelle thrilled at the thought of these moments, and from time to time she slightly stretched the elastic path of duty to meet them. They would still keep on it, of course; they would never go any further than Petrarch and Laura. These historic philanderers should be their limit, and when the worst came to the worst, Estelle would softly murmur to Lionel, "Petrarch and Laura have borne it, and we must bear it, too."

Lionel arrived one night before Winn had finished dressing. Estelle greeted him with outstretched hands. "I am so very glad to see you at last," she said in her softest, friendliest voice. "I think it will do Winn good to have you here." Lionel laughed shyly.

never known a man to dress so quickly, and it seemed to her an unnecessary quality.

The dinner was a great success. Both men were absurdly gay. Winn told good stories, laughed at Lionel, and rallied his young wife. She had never seen him like this before, and she put it down to the way one man sets off another.

Estelle felt that she was being a great success, and it warmed her heart. The two men talked for her and listened to her; she had a moment when she thought that perhaps, after all, she need n't relegate Winn to a lower world.

They accepted with enthusiasm her offer to sing to them after dinner, and then they kept her waiting in the drawingroom for an hour and a half.

At last they came in, and Lionel said without any attempt at an apology:

"We should love some music, Mrs. Winn."

Winn said nothing. He stuck his hands into his pockets, and stood in front of the fireplace in a horribly British manner while she turned over her songs. Estelle sang rather prettily. She preferred songs of a type that dealt with bitter regret over unexplained partings. She sang them with a great deal of expression and a slight difficulty in letting go of the top notes. After she had sung two or three, Lionel said:

"Now, Winn, you sing."

Estelle started. She had never before heard of this accomplishment of her husband's. It occurred to her now that Lionel would think it very strange she had n't, but he need never know unless Winn gave her away. She need not have been afraid. Winn said quietly, as if he said it to her every evening, "D' you mind playing for me, Estelle?" Then he

black book in which he had painstakingly copied and collected his selection of songs.

He had a high, clear baritone, very true and strangely impressive; it filled the little room. When he had finished, Lionel forgot to ask Estelle to sing again. Winn excused himself; he said he had a letter or two to write, and left them.

"It 's jolly, your both singing," Lionel said, looking at her with the same admiring friendliness he had shown her before. She guessed then that Winn had said nothing against her. After all, at the bottom of her heart she had known he would n't. You can't live with a man for five months and not know where you are safe.

Estelle smiled prettily.

"Yes," she said gently, "music is a great bond," and then she began to talk to Lionel about himself.

She had a theory that all men liked to talk exclusively about themselves, and it is certain that most men enjoyed their conversation with her; but in this particular instance she made a mistake. Lionel did not like talking about himself, and above all he disliked sympathetic admiration. He was not a conceited man, and it had not occurred to him that he was a suitable subject for admiration. Nor did he see why he should receive sympathy.

Still, he would n't have shrunk from talking about Winn with Estelle. It was her right to talk about him, her splendid, perfect privilege. He supposed that she was a little shy, because she seemed to slip away from their obvious great topic; but he wished, if she was n't going to talk about Winn, she would leave his people alone.

She tried to sympathize with him about his home difficulties, and when she discovered that he had n't any, her sympathy veered to the horrible distance he had to be away from it.

"Oh, well," said Lionel, "it 's my father's old regiment, you know; that makes it awfully different. They know as much about my life as I do myself, and when I don't get leave, they often come out to me for a month or two. They 're good travelers."

"They must be simply wonderful!" Estelle said ecstatically. Lionel said nothing. He looked slightly amazed. It seemed so funny that Winn, who had n't much use for ecstasy, should have married a so easily ecstatic wife.

to Estelle; nobody behaved as she expected them to behave, including herself. She found Lionel always ready to accept her advances with open-hearted cordiality, but she had to make the advances. She had not meant to do this. Her idea had been to be a magnet, and magnets keep quite still; needles do all the moving.

And Winn would n't behave at a disadvantage; he was neither tyrannical nor jealous. He left her a great deal to Lionel, and treated her with good-natured tolerance in private and with correct attention before his friend.

Lionel was delightful to her; he waited on her hand and foot; he studied all her tastes and remembered everything she told him. Could playing polo with Winn, going out for walks in the rain, and helping to make saddles in Winn's musty, smelling den appeal to him with greater force than her society? He was n't in love with any one else, and if men were n't in love with any one else, they were usually in love with Estelle. But with Lionel everything stopped short. They conversed confidentially, they used each other's Christian names, but she was left with the sensation of having come up against an invisible barrier. There was no impact, and there was no curtness; there was simply empty space. She was not even sure that Lionel would have liked her at all if she had n't been Winn's wife. As it was, he certainly wanted her friendship and took pains to win it. It must be added that he won more than he took pains to win. Estelle for the first time in her life stumbled waveringly into a little love.

The visit prolonged itself from a week to a fortnight. Estelle did not sleep the night before Lionel went. She tossed feverishly to and fro, planning their parting. Surely he would not leave her without a word? Surely there must be some touch of sentiment to this separation, horrible and inevitable, that lay before them?