_ BOOK I CHAPTER XIII. IT ISN'T FAIR
"Though thou repent, yet have I still the loss;
The offender's sorrow yields but weak relief
To him who bears the strong offence's cross."
---SHAKESPEARE.
The measure of a man's worth is not to be found in a heroic impulse or a fine idea, but in the steadfast working out of either through weeks and months--when the glow has faded from the heights, when the inspiration of an illumined moment has passed into the unrecognised chivalry of daily life; and the three months following upon that crucial August evening put no light tax upon Desmond's staying power,--the power that is the corner-stone of all achievement.
Border life is, in every respect, more costly than life in "down country" cantonments. To keep within the narrow bounds of his pay was already a difficult matter; and such minor retrenchments as could be achieved were inadequate to meet his present need. He saw that he would be called upon to part with one or two cherished possessions, acquired in days of young extravagance; and possibly to break into the few hundred rupees laid aside for emergencies shortly after his marriage.
Wine, cigars, and cigarettes must be banished outright; and he limited himself to one pipe and one "peg" a-day. Stores of all kinds were ruthlessly cut down; and only the Anglo-Indian housewife knows what it means to be flung almost entirely upon the tender mercies of the Bazaar. Informal dinner-parties, for which the Desmonds were famous, became rare events; and nights at Mess--a favourite and justifiable luxury--were reduced in number as far as might be without eliciting remonstrance from his brother officers. For in India, and more especially in the Army of India, it is profoundly true that "no man liveth unto himself." In the Land of the Open Door the second of the two great commandments is apt to be set before the first; and nowhere, perhaps, is the bond of union stronger, more compelling, than in the isolated regiments of the Frontier Force. But, with due regard for this unwritten law, Desmond accomplished much in those few months of unremitting self-denial; and if his friends noted certain changes in his way of life, they accepted these in the true spirit of comradeship, without question or comment.
Even Wyndham kept silence, though he had fuller knowledge of his friend's abstemiousness, and was disturbed by a great longing to remove the hidden cause. But intimate speech played a minor part in the friendship of these two men. The very depth and strength of their feeling for each other constrained them to a particular reticence in the matter of self-expression.
On the first occasion of Paul's dining at the blue bungalow, after his return from Murree, Desmond spoke a few words of apology for the absence of wine and cigars.
"Sorry to treat you shabbily, old man," he said, when they were alone. "Just a little necessary economy. It won't last long."
Paul nodded, smiling, and quietly proffered his own cigar-case.
"At least you'll not refuse one of mine, Theo," he said; and their talk drifted into the fertile channel of "shop," and the prospect of serious collision with Russia, which at that time loomed on the political horizon.
Paul was thus left to draw his own conclusions, which were not complimentary to his friend's wife. For reserve has its drawbacks, like every other virtue; and those who practise it often, forget that if there is a time for silence, there is also a time for speech.
Evelyn clung tenaciously to her disapproval of the whole proceeding. The scarcity of stores, and of pleasant little dinners, were the only retrenchments that directly disturbed her comfort, and she made the most of them, though the problems of housekeeping fell mainly upon Honor's shoulders. The girl's readiness to accept Evelyn's burden, as a matter of course, could not fail to rouse Desmond's admiration: and these three months of friction and stress, of working bravely together for one end, went far to strengthen the bond of their friendship.
Evelyn contented herself with a thinly veiled air of martyrdom, and with raising objections whenever opportunity offered. Only after Denvil's first dinner did she venture a direct attack. For on this occasion economy was not. Wine and cigars appeared with the dessert; and the two men sat an inordinately long while over both. But the inner significance of her husband's acts being a sealed book to Evelyn Desmond, she spent the evening in a state of suppressed irritation, which, on the Boy's departure, overflowed in petulant reproof.
"Why did you have everything different to-night just because of Mr Denvil?" she demanded in a note of challenge.
"Because I preferred it so."
Desmond's tone was polite, but final. He sat down and opened a book in self-defence. But Evelyn was not to be baulked by a policy of masterly inactivity. She remained standing before him.
"Is it going to be like that every time he comes?"
"Yes."
"Theo--it's perfectly ridiculous the way you put yourself out for that boy!" she protested with unusual heat, kindled by a hidden spark of jealousy. "It's bad enough to have you giving up everything, and making Honor and me thoroughly uncomfortable, without this sort of nonsense on the top of it all."
Honor glanced up in quick remonstrance; but Desmond caught the look in her eyes, and it was enough. "Haven't you the sense to see that just because he is so fond of you he
ought to be allowed to know how much trouble he has given you. It's the only way to make him more careful, now he's back again; and if you
will go on in this way, I shall end in speaking to him myself."
She had overshot the mark.
Desmond shut the book with a snap; flung it on the table, and sprang up with such anger in his eyes that his wife shrank back instinctively. Her movement, slight as it was, checked the impetuous speech upon his lips.
"You will do nothing of the sort," he said in a restrained voice. "It is a matter entirely between him and me; and that's an end of the subject, once for all."
Evelyn, startled into silence, stood motionless till the study door closed behind her husband; then, with a sigh of exasperation, hurried out of the room, leaving Honor to her own disturbing thoughts.
* * * * *
Each month was forcing upon the girl a clearer revelation of the clash of temperament, which threatened to bring about serious disunion between these two, whose happiness had become a vital part of her life; and her spirit was troubled beyond measure. The strongest passion of Honor Meredith's heart was the true woman's passion--to protect and help. But worldly wisdom warned her that her hands were tied; that man and wife must work out their own salvation, or the reverse, without help or hindrance from her.
Since their return from Murree such flashes of dissension had become increasingly frequent between them. It is astonishing how quickly two people can fall into a habit of discord. Abstinence from tobacco was not without its effect upon Desmond's nerves and temper, tried as they were by Evelyn's pin-prick methods of warfare; while she herself was often strung into irritability by her own unacknowledged troubles.
The passing relief wrought by Miss Kresney's loan had evaporated with the realisation that she had only contracted a debt in another direction--a debt more embarrassing than all the rest put together; for she knew that she would never have the courage to speak of it to her husband. Miss Kresney had told her to take her time in the matter of repayment, and she had taken it in generous measure. Not a fraction of the three hundred rupees had been repaid as yet; and, by way of atonement, Evelyn felt constrained to a more decisive friendliness with both brother and sister--a fact which Owen Kresney noted with satisfaction; and which did not improve matters between herself and Theo.
As the weeks wore on he devoted his spare time more exclusively to polo and Persian; continuing his lessons to Honor; and rarely spending his evenings in the drawing-room, unless the girl's music held him spellbound, and ensured the avoidance of dangerous topics. Evelyn retorted by a renewed zest for tennis and tea-parties; an increasing tendency to follow the line of least resistance, regardless of results. Thus Honor found herself thrown more and more upon the companionship of Mrs Olliver, Mrs Conolly, and Paul Wyndham, whose anxiety for Theo she guessed at, even as they guessed her own, though never a word on the subject passed between them.
Evelyn's anxiety was reserved exclusively for herself. She had sense enough to perceive that nothing could defer the day of reckoning much longer; and on a certain afternoon in early December she exhumed her detested sheaf of bills and sat down at her bureau to a reconsideration of the hopelessness of things in general.
A panel of winter sunshine, flung across the room from the verandah door, enveloped her in a glow of light and warmth. The drowsiness of an Indian noon brooded over the compound. Honor was out riding with Paul Wyndham; Theo busy in the next room, and very unlikely to interrupt her, she reflected with a pang of regret. In an hour's time she was going over to tea and tennis with the Kresneys; and had decided that, after six months of silence, some mention must be made of a fixed scale of repayment, to begin with the New Year. But in that event, what hope of meeting any of those other demands, that were again being urgently brought to her notice? What possibility of ordering the two new gowns--bare necessities, in her esteem--to grace the coming Christmas week at Lahore?
This same "week" is the central social event of the Punjab cold weather, when most officers on the Border are certain of their fifteen days' leave; when from all corners of the Province men and women gravitate towards its dusty capital--women with dress baskets of formidable size; men armed with polo-sticks, and with ponies, beloved cricket-bats and saddles!
Through all the dismal coil of things, this one hour of festivity gleamed on Evelyn Desmond's horizon like a light in a dark room. For one brief blessed week she would be in her element, would escape from the galling restraint of economy; and, more than all, in the background of her mind there lurked a hope that by some means she might recapture that vigorous, self-poised husband of hers, whose love was, after all, the one real necessity of her life; and whom she now saw slipping slowly, surely out of reach. But to recapture she must recaptivate; and to that end faultless frocks were indispensable.
She leaned her head upon her hands, and fell to building extravagant air-castles that eclipsed all practical considerations whatsoever.
So complete was her abstraction, that she failed to hear the study door open, and was rudely startled back to reality by her husband's voice at her elbow, sharp and stern, as she had never heard it till now.
"What
is the meaning of this, Evelyn?" he demanded, bringing his hand down on the desk beside her; and one glance at the half sheet lying beneath it was enough. That particular bill had grown painfully familiar during the last few months. It was from Lahore, and its total was no less than three hundred rupees. Her husband's waiting silence was more disconcerting than speech.
"It's mine," she murmured breathlessly; and snatched at the offending scrap of paper, tearing it in two.
"The bill is mine now," Desmond rebuked her with studied equanimity. "You can't cancel it by destroying it. No doubt you've got another copy. Will you let me have it and any others you happen to have by you?"
"Where's the use of that?... You can't pay off anything now."
"I can and will pay off every penny. But I must know exactly how you stand."
For all his coldness, the assurance fell on her heart like rain on thirsty soil. Where the money was to come from she could not guess. But she knew enough of the man to feel sure that his words would be fulfilled to the letter.
One consideration only withheld her from reply. How much did she dare confess to him even now? Not Miss Kresney's transaction; nor the need of new dresses for Lahore. But the rest!... What an unspeakable comfort it would be to fling all the rest on to his shoulders, that seemed broad and strong enough to carry her burdens and his own.
Her hesitancy pricked him to impatience.
"Well, Evelyn, I am waiting for your answer. Are there other bills besides that one?--Yes or No. I want the truth. Don't stop to embroider it."
At that the blood flew to her cheeks. She sprang up and faced him, tremulous, but defiant.
"If you say things like
that to me, I won't tell you anything at all ... ever." And turning sharply away, to hide her tears, she went over to the mantelpiece and leaned upon it, keeping her back towards him.
Desmond followed her.
"I am sorry if I hurt you," he said, a touch of bitterness in his tone. "But the fact that I can speak so without doing you a gross injustice hurts me more than you are ever likely to understand."
"You make it all seem much worse--than it really is," she answered without looking round. "I haven't done anything dreadful, after all. Heaps of people get into debt. You weren't so angry with Mr Denvil; and--and--if you hadn't been in such a hurry to help him, you'd have found it easier to help me now."
"No need to fling that in my teeth, or drag the Boy into the discussion. The cases are not parallel, and you have only yourself to thank that my money went to him instead of you. In my anxiety to avoid anything of this sort, I have questioned you several times, and each time you have told me a lie. The whole pile of bills are nothing to me in comparison with that. I suppose I ought to have known that you could hardly dress as you do on the little I can spare. But I was fool enough to trust you implicitly." He paused, and added with greater gentleness: "What's more, I shall trust you again, unless you make that quite impossible. But I warn you--Ladybird, that if ever you do kill my trust in you, you will kill--everything else along with it."
"
Theo!"
There was sharp pain in the cry, and she swung round, flinging out her hands with a pathetic gesture of entreaty. He did not take them as she half hoped he would; but stood looking at her in a thoughtful silence. Then, "If you care as much as that," he said slowly, "it lies with you not to fling away the thing you care for. Will you please let me see those bills."
"They are on the bureau. You can take them."
She turned again to the mantelpiece, for her lips were not quite steady.
"You were going to tell me about them, perhaps?"
"N--no. I wasn't."
He sighed; and taking up the papers, looked through them absently, too deeply troubled to grasp their contents.
"Are these all?" he asked quietly.
"Nearly all."
"Have you any idea of the total?"
"About six hundred rupees."
A short silence followed, during which she again heard the rustle of paper behind her, and longed for a sight of his face.
"I am afraid this knocks the Lahore week on the head," he said at length. "I am bound to run down for the Polo Tournament, of course; but I can come straight back, and we must do without the rest of it this year."
The incredible words roused Evelyn to open mutiny. Once more she faced him, her head flung backward, a ring of resolve in her voice.
"No, Theo, ... I
won't do without the rest of it.
You don't care, I daresay! So long as you can win the Punjab Cup, nothing else matters. But Christmas week is my only bit of real pleasure in all the cold weather, and I
will go down for it, ... what
ever you say."
Theo Desmond was completely taken aback; and when surprise gave place to speech, his tone suggested the iron hand under the velvet glove.
"My dear little woman, you are talking nonsense. If I find it impossible to manage Lahore, you will remain here. There can be no question about that."
But Evelyn persisted with the courage of despair.
"Then you mustn't find it impossible, ... that's all! There has been nothing but giving up ever since we came from Murree. I'm sick of it; and I won't give up Christmas week, too. It's quite hard enough for me as it is, being stranded in the most hopeless part of India because of you, without your grudging my few little pleasures as well." And sinking into a chair, she hid her face in her hands.
The victory is more often to the unscrupulous than to the strong. His wife's injustice cut Desmond to the quick. Impulsive renunciation sprang to his lips; and was only checked by the remembrance that he had given Honor his word.
"Evelyn--Evelyn," he pleaded with sudden vehemence, "for Heaven's sake have a little consideration for facts--if you have none for me. I grudge you nothing--I have never done so--and you know it. But--if you really find Frontier life intolerable, I can only give you free leave to go home, directly I scrape together the money for your passage."
"Go home----?" she echoed in blank bewilderment. "What do you mean?"
"What I say."
"But--wouldn't you come too?"
"No. I have no leave due now; and if I had, I couldn't afford to take it."
"You want me to go?" she flashed out in a tremor of apprehension. "I'm only a hindrance to you here. That's the real truth, I suppose?"
"I never said that, and I have given you no grounds for thinking it."
"But do you, Theo--
do you?"
Her eyes searched his face for confirmation of her suspicion, and found none.
"What I want or don't want is beside the mark," he said. "I naturally wish to see you happy; and as that evidently can't be managed here, I am willing to let you go and be happy elsewhere."
Her eyes fell and her answer came almost in a whisper.
"But I couldn't be happy anywhere else--without you."
"Is that the truth?"
"Yes."
"You'd prefer to stay here--with me?"
"Yes."
He laid his hand for an instant on her bent head.
"Stay then, Ladybird, by all means. Only, for pity's sake, spare me any more of the sort of things you said just now."
"And you won't stop me from going to Lahore, Theo?--Promise."
A swift change of expression crossed his face.
"I can't promise that. I'll do my best not to disappoint you, but I must get all these cleared off before I think of anything else."
"How
can you manage to clear them off--now?"
"Why trouble your head about side issues? They will all be paid before Christmas; that ought to be enough for you."
"But it's not enough. Tell me what you are going to do--tell me. I won't be pushed on one side like a child."
Desmond frowned.
"Well--if you insist on having it, I am going to sell Diamond."
She started and caught at his arm. For all his matter-of-fact coolness, she knew what those half-dozen words meant to her husband.
"No,--no Theo. Not Diamond! He's the best of them all."
"Exactly. He'll sell quicker and fetch a longer price than any of the others; that's why--he must go."
"But the tournament? Captain Olliver's mad about winning the Cup this year."
"I know that. So am I. I shall manage about a third pony, no fear. Time enough to think of that later. I must go and make out those advertisements."
He set his teeth upon the word and turned to leave her, but her voice arrested him half-way to the door.
"Theo!"
"Well?"
"Are you
sure there's nothing else that can be done? It--it isn't fair for you to lose the pony you love best, just because of a few dressmakers' bills."
At that his pent-up bitterness slipped from leash.
"Upon my soul, Evelyn, you're right. But there's no other way out of the difficulty, so let's have no more words about it: they don't make things easier to bear." _