That evening they dined out, and went to "The Tales of Hoffmann."By such devices it was possible to put off a little longer what she was going to do. During the drive home in the dark cab, she shrank away into her corner, pretending that his arm would hurt her dress;her exasperated nerves were already overstrung. Twice she was on the very point of crying out: "I am not Daphne Wing!" But each time pride strangled the words in her throat. And yet they would have to come. What other reason could she find to keep him from her room?
But when in her mirror she saw him standing behind her--he had crept into the bedroom like a cat--fierceness came into her. She could see the blood rush up in her own white face, and, turning round she said:
"No, Gustav, go out to the music-room if you want a companion."He recoiled against the foot of the bed and stared at her haggardly, and Gyp, turning back to her mirror, went on quietly taking the pins out of her hair. For fully a minute she could see him leaning there, moving his head and hands as though in pain.
Then, to her surprise, he went. And a vague feeling of compunction mingled with her sense of deliverance. She lay awake a long time, watching the fire-glow brighten and darken on the ceiling, tunes from "The Tales of Hoffmann" running in her head; thoughts and fancies crisscrossing in her excited brain. Falling asleep at last, she dreamed she was feeding doves out of her hand, and one of them was Daphne Wing. She woke with a start. The fire still burned, and by its light she saw him crouching at the foot of the bed, just as he had on their wedding-night--the same hungry yearning in his face, and an arm outstretched. Before she could speak, he began:
"Oh, Gyp, you don't understand! All that is nothing--it is only you I want--always. I am a fool who cannot control himself.
Think! It's a long time since you went away from me."Gyp said, in a hard voice:
"I didn't want to have a child."
He said quickly:
"No; but now you have it you are glad. Don't be unmerciful, my Gyp! It is like you to be merciful. That girl--it is all over--Iswear--I promise."
His hand touched her foot through the soft eiderdown. Gyp thought:
'Why does he come and whine to me like this? He has no dignity--none!' And she said:
"How can you promise? You have made the girl love you. I saw her face."He drew his hand back.
"You saw her?"
"Yes."
He was silent, staring at her. Presently he began again:
"She is a little fool. I do not care for the whole of her as much as I care for your one finger. What does it matter what one does in that way if one does not care? The soul, not the body, is faithful. A man satisfies appetite--it is nothing."Gyp said:
"Perhaps not; but it is something when it makes others miserable.""Has it made you miserable, my Gyp?"
His voice had a ring of hope. She answered, startled:
"I? No--her."
"Her? Ho! It is an experience for her--it is life. It will do her no harm.""No; nothing will do anybody harm if it gives you pleasure."At that bitter retort, he kept silence a long time, now and then heaving a long sigh. His words kept sounding in her heart: "The soul, not the body, is faithful." Was he, after all, more faithful to her than she had ever been, could ever be--who did not love, had never loved him? What right had she to talk, who had married him out of vanity, out of--what?
And suddenly he said:
"Gyp! Forgive!"
She uttered a sigh, and turned away her face.
He bent down against the eider-down. She could hear him drawing long, sobbing breaths, and, in the midst of her lassitude and hopelessness, a sort of pity stirred her. What did it matter? She said, in a choked voice:
"Very well, I forgive."
XIV
The human creature has wonderful power of putting up with things.
Gyp never really believed that Daphne Wing was of the past. Her sceptical instinct told her that what Fiorsen might honestly mean to do was very different from what he would do under stress of opportunity carefully put within his reach.
Since her return, Rosek had begun to come again, very careful not to repeat his mistake, but not deceiving her at all. Though his self-control was as great as Fiorsen's was small, she felt he had not given up his pursuit of her, and would take very good care that Daphne Wing was afforded every chance of being with her husband.
But pride never let her allude to the girl. Besides, what good to speak of her? They would both lie--Rosek, because he obviously saw the mistaken line of his first attack; Fiorsen, because his temperament did not permit him to suffer by speaking the truth.
Having set herself to endure, she found she must live in the moment, never think of the future, never think much of anything.
Fortunately, nothing so conduces to vacuity as a baby. She gave herself up to it with desperation. It was a good baby, silent, somewhat understanding. In watching its face, and feeling it warm against her, Gyp succeeded daily in getting away into the hypnotic state of mothers, and cows that chew the cud. But the baby slept a great deal, and much of its time was claimed by Betty. Those hours, and they were many, Gyp found difficult. She had lost interest in dress and household elegance, keeping just enough to satisfy her fastidiousness; money, too, was scarce, under the drain of Fiorsen's irregular requirements. If she read, she began almost at once to brood. She was cut off from the music-room, had not crossed its threshold since her discovery. Aunt Rosamund's efforts to take her into society were fruitless--all the effervescence was out of that, and, though her father came, he never stayed long for fear of meeting Fiorsen. In this condition of affairs, she turned more and more to her own music, and one morning, after she had come across some compositions of her girlhood, she made a resolution.
That afternoon she dressed herself with pleasure, for the first time for months, and sallied forth into the February frost.
