A pillar of salt: a story of married life

Part I The Wilderness

CHAPTER PAGE

I. A BREEZE 7

11 . IRENE SYLVESTER IQ

III. earl’s court, s.w. 32

rv. THE “DUDLEY” 45

V. PENANCE 59

VI. MRS. GIBBARd’s MONDAY 72

VII. A prodigal’s return 85

VIII. DIVERS WOMEN IO3

IX. “WE DECEIVE OURSELVES” II6

X. VANITIES I3I

XL THE AWAKENING I42

XII. THE MIRACLE 153

XIIL TWO WOMEN 168

XIV. THE INJURED WIFE 181

XV. THE MOMENTOUS MEETING 194

XVI. A COMFORTER 206

XVII. THE CRISIS 217

XVIII. KISSES WITHOUT WORDS 22 $

Part II The Promised Land

XIX. WORDS WITHOUT KISSES 232

XX. THE day’s work 243

XXL THE EXPERIMENT 252

XXIL LOOKING BACKWARD 263

CONTENTS

CHAPTEE

PAGE

XXIII. THE UNEXPECTED

XXIV. WRAITHS

XXV. IRMA’s PLAYTHING

XXVI. APOTHEOSIS

XXVII. A NIGHT OUT

PART I

THE WILDERNESS CHAPTER I

'"Good-morning, dear

Avice pretended sleep.

“Good-morning, dear!’" repeated her husband, and in a louder voice.

Avice was in two minds whether she should still resent Leonard’s refusal to take her to the “Dudley” dance: perhaps she would have chosen the better way if he had not leaned over and kissed her lips.

“Don’t!” she cried petulantly.

“I thought you were asleep, dear!”

“So I was.”

“But you heard what I said!”

“How do you know?” she asked, and none too graciously.

“Because I do. Surely you’re not still in the sulks !”

“I’m never sulky,” declared Avice untruthfully. “It’s you who are unreasonable.”

“I thought — I hoped there was to be an end of all this,” said Leonard in a low voice. “You remember what you said the other day!”

“How can there be if you go on so?”

There was an irritation in her voice which belied her feelings of the moment: she had got over her annoyance at being kissed ; and his gentleness, for once, put her in the mood to make it up; perhaps because she saw thereby a means to get her own way.

Leonard, apparently, thought further forbearance useless: he got out of bed; put on his slippers and dressing-gown; and went in the direction of the bath-room, which served for his dressing-room.

Avice heard him cheerily greet little Irma, who had long since risen, and was now having her hair brushed by her nurse; and while he was shaving, and waiting for the bath to fill, Leonard and his daughter kept up a running conversation.

Avice did not know whether to get up: she thought of pleading a headache, as ailing of any kind awoke her husband’s sympathy: but she had had a lot of headaches of late, and feared the device was showing signs of wear: she had not forgotten the fable of the boy and the wolf.

It was too bad of her husband objecting to going out, and to want to stay at home; it was not as though she led a life of dissipation and was always gadding about; it was quite the contrary with her; and the long evenings at home, during which her husband either read, or played interminable chess with one of his cronies, had got on her nerves.

He had promised to take her to this subscription dance, which most of her friends would attend ; indeed, it had been his idea they should go, and he had bought the tickets himself : and now, just because the nurse had heard overnight her mother was seriously ill, and was going oflf after breakfast to be with her for a day or two, Leonard wanted his wife to forgo the dance, and all because of Irma.

There would be another maid in the house to look after the child; it was unreasonable of him to expect her to change her plans at the last moment : he had been quite put out at her flat refusal to do anything of the kind.

He put Irma before his wife, and was always doing so ; the way he doted on the child was absurd ; he never seemed so happy as when he was playing with her, or taking her for walks, or planning some surprise for her in the shape of toys or amusements.

A wife should come first and

There they were still chattering and joking; from the shrieks of childish laughter which came to her ears, Avice could pretty well guess he was crawling about like a dog; apparently to amuse the child; in reality to annoy his wife.

No wonder Avice jumped out of bed, and slammed the door in order to show her resentment.

She did her hair and dressed anyhow (this was not unusual, as she believed anything would do for her husband) ; whilst thus employed she incontinently dwelled upon the slight she was certain was being put on her.

No husband should shut up a wife with any ^‘go” in her, and expect her to live the life of a superior housekeeper, for that was what she was : if some wives “stuck it” (Avice’s expression) it was because they were frumps, and fit for nothing else.

She had been so much admired, and would be still if she could only go out sometimes, that she had no intention of giving way this time; she would prove to Leonard that his old-fashioned notions of treating a wife were a dead letter.

And as for his indulgence of Irma, in the future he would have to give more attention to his wife.

She had not been made a fuss of as a child; anything but: she recalled how her old martinet of a father had ordered her days from her earliest years, and she waxed wrathful at the way Irma was spoiled.

Small matter for wonder that she presented herself at the breakfast-table with her appealing face darkened by clouds.

“Morning, mum,” cried Irma as she put up her face to be kissed.

“Morning, dear,” returned her mother severely, and without looking down.

The child pouted, held back gathering tears, and glanced for stay at her father, who was piling jam on her plate.

Breakfast was eaten in silence.

Avice, who was nursing her wrongs, hardly touched a thing: she was mindful that her husband was making a hearty meal and, of course, to annoy her: the fact of his devouring the eggs and bacon which were over put an edge on her ill-temper.

^'You’ll see me to school, daddy!” said Irma after her father had wiped the jam from her lips and cheeks.

“Not this morning,” cried Avice before Leonard could reply.

“Mum!” from Irma.

“Annie will take you to school this morning, dear.”

“But she’s to go to her mother directly after breakfast,” remarked Leonard.

“It won’t hurt her to wait five minutes.”

“But !”

“She’s lucky to get off as it is. It isn’t everyone who would let her go.”

“Nonsense!” cried Leonard.

“We won’t go into that now,” said Avice severely.

“You’re coming back this evening, aren’t you, daddie?” said Irma, who got down from her chair and stood by her father.

“Of course, dear.”

“And you’re going to play with me?”

“Of course.”

“Like you did this morning!”

“If you’re a good girl.”

“I’m always good. And for ever so much longer !”

“Perhaps.”

Irma lifted her face; upon her father bending down to kiss her forehead, she threw her arms about his neck and held his head to hers.

“Go now, dear, or you’ll be late,” said Leonard.

“Won’t you come with me?”

He glanced interrogatively at his wife.

“Go downstairs and tell Annie to take you; and say I told you to say so.”

“All right, mum,” said the child, and none too graciously.

“Aren’t you going to say good-bye to me?”

“I was going to when I put on my hat.”

“Don’t come in again. I want to speak to your father.”

II

Irma did not reply: she went to the door; waved and kissed her hand to her father; and left the room.

The child’s preference for her father added fuel to the flames of her mother’s anger.

She glanced at Leonard, whose eyes were fixed on where his daughter had disappeared, and still held the look of abiding affection with which he always regarded her: she had thought of a further appeal to her husband in order to get him to change his mind ; but there was no thought of her doing this now ; she was determined to go to the dance, and with him.

"‘You quite understand about to-night!” she began.

'‘What do you mean, dear?”

She interpreted his reply as a symptom of weakness, and went on:

“You know well enough what I mean ! I’ve quite decided to go.”

“To the ‘Dudley’?”

“Yes.”

“You know my objections!”

“By heart. But you always object to everything I want.”

“Nothing in reason, dear.”

“Everything I ever want to do is unreasonable according to you.”

“There’s no occasion to get angry,” said Leonard as he filled his pipe. “We can surely discuss it without heat.”

Aware she was appearing at a disadvantage, she all but lost her temper, and cried :

“Who wouldn’t be angry if they were cooped up here as I am! Never seeing anyone; never going anywhere; and never being allowed to do as I want.”

“If you ask me, I think you have your own way far too much.”

“And that I give in to you far more than is good for you.”

“Say that again,” she sneered.

“And if I do, it’s only because I’m so fond of you,” he said gravely.

^T like that,’’ she cried, and for a moment nonplussed by his earnestness.

“And you know it; and you take advantag^e of it.”

“If you were really fond of me, you’d give in to me in this. Besides, it’s only what you tell me.”

“Haven’t I proved it in a thousand ways?”

Countless instances of how Leonard had indulged her flashed across her mind : fearing she might be weak where she would be strong, she blinded herself to these, and went on :

“If cooping me up as you do, and never letting me go anywhere, or see anyone, shows affection, you care for me a lot.”

“A vice ! Avice !”

“It’s true; and you know it.”

“In what way do I ever interfere with your liberty?”

“In every way.”

“Give me an instance.”

“What about to-night !”

“That !” he cried contemptuously.

“You know you’ve nothing to say; and so you try to make out it’s nothing.”

“Is it nothing that Irma should be left by herself in this house ?”

“There’s May!”

“Can you trust her farther than you can see her?”

“She’s competent.”

“Anything but.”

“You only say that ”

“I haven’t forgotten, and I hoped you hadn’t, that I once met her with Irma in the rain; and she was holding the umbrella over her own head, and letting the child drag along in the gutter,” he interrupted, and with more than a touch of asperity in his voice.

“She said Irma wouldn’t hurry, so she had to get her along the best way she could.”

“ 'She said I’ Avice I Avice !”

The justifiable reproach in his voice sent her off on another tack.

“And that’s another thing I complain of ; you put Irma before me. Yes, you do” (he would have spoken), ‘^and you know it. It’s always Irma; Irma; Irma; when you’re at home. How she is; what she says; and all the rest of it. And on the rare occasions you give up an evening to me, you fidget about her all the time.”

*‘And why not?” he asked almost defiantly.

‘‘Your wife should come first,” she replied doggedly.

“I love you both,” he said simply. “Irma because she is ours: you, because you gave her to me.”

“All very well ”

“It’s true, Avice, and you know it in your heart.”

“You put Irma first.”

“Oh! Rot!”

“I say, you put Irma first.”

“It’s no good wrangling. I’ll be off.”

“You shan’t go.”

“What!”

“Not until you promise to take me to-night.”

“I’d be delighted to take you if it weren’t for Irma.”

“That’s what I say: you put Irma first.”

“And I should have thought you would do the same,” he retorted with sudden anger.

The fact of her suspicions regarding his thinking more of the child than he did of his wife being strengthened, further unhinged her self-control.

“I don’t put her before you, so I don’t see why you should put her before me; and I won’t have it,” she cried.

“You know perfectly well ”

“It’s no use trying to water it down: you said it, and there’s no getting away from it. Unless you take me to-night, I shall know it’s true ; and you must not be surprised at anything I do.”

“Avice ! Avice !”

“Don’t ‘Avice’ me.”

“You’re so unreasonable.”

“Women are always unreasonable if they differ from men. Are you going to take me or are you not?”

“What?” he asked, and as though anxious to gain time for reflection.

“You know what I said. Are you going to take me or are you not?”

Leonard thought for a moment before desperately saying :

‘'Do you know what's wrong with women like you, who are never satisfied and always trying to get your own way ?”

“Never mind others ”

“But I do mind. What is wrong with you is that you have too indulgent husbands, and have much too good a time ; and having plenty of leisure on your hands, you have nothing better to do but to get discontented, and to find fault with your best friends."

“But "

“It's no question of 'buts': it's a fact. We men get so fond of our womenfolk that we give in to them far more than is good for them; and all we get for our pains is lack of consideration, and worse. Indulgent husbands make indifferent wives." ^

She was taken aback by his vehemence, and might have been cowed into a more reasonable frame of mind, had not Irma, in passing the door on her way to school, called out:

“Good-bye, darling daddy."

“Good-bye, sweetheart."

Leonard's changed expression at hearing his daughter's voice, together with his tender greeting, made Avice harden her heart.

“Are you going to take me or are you not?" she asked in a low, even voice.

“And leave little Irma to the care of a wooden-headed servant ?"

“That's not the point."

“It is the point."

“I want to find out who comes first in your life.”

“You know very well ”

“That's no answer," she interrupted. “It's no use getting out of it. I mean to have an answer before you go.”

“You're keeping me, and I shall be late."

“You've often put off going for nothing at all, so you can surely stay for this."

Leonard, who hated domestic jars, looked searchingly at his wife: seeing the determination in her face, he faltered for a moment, and after gathering what courage he might, he blurted out :

“Fm surprised at you, Avice. I did think you different from the rest/'

“What do you mean?" she asked with disconcerting calmness.

“I never pretended to know much about women, but I did think this much : that if a woman has a rotten husband, who did everything he oughtn’t to, she thinks him a hero, and sticks to him through thick and thin. I always hoped and believed you’d appreciate my loving you as I do.’’

“Where did you get that nonsense from?’’

“What nonsense?’’

“Thinking a woman loves a man the better because he’s a bad husband.’’

“Isn’t it true?’’

“Of course it isn’t.’’

“Of course it is. We’ve an instance under our very noses.’’

“Who?’’ she asked impatiently: she wanted to get back to the point.

“Rene Sylvester. Although she does her pathetic best to keep her friends from finding out, we all know Sylvester drinks hard, and gives her a rotten time.’’

“Doesn’t she devote her life to him; trying to keep him straight ; and doing ‘all she knows’ to please him ?’’

“Rene Sylvester is only a ‘cow’ woman."

“Only a what?"

“A ‘cow’ woman."

“What does that mean?"

“A woman who’s no interest beyond husband and children."

“She hasn’t any children."

“She would be like that if she had any."

“I think Mrs. Sylvester an admirable woman."

“That’s right: throw her in my face."

“I only say what I believe is the truth. She’s fond of her home; takes a pride in it; and takes pains to look her best."

i6 A PILLAR OF SALT

“What’s all that to do with what we were talking about ?”

“I’m proving my point. If she were unattractive, there mightn’t be much virtue in what she does. But you know how she attracts men ”

“Oh! Men. They’ll run after any woman with a good figure.”

“You admit she has that!”

“She’s much too stout.”

Leonard laughed.

“Anyway, very slim figures are all the fashion just now.”

Leonard glanced quizzically at his wife, and said:

“At least Mrs. Sylvester has a sense of humour.”

This remark was like the proverbial red rag to a bull: nothing was more calculated to annoy Avice than to hint she was wanting in this respect.

“Haven’t I ?” she cried.

“I don’t see many signs of it this morning.”

“If you think so much of Mrs. Sylvester, it’s a pity you didn’t marry her.”

“Avice ! Avice !”

“A nice thing to tell a wife to her face you as good as love another woman !”

“Who did anything of the kind?”

“You did.”

“Avice !”

“It’s no good looking reproachful: it won’t go down with me. Are you, or are you not, going to take me to the ^Dudley’?”

“But ”

“Are you or are you not?”

“I’m thinking of Irma.”

“Answer.”

Her peremptory manner raised an obstinacy within him which was alien to his disposition.

“No,” he cried stoutly.

And if he had expected anything dreadful to happen, he was mistaken : Avice looked blacker than ever ; and that was all.

Her silence was an anti-climax to her previous resolution; taking advantage of the lull in the storm, Leonard, who, at heart, was dreadfully miserable, and already half repented of having thwarted his wife, left the room, and in a minute or two, the house.

His point-blank refusal, his hasty departure, had all happened with such unexpected suddenness that for some moments Avice could not realise what had happened ; she soon recovered herself ; and if it had not been for the objections to a row in the street, she would have liked to have followed him and to have had it out with him.

She was beside herself with rage, though not so much as now and again to gather her thoughts, and to devise some means of vexing her husband.

And in her heart of hearts, she respected him for his unwonted firmness.

It was in her mind to employ the time-old expedient of going off with Irma to her mother’s, and not leaving word to say where she was.

She knew this unexplained absence would worry Leonard dreadfully, and was thinking what was the best excuse to make for her unexpected appeara«ce at her old home, till it occurred to her that, on the last occasion she had done such a thing, her stout old father had seen what she was at, and had told her *'not to be a damned fool.”

^‘Men always stuck up for each other when it was a question of flouting a woman,” she reflected; and further wondered what she might do to hurt her husband.

More than once, the secret appeal Leonard’s steadfastness made to her stood him in good stead : she might have got reconciled to spending the evening at home had not what she considered to be his reflection on her deficiency of humour come into her mind : his praise of Rene Sylvester, and her smart appearance.

Avice glanced at herself in the glass.

She had certainly dressed carelessly : her hair could have done with more brushing; her blouse was not fresh; and she had not done up all the hooks.

Leonard seemingly forgot that Rene Sylvester’s husband was well off ; that she had a maid all to herself ; and plenty of money to dress upon.

Anyone could look smart with such advantages.

i8

And he had apparently forgotten she had expected to go to the dance, and was reserving herself for the evening.

Avice was torn between exasperation and an inclination to make the best of a bad job.

She was thinking of attending to her household duties, when she heard someone run quickly up the steps, and the knock of a telegraph boy on the door.

She took in the telegram herself : wondering what it might contain, she tore the envelope, and read as follows :

“See if Mrs. Sylvester will take Irma for evening. Love. — Leonard.”