And when Charlie became her lover the situation between herself and Walter seemed absolutely absurd. She could hardly look at him, so serious and self-controlled, without laughing. She was too happy to feel unkindly towards him. She had hesitated some time before the final step, not because she did not want to give way to Charlie’s passion, her own was equal to his, but because her upbringing and all the conventions of her life limited her. The final act was due to accident; neither of them had seen the opportunity till it was face to face with them.
XVI
Her happiness, sometimes almost more than she could bear, renewed her beauty. Her starry eyes gained a more significant expression; her skin was dazzling. She looked eighteen once more. She was at the height of her glowing loveliness. It was impossible not to remark it and her women friends asked her if she was going to have a baby.
They managed their intrigue with skill. They could not meet often alone, sometimes in the curio shop, now and then after lunch in her house when no one was about; but she saw him a lot here and there.
She worshipped him. He was splendid. In tennis clothes he looked just like a boy. Of course he was proud of his figure: it was the best figure she had ever seen. He never ate bread or potatoes or butter. And he did a lot of exercise. She liked the care he took of his hands; he was manicured once a week. He was a wonderful athlete and the year before he had won the local tennis championship. Certainly he was the best dancer she had ever danced with; it was a dream to dance with him. No one would think he was forty. She told him she did not believe it.
“I believe it’s all bluff and you’re really twenty-five.”
He laughed. He was well pleased.
“Oh, my dear, I have a son of fifteen. I’m middle-aged. In another two or three years I’ll just be a fat old man.”
“You’ll be adorable when you’re a hundred.”
She did not believe there was anything he could not do: he was very clever at his work too and she shared his pleasure when he told her that the Governor had particularly congratulated him on the way he had done some difficult job.
Oh, how she wished that she were his wife rather than Walter’s!
XVII
Of course it was not certain yet that Walter knew the truth, but if he did, well, in the end it would be the best thing for all of them. At first she had put up with seeing Charlie only secretly; but time had increased her passion and for a while now she had been increasingly impatient of the obstacles which prevented them from being always together. He had told her so often that he cursed his position which forced him to be so cautious, the ties which bound him, and the ties which bound her. She saw his point of view; no one wanted a scandal, and of course it required a lot of thinking over before you changed the course of your life.
It was not as though any one would suffer very much. She knew exactly what his relations were with his wife. She was a cold woman and there had been no love between them for years. It was habit that held them together, convenience, and of course the children. It was easier for Charlie than for her: Walter loved her; but after all, he was absorbed in his work; and a man always had his club; he might be upset at first, but he would get over it; there was no reason why he should not marry someone else.
She wondered, why a little while before she had been terrified at the thought that Walter had caught them. Of course it was startling to see the handle of the door slowly turn. But after all they knew the worst that Walter could do, and they were ready for it.
Walter was a gentleman, and he loved her; he would allow her to divorce him. They had made a mistake and the lucky thing was that they had found it out before it was too late. She made up her mind exactly what she was going to say to him. She would be kind, smiling, and firm. There was no need for them to quarrel. Later on she would always be glad to see him. She hoped honestly that the two years they had spent together would remain with him as a priceless memory.
“I don’t suppose Dorothy Townsend will mind divorcing Charlie a bit,” she thought. “Now the youngest boy is going back to England it will be much nicer for her to be in England too. There’s absolutely nothing for her to do in Hong Kong. She’ll be able to spend all the holidays with her boys. And then she’s got her father and mother in England.”
It was all very simple and everything could be managed without scandal. And then she and Charlie could marry. They would be very happy.
Sooner or later Walter must come home and her heart beat fast at the thought of meeting him; it was strange that he had gone away that afternoon without saying a word to her. Once more she repeated what she would say to him. What was the good of making a scene? She was very sorry, she didn’t want to cause him pain, but she couldn’t help it if she didn’t love him. It was no good pretending and it was always better to tell the truth. She hoped he wouldn’t be unhappy, but they had made a mistake and the only sensible thing was to acknowledge it. She would always think kindly of him.
But even as she said this to herself she was frightened. And because she was frightened she grew angry with him. Oh, how he’d bored her, bored her, bored her! He thought himself so much better than anyone else; he had no sense of humour; she hated his arrogance, his coldness, and his self-control. It was easy to be self-controlled when you were interested in nothing and nobody but yourself. He was disgusting to her. She hated to let him kiss her. He danced awfully, he couldn’t play or sing, he couldn’t play polo and his tennis was no better than anybody else’s. Bridge? Who cared about bridge?
Kitty worked herself up[18]. Let him dare to reproach her. All that had happened was his own fault. She was thankful that he knew the truth at last. She hated him and wished never to see him again. Yes, she was thankful that it was all over. Why couldn’t he leave her alone?
She heard the car stop at the gate of their garden. He was coming up the stairs.
XVIII
He came into the room: her heart was beating wildly and her hands were shaking; it was lucky that she lay on the sofa. She was holding an open book as though she had been reading. He stood for an instant on the threshold and their eyes met. Her heart sank. His face was deathly pale; she had seen it like that once before, when they sat together in the Park and he asked her to marry him. He knew everything.
“You’re back early,” she remarked.
Her lips trembled so that she could hardly say the words. She was terrified. She was afraid she would faint.
“I think it’s about the usual time.”
His voice sounded strange to her. She wondered if he saw that she was shaking. He dropped his eyes.
“I’m just going to dress.”
He left the room. For two or three minutes she could not move. Then she got up not knowing if her legs would support her. With one hand on the wall she went to her room. She put on a tea-gown and when she went back into her boudoir (they only used the drawing-room when there was a party) he was standing at a table looking at the pictures of a magazine. She had to force herself to enter.
“Shall we go down? Dinner is ready,” he said.
“Have I kept you waiting?”
It was dreadful that she could not control the trembling of her lips.
When