XXIV
ForMoira the summer grew increasingly fruitful, and, in a reflective way, full of satisfactions, despite the continued absences of Miles. A profound sympathy came over her, which she did not remember to have experienced before, for the average discontented wife, who had to endure this sort of thing with empty hands and no refuge of the spirit in which to lose herself.... That could never be the case with her.
It is true that she would have been less serene were it not for the fact that she had found companionship that answered a real want. Osprey had none of the qualifications of the teacher, and his criticisms struck deep. If she had been younger and greener they might only have puzzled and not helped her, but now she welcomed surgery and destruction. Her own hard years of unaided application rendered her capable of understanding his language remarkably well, and she was ready to discard and forget everything she had ever known.
Their discussions were often continued after brushes were laid aside. She accepted invitations to tea in the studio or sat on his terrace on warm nights after the children were asleep. The longdrawn out culmination of her relationship to Miles had given her the habit of self-analysis, and she laughed somewhat over the appeal that Osprey made to her as a man. She could not deny that it was the same that originally had drawn her to her husband. She dealt here with a greater Miles, wiser and more experienced. Nevertheless, she sensed in him the type that was not self-sufficient, that required sympathy of a subtle kind, and required it, when found, with an intensity that in this case was beginning to prove hypnotic to her. Unquestionably Potter Osprey was gradually becoming a necessary part of her life, and this was not her fault but his. She had hinted at, more than revealed, the state of affairs between herself and Miles. It was impossible not to do so, appearances being what they were; and the older man’s complete understanding coupled with hesitation to advise, was a soothing remedy to her hurts.
The attraction which was growing between herself and Osprey was totally different from her feeling for his friend, Roget, with whom she had become acquainted. The distinguished producer treated her with bantering equality from the start. It was as if they recognized a likeness to each other in essential strength, and the hesitation, almost anxiety, which Roget had felt over the painter’s passionate adoption of Moira’s cause disappeared on knowing her. He began to thinkof the whole affair as a pleasant and lasting alliance for his friend, of some sort, and he little doubted of what sort it would be. Obstacles there were, which he did not concern himself with. Once a possibility took life in Roget’s brain, obstacles did not exist. He had seen too many large ones swept aside.
To Moira, the obstacles were more significant, and yet they had diminished amazingly in the last three months. The prospect that Osprey would take their friendship seriously did have about it a quality of dark adventure which made even her steady pulses jump uncomfortably. But to the young woman who sees her marriage being slowly broken up before her eyes, while she is helpless to restore it, everything is touched by the shimmer of madness. And she asked herself what could have been more mad, more out of all normal reason, than her whole life? Moreover, she had a firm support now, one that gave her the strength to adventure—her art. The intimation had visited her at last that she might triumph in it; and, having reached that certainty, she felt it a more present help than coffers heaped with gold.... The picture which Roget had tried to buy she laughingly refused to sell him, but he had countered with a problem in stage design which he promised to accept if it offered a suggestion to work on. Here was a beginning, at least.
Her children ... it was strange how she felttoward them, how little she feared for them. Certainly they were to be shielded, but also they were not to be deceived about the life into which they had been brought. The truth would not hurt them.
It was late in September that Moira received the letter from Miles saying that he had left and would not return. The letter was a mixture of unhappy self-accusation, and charges against her for various shortcomings, chief of which appeared to be that she had become self-sufficient and had accepted assistance from others. She thought he might have spared her that, as well as the taunt about her preoccupation with Osprey.... She had expected a parting shot of some kind, yet when it came it was a painful blow, and she spent a week brooding over it and wholly beside herself.
During this week Osprey saw nothing of her, and when she came up the hill one evening to join him, he revealed in his eagerness what the deprivation had meant. He led her to a seat, fussed about her comfort and lighted her cigarette.
“I’ve been ill,” she said. “I go off and hide when that happens, like an animal. Now I’m well.”
“Ill?” he asked, disturbed. He reflected that he should have been less squeamish and forced a visit upon her. He had never done just that. Invitations, dropped at chance meetings or at the end of discussions while they worked had beenenough. This time he had gone a little further, approached her door on an impulse twice, but stopped before making his presence known. “But,” he resumed, “Nana didn’t tell me about your being ill. Did she take care of you?”
Moira knew what was in his mind. While she had been ill, her husband had not been at home.
“Well,” she confessed lightly, “ill is not strictly true. I’ve been just out of sorts. I had some news, but it doesn’t matter.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re feeling better. Particularly, as Nana tells me, you’re expecting a guest to-morrow.”
“Yes, an old friend, a Mr. Blaydon. An old schoolmate, really, who has been very kind to us.”
“I wonder if you wouldn’t bring him and Mr. Harlindew to dinner to-morrow night? I shall be delighted to have you all; and as for Nana, she suggested it herself.”
Miles had always been included in Osprey’s formal invitations, whether present or not, and had, in fact, attended once and contributed not unpleasantly to the evening.
“I’m afraid I can’t promise for my husband,” said Moira slowly.
“H’m. That’s too bad. But I can count on you and your friend, Mr. Blaydon, anyway?”
“I should love to bring him,” she replied and paused.... It was better, she thought, to havematters understood.... “My husband ... won’t come back here,” she went on. “He has left me.”
“It was that,” he asked kindly, “the news you had?”
“Yes, he wrote me a letter.”
Osprey spoke quietly but she was conscious of the emotion in his voice.
“And you will accept that? You will not seek him, try to bring him back?”
“No,” she replied. “Too much has happened before this. It is over.”
“You poor girl. You’ve suffered over it.”
“I put a good deal into it.... But this had to happen. Miles must have no ties.”
Osprey’s animation returned and he spoke in a more impersonal tone.
“Perhaps you’re right. I think the young man has not grown up in spite of his years. But he may find himself. They have a kind of strength, fellows like that, a kind of terrible strength that no one suspects. I’ve seen his type before. The fact is,” he added, with a half-serious smile, “I’ve been something of the sort myself. It’s often hard to locate the origin of a fool’s folly, but I think in my case it was an experience I had when I was a boy. It wasn’t a peccadillo with me. It haunted me for years, so much that I can’t talk freely about it to this day. It made life a desperate adventure; it was at the back of mostof my troubles....” He laughed. “I seem like an old fool to be telling you all this. And truly my nightmares appear absurd to me now.”
Moira laughed a little bitterly. “Something happened to me too when I was young.... But I am free.... I tore myself free from it.”
“I thought so,” he said gently. “There is a great difference in our ages, but if I may say so, we seem to have—well, had something alike to face in life. No, I do not mean just that—it’s presumptuous. I have never, I think, before met any woman quite like you. Strength and the genius for insight, such as yours, rarely meet in the same body.”
A hungry intensity in his words escaped him unawares. Though he had spoken nothing of significance, the feeling that shook him reached her through the dusk with sinister force. She had felt the same thing before and had had a momentary impulse to run, to break free from it. She did not want to be subjected to another tyranny of her emotions.... Yet she had reasoned with herself. Here was a future that could in every sense be ideal, a man with whom she had everything in common and whom she knew she could trust....
A moment later he changed the subject and she was glad.
“By the way,” he said, “why not have your guest stay over, if he will? You know I’ve extrabedrooms, and there is no reason why he should not occupy one as long as he likes.”
It was a point that had worried and embarrassed her, and she was inexpressibly pleased that he had thought of it.
“You’re too good,” she said fervently, “and I would love to keep him.”
They chatted on over impersonal shallows until the time came for her to return to the cottage.