The Magician - W. Somerset Maugham (good romance books to read .txt) 📗

“I can’t help it if she didn’t love me,” he cried desperately.

“You know just as well as I do that she pretended to love you. Oh, she’s behaved shamefully. There can be no excuse for her.”

He looked at Susie with haggard, miserable eyes.

“How can you be so cruel? For God’s sake don’t make it harder.”

There was an indescribable agony in his voice. And as if his own words of pain overcame the last barrier of his self-control, he broke down. He hid his face in his hands and sobbed. Susie was horribly conscience-stricken.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to say such hateful things. I didn’t mean to be unkind. I ought to have remembered how passionately you love her.”

It was very painful to see the effort he made to regain his self-command. Susie suffered as much as he did. Her impulse was to throw herself on her knees, and kiss his hands, and comfort him; but she knew that he was interested in her only because she was Margaret’s friend. At last he got up and, taking his pipe from his pocket, filled it silently. She was terrified at the look on his face. The first time she had ever seen him, Susie wondered at the possibility of self-torture which was in that rough-hewn countenance; but she had never dreamed that it could express such unutterable suffering. Its lines were suddenly changed, and it was terrible to look upon.

“I can’t believe it’s true,” he muttered. “I can’t believe it.”

There was a knock at the door, and Arthur gave a startled cry.

“Perhaps she’s come back.”

He opened it hurriedly, his face suddenly lit up by expectation; but it was Dr. Porhoët.

“How do you do?” said the Frenchman. “What is happening?”

He looked round and caught the dismay that was on the faces of Arthur and Susie.

“Where is Miss Margaret? I thought you must be giving a party.”

There was something in his manner that made Susie ask why.

“I received a telegram from Mr. Haddo this morning.”

He took it from his pocket and handed it to Susie. She read it and passed it to Arthur. It said:

“Come to the studio at five. High jinks.

“Oliver Haddo.”

“Margaret was married to Mr. Haddo this morning,” said Arthur, quietly. “I understand they have gone to England.”

Susie quickly told the doctor the few facts they knew. He was as surprised, as distressed, as they.

“But what is the explanation of it all?” he asked.

Arthur shrugged his shoulders wearily.

“She cared for Haddo more than she cared for me, I suppose. It is natural enough that she should go away in this fashion rather than offer explanations. I suppose she wanted to save herself a scene she thought might be rather painful.”

“When did you see her last?”

“We spent yesterday evening together.”

“And did she not show in any way that she contemplated such a step?”

Arthur shook his head.

“You had no quarrel?”

“We’ve never quarrelled. She was in the best of spirits. I’ve never seen her more gay. She talked the whole time of our house in London, and of the places we must visit when we were married.”

Another contraction of pain passed over his face as he remembered that she had been more affectionate than she had ever been before. The fire of her kisses still burnt upon his lips. He had spent a night of almost sleepless ecstasy because he had been certain for the first time that the passion which consumed him burnt in her heart too. Words were dragged out of him against his will.

“Oh, I’m sure she loved me.”

Meanwhile Susie’s eyes were fixed on Haddo’s cruel telegram. She seemed to hear his mocking laughter.

“Margaret loathed Oliver Haddo with a hatred that was almost unnatural. It was a physical repulsion like that which people sometimes have for certain animals. What can have happened to change it into so great a love that it has made her capable of such villainous acts?”

“We mustn’t be unfair to him,” said Arthur. “He put our backs up, and we were probably unjust. He has done some very remarkable things in his day, and he’s no fool. It’s possible that some people wouldn’t mind the eccentricities which irritated us. He’s certainly of very good family and he’s rich. In many ways it’s an excellent match for Margaret.”

He was trying with all his might to find excuses for her. It would not make her treachery so intolerable if he could persuade himself that Haddo had qualities which might explain her infatuation. But as his enemy stood before his fancy, monstrously obese, vulgar, and overbearing, a shudder passed through him. The thought of Margaret in that man’s arms tortured him as though his flesh were torn with iron hooks.

“Perhaps it’s not true. Perhaps she’ll return,” he cried.

“Would you take her back if she came to you?” asked Susie.

“Do you think anything she can do has the power to make me love her less? There must be reasons of which we know nothing that caused her to do all she has done. I daresay it was inevitable from the beginning.”

Dr. Porhoët got up and walked across the room.

“If a woman had done me such an injury that I wanted to take some horrible vengeance, I think I could devise nothing more subtly cruel than to let her be married to Oliver Haddo.”

“Ah, poor thing, poor thing!” said Arthur. “If I could only suppose she would be happy! The future terrifies me.”

“I wonder if she knew that Haddo had sent that telegram,” said Susie.

“What can it matter?”

She turned to Arthur gravely.

“Do you remember that day, in this studio, when he kicked Margaret’s dog, and you thrashed him? Well, afterwards, when he thought no one saw him, I happened to catch sight of his face. I never saw in my life such malignant hatred. It was the face of a fiend of wickedness. And when he tried to excuse himself, there was a cruel gleam in his eyes which terrified me. I warned you; I told you that he had