i f6c06dd9cf3fe221 by Unknown (100 books to read in a lifetime .txt) 📗

"I feel so boiled up with hate that I.... Have you ever thought of killing a woman, Peter?"

Peter stared at him: "You're not going home tonight, man," he said quietly, putting his hand on Rodney's arm;

'you're staying here. "

"It's no use, Peter.... I've got to go. I've got to see her; I'll not rest until I do. And there's a dam' dinner on! "

"What has she done?"

"She's ..." But he was unable to put into words what his wife had done to him.

"I'll tell you another time," he said i39

and was gone.

"What do you think I'd better do, Peggy?" asked Peter, some minutes later.

"Follow him," she answered.

"But she has one of her dinners on," he said, pointing to the clock.

"It's half-past seven now, they'll just be sitting down.... He can't do anything with people there."

"Never mind; you go. You can always pretend you haven't seen him, and say you heard he was home and called.... He'll understand."

"He's walking. I'll give him time to get there, and then I'll take the car," said Peter.

The company had just finished dinner and settled themselves in the drawing-room, Stella, three other women and four men. The women, who were all unusually plain, were not the wives of the men, but were very pleased to be there in any capacity. The men were very glad to be there too; for what could be more pleasant than to eat one of Stella's dinners, and then to sit and look at her for a whole evening. For each of the men she had a peculiar charm. She spelt romance, and romance always beckoned. That the beckoning was becoming an irritation, Herbert Barrington was forced to admit to himself; he was heartily tired of promises. Only once had he experienced anything with Stella that could be given the name of an affair. And then it had been very disappointing, petering out to nothing, leaving him without the stimulus of his urge for her; quite a dead thing, yet full I of live irritation. She had promised it would be better next time, but there had never been a next time. And now there was Swinbum, and she still kept him dangling on . promising . and he was unable to free himself.

, He was thinking of all she had told him about her husband, and not for the first time a vague mistrust of what she had said entered his mind, when Rodney himself walked in. He watched Stella's eyes dart to him, and he knew her well enough to know she was uneasy behind her polished smile. He rose with the other men and joined his greeting to theirs. It wasn't until the ladies were introduced that Barrington realised that Rodney had neither spoken nor smiled, but had merely acknowledged the introductions by a nod.

They all sat down again, Rodney taking a seat opposite Stella. A strange silence, which no one seemed to have the power to break, fell on the room. He's heard about Swin- burn, Stella thought, and as usual is acting like a fool . she had heard from Mary of their meeting earlier in the day and of his rejected meal. He looks ghastly. But she felt the thrill of power rise in her with the knowledge that she could still make him feel like this. For lately she had been piqued by his indifference. She had got what she wanted, a life free from what she called his sexual pesterings, but it had turned out to be less satisfying than she had thought. Well, by the look of things, she could alter it at any time. She smiled, and addressed him, for the benefit of the company, as if they had met but a short while ago, instead of nearly three months: "We didn't wait dinner for you, dear; I didn't know what time you would get back. "

He made no answer, but sat looking at her, his face set.

Her poise began to slip away, she felt uneasy. He hadn't taken his eyes from her for a second. What was everyone thinking? She turned to Herbert . you could always rely on him to keep the tone of the party just right. "Will you begin reading, Herbert?" she asked sweetly.

But Herbert was being awkward too.

"You begin," he said.

"Let us hear some of the latest prose poems."

"Yes!" chorused the ladies, glad to hear the sound of their own voices, for since the husband had come in things had become decidedly strained.

Without further ado, Stella took up a slim volume from the table at her hand, settled herself in her chair, gave one quick glance at the company, and commenced to read:

Let the beauty linger in my soul Of a rose just bursting into bloom, Of a bird in flight, Of the moon, new born into the nighty Reflecting on a sea of gentle ripples.

Let the beauty linger in my soul Of a winter morn draped in patterned frost, Of air like wine, Of sunlit snow on limbs of trees, Of black, brown trunks bare to the winds that sweep the woods. Of drifts of crisp brown leaves, Swept, now here, now there, with the breeze.

Let the beauty linger in my soul Of firelight in a darkened room, Of kindly words, Of lovers' laughter coming through the night, Until, at last, I know no greater peace nor ease But to remember these.

The company was startled and shocked by a harsh sound; Rodney, his head leaning against the high back of the chair, was laughing. He stopped abruptly and bent towards Stella: "I like that; so full of feeling; so much understanding of the simple things of life, especially that part: Of lovers' laughter coming through the night."

Stella stared at