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Love's Shadow

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<h2 id="id01525" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XXVI</h2> Confidences 'I know who you are. You're the pretty lady. Mother won't be long. Shall I get you my bear?' Hyacinth had come to see Edith, and was waiting for her in the little drawing-room of the flat. The neat white room with its miniature overmantel, pink walls, and brass fire-irons like toys, resembled more than ever an elaborate doll's house. The frail white chairs seemed too slender to be sat on. Could one ever write at that diminutive white writing-desk? The flat might have been made, and furnished by Waring, for midgets. Everything was still in fair and dainty repair, except that the ceiling, which was painted in imitation of a blue sky, was beginning to look cloudy. Hyacinth sat on a tiny blue sofa from where she could see her face in the glass. She was even prettier than before her marriage, now three months ago, but when in repose there was a slightly anxious look in her sweet, initiated eyes. She had neither the air of prosaic disillusion nor that of triumphant superiority that one sees in some young brides. She seemed intensely interested in life, but a little less reposeful than formerly. 'Why, Archie! What a big boy you've grown!' 'Shall I bring you my bear?' 'Oh, no; never mind the bear. Stay and talk to me.' 'Yes; but I'd better bring the bear. Mother would want me to amuse you.' He ran out and returned with his beloved animal, and put it on her lap. 'Father calls him mangy, but he isn't, really. I'm going to cut its hair to make it grow thicker. I can say all the alphabet and lots of poetry. Shall I say my piece? No; I know what I'll do, I'll get you my cards, with E for ephalunt and X for swordfish on, and see if you can guess the animals.' 'That would be fun. I wonder if I shall guess?' 'You mustn't read the names on them, because that wouldn't be fair. You may only look at the pictures. Oh, won't you have tea? Do have tea.' 'I think I'll wait for your mother.' 'Oh, no; have tea now, quick. Then I can take some of your sugar.' Hyacinth agreed; but scarcely had this point been settled when Edith returned and sent him off. 'Edith,' Hyacinth said, 'do you know I am rather worried about two things? I won't tell you the worst just yet.' 'It's sure to be all your fancy,' said Edith affectionately. 'Well, it isn't my fancy about Anne. Is it not the most extraordinary thing? Since the day of my wedding she's never been seen or heard of. She walked straight out into the street, and London seems to have swallowed her up. She took nothing with her but a large paper parcel, and left all her luggage, and even her dress that I made her get for the wedding was laid out on the bed. What can have become of her? Of course, I know she has plenty of money, and she could easily have bought an entirely new outfit, and gone away—to America or somewhere, under another name without telling anyone. We've inquired of her father, and he knows nothing about her. It really is a mysterious disappearance.' 'I don't feel as if anything had happened to her,' Edith said, after a pause. 'She's odd, and I fancy she hated your marrying, and didn't want to see you again. She'll get over it and come back. Surely if there had been an accident, we should have heard by now. Do you miss her, Hyacinth?' 'Of course I do, in a way. But everything's so different now. It isn't so much my missing her, if I only knew she was all right. There's something so sad about disappearing like that.' 'Well, everything has been done that can be done. It's not the slightest use worrying. I should try and forget about it, if I were you. What's the other trouble?' Hyacinth hesitated. 'Well, you know how perfect Cecil is to me, and yet there's one thing I don't like. The Selseys have come back, and have asked us there, and Cecil won't go. Isn't it extraordinary? Can he be afraid of meeting her again?' 'Really, Hyacinth, you are fanciful! What now, now that she's his aunt—practically? Can you really still be jealous?' 'Horribly,' said Hyacinth frankly. 'If she married his uncle a hundred times it wouldn't alter the fact that she's the only woman he's ever been madly in love with.' 'Why, he adores you, Hyacinth!' 'I am sure he does, in a way, but only as a wife! 'Well, good heavens! What else do you want? You're too happy; too lucky; you're inventing things, searching for troubles. Why make yourself wretched about imaginary anxieties?' 'Suppose, dear, that though he's devoted to me, we suit each other perfectly, and so on, yet at the back of his brain there's always a little niche, a little ideal for that other woman just because she never cared for him? I believe there will always be—always.' 'Well, suppose there is; what on earth does it matter? What difference does it make? Why be jealous of a shadow?' 'It's just because it's such a shadow that it's so intangible—so unconquerable. If she had ever returned his affection he might have got tired of her, they might have quarrelled, he might have seen through her—realised her age and all that, and it would have been over—exploded! Instead of this, he became fascinated by her, she refused him; and then, to make it ever so much worse for me, Lord Selsey, whom he's so fond of and thinks such a lot of, goes and puts her upon a pedestal, constantly in sight, yet completely out of reach.' 'You are unreasonable, Hyacinth! Would you prefer a rival of flesh and blood. Don't be so fanciful, dear. It's too foolish. You've got your wish; enjoy it. I consider that you haven't a trouble in the world.' 'Dear Edith,' said Hyacinth, 'have you troubles?' 'Why, of course I have—small ones. Bruce has taken to having a different illness every day. His latest is that he imagines he's a malade imaginaire!' 'Good gracious, how complicated! What makes him think that?' 'Because he's been going to specialists for everything he could think of, and they all say he's specially well. Still, it's better than if he were really ill, I suppose. Only he's very tormenting, and hardly ever works, and lately he's taken to making jealous scenes.' 'Oh, that must be rather fun. Who is he jealous of?' 'Why, he thinks he's jealous of his friend Raggett—the most impossible, harmless creature in the world; and the funny thing is whenever Bruce is jealous of anyone he keeps on inviting them—won't leave them alone. If I go out when Raggett appears, he says it's because I'm so deep; and if I stay he finds fault with everything I do. What do you advise me to do, Hyacinth?' 'Why, give him something more genuine to worry about—flirt with a real person. That would do Bruce good, and be a change for you.' 'I would—but I haven't got time! What chance is there for flirting when I have to be always contriving and economising, and every scrap of leisure I must be there or thereabouts in case Bruce has heart disease or some other illness suddenly? When you are living with a strong young man who thinks he's dangerously ill, flirting is not so easy as it sounds. When he isn't here I'm only too glad to rest by playing with Archie.' 'I see. What do you think could cure Bruce of his imaginary maladies?' 'Oh, not having to work, coming into some money. You see, it fills up the time which he can't afford to spend on amusements.' Edith laughed. 'It's a bore for you….' 'Oh, I don't mind much; but you see we all have our little troubles.' 'Then, how did you say I ought to behave about the Selseys?' 'Don't behave at all. Be perfectly natural, ignore it. By acting as if things were just as you liked, they often become so.' There was a ring on the telephone. Edith went into the next room to answer it, and came back to say— 'Bruce has just rung up. He wants to know if Raggett's here. He says he'll be home in half an hour. He doesn't feel up to the mark, and can't stay at the office.' 'Poor little Edith!' 'And don't for goodness sake bother yourself about Cecil. As if there was any man in the world who hadn't liked somebody some time or other!' Hyacinth laughed, kissed her, and went away. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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