Читать книгу The Way of These Women - E. Phillips Oppenheim - Страница 8

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The last page of the manuscript was turned. The moon now was clear of the tree-tops, yellow and luminous in the midsummer sky. A little breeze was rustling amongst the firs, a breeze which brought through the open French windows occasional wafts of spicy perfume from the flower gardens. Sybil’s eyes were glowing, but she was very quiet.

‘It is wonderful,’ she whispered. ‘It is really wonderful, Jermyn. And yet, I am so sorry.’

‘Sorry?’

She wiped the tears from her eyes.

‘I am sorry for the woman—for “Nora”—for the woman who will be myself.’

‘She deceived her husband,’ he said, a little sternly. ‘She lied to her friend.’

‘But there was a reason,’ she reminded him eagerly. ‘She didn’t do it for her own sake. Every evil thing she did was to save another from suffering.’

‘She broke her word,’ Jermyn remarked calmly. ‘There isn’t any excuse in this world for a woman who deliberately breaks her word.’

‘No excuse!’ she repeated, her eyes still holding his.

‘None! Can’t you see that what she did in that first act was like a black spot upon her life? She was never the same afterwards. She lost her self-respect. The lie that followed seemed almost natural to her. The moment she let go of the absolute truth she began to sink.’

‘But she was tempted—she was horribly tempted, and women are so weak when they are lonely,’ Sybil sighed.

He smiled at her.

‘Dear,’ he said, ‘of course she was tempted. If there were no temptation, how could there be any sin? A man is judged not by the number of his sins but by the number of temptations which he has overcome. Sinlessness in a person who has encountered absolutely no temptation is scarcely even a quality; it is a necessary condition of existence. Now tell me really what you think of your part?’

‘If I can ever play it,’ she replied, ‘it will be my best.’

‘You really mean that?’

‘I do,’ she insisted. ‘I honestly do. And yet, because I am so sure of it I am a little afraid. I believe that I could play the part of “Nora” so that I could bring tears to the eyes of every woman who understands, and of every man who loves the woman who understands. Oh, I know what “Nora” was! But then she was human, so human that I am afraid. She is like me—just like me.’

Jermyn laughed reassuringly.

‘And why shouldn’t you be human, dear,’ he answered, stooping towards her, ‘adorably, wonderfully human? And I wouldn’t have you anything else. Bring your little faults with you, dear, and I’ll love them. Now let’s put the play away for a time. It’s all rather emotional, isn’t it, and I don’t want you to be overstrung. I wonder if you know what you are really like, little lady? Look here.’

He drew an illustrated paper towards him and turned over the pages.

‘It only arrived this evening,’ he said, ‘so I don’t suppose you have seen it. The photograph, you know, of course, but did you ever see such a lovely reproduction? I think that I shall frame it just as it is. It is softer and more beautiful even than the photograph itself.’

He showed her the full-length picture of herself. She looked at it approvingly.

‘Am I really as nice as that?’ she murmured.

‘Nicer by far,’ he assured her, smiling. ‘There are qualities in your face, dear, which no photographer could ever know anything about. And do you see what a wonderful person you are? Two pages—biography or interview or something. Nobody ever wanted to interview me at that length.’

She leaned over his shoulder.

‘You stupid person!’ she declared. ‘As though you could possibly compare us!’

‘I am not jealous,’ he laughed, ‘but there’s no illustrated paper could find as much to say about me. Here you are. Born—gracious, you’re twenty-three years old—no, twenty-four! Stock companies for so long, musical comedies so long, your first great success a fluke. You were playing—why, what’s the matter, Sybil? What is it, dear?’

He broke off suddenly and looked at her in amazement A hoarse little cry had broken from her lips, the colour was fading from her cheeks. She was gazing intently at the page from which he had been idly quoting.

‘It’s there!’ she cried. ‘There!’

Jermyn looked from the paper to her, and back again.

‘What’s there?’ he asked. ‘Sybil, I don’t understand.’

She opened her lips and closed them again. Her eyes were still distended, the fingers of one hand were clutching his shoulder. She was reading a certain paragraph. He followed her eyes. There was nothing to be read except the ordinary story, a few simple facts of her earlier career. She had been playing in stock companies at Blackpool when she was compelled to give up her position and go to London to take her sister to a hospital. Whilst she was waiting for an operation to take place, a small part was offered to her at the last moment in a London production. She was the success of the play. From that moment she had never looked back.

‘What on earth is wrong with it, dear?’ he persisted. ‘I can’t see anything, not a line, that you should not be proud of.’

She was beginning to recover herself. Her cheeks, however, were still ivory white. Even her lips were almost bloodless.

‘There—isn’t anything,’ she faltered. ‘Forgive me, I am just a little hysterical. Seeing it all down there made me think of my struggles, of those early days! It was hard work, Jermyn.’

‘My dear!’ he said consolingly. ‘You mustn’t! Those days are all over and done with now. If you think of them at all, you should think of them with pride. You should be as proud of yourself as I am of you to think that you fought your way through everything, alone and unhelped.’

‘Is there another of those papers in the house?’ she asked.

He shook his head.

‘Not that I know of.’

She deliberately tore a page out and thrust it into the bosom of her gown.

‘I don’t want people to read this and make fun of me,’ she said. ‘Keep the rest of it here. Don’t let anyone see it.’

‘No one will come in here, dear,’ he promised. ‘Of course, I think you’re a foolish little girl. I should be very proud of that biography, if I were you. Now don’t let’s think any more of it, though. We’d better go across into the drawing-room and say good-night. I think I shall pack you off to bed. Do you know that it’s nearly eleven o’clock?’

She rose to her feet. All the life and spirits of a few hours ago seemed to have gone. Once more the little wrinkle was there by her eyes. She seemed all the time to be thinking.

‘Jermyn,’ she asked, ‘how long is Lord Lakenham going to stay here?’

‘He is off to-morrow or the next day, I think,’ Jermyn replied, ‘unless you have turned his head completely. You seem to have got over your dislike of him,’ he added, smiling. ‘A very little more and I should have been jealous.’

She shuddered.

‘Jealous of Lord Lakenham. No, I don’t think so, Jermyn! Will you promise me something?’

‘To-night, dear,’ he answered, ‘I will promise you anything.’

‘If he wants to stay, don’t let him. If you can get rid of him to-morrow, let him go.’

‘You foolish child!’ Jermyn laughed. ‘I can’t turn him out at a moment’s notice if he wants to stay. There isn’t any plausible reason for it. But, if you make a point of it, I’ll insist upon his clearing out the day afterwards. I don’t think you need have any fear, though. There can’t be anything for him to do here and he always needs a good deal of amusement.’

She looked behind at the illustrated paper lying upon the table.

‘You don’t think that anyone will come in here, Jermyn?’ she whispered.

‘No one, dear,’ he answered. ‘Now before we go out I want you to give me one kiss, and then I am going to ask you just one question.’

She held up her lips.

‘The question first?’ she begged.

He held her tightly.

‘There are never going to be any secrets between us,’ he said softly, ‘never any secrets or the shadow of a secret. Why don’t you want Lord Lakenham to see that paper?’