Читать книгу Kitty - Warwick Deeping - Страница 37
III
ОглавлениеKitty stood in the doorway.
“I’m sorry I have kept you waiting.”
Mrs St. George remained on the sofa, for with Kitty had entered another unexpectedness, a voice and a face and a figure other than Mrs St. George had foreseen. She had been waiting for a second Corah, a tall young person, smart, good looking, and self-assured, and she found herself regarding this little bunch of a girl. For that was the descriptive phrase that came into Mrs St. George’s mind, a bunch of a girl, a little, square, dumpty thing with an amber-coloured head, and two very dark eyes staring at you out of a round, fruit-like face. Mrs St. George was surprised, puzzled and antagonized. What—in the name of Eros—had Alex seen in this little, undistinguished creature?
She said—“You did not expect me. I thought it best to see you. I do not wish there to be any misunderstanding.”
Kitty closed the door.
“I’m sure there need not be.”
She came forward into the room, reminding Alex’s mother of a stubborn, bright-eyed child who was not in awe of anybody.
“I hope you mean what I mean, Mrs St. George.”
She took off her hat and placed it on the table. She had Alex’s last letter screwed up in her hand.
“I’m afraid not.”
“O! That’s a pity.”
“That may be a question of one’s point of view.”
“Of course. One sees what one wants to see. And I know—that it must seem—rather sudden.”
She sat down in one of the arm-chairs. She appeared quite frank and unembarrassed, and only concerned with the marriage as her marriage. She reminded Mrs St. George of the mother, but Kitty did not smile. She had an air of immense seriousness. Was this another form of adroitness?
“Certainly—most sudden. But it was not so much the haste—.”
She would have said “unseemly haste”. And how immovably the girl sat and stared!
“Well,—we hadn’t much time—.”
“But the deceit—.”
“I was quite ready for you to be told.”
“Indeed! Do you suggest—?”
“I’m not suggesting anything. Alex didn’t want you to be told—.”
“Isn’t that rather suggestive? He was ashamed.”
Kitty’s dark eyes seemed to flicker momentarily.
“You shouldn’t have said that.”
“But I do say it.”
“Then I’ll tell you—why Alex did not want you to be told. He did not want our last days spoiled. I should not have said that—if you had not used that word—.”
They exchanged stares. And Mrs St. George was unpleasantly aware of the fact that the daughter was being no more apologetic than the mother had been. And Kitty had dealt her a blow, and she would carry the bruise for many days. But it was this little sturdy creature’s air of rightness—.
“I’m afraid that explanation—does not convince me. Isn’t it obvious—that you were in such a hurry—.”
Kitty got up and went and sat on the window-sill. The one obvious thing to her was that Mrs St. George was a very unpleasant woman in a very unpleasant temper. Prejudiced! Yes, stiff with prejudice and resentment. Kitty had been ready to allow her some resentment, but not the production of insults.
“If you say these things—it is not going to make it easier.”
Mrs St. George found a smile, and such a smile.
“Did I lead you to infer—? Surely not. I came here to make it plain—that—on no conditions—.”
“O—I see,” said Kitty, grave as fate. “Well, it’s a pity. I’m your son’s wife. I married him because I was in love with him. That’s the long and short of it.”
Such was her philosophy, and Mrs St. George began to insinuate a hand into a very crumpled glove. The solemnity of the child! A little, persistent, and plausible creature, speaking of Alex with a possessive familiarity; and every time that Kitty had spoken of Alex Mrs St. George had felt an inward and cold shudder as though Kitty had mispronounced her son’s name.
“I am afraid it is—as you say—the long and short of it. I thought it right to see you—.”
“Would you tell me—? Did you make up your mind—before you came here—?”
Mrs St. George tried irony.
“You can imagine a mother—who has been lied to—as quite unprejudiced.”
“You are not being fair to me, Mrs St. George. I am trying to be fair to you.”
“Fair—!”
There was an ironical upward glance of the blue eyes, but Kitty was busy with Alex’s letter, smoothing it out on her knee. She said—
“Wait—please. I do mean something to your son. You don’t believe it. I’ll show you something I wouldn’t show to anybody else, his last letter. Please read it.”
She crossed the room, but since Mrs St. George did not put out a hand, she slid the letter into her lap.
“Perhaps it will help you to understand. I’ll leave you alone to read it.”
So, Kitty went upstairs and sat on her bed. She wondered what Mrs St. George would make of that letter. Certainly, it might hurt her a little, but surely if she had any heart in her at all, if she cared as she ought to care, she would try and be fair. But did Alex’s mother want to be fair? And Kitty’s fists were clenched under her chin. She felt that she would know Mrs St. George by the way she reacted to that letter. It was Kitty’s judgment of Solomon.
At the end of ten minutes she returned to the sitting-room. The letter was lying on the table. Mrs St. George stood by the window with her back to the door, and it seemed to Kitty that her long back had an uncompromising straightness.
She turned, and her face was quite expressionless. It suggested nothing but a dead, white glare.
“I’m sorry. Please understand—that for my son’s sake I can’t recognize this marriage.”
She passed Kitty and went towards the door, and Kitty let her go. She was saying to herself that Mrs St. George was a bad woman, as bad as she could be.
