eve, waiting at the camber cross-roads under the shadow of a yew that grew in the hedgerow, saw an arm of light sweep slowly down the open road before her, the glare of canterton’s headlights as his car rounded the wooded corner about a quarter of a mile from the fernhill gates.
she remained in the shadow till she was sure that it was canterton, and that he was alone.
pulling up, he saw her coming as a shadow out of the shadows, a slim figure that detached itself from the trunk of the yew.
“all right! here’s a coat. get into the back, and curl yourself up. it’s as well that no peeping tom in basingford should discover that i have a passenger.”
eve put on the coat, climbed in, and snuggled down into the deeply cushioned seat so that she was hidden by the coachwork. the car had not stopped for more than thirty seconds, canterton holding the clutch out with the first speed engaged. they were on the move again, and, with deft gear-changing, gliding away with hardly a sound.
eve lay and looked at the sky, and at the dim tops of the trees sliding by, trailing their branches across the stars. she could see the outline of canterton’s head and shoulders in front of her, but never once did she see his profile, for the car was travelling fast and he kept his eyes on the winding road that was lit brilliantly by the electric headlights. they swept through basingford like a charge of horse. eve saw the spire of the church walk by, a line of dark roofs undulating beneath it. the car turned sharply into the london road, and the quickening purr of the engine told of an open throttle.
they drove ten miles before canterton slowed up and drew to the side of the road.
“you can join me now!”
he leant over and opened the door, and she took the seat beside him.
“warm enough?”
“yes.”
he looked at her throat.
“button up that flap across the collar. that’s it. and here’s a rug. i have had to keep myself glued to the wheel for the last twenty minutes. there is a lot of common land about here, and you never know when a cow or a pony may drop from the skies.”
they were off again, with trees, hedgerows, gates, and cottages rushing into the glare of the headlights, and vanishing behind them.
“would you like to sleep?”
“no; i feel utterly awake!”
“not distressfully so?”
“no, not in that way. i have no regrets. and i think i am very happy.”
he let the car race to her full speed along a straight stretch of road.
“i could drive over the himalayas to-night—do anything. you have a way of making me feel most exultantly competent.”
“have i? how good. shall i always be so stimulating?”
he looked down at her momentarily.
“yes, because we shall not be crushing life to get all its perfume.”
“restraint keeps things vivid.”
“that’s it—that’s what people don’t realise about marriage.”
she thrilled to the swift motion of the car, and to the knowledge that the imperturbable audacity of his driving was a man’s tribute to her presence.
“i suppose most people would say that we are utterly wrong.”
“it would be utterly wrong, for most people.”
“but not for us.”
“not for us. we are just doing the sane and logical thing, because it is possible for us to live above the conventions. ordinary people have to live on make-believe, and pretend they like it, and to shout ‘shame,’ when the really clean people insist on living like free and rational beings.”
“you are not afraid of the old women!”
“good god! aren’t some of us capable of getting above the sexual fog—above all that dull and pious nastiness? that’s why i like a man like shaw, who lets off moral dynamite under the world’s immoral morality. all the crusty, nonsensical notions come tumbling about mediocrity’s ears. there are times when it is a man’s duty to shock his neighbours!”
eve sat in silence for some minutes, watching the pale road rushing towards them out of the darkness. canterton was not driving the car so strenuously, but was letting her slide along lazily at fifteen miles an hour. very soon the dawn would be coming up, and the white points of the stars would melt into invisibility.
“we don’t want to be too early.”
“no.”
there was a pause, and then eve uttered the thoughts of the last half hour.
“one thing troubles me.”
“what is that?”
“your wife.”
he slackened speed still further, so that he need not watch the road so carefully.
“i feel that i am taking——”
“what is hers?”
“yes.”
his voice was steady and confident.
“that need not trouble you. neither the physical nor the spiritual part of me owes anything to my wife. we are just two strangers who happen to be tied together by a convention. i am speaking neither ironically nor with cynicism. they are just simple facts. i don’t know why we married. i often marvel at what i must have been then. now i am nothing to her, nor she to me.”
“are you sure?”
“quite sure. her interests are all outside my life, mine outside hers. we happen to reside in the same house, and meet at table. we do not quarrel, because we are too indifferent to quarrel. you are taking nothing that she would miss.”
“and yet!”
“is it the secrecy?”
“in a way.”
“well, i am going to tell her. i had decided on that.”
she turned to him in astonishment.
“tell her!”
“just the simple fact that i have an affection for you, and that we are going to be fellow-workers. i shall tell her that there is nothing for her to fear, that we shall behave like sensible beings, that it is all clean, and wholesome, and rational.”
“but, my dear!”
she was overwhelmed for the moment by his audacious sincerity.
“but will she believe?”
“she will believe me. gertrude knows that i have never shirked telling her the truth.”
“and will she consent?”
“i don’t doubt it.”
“but surely, to a woman——”
“eve, this sort of problem has always been so smirched and distorted that most people seem unable to see its outlines cleanly. i am going to make her see it cleanly. it may sound strange to you, but i believe she is one of the few women capable of taking a logical and restrained view of it. the thing is not to hurt a woman’s self love publicly. often she will condone other sorts of relationship if you save her that. in our case there is going to be no sexual, backstairs business. you are too sacred to me. you are part of the mystery of life, of the beauty and strangeness and wonder of things. i love the look in your eyes, the way your lips move, the way you speak to me, every little thing that is you. do you think i want to take my flowers and crush them with rough physical hands? should i love them so well, understand them so well? it is all clean, and good, and wholesome.”
she lay back, thinking.
“i know that it looks to me reasonable and good.”
“of course it is. not in every case, mind you. i’m not boasting. i only happen to know myself. i am a particular sort of man who has discovered that such a life is the life, and that i am capable of living it. i would not recommend it for the million. it is possible, because you are you.”
she said, half in a whisper:
“you must tell her before i come!”
“i will!”
“and i shall not come unless she understands, and sympathises, which seems incredible.”
canterton stopped the car and turned in his seat, with one hand resting on the steering-wheel.
“if, by any chance, she persists in seeing ugly things, thinking ugly thoughts, then i shall break the social ropes. i don’t want to. but i shall do it, if society, in her person, refuses to see things cleanly.”
his voice and presence dominated her. she knew in her heart of hearts that he was in grim earnest, that nothing would shake him, that he would go through to the end. and the woman in her leapt to him with a new exultation, and with a tenderness that rose to match his strength.
“dearest, i—i——”
he caught her hands.
“there, there, i know! it shan’t be like that. i swear it. i want no wounds, and ugliness, and clamour.”
“and lynette?”
“yes, there is lynette. don’t doubt me. i am going to do the rational and best thing. i shall succeed.”
