Chapter XIII

Norman spent half the night in the pine woods, and the other half on his bed, stiffly aware of Nina’s unconsciousness. He had expected her to be kept awake by alarm at his prolonged absence; fear would have softened her heart and made it easier for him to forgive her. But Nina had not been alarmed for his safety. She did not see what harm was likely to happen to him walking about in a nice, dry pine wood; and although she had cried herself to sleep, there were no traces of her tears. Norman had planned a magnanimous but rather stately reconciliation in the pine woods. There was a good deal he would have to tell Nina while he was forgiving her, which it would help her to take to heart. But you can neither forgive nor improve an unconscious wife. There was nothing for Norman to do (short of waking her up, which he felt would be an appeal beneath his dignity) but to go to sleep himself.

When he woke he found Toby standing over him with a wet sponge in his hands. “So you’re awake at last,” said Toby grimly. “Well, it’s time you got up—your wife’s run away.”

“What!” shouted Norman, springing into the middle of the room.

Toby took the edge of the bed in silence, and flung the sponge back on to the washstand. He was there to give Norman all the explanations that he needed, but he was not going to make them any easier or shorter than he chose. “What else could you expect?” he replied, after a pause. “You as good as told her she wasn’t a suitable wife for you.”

“Tell me where she has gone!” cried Norman. “Don’t be an ass, Toby, and haul me over the coals, till I know where she is. Why hadn’t you the sense to stop her?”

“Why should I stop her?” asked Toby stonily, “how was I to know you didn’t want her to go away? Your impulsive taking up and putting down of wives is extremely confusing. Remember, you are under no obligation to go after her unless you wish to. I have promised to see her safe back to her relations if, after due consideration, you decide to remain here with Anne.”

“Remain with Anne!” Norman exclaimed in blank astonishment, “you must be mad! What on earth should I want to remain here with Anne for? Do talk sense, old chap!” Toby gave a sound between a groan and a laugh, but he made no further attempt to enlighten Norman as to why he might wish to remain with Anne. “Of course I want her back,” Norman continued, struggling excitedly into his shirt. “I never said she wasn’t good enough for me—it’s all a mistake. Where in Heaven’s name is she?”

“It’s no use my telling you where she’s gone,” Toby answered cautiously, “until you agree to her terms. Otherwise she won’t listen to you. She’s perfectly safe, so you needn’t be in such a towering hurry. You can think the thing out quietly for yourself.”

Norman stared at him for a moment, and then asked, “What thing am I to think out? I must see her at once. We had a misunderstanding last night, it’s true. I see I was to blame. I wanted her to be more like Anne. She seems to like Anne all right when she’s with her, and yet when I point out things she might do, or leave undone, that are like Anne’s way of doing things, she flies into a passion. Now take those Germans for instance. I may have been a bit sharp with her about what happened, but she ought to have seen she couldn’t behave like that?”

“It was very unfortunate,” Toby agreed, “but of course if she’d seen it, she wouldn’t have done it. What you’ve got to make your mind up to, is that there are things Nina doesn’t see.” Norman coloured painfully and began hunting for a stud. It struck Toby that there was, after all, a good deal to be said for Norman. He was being shown at a disadvantage, but men who are attractive to women have sometimes to pay this penalty with other men. What was hardest for Norman at this moment was that part of his disadvantage was the woman he loved.

“You needn’t be afraid I won’t agree to her terms,” Norman said after a pause; “I’ll do anything in the world that she wants. I seem to be always hurting some woman or other, but it isn’t altogether my fault.” Toby made no answer to this plea for justification. It did not appeal to him, though he was too fair a man not to admit to himself that it was partly true. “Anne doesn’t think it was altogether my fault, does she?” Norman asked wistfully.

“Anne doesn’t know anything at all about it,” said Toby shortly.

An expression of relief passed over Norman’s expressive features. He felt as if he would rather have Toby, severe and accusatory, than Anne being kind. It was absurd to blame Anne for his unconscious use of her name, but he was aware that he did blame her. Her name oughtn’t to have been there; but although he blamed her, he wanted intensely, as he had always wanted, the reassurance of her approval. It puzzled Toby sometimes to imagine what women could see in Norman. He had a slender, supple body, and an acute and sympathetic mind, but he was a light weight, and Toby would have expected serious and noble women not to like light men. It did not occur to him that what women really needed, if they had the strength for it, was the opportunity he so craved himself, to support and protect the object of their love.

“Well,” he said at last, “I suppose if you are going after Nina, you’d better know her main condition. The rest, no doubt, she’ll settle with you herself. She’ll only consent to see you if you’ll take her straight away, and not come back here again.”

“Of course I’ll do that,” exclaimed Norman with alacrity, “there isn’t the faintest reason why we should come back here. As a matter of fact, I’d far rather _not_.”

“Exactly,” said Toby placidly; “that disposes of us. Quite right too, we ought never to have come.”

“I’m afraid it was rather a mistake,” Norman admitted apologetically, “we wanted it immensely, Nina perhaps even more than I did. Still we both particularly wanted to be nice to Anne. You mustn’t think, you know, I haven’t realised—we owe her everything we have—but I can’t say that makes a very convenient basis for a visit. I daresay it was hard on Nina too, harder than I realised. Just at first it seemed so jolly easy, and we both had the idea then—I don’t know whether you realised it?—that things might come off satisfactorily between you and Anne?”

“Oh yes, I realised it,” said Toby; “you thought it an excellent way of disposing once and for all of your conscience, and incidentally of Anne!”

Norman flushed again. “You’re rather down on me, Toby,” he said, “and what you say isn’t quite true. At first I was awfully against it. I hadn’t, I know, the faintest right to be—but one doesn’t forget being loved by a woman like Anne.”

“No—one only wastes it,” said Toby under his breath.

“That was our idea, anyhow,” Norman went on, too absorbed in his own explanations to listen to his companion’s murmur. “And then, after a bit, I saw it wouldn’t work, but Nina didn’t. She couldn’t give it up—we used to argue about it a good deal. I believe now that if I’d given way and agreed that it _was_ likely to come off, she wouldn’t have got so queer about Anne.”

“She probably wouldn’t have run away,” Toby admitted, “and may I ask what made you think your theory wouldn’t work?” Norman shook his head. “I think you owe it to me—perhaps to us both—to tell me,” Toby persisted.

Norman turned away and picked up his hat. “It may have been my fancy,” he said shamefacedly, “only she was always rather upset if she thought I was doing too much. But look here, old man, I can’t be bothered about Anne now—I’ve got to find Nina. For Heaven’s sake, tell me where she is, and let me set this thing right anyhow!”

“All right, I’ll tell you,” said Toby slowly. He went to the window and saw that Anne had just taken her place at the little breakfast table which faced the road. He wished that she was not there. His heart ached for her decent orderliness, the charm of her thick light hair, the clever way in which she made any meal she presided over appear a festival. She had to perfection the art of making a home, and it is hard to have an art which is not required of you.

“Walk straight down the road to Pensolo,” Toby said without moving; “you’ll find Nina a couple of miles off, sitting on a rock by the roadside. I’ll send your boxes on after you, whenever you wire your address.”

Norman hesitated a moment. “What will you say to Anne about us?” he asked a little awkwardly.

“I’ll say to Anne that she’s damned well rid of you! And perhaps this time she’ll believe it!” cried Toby with sudden savagery. Norman opened his lips to answer, and then suddenly thought better of it and turned away without speaking. He had no time to waste in self-justification. The little figure awaiting him on the road to Pensolo was justification enough, and Norman knew that even if Toby said what his anger urged him to say to Anne, Anne wouldn’t blame him. That was what made Toby so angry, and it made him angrier still that Norman knew Anne wouldn’t blame him.

A moment later Toby saw Norman dart down the long white road without a glance at Anne. She rose to her feet and looked after his flying figure, but she made no attempt to call him back. She looked very white and grave when Toby joined her, but she had resumed her seat at the table.

“What has happened, Toby?” she asked, looking up at him. “Tell me quickly what has happened?”

“I’ll tell you everything,” said Toby; “it really isn’t dreadful—nobody has been hurt.” He sat down opposite her, while Anne waited quietly for him to go on. “But I’m afraid it’ll seem a little dreadful to you at first,” Toby added apologetically; “you know that poor child was dreadfully upset last night?” Anne nodded. “Norman seems to have told her some pretty stiff things, and she took them to heart.” Anne bowed her head. She could not rid herself of the feeling that she was responsible for all the stiff things Norman had said. “Of course, there’s some excuse for Norman,” Toby tried to concede; “he isn’t used to anyone who is not broken in, and he isn’t what you’d call fitted for a trainer. She felt what he said so much that she ran away this morning while he was still asleep. She’s quite safe—don’t look so frightened, Anne, everyone’s quite safe.”

“Yes,” whispered Anne, “dear Toby, tell me quickly what has happened.”

Toby cleared his throat. “Norman has gone too, he’s gone to join her,” he said in a voice he tried to make as casual as possible. “When he’s joined her, they aren’t coming back.”

It was over now. The silent morning spread around them serene and blue. The keen light air tasted like frozen wine. The Germans bowed with gratified friendliness as they passed their table, and Anne bowed back, her lips set in a kindly smile. But her eyes remained dark and without expression. Her hand trembled as she poured out Toby’s coffee, but she was very careful not to spill any of it. Then she said, “And Nina—that is all right? She’ll take him back?”

“Yes,” said Toby; “you see, after last night, she couldn’t quite face coming to the hotel again.” He tried to make Anne think it was the Germans whom Nina couldn’t face, but Anne shook her head inexorably. She knew it was not the Germans.

“It was that day,” she said beneath her breath, “when I wanted to take care of him. You don’t think I’ve done them any harm?” she asked after a pause, “by coming here, any permanent harm, I mean?”

“I think you’ve done them good,” said Toby drily. “Norman would have been certain to find out sooner or later that he couldn’t stand her manners, and this flare-up of hers has frightened him. They might have just got slowly on each other’s nerves if they hadn’t had a row. He’ll be more careful now how he sets to work to change her.”

“Yes,” said Anne defensively, “it was really only because he didn’t understand. He’s always very considerate of people’s feelings when he knows what they are. But Toby, that isn’t all the truth—Norman would have been angry with Nina for being tactless about the Germans; but she wouldn’t have run away because of that. Why did she run away?”

“I’ve told you, haven’t I?” asked Toby desperately. “She thought—they’d had this quarrel, you see—that he didn’t really care for her.”

“I see,” said Anne thoughtfully. “She thought, perhaps, he cared again—for me? Poor little Nina! It would have been better for her if I had gone to her last night—I could so easily have explained to her that she was wrong.”

“But it’s all right now,” Toby urged clumsily.

Anne gave a little helpless smile. “Yes,” she agreed, “it’s quite all right now. She must know by now just how little he ever cared for me.”

“Anne!” said Toby, leaning across the table towards her. “Anne?”

She lifted her steady, unflinching eyes to his. “I made a great mistake,” she admitted; “you were right, Toby, but you weren’t altogether right. I always feared their being together without me. I thought he’d find her difficult to teach, and not be patient enough, perhaps, to let her teach herself. And I thought if we were with them, helping her, she would have learned quite enough without any teaching. I still think she would have learned like that. Only I couldn’t let go of him altogether, and that must have upset her.” Anne put her hands on the table. They were well-shaped, powerful hands. She looked down at them with a thoughtful air. “That was where I made my great mistake,” she finished tranquilly, “I couldn’t let go.”

Toby was silent for a moment, then he raised his eyes supplicatingly to hers. “Anne,” he asked in a low voice, “is there any chance—will you ever be able to let go?” Anne considered this question carefully. She understood now what Toby wanted, what he had always wanted. Her mind was dazzlingly clear this morning, and curiously at peace; only it was empty. She wondered if anyone in the world had ever had so empty a mind.

“If I could stop feeling that I was his wife,” she said gently, “anything might be possible. But I never have stopped feeling it. When he ran down the road just now I didn’t try to hold him. You see I didn’t need to; I ran down the road with him and I don’t know how much of me will ever come back.”

THE END

TRANSCRIBER NOTES

Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected. Where multiple spellings occur, majority use has been employed.

Punctuation has been maintained except where obvious printer errors occur.

A cover which is placed in the public domain was created for this ebook.

[The end of _The Perfect Wife_ by Phyllis Bottome]