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For this he had to admit: there was nothing unfeminine or forbidding about the lady. She was as handsome as she was striking. A full eye, a Grecian nose, a slim waist: such were her charms; to say nothing of a white, dimpled hand, and a well-turned ankle. And yet every one who knew her agreed that she captivated less by reason of her comeliness, than by the ease and elegance of her manner.
Was it possible that he had ever enjoyed, or even put up with this kind of thing? Had Purdy always been a vainglorious braggart, or had the boasting habit grown on him as he went downhill? Of course he himself had not become more tolerant as the years went by; and he could afford to yield to his antipathies, now that no business reasons made civility incumbent. But there was more in it than this. In earlier days a dash of the old boyish affection had persisted, to blind him to Purdys failings; just as the memory of their boyhoods standing he the senior, Purdy the junior had caused Purdy to look up to him and defer to his opinion. Now, nothing of this remained. On either side. Long-suffering, deference, affection had alike been flung on times scrap-heap at least, during the two distasteful hours spent in Purdys company, not even the ghosts of such feelings stirred. Then what had brought him back? Mere tuft-hunting? Where, too, in the name of Christendom had Mary fished him up, who would have been so much better left in obscurity? Had she really fancied she would give him, Mahony, a pleasure thereby? POOR MARY!
In course of making a hasty toilet, however, he pricked up his ears. Down the passage came the tones of a voice that seemed strangely familiar. And, sure enough, when he entered the room he found what he expected: the visitor Tilly was entertaining with such noisy gusto was no other than Purdy.
Of course there were times when he smiled at himself; saw the humour of the situation; especially when he had just escaped from one of his bugbears. But then came the next (he was never prepared for them) and hit him equally hard. The thing he COULDNT laugh at was his their infernal ignorance of foreign lingos. Not to be able to express himself properly, make himself fully understood, riled and fretted him; though less, perhaps, than did her loud and unabashed efforts to say what she wanted. And because he couldnt argue, or expostulate, with porters, waiters, cabbies and the like, he constantly suspected these people of trying to do him. The queer thing was, he preferred being diddled, putting up with it in gloomy silence, to trying, in broken French, German or Italian, to call the cheats to account. Many an extra franc and taler and lira did this hypersensitiveness cost him. But his dread of being laughed at was stronger than himself.
WHAT FOOLS MEN ARE!
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As she brushed her hair for the night, however, she could not resist remarking, in a final tone: Well! all I know is, if these really ARE spirits who come back, it doesnt make me think much of heaven. That the dead can still take an interest in such silly, footling things!
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England had nothing whatever to do with it. But it was a very different thing in Ballarat, Mary, where my practice brought me up against all sorts of people to whom I was forced to be civil. Now, theres no such obligation. And so I decline, once and for all, to exhibit the specimen we saw to-day to our social circle. If youre absolutely bent on befriending him and I know doing good is, to you, the temptation strong drink is to others although in my opinion, my dear, youll end by OVERdoing it: youve not looked yourself for weeks past. If you must have Purdy here, kindly let it be when no one else is present, and if possible when I, too, am out of the way. What youre to say about me? Anything you like. He wont miss me so long as your friend Tilly is at hand to drink in his words. You certainly hit the bulls-eye this time, my dear, in providing her with entertainment. Purdys egregious lying was pabulum after her own heart.
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The childs back being towards her, she did not see how at these words the little face flushed crimson, the eyes grew round with alarm. Cuffy at once left off hitting the horse; just stood stock-still, as if letting what his mother had said sink in. But he did not turn and come to her. Mary told Richard of the incident as she buttoned her gloves. And Richard had Cuffy brought to him. Laying aside his book he lifted the child to his knee.
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LIKE it? I wish to God Id never set foot in its hideous red-brick streets! As for the practice not doing much my dear, it has melted into thin air, and thats all there is to say about it. The great majority of that old horse-doctors patients have given me the go-by what on earth has become of the wealthy shoemakers, etc., whose names stood on his books, Heaven alone knows! It cant be that they disapprove of my treatment, for theyve never even tried it. Upon my word, Mary, I sometimes think the whole thing was a fake and a swindle. But I can tell you this: if I stop here, Im on the high road to becoming a sixpenny doctor for the masses. And I will confess to feeling myself a little too good for that.
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I DO. I know nearly every time we go out now, I have to sit by and watch you letting yourself be humbugged. And then Im not to open my mouth, or say what I see, or have any opinion of my own.
But though she spoke up thus, Mary was greatly perturbed and her mind became a sea of doubts where no doubts had been. She found herself looking at Gracey with other eyes. The fact was, a divorced or legally separated woman even one who was just living apart from her husband was by no means the same as a widow . . . and never could be. Gracey knew that well enough; else why, to a close friend like herself, had she made a mystery of her state? And though not a shadow of blame should rest on her (and Mary was sure it didnt), it meant, none the less, that she had been through all sorts of unpleasant matrimonial experiences, which a properly married or widowed woman would know nothing about. Something of them might have remained clinging to her . . . the old saw about touching pitch would run in Marys head. It was dreadful. Such a dear, nice woman as Gracey. And yet . . . deep down in Marys heart there dwelt the obstinate conviction that once married was always married, and that as long as your husband lived you belonged at his side. Did you sit firm and hold fast to your rights as a wife, it seemed incredible that another woman could ever usurp your place. Had Gracey perhaps gone off in a tantrum, leaving the coast clear? Yes, doubts would up, and the result was, she found herself considering, with a more critical eye, the friendship that had sprung up between Richard and Grace over their table-tilting. Never before had she known Richard so absorbed by any one outside his home. Now suppose, just suppose Gracey, thanks to her wretched married life, had come to regard things serious things, sacred things more lightly than she ought? What if, because of her own unhappy past, she should not hold the marriage-tie to be binding? Why was she so attractive to gentlemen? Did they know or suspect anything? In reply to which there flashed through Marys mind a memory of her last visit to Yarangobilly: Willy Urquharts infatuation and the state poor Louisa had worked herself into. Of course there was really no comparison between the two cases none whatever! Willy was a notorious flirt: Richard a gentleman. And poor Louisas morbid, distorted outlook would never be hers.
The result was, he fell into an elegiac mood; and not having Mary at his elbow to nudge his attention to realities, he let day after day slip by without calling on, or otherwise making himself known to distinguished members of the profession. He shirked the necessary explanations. The one attempt he did make turned out poorly. Spelt, too, a good dose of patronage for this untrumpeted doctor from the backwoods.