The doctor turned, and looked at Lady Ingleby.
What does that mean? queried Myra, astonished.
Little Peter asked a question, replied Sir Deryck, gravely; and I answered it.
Wonderful! Will you talk this telepathy over with Michael when he comes home? It would interest him.
The doctor looked into the fire.
It is a big subject, he said. When I can spare the time, I am thinking of writing an essay on the mental and spiritual development of animals, as revealed in the Bible.
Balaams ass? suggested Lady Ingleby, promptly.
The doctor smiled. Quite so, he said. But Balaams ass is neither the only animal in the Bible, nor the most interesting case. Have you ever noticed the many instances in which animals immediately obeyed Gods commands, even when those commands ran counter to their strongest instincts? For instance: the lion, who met the disobedient man of God on the road from Bethel. The instinct of the beast, after slaying the man, would have been to maul the body, drag it away into his lair, and devour it. But the Divine command was: that he should slay, but not eat the carcass, nor tear the ass. The instinct of the ass would have been to flee in terror from the lion; but, undoubtedly, a Divine assurance overcame her natural fear; and all men who passed by beheld this remarkable sight: a lion and an ass standing sentry, one on either side of the dead body of the man of God; and there they remained until the old prophet from Bethel arrived, to fetch away the body and bury it.
Extraordinary! said Lady Ingleby. So they did. And now one comes to think of it there are plenty of similar instances. The instinct of the serpent which Moses lifted up on a pole, would have been to come scriggling down, and go about biting the Israelites, instead of staying up on the pole, to be looked at for their healing.
The doctor smiled. Quite so, he said, Only, we must not quote him as an instance; because, being made of brass, I fear he was devoid of instinct. Otherwise he would have been an excellent case in point. And I believe animals possess far more spiritual life than we suspect. Do you remember a passage in the Psalms which says that the lions seek their meat from God? And, more striking still, in the same Psalm we read of the whole brute creation, that when God hides His face they are troubled. Good heavens! said the doctor, earnestly; I wish our spiritual life always answered to these two tests: that Gods will should be paramount over our strongest instincts; and that any cloud between us and the light of His face, should cause us instant trouble of soul.
I like that expression spiritual life, said Lady Ingleby. I am sure you mean by it what other people sometimes express so differently. Did you hear of the Duchess of Meldrum attending that big evangelistic meeting in the Albert Hall? I really dont know exactly what it was. Some sort of non-sectarian mission, I gather, with a preacher over from America; and the meetings went on for a fortnight. It would never have occurred to me to go to them. But the dear old duchess always likes to be in the know and to sample everything. Besides, she holds a proprietary stall. So she sailed into the Albert Hall one afternoon, in excellent time, and remained throughout the entire proceedings. She enjoyed the singing; thought the vast listening crowd, marvellous; was moved to tears by the eloquence of the preacher, and was leaving the hall more touched than she had been for years, and fully intending to return, bringing others with her, when a smug person, hovering about the entrance, accosted her with: Excuse me madam; are you a Christian? The duchess raised her lorgnette in blank amazement, and looked him tip and down. Very likely the tears still glistened upon her proud old face. Anyway this impossible person appears to have considered her a promising case. Emboldened by her silence, he laid his hand upon her arm, and repeated his question: Madam, are you a Christian? Then the duchess awoke to the situation with a vengeance. My good man, she said, clearly and deliberately, so that all in the lobby could hear; I should have thought it would have been perfectly patent to your finely trained perceptions, that I am an engaging mixture of Jew, Turk, Infidel, and Heathen Chinee! Now, if you will kindly stand aside, I will pass to my carriage. And the duchess sampled no more evangelistic meetings!
The doctor sighed. Tactless, he said. Ah, the pity of it, when fools rush in where angels fear to tread!
People scream with laughter, when the duchess tells it, said Lady Ingleby; but then she imitates the unctuous person so exactly; and she does not mention the tears. I have them from an eye-witness. But as I was saying I like your expression: spiritual life. It really holds a meaning; and, though one may have to admit one does not possess any, or, that what one does possess is at a low ebb, yet one sees the genuine thing in others, and it is something to believe in, at all events. Look how peacefully little Peter is sleeping. You have evidently set his mind at rest. That is Michaels armchair; and, therefore, Peters. Now we will send away the tea-things; and then may I become a patient?
CHAPTER III
WHAT PETER KNEW
Isnt my good Groatley a curious looking person? said Lady Ingleby, as the door closed behind the butler. I call him the Gryphon, because he looks perpetually astonished. His eyebrows are like black horseshoes, and they mount higher and higher up his forehead as ones sentence proceeds. But he is very faithful, and knows his work, and Michael approves him. Do you like this portrait of Michael? Garth Dalmain stayed here a few months before he lost his sight, poor boy, and painted us both. I believe mine was practically his last portrait. It hangs in the dining-room.
The doctor moved his chair opposite the fireplace, so that he could sit facing the picture over the mantelpiece, yet turn readily toward Lady Ingleby on his left. On his right, little Peter, with an occasional sobbing sigh, slept heavily in his absent masters chair. The log-fire burned brightly. The electric light, from behind amber glass, sent a golden glow as of sunshine through the room. The dank damp drip of autumn had no place in this warm luxury. The curtains were closely drawn; and that which is not seen, can be forgotten.
The doctor glanced at the clock. The minute-hand pointed to the quarter before six.
He lifted his eyes to the picture.
I hardly know Lord Ingleby sufficiently well to give an opinion; but I should say it is an excellent likeness, possessing, to a large degree, the peculiar quality of all Dalmains portraits: the more you look at them, the more you see in them. They are such extraordinary character studies. With your increased knowledge of the person, grows your appreciation of the cleverness of the portrait.
Yes, said Lady Ingleby, leaning forward to look intently up at the picture. It often startles me as I come into the room, because I see a fresh expression on the face, just according to my own mood, or what I happen to have been doing; and I realise Michaels mind on the subject more readily from the portrait than from my own knowledge of him. Garth Dalmain was a genius!
Now tell me, said the doctor, gently. Why did you leave town, your many friends, your interests there, in order to bury yourself down here, during this dismal autumn weather? Surely the strain of waiting for news would have been less, within such easy reach of the War Office and of the evening papers.
Lady Ingleby laughed, rather mirthlessly.
I came away, Sir Deryck, partly to escape from dear mamma; and as you do not know dear mamma, it is almost impossible for you to understand how essential it was to escape. When Michael is away, I am defenceless. Mamma swoops down; takes up her abode in my house; reduces my household, according to their sex and temperament, to rage, hysterics, or despair; tells unpalatable home-truths to my friends, so that all save the duchess flee discomforted. Then mamma proceeds to divide the spoil! In other words: she lies in wait for my telegrams, and opens them herself, saying that if they contain good news, a dutiful daughter should delight in at once sharing it with her; whereas, if they contain bad news, which heaven forbid! and surely, with mamma snorting skyward, heaven would not venture to do otherwise! she is the right person to break it to me, gently. I bore it for six weeks; then fled down here, well knowing that not even the dear delight of bullying me would bring mamma to Shenstone in autumn.
The doctors face was grave. For a moment he looked silently into the fire. He was a man of many ideals, and foremost among them was his ideal of the relation which should be between parents and children; of the loyalty to a mother, which, even if forced to admit faults or failings, should tenderly shield them from the knowledge or criticism of outsiders. It hurt him, as a sacrilege, to hear a daughter speak thus of her mother; yet he knew well, from facts which were common knowledge, how little cause the sweet, lovable woman at his side had to consider the tie either a sacred or a tender one. He had come to help, not to find fault. Also, the minute-hand was hastening towards the hour; and the final instructions of the kind-hearted old Duchess of Meldrum, as she parted from him at the War Office, had been: Remember! Six oclock from London. I shall insist upon its being kept back until then. If they make difficulties, I shall camp in the entrance and hold up every messenger who attempts to pass out. But I am accustomed to have my own way with these good people. I should not hesitate to ring up Buckingham Palace, if necessary, as they very well know! So you may rest assured it will not leave London until six oclock. It gives you ample time.
Therefore the doctor said: I understand. It does not come within my own experience; yet I think I understand. But tell me, Lady Ingleby. If bad news were to come, would you sooner receive it direct from the War Office, in the terribly crude wording which cannot be avoided in those telegrams; or would you rather that a friend other than your mother broke it to you, more gently?
Myras eyes flashed. She sat up with instant animation.
Oh, I would receive it direct, she said. It would be far less hard, if it were official. I should hear the roll of the drums, and see the wave of the flag. For England, and for Honour! A soldiers daughter, and a soldiers wife, should be able to stand up to anything. If they had to tell me Michael was in great danger, I should share his danger in receiving the news without flinching. If he were wounded, as I read the telegram I should receive a wound myself, and try to be as brave as he. All which came direct from the war, would unite me to Michael. But interfering friends, however well-meaning, would come between. If he had not been shielded from a bullet or a sword-thrust, why should I be shielded from the knowledge of his wound?
The doctor screened his face with his hand,
I see, he said.
The clock struck six.
But that was not the only reason I left town, continued Lady Ingleby, with evident effort. Then she flung out both hands towards him. Oh, doctor! I wonder if I might tell you a thing which has been a burden on my heart and life for years!
There followed a tense moment of silence; but the doctor was used to such moments, and could usually determine during the silence, whether the confidence should be allowed or avoided. He turned and looked steadily at the lovely wistful face.
It was the face of an exceedingly beautiful woman, nearing thirty. But the lovely eyes still held the clear candour of the eyes of a little child, the sweet lips quivered with quickly felt emotion, the low brow showed no trace of shame or sin. The doctor knew he was in the presence of one of the most popular hostesses, one of the most admired women, in the kingdom. Yet his keen professional insight revealed to him an arrested development; possibilities unfulfilled; a problem of inadequacy and consequent disappointment, to which he had not the key. But those outstretched hands eagerly held it towards him. Could he bring help, if he accepted a knowledge of the solution; or did help come too late?
Dear Lady Ingleby, he said, quietly; tell me anything you like; that is to say, anything which you feel assured Lord Ingleby would allow discussed with a third person.
Myra leaned back among the cushions and laughed a gay little laugh, half of amusement, half of relief.
Oh, Michael would not mind! she said. Anything Michael would mind, I have always told straight to himself; and they were silly little things; such as foolish people trying to make love to me; or a foreign prince, with moustaches like the German Emperors, offering to shoot Michael, if I would promise to marry him when his period of consequent imprisonment was over. I cut the idiots who had presumed to make love to me, ever after; and assured the foreign prince, I should undoubtedly kill him myself, if he hurt a hair of Michaels head! No, dear doctor. My life is clear of all that sort of complication. My trouble is a harder one, involving ones whole life-problem. And that problem is incompetence and inadequacy not towards the world, I should not care a rap for that; but towards the one to whom I owe most: towards Michael, my husband.
The doctor moved uneasily in his chair, and glanced at the clock.
Oh, hush! he said. Do not
No! cried Myra. You must not stop me. Let me at last have the relief of speech! My friend, I am twenty-eight; I have had ten years of married life; yet I do not believe I have ever really grown up! In heart and brain I am an undeveloped child, and I know it; and, worse still, Michael knows it, and Michael does not mind. Listen! It dates back to years ago. Mamma never allowed any of her daughters to grow up. We were permitted no individuality of our own, no opinions, no independence. All that was required of us, was to do her behests, and follow in her train. Forgive the misquotation. We were always children in mammas eyes. We grew tall; we grew good-looking; but we never grew up. We remained children, to be snubbed, domineered over, and bullied. My sisters, who were good children, had plenty of jam and cake; and, eventually, husbands after mammas own heart were found for them. Perhaps you know how those marriages have turned out?
Lady Ingleby paused, and the doctor made an almost imperceptible sign of assent. One of the ladies in question, a most unhappy woman, was under treatment in his Mental Sanatorium at that very moment; but he doubted whether Lady Ingleby knew it.
I was the black sheep, continued Myra, finding no remark forthcoming. Nothing I did was ever right; everything I did was always wrong. When Michael met me I was nearly eighteen, the height I am now, but in the nursery, as regards mental development or knowledge of the world; and, as regards character, a most unhappy, utterly reckless, little child. Michaels love, when at last I realised it, was wonderful to me. Tenderness, appreciation, consideration, were experiences so novel that they would have turned my head, had not the elation they produced been counterbalanced by a gratitude which was overwhelming; and a terror of being handed back to mamma, which would have made me agree to anything. Years later, Michael told me that what first attracted him to me was a look in my eyes just like the look in those of a favourite spaniel of his, who was always in trouble with everyone else, and had just been accidentally shot, by a keeper. Michael told me this himself; and really thought I should be pleased! Somehow it gave me the key to my standing with him just that of a very tenderly-loved pet dog. No words can say how good he has always been to me. If I lost him, I should lose my all everything which makes home, home; and life a safe, and certain, thing. But if he lost little Peter, it would be a more real loss to him than if he lost me; because Peter is more intelligent for his size, and really more of an actual companion to Michael, than I am. Many a time, when he has passed through my room on the way to his, with Peter tucked securely under his arm; and saying, Good-night, my dear, to me, has gone in and shut the door, I have felt I could slay little Peter, because he had the better place, and because he looked at me through his curls, as he was carried away, as if to say: You are out of it! Yet I knew I had all I deserved; and Michaels kindness and goodness and patience were beyond words. Only only ah, can you understand? I would sooner he had found fault and scolded; I would sooner have been shaken and called a fool, than smiled at, and left alone. I was in the nursery when he married me; I have been in the school-room ever since, trying to learn lifes lessons, alone, without a teacher. Nothing has helped me to grow up. Michael has always told me I am perfect, and everything I do is perfect, and he does not want me different. But I have never really shared his life and interests. If I make idiotic mistakes he does not correct me. I have to find them out, when I repeat them before others. When I made that silly blunder about the brazen serpent, you so kindly put me right. Michael would have smiled and let it pass as not worth correcting; then I should have repeated it before a roomful of people, and wondered why they looked amused! Ah, but what do I care for people, or the world! It is my true place beside Michael I want to win. I want to grow up unto him in all things. Yes, I know that is a text. I am famous for misquotations, or rather, misapplications. But it expresses my meaning as the duchess remarks, when she has said something mild under provocation, and her parrot swears! And now tell me, dear wise kind doctor; you, who have been the lifelong friend of that grand creature, Jane Dalmain; you, who have done so much for dozens of women I know; tell me how I can cease to be inadequate towards my husband.