The Raft
was under orders to sail for India. He had six weeks in which to make
her acquaintance, do his courting and get over the wedding. He proved
himself a man of energy, managing the business with a soldier's dash.
Then he sailed for India, promising to send for her when he was settled.
Unfortunately, before the year was out, he died in action.
In February, almost on the anniversary of Peter's birth, his
daughter came into the world. Jehane named her Glory, because of the
distinguished nature of her father's death.
When Captain Spashett's affairs came to be settled, it was found that
he had left his widow something less than a thousand pounds from all
sources.
Then Jehane discovered that, in stepping off the raft, she had not
reached the land. She went to live with her parents.
CHAPTER VI--JEHANE'S SECOND MARRIAGE
It was his own fault; he knew it in after years. Barrington was partly
responsible for Jehane's second marriage. It was he who suggested that,
since Jehane was not happy with her parents, it would be decent to ask
her up to Topbury for Christmas.
Did he like her? Well, hardly! He felt that she bore him a grudge.
Whenever her name was mentioned, he and Nan had a guilty sense. They
were so happy--they had everything that she coveted and lacked.
They asked her by way of atonement. When she objected that Glory would
be a nuisance, they replied that Glory would be fun for Peter.--And it
was he who, in the goodness of his heart, invited Waffles.
Ocky Waffles was not his sort. His very name was a handicap. A man named
Waffles could scarcely command respect; but the Christian name made it
worse. How could anyone called Ocky Waffles be a gentleman? He was his
cousin, however, and lived alone in London lodgings. His mother was
recently dead. Whatever his shortcomings, he had been an attentive son.
The chap would be rottenly lonely, thought Barrington. Unadulterated
Ocky he could not stand; but, if he could jumble him up in a
family-party and so get him diluted, he would be very glad to do him
a service. In the uncalculating days of boyhood they had been warm
friends. So Mr. Tudor was persuaded to come from Cassingland and Ocky
was invited.
In her twenty-eighth year, Jehane traveled to Paddington _en route_ for
her second adventure in matrimony. Glory was with her, a golden-haired
baby just beginning to toddle, the image of her soldier father. Jehane
still wore mourning--deepest black, with white frills at her wristbands
and a white ruff about her neck. Black suited her pale complexion--it
lent her the touch of helpless pathos that her beauty had always wanted.
Her manner was hushed and gentle, matching her costume. Her large, dark
eyes had that forlorn expression of “Oh, I can never forget,” which has
so often sealed the fate of an unmarried man. You felt at once that the
finest deed possible would be to bring her happiness. At least, so felt
Waffles.
But that Christmas there were times when she did forget. In her new
surroundings, where she and Glory were no longer burdens, she grew
almost merry. When memory clouded her eyes and restored the sternness of
tragedy, it was not Bobbie Spashett she remembered, who had died a very
gallant gentleman, fighting for his country; it was simply that, with
proper care, Nan's shoes might have been hers. When she saw Barrington
slip his arm about his wife, and heard her whisper, “Oh, please, Billy,
not now,” it made her wild with envy. She felt that it was more than
she could bear. She was unloved, and so was Waffles; they had this in
common, despite dissimilarities.
Ocky Waffles was a kind-hearted lounger. He was always late for
everything--which left him plenty of time to devote to her. His best
friends would never have accused him of refinement. His mind was
untidy; he was lazy and ineffectual. His faculty for conversation was
childish--he _babbled_. He was continually making silly jokes at which
he laughed himself. Because the world rarely laughed with him, he
believed that his bump of humor was abnormally developed. He had met
only one person as humorous as himself--his mother; she, admiring and
loyal old lady, had laughed till the tears came at anything he said. But
she was dead; he had lost his audience. He missed her and was extremely
sorry for Ocky Waffles. No one understood his catch-phrases now,
“Reaching after the mustard,” and, “Look at father's pants.” They did
not even know to what they referred; he had to explain everything. There
was an element of absurdity and weak pathos about the man; when one of
his jokes had missed fire he would dab his eyes, saying with a catch in
his throat, “Oh dear, how mother'd have split her sides at that!”
Jehane was genuinely moved to compassion. Sinking her voice, she would
lead him aside and whisper, “Tell it again, Mr. Waffles. I think I could
understand.”
Before Ocky met her, the denseness of his friends had driven him to
public houses, where other tales might be told without shocking anybody.
With barmaids he could pass for a “nut,” a witty fellow. Grief drove him
to it, he told himself. He was well aware that public houses were bad
for his pocket and worse for his health. When Jehane seemed to applaud
him, his thoughts naturally turned to marriage--marriage would cure
every evil, and then---- Oh, then he would become like Barrington, with
a loving wife, art-treasures and a fine house. It was only a matter of
keeping steady and concentrating your willpower.
But to become like Barrington he would have had to be a gentleman. A
top-hat never sat on his head as if it belonged to him. With his equals
in birth and opportunity he could never be comfortable. He found it easy
to be chatty with stable-boys and servants. This he attributed to his
superior humanity. He was fond of walking down the street with a pipe in
his mouth. When he sat on a chair, it was usually on the middle of his
back with his feet thrust out. He slouched through life like an awkward
boy, experiencing discomfort in the presence of his elders.
Since he could not cure himself of his habits, he determined some day,
when he was ready for the effort, to get money; with money his habits
would no longer be bad--they would become signs of democracy and
independence. At the time of the Christmas party he was a clerk in a
lawyer's office--he had been other things before that. This was his
worldly condition, when he met Jehane and fell in love with her.
They drifted together from force of circumstance; Nan and Barrington
were still very much of lovers; Mr. Tudor spent his time on the floor
with Peter and Glory. They were thrown together; there was no escape
from it. Ocky was naturally affectionate; it was part of his weak
amiability to love somebody. He craved love for himself--or was it
admiration? But as a rule no one was flattered by his affection--it was
always on tap. Jehane did not know that. Her wounded pride was soothed
because he selected her. She was hungry for a man's appreciation
and anxious for his protection. And as for Ocky, to whom no one ever
listened--he was encouraged by her pleased attention.
He sought her out at first in a good-natured effort to dispel her
melancholy; his method was to regale her with worn chestnuts. She heard
them with a slow, sweet smile on her mouth, which narrowed and widened,
but rarely broke into mirth. This showed him that all his stories were
new to her. The poor fellow was stirred to his shallow depths. A gusty
passion blew through him; he struggled into seeming strength; he felt he
was a man.--When you're choosing a woman who will be condemned to hear
all your old anecdotes over and over to the day of her death, it is very
necessary to select one to whom they will come fresh, at least before
marriage. Yes, she was the wife for Waffles.
Little confidences grew up between them. She told him about Barrington,
hinting that he had wobbled between her and Nan. And he told her about
Barrington, how as boys they had been like brothers, spending every
holiday together, but now----.
But now, in Barrington's own words, a little of Ocky went a long way;
after an hour or two in his company he felt quite fed up with him.
As with many a clever man, vulgarity of mind disgusted him more than
well-bred viciousness. He found it difficult to hide his feelings from
his guest. In fact, he didn't.
Nan was the first to notice what was happening. “He's making love to
Jehane, I declare!”
Her husband shook his head knowingly. “Jehane's too proud for that.”
“But he is. They're always sitting over the fire, oh, so closely, and
whispering together.”
“It can't be. She's amusing herself. If I thought it were, I'd stop it.
Ocky may be a bounder, but he wouldn't do that.”
“Billy boy, he's doing it.”
“But he's hardly got a penny to bless himself, and her little income
wouldn't attract him.”
“You may say what you like, old obstinate; it doesn't alter facts.”
Jehane was proud, as Barrington said; but not too proud. She realized
quite well what Waffles was, but she hoped to brace him up with her
strength. She was by no means blind to his shortcomings. Often, when
the smile was playing about her mouth, her mind was in a ferment of
derision. At night remorse pursued her--the fine, clean memory of Bobbie
Spashett.--But the constant sight of Nan and Barrington, their stolen
kisses and love-words, were getting on her nerves. She looked down the
vista of the years--was no man ever to conquer her? Was she to grow
into an old woman with that one brief memory of her soldier-man? So
love-hunger drew her to Waffles, despite the warnings of her better
sense. The love-hunger was continually quickened by the sight of Nan's
domestic happiness.
When, after a week's acquaintance, he said, “Mrs. Spashett, will you
marry me?” she replied, “My brave husband!--I cannot.--I must be true to
the end.”
When he asked her again two days later, she was less positive. “Oh, Mr.
Waffles, there's Glory.”
“Call me Ocky,” he said.
Then he changed his tactics. He argued his loneliness, their community
of grief, the loss of his mother. When he spoke of his mother, she liked
him best. “Give me time,” she murmured.
The crisis came on the last day of her visit, and was hastened by
two foolish happenings. She detested the thought of the return to her
parents' silent house. She had persuaded herself that she was not wanted
there; her child fidgeted the old people and disarranged the household.
After the glimpse of warmth and heaven she had had, she magnified her
troubles through the glass of envy. Oh, to have her own fireside, and
her own man!--This was how the crisis happened.
Peter, aged three, was playing with Glory. With the clumsiness of
childhood he knocked her down. She commenced to scream loudly--so loudly
that she might have been seriously hurt. Jehane rushed into the nursery,
caught her baby to her breast and, in her anguish, smacked Peter. Peter
in all his young life had never been smacked; he watched her goggle-eyed
and then set up a terrified howl. When Nan arrived on the scene, he was
sobbing and explaining that he had only meant to _softy_ Glory, which
was his word for loving her by rubbing her with his face and hands. A
quarrel ensued between the mothers in which bitter things were said.
How did Jehane dare to touch Peter, her little Peterkins baby, who was
always so sensitive and gentle! Nan was fiercely angry that her child
had been unjustly punished; Jehane was no less angry because her child
had been knocked down. When it was all over, the babies were told to
kiss one another; Peter, when Jehane approached him, hid his face in his
mother's skirt.
Strained relations followed, which made light words impossible.
Barrington, when he heard of it, was extraordinarily annoyed. Waffles,