Chapter X

by William Somerset Maugham

　　A day or two later Mrs. Strickland sent me round a note askingif I could go and see her that evening after dinner. I foundher alone. Her black dress, simple to austerity, suggestedher bereaved condition, and I was innocently astonished thatnotwithstanding a real emotion she was able to dress the partshe had to play according to her notions of seemliness."You said that if I wanted you to do anything you wouldn'tmind doing it," she remarked."It was quite true.""Will you go over to Paris and see Charlie?""I?"I was taken aback. I reflected that I had only seen him once.I did not know what she wanted me to do."Fred is set on going." Fred was Colonel MacAndrew. "But I'msure he's not the man to go. He'll only make things worse.I don't know who else to ask."Her voice trembled a little, and I felt a brute even to hesitate."But I've not spoken ten words to your husband. He doesn'tknow me. He'll probably just tell me to go to the devil.""That wouldn't hurt you," said Mrs. Strickland, smiling."What is it exactly you want me to do?"She did not answer directly."I think it's rather an advantage that he doesn't know you.You see, he never really liked Fred; he thought him a fool; hedidn't understand soldiers. Fred would fly into a passion,and there'd be a quarrel, and things would be worse insteadof better. If you said you came on my behalf, he couldn'trefuse to listen to you.""I haven't known you very long," I answered. "I don't see howanyone can be expected to tackle a case like this unless heknows all the details. I don't want to pry into what doesn'tconcern me. Why don't you go and see him yourself?""You forget he isn't alone."I held my tongue. I saw myself calling on Charles Stricklandand sending in my card; I saw him come into the room,holding it between finger and thumb:"To what do I owe this honour?""I've come to see you about your wife.""Really. When you are a little older you will doubtless learnthe advantage of minding your own business. If you will be sogood as to turn your head slightly to the left, you will seethe door. I wish you good-afternoon."I foresaw that it would be difficult to make my exit withdignity, and I wished to goodness that I had not returned toLondon till Mrs. Strickland had composed her difficulties.I stole a glance at her. She was immersed in thought.Presently she looked up at me, sighed deeply, and smiled."It was all so unexpected," she said. "We'd been marriedseventeen years. I sever dreamed that Charlie was the sort ofman to get infatuated with anyone. We always got on very welltogether. Of course, I had a great many interests that hedidn't share.""Have you found out who" -- I did not quite know how toexpress myself -- "who the person, who it is he's gone awaywith?""No. No one seems to have an idea. It's so strange.Generally when a man falls in love with someone people seethem about together, lunching or something, and her friendsalways come and tell the wife. I had no warning -- nothing.His letter came like a thunderbolt. I thought he wasperfectly happy."She began to cry, poor thing, and I felt very sorry for her.But in a little while she grew calmer."It's no good making a fool of myself," she said, dryingher eyes. "The only thing is to decide what is the bestthing to do."She went on, talking somewhat at random, now of the recentpast, then of their first meeting and their marriage;but presently I began to form a fairly coherent picture oftheir lives; and it seemed to me that my surmises had notbeen incorrect. Mrs. Strickland was the daughter of anIndian civilian, who on his retirement had settled in the depthsof the country, but it was his habit every August to take hisfamily to Eastbourne for change of air; and it was here,when she was twenty, that she met Charles Strickland.He was twenty-three. They played together, walked on the fronttogether, listened together to the nigger minstrels; and shehad made up her mind to accept him a week before he proposedto her. They lived in London, first in Hampstead, and then,as he grew more prosperous, in town. Two children were bornto them."He always seemed very fond of them. Even if he was tired of me,I wonder that he had the heart to leave them. It's all soincredible. Even now I can hardly believe it's true."At last she showed me the letter he had written.I was curious to see it, but had not ventured to ask for it."MY DEAR AMY,"I think you will find everything all right in the flat.I have given Anne your instructions, and dinner will be readyfor you and the children when you come. I shall not be thereto meet you. I have made up my mind to live apart from you,and I am going to Paris in the morning. I shall post thisletter on my arrival. I shall not come back. My decision isirrevocable."Yours always,"CHARLES STRICKLAND.""Not a word of explanation or regret. Don't you think it's inhuman?""It's a very strange letter under the circumstances," I replied."There's only one explanation, and that is that he's not himself.I don't know who this woman is who's got hold of him,but she's made him into another man. It's evidently beengoing on a long time.""What makes you think that?""Fred found that out. My husband said he went to the clubthree or four nights a week to play bridge. Fred knows one ofthe members, and said something about Charles being a greatbridge-player. The man was surprised. He said he'd nevereven seen Charles in the card-room. It's quite clear now thatwhen I thought Charles was at his club he was with her."I was silent for a moment. Then I thought of the children."It must have been difficult to explain to Robert," I said."Oh, I never said a word to either of them. You see, we onlycame up to town the day before they had to go back to school.I had the presence of mind to say that their father had beencalled away on business."It could not have been very easy to be bright and carelesswith that sudden secret in her heart, nor to give herattention to all the things that needed doing to get herchildren comfortably packed off. Mrs. Strickland's voicebroke again."And what is to happen to them, poor darlings? How are wegoing to live?"She struggled for self-control, and I saw her hands clench andunclench spasmodically. It was dreadfully painful."Of course I'll go over to Paris if you think I can do any good,but you must tell me exactly what you want me to do.""I want him to come back.""I understood from Colonel MacAndrew that you'd made up yourmind to divorce him.""I'll never divorce him," she answered with a sudden violence."Tell him that from me. He'll never be able to marry that woman.I'm as obstinate as he is, and I'll never divorce him.I have to think of my children."I think she added this to explain her attitude to me, but Ithought it was due to a very natural jealousy rather than tomaternal solicitude."Are you in love with him still?""I don't know. I want him to come back. If he'll do thatwe'll let bygones be bygones. After all, we've been marriedfor seventeen years. I'm a broadminded woman. I wouldn'thave minded what he did as long as I knew nothing about it.He must know that his infatuation won't last. If he'll comeback now everything can be smoothed over, and no one will knowanything about it."It chilled me a little that Mrs. Strickland should beconcerned with gossip, for I did not know then how great apart is played in women's life by the opinion of others.It throws a shadow of insincerity over their most deeplyfelt emotions.It was known where Strickland was staying. His partner, in aviolent letter, sent to his bank, had taunted him with hidinghis whereabouts: and Strickland, in a cynical and humourousreply, had told his partner exactly where to find him. He wasapparently living in an Hotel."I've never heard of it," said Mrs. Strickland. "But Fredknows it well. He says it's very expensive."She flushed darkly. I imagined that she saw her husbandinstalled in a luxurious suite of rooms, dining at one smartrestaurant after another, and she pictured his days spent atrace-meetings and his evenings at the play."It can't go on at his age," she said. "After all, he's forty.I could understand it in a young man, but I think it'shorrible in a man of his years, with children who are nearlygrown up. His health will never stand it."Anger struggled in her breast with misery."Tell him that our home cries out for him. Everything is justthe same, and yet everything is different. I can't livewithout him. I'd sooner kill myself. Talk to him about the past,and all we've gone through together. What am I to sayto the children when they ask for him? His room is exactly asit was when he left it. It's waiting for him. We're allwaiting for him."Now she told me exactly what I should say. She gave meelaborate answers to every possible observation of his."You will do everything you can for me?" she said pitifully."Tell him what a state I'm in."I saw that she wished me to appeal to his sympathies by everymeans in my power. She was weeping freely. I wasextraordinarily touched. I felt indignant at Strickland'scold cruelty, and I promised to do all I could to bring him back.I agreed to go over on the next day but one, and tostay in Paris till I had achieved something. Then, as it wasgrowing late and we were both exhausted by so much emotion,I left her.