The Gods and Mr. Perrin

But it was at once obvious that what interested the ladies was the question of Miss Desart’s engagement to Mr. Traill, and the effect that that had upon the disturbance in question.

“I never quite liked Mr. Traill,” said Mrs. Dormer decisively; “and I cannot say that I altogether congratulate Miss Desart—and I must say that the quarrel of this morning looks a little as though Mr. Traill’s temper was uncertain.”

“Very uncertain indeed, I should think,” said the younger Miss Madder with a sniff.

Mrs. Comber felt their eyes upon her; she knew that they wished to know what she had to say about it all, but she was wise enough to hold her peace.

The other ladies then devoted all their energies upon getting an opinion from Mrs. Comber. During the next quarter of an hour, every lady understanding every other lady, a combined attack was made.

Semi-Chorus a—The question of the umbrella was, of course, a question of order, and, as Mrs. Dormer put it, when a younger master attacks an older one and flings him to the ground, and rubs his hair in the dust and that before a large audience, the whole system of education is in danger; there ‘s no knowing when things will begin or end, and other masters will be doing dreadful things, and then the prefects, and then other boys, and finally a dreadful picture of the First and Second boys showing what they can do with knives and pistols.

Miss Madder entirely agreed with this, and then enlarged further on the question of property.

Semi-Chorus b—One had one’s things—here she was sure Mrs. Comber would agree—and if one didn’t keep a tight hold of them in these days, one simply did n ‘t know where one would be. Of course one umbrella was a small thing; but, after all, it was aggravating on a wet morning not to find it and then to have no excuse whatever offered to one—anyone would be cross about it. And, after all, with some people if you gave them an inch they took an ell, as the saying was, and if one didn’t show firmness over a small thing like this, it would only lead to people taking other things without asking until one really did n’t know where one was. Of course, it was a pity that Mr. Perrin should have lost his self-control as completely as he appeared to have done, but nevertheless one could quite understand how aggravating it was.

Semi-Chorus a—Mrs. Dormer, continued, keeping order was no light matter, and if those masters who had been in a school for twenty years were to be openly derided before boys and masters, if umbrellas were to be indiscriminately stolen, and if in fact anything was to be done by anybody at any time whatever without by your leave or for your leave, then one might just as well pack up one’s boxes and go home; and then what would happen, one would like to know, to our schools, our boys, and finally, with an emphatic rattle of cup and saucer, to our country?

Semi-Chorus b—Enlarged the original issue. It was really rather difficult when a young man had been behaving in this way to congratulate the young lady to whom he had just engaged himself. She was of course perfectly charming, but it was a pity that she should, whilst still so young, be forced to countenance disorder and tumult, because with that kind of beginning there was no telling what married life mightn’t develop into.

Semi-Chorus a—Enlarged yet again on this subject and, without mentioning names or being in any way specific, drew a dreadful picture of married lives that had been ruined simply through this question of discipline, and that if the husband were the kind of man who believed in blows and riot and general disturbance, then the wife was in for an exceedingly poor time.

Mrs. Comber had listened to this discussion in perfect silence. It was not her habit to listen to anything in perfect silence, but on the present occasion she continued to enforce in her mind that dark, ominous figure of Mrs. Thompson. Anything that she said would be used against her, and there in the corner, with her thin, white hands folded in her lap, with the black silk of her dress shining in little white lines where the light caught it, was the person who might undo her Freddie entirely. Whatever happened, she must keep silence—she told herself this again and again; but as Mrs. Dormer and Miss Madder continued, she found her anger rising. She fixed her eyes on the sharp, black feathers in Miss Madder’s hat and tried to discuss with herself the general expense of the hat and why Miss Madder always wore things that didn’t suit her, and whether Miss Madder wouldn’t he ever so much better in a nice green grave with daisies and church bells in the distance, but these abstract questions refused to allow themselves to be discussed. She knew as she listened that Isabel, her dear, beloved Isabel, to whom she owed more than anyone in the whole world, was being attacked—cruelly, wickedly attacked.

Every word that came from their lips increased her rage: they hated Isabel—Isabel who had never done them any harm or hurt. As their voices, even and cold, went on, she forgot that dark, silent figure in the corner, and her hands began to twitch the silk of her purple gown. Suddenly in an instant Freddie was forgotten, everything was forgotten save Isabel, and she burst out, her eyes burning, her cheeks flaming: “Really, Mrs. Dormer, you are a little inaccurate. I’m sure we must all agree that it’s a pity if anyone is so silly as to knock someone else down because someone else has stolen one’s umbrella, and I’m sure I should never want to; and indeed I remember quite well Miss Tweedy, who was matron here two years ago, taking a gray parasol of mine to chapel with her and putting it up before everybody, and nobody thought anything of it, and I remember Miss Tweedy being quite angry because I asked for it back again. I think it’s very stupid of Mr. Perrin to make such a fuss about nothing, and I never did like him, and I don’t care who knows it; but at any rate I don’t see what this has all got to do with dear Isabel’s engagement, and I think young Traill’s a delightful fellow, and I hope they ‘ll both be enormously happy, and I think it’s very unkind of you to wish them not to be!” Mrs. Comber took a deep breath.

“Really, my dear Mrs. Comber,” said Mrs. Dormer very slowly, “I’m sure we none of us wish them anything but happiness. Please don’t have the impression that we are not eager for their good.”

“I can’t help feeling, Mrs. Comber,” said Miss Madder, “that you have rather misunderstood our position in the matter.”

“Well, I’m sure I’m very sorry if I have,” broke in Mrs. Comber hurriedly, beginning already to be sorry that she had spoken so quickly.

“You see,” went on Miss Madder, “that I don’t think we can any of us have two feelings about the question of discipline. I’m sure you agree with us there, Mrs. Comber.”

“Oh, of course,” said Mrs. Comber.

But she saw at once that war had been declared. They hated Isabel, and they hated her; they would make it so unpleasant that Isabel would not be able to come and stay again—they were of one mind.

Above all, after they had gone, there remained the impression of that silent, black lady who had said not a word. What would she tell Moy-Thompson? What harm would come to Freddie?

Last, and worst of all, as Mrs. Comber most wretchedly reflected, Freddie had still to be faced.

His feelings, she knew, would be strongly expressed, and were certainly not in a line with her own.

Oh! the umbrella had a great deal to answer for!

And Freddie was, as a matter of fact, faced that very evening, and a crisis arrived in the affairs of the Combers which must be chronicled, because it had ultimately a good deal to do with Isabel and Archie Traill, and indeed with everyone in the present story.

But whilst waiting for him downstairs, “dressed and shining,” as she used to like to say—with the dinner getting cold (for which disaster she was certain to be scolded)—she wondered in her muddled kind of way why it was that they should all have wanted to be so disagreeable, why, as a development of that, everyone always preferred to be disagreeable rather than pleasant. And she suddenly, facing the ormolu clock and the peacock screen with her eyes upon them as though they might, with their color and decoration help her, had a revelation—dim, misty, vague, and lost almost as soon as it was seen—that it wasn’t really anyone’s fault at all—that it was the system, the place, the tightness and closeness and helplessness that did for everybody; that nobody could escape from it, and that the finest saint, the most noble character, would be crushed and broken in that remorseless mill—“the mills of the gods”?—no, the mills of a rotten, impoverished, antiquated system.... She saw, staring at the clock and the screen and clinging to them, these men and these women, crushed, beaten, defeated: Mrs. Thompson, Mrs. Dormer, Miss Madder, her own Freddie, Mr. Perrin, Mr. Birkland, Mr. White—even already young Traill—all of them decent, hopeful, brave… once. The coals clicked in the glowing fire, and the soft autumn wind passed down the darkening paths. She felt suddenly as though she must give it all up—she must leave Freddie and the children and go away… anywhere… she could not endure it any longer. And then Freddie came in, irritable, peevish, scarcely noticing her. Moy-Thompson had changed one of his hours, and that annoyed him; the soup of course was stone cold, the fish very little better. He scowled across the table at her, and she tried to be pleasant and amusing. Then suddenly he had launched into the umbrella affair.

“Young Traill wants kicking,” he said. “What are we all coming to, I should like to know? Why, the man’s only been here a month or two, and he goes and takes a senior master’s things without asking leave, and then knocks him down because he objects. I never heard anything like it. The fellow wants kicking out altogether.”

Mrs. Comber said nothing.

“Well, why don’t you say something? You’ve got some opinion about it, I suppose; and there’s more in it than that—he’s gone and got himself engaged to Isabel, I hear. What’s the girl thinking of? They ‘re both much too young anyhow. It’s absurd. I ‘ll tell her what I think of it.”

“Oh, no, Freddie—don’t say anything to her. She’s so happy about it, and I’m sure the dear girl has been so good to both of us that she deserves some happiness, and I do want them to be successful. After all, if Mr. Traill was a little hasty, he’s very young, and Mr. Perrin ‘s a very difficult man to get on with. You know, dear, you’ve always said—”

“Well, whatever I ‘ve said,” he broke in furiously, “I ‘ve never advocated stealing nor hitting your elders and betters in the face, and if you think I have, you ‘re mightily mistaken.”

After that there was silence during the rest of the meal. Miss Desart was dining at the Squire’s in the village, and, for once, Mrs. Comber was glad that the girl was not with them.

She was very near to tears. The day had been a most terrible one—and her food choked her. The meal seemed to stretch into infinity, the dreary dining-room, the monotonous tick of the clock, and always her husband’s scowling face.

At last it was over, and he went to his study, and she to her little drawing-room. In front of her fire, her sewing slipped from her lap and she slept, with her purple dress shining in the firelight, and the rest of the room in shadow about her. And she dreamt wonderful dreams—of places where there was freedom and light, of hard, white roads and forests and cathedrals, and of a wonderful life where there was no travail nor ill-temper; and her face became happy again, and she saw Freddie as he had once been, before the shadow of this place had fallen about him, and in her dreams she was in a place where everyone loved her and she could make no mistakes.

Then she woke up and saw Freddie Comber standing near her, and she smiled at him and then gave a little exclamation because the fire was nearly out.

“Yes,” he said, following her glance, “it’s a nice, cheerful room for a man to come into, isn’t it, after he’s tired and cold with work? I have got a nice, pleasant little wife. I’m a lucky man, I am.”

Then, as she began to busy herself with the fire, and tried to brighten it, he said, “Oh! leave it now, can’t you? What’s the use of making a noise and fuss with it now?”

Then he went on as she got up from her knees again and faced him, “Look here, we’ve got to come to an understanding about this business.”

“What business?” she said faintly, all the color leaving her cheeks.

“Why, young Traill,” he went on, standing over her. “I’m not going to have my wife encouraging him in this affair. I tell you I object to him—he’s a conceited, impertinent prig, and he wants putting in his place, and I ‘ll let him know it if he comes near here. I won’t have him in the house, and it’s just as well he should know it. So don’t you go asking him here.”

She was now white to the lips. “But,” she said, “I have told Isabel that I am glad, and I am glad. I like Mr. Traill, and I don’t think it was his fault in this business; and, Freddie dear, you know you are not quite fair to him because of his football, or something silly, and I’m sure you don’t mind him, really—you don’t like Mr. Perrin, you know.”

This was quite the most unfortunate speech that poor Mrs. Comber could possibly have made; the mention of the football at once reminded Freddie Comber of all that he had suffered on that head, and his neck began to swell with rage, and his cheeks were flushed.

“Look here, my lady,” he said, “you just leave things alone that don’t belong to you. Never you mind what reasons I ‘ve got for disliking young Traill—it’s enough if I say that he’s not to come here—and Miss Isabel shall hear that from my own lips.”

In all her long experience of him she had never known him so angry as he was now, and she had never before been so afraid of him; but at the mention of Isabel, she called all her courage to her aid and drew herself up.

“You must not do that,” she said. “You cannot insult Isabel here, when she has been such a friend of ours, and been so good—so good. I love her, and the man she is going to marry is my friend.”

“Oh!” he said, speaking very low and coming very close to her. “This is defiance, is it? You will do this and that, will you? I tell you that he shall not come here.”

“And I say that he shall,” she answered in a whisper.

Then, with the accumulated irritation of the day upon him, he suddenly came to her and, muttering between his teeth, “We ‘ll see about the master here,” struck her so that he cut his hand on her brooch, and she fell back against the wall, and stayed there with her hands spread out against it, staring at him....

There was a long silence, with no sound save the clock and the distant wind. He had never, in their long married life, struck her before. They both knew, as they stood there staring at one another, that a period had suddenly been placed, like an iron wall, in their lives. Their relations could never be the same again. They might be better, they might be worse—they could never be the same.

But with him there was a great overwhelming horror of what he had done. Her white face, her large, shining eyes, the way that her hands lay against the wall, and the way that her dress fell about her feet, because her knees were bending under her—drove this home to him. He was appalled; suddenly that man in him that had been dead for twenty years was brought to life by that blow.

“My dear—my dear—don’t look at me like that—I did not mean anything—I am not angry—I am terribly ashamed.... Please—”

His voice was a trembling whisper. He put out his hand towards her. She took his hand, and came away from the wall, still looking at him fixedly.

“You never struck me before, Freddie,” she said. “At least, you have never done that. I am so sorry, my dear.”

Then, very quietly, she put her arms about his neck and kissed him; then she went slowly out of the room.

He stood where she had left him motionless. Then he said, still in a whisper and looking at the curtains that hid the night and the dark buildings. “Curse the place! It is that—it has done for me....” And then, as he very slowly sat down and faced the fire, he whispered to the shadowy room, “I am no good—I am no good at all!”