Then May broke her silence, and imitating a voice that Lady Dashwood knew well, uttered these words:

"Oh, d.a.m.n the community!"

"Was it very nasty?" said Lady Dashwood, laughing. "Ah, May, I can laugh now at Belinda! Alas! I can laugh!"

CHAPTER XXV

CONFESSIONS

What stung Gwendolen, what made her smart almost beyond endurance, was that she had exchanged the Warden for an umbrella. The transaction had been simple, and sudden, and inevitable. The Warden was in London, a free man, and there was the umbrella in the corner of the room, hers. It was looking at her, and she had not paid for it. The bill would be sent to the Lodgings, the bill for the umbrella and the gloves. The bill would be re-directed and would reach her--bills always did reach one, however frequently one changed one's address. Private letters sometimes got misdirected and mislaid, but never bills. Friends sometimes say, "We couldn't write because we didn't know your address." Tradespeople never say this, they don't omit to send their bills merely because they don't know your address. If they don't know your address, they search for it!

The pure imbecility of her behaviour at Christ Church about that ten-shilling note was now apparent to Gwendolen. She could not think, now, how she could have done anything so inconceivably silly, and so useless as to put herself in the power of Mrs. Potten. She would never, never in all her life, do such a thing again. Another time, when hard up and needing something necessary, she would borrow, or she would go straight to the shop and order "the umbrella" (as after all, she had done), and she would take the sporting chance of being able to pay the bill some time. But never would she again touch notes or coins that belonged to people she knew, and especially those belonging to Mrs.

Potten! Oh, what a wickedly cruel punishment she had to bear, merely because she had had a sort of joke about ten shillings belonging to Mrs.

Potten.

One thing she would never forgive as long as she lived, and that was Mrs. Potten's meanness. She would never forget the way in which Mrs.

Potten took advantage of her by getting her into Potten End alone, with n.o.body to protect her.

First of all Mrs. Potten had pretended to be merely sorry. Then she spoke about Mr. Harding and Mr. Bingham being witnesses and made the whole thing appear as a sort of crime, and then she ended up with saying: "The Warden must not be kept in ignorance of all this! That is out of the question. He has a right to know." That came as an awful shock to Gwendolen, and made her burst into tears.

"Are you afraid, child, he will break off the engagement?" was all that Mrs. Potten said, and then the horrid old woman asked all sorts of horrid questions, and wormed out all kinds of things: that the Warden had not actually said he was in love, that he had scarcely spoken to her for three days, and that he had not said "good-bye" that morning when he left for London. How Mrs. Potten had managed to sneak it out of her Gwendolen did not know, but Mrs. Potten gave her no time to think of what she was saying, and being so much upset and so much afraid of Mrs.

Potten lots of things came out. And yet all the time she knew things were going wrong because of the wicked look on Mrs. Potten's face.

However, Gwendolen had all through stuck to it (and it was the truth) that she had never intended to do more than "sort of joke" with the note, and this Mrs. Potten simply wouldn't understand. And when she, Gwendolen, promised, on her honour, to make it "all right," by wiring to her mother to send her a postal order for ten shillings by return, Mrs.

Potten sprang like a tiger on her: "Why wire for it? Why not return it now?" Oh, the whole thing was awful!

After this Mrs. Potten's voice had changed to ice, and she put on a perfectly beastly tone.

"Gwendolen, you shock me beyond words, and oblige me to take a very decided step in the matter."

Then she stopped, and Gwendolen could recall that horrible moment of suspense. Then came words that made Gwendolen shudder to think of.

"I have a very great respect for the position of a Warden--it is a position of trust; and I have also personally a very great respect for the Warden of King's. I give you an alternative. Break off your engagement with him at once, quietly, or I shall make this little affair of the note known in Oxford, so that the Warden will have to break the engagement off. Which alternative do you choose?"

The very words repeated themselves over and over in Gwendolen's memory, and she flung herself on her bed and gave way to a pa.s.sion of tears. No, she would never forgive Mrs. Potten.

When the bell sounded for dinner, Gwendolen struggled off the bed and went to look at herself in the gla.s.s. She couldn't possibly go downstairs looking like that, even if she were dressed. Yet pangs of hunger seized Gwendolen. She had eaten one wretched little slice of bread and b.u.t.ter at Potten End, moistening it with her tears, and now she wanted food. Several minutes pa.s.sed.

"They won't care even if I'm dead," moaned Gwendolen, and she listened.

A knock came at her door, and Louise entered.

"If mademoiselle has a headache would she like to have some dinner brought up to her?"

"Yes, thanks," said Gwendolen, and she kept her face away from the direction of the door so that Louise could not see it.

"What would mademoiselle like? Some soup?"

Oh, how wretched it all was! And when all might have been so different!

And soup--only soup!

"I don't care," said Gwendolen, "some sort of dinner--any dinner."

"Ah, dinner!" said Louise.

When she had gone, Gwendolen tied two handkerchiefs together and fastened them round her forehead to look as if she had a headache--indeed, she had a headache--and a heartache too!

Presently dinner was brought up, and Gwendolen ate it in loneliness and sadness. She did not leave anything. She had thought of leaving some of the meat, but decided against it. After she had finished, and it had been cleared away, she had sat looking at the fire for a few minutes with eyes that were sore from weeping. Then she got up and began to undress. Life was a miserable thing! She got into bed and laid her hot head down on the cool pillow and tried not to think. But she listened to every sound that pa.s.sed her door. It was horrible to be alone and forgotten. She had asked to be left alone, but she had not meant to be alone so long. Then there suddenly sprang into her mind the recollection of the strange form she thought she had seen in the library. She really had thought she had seen him. Were such things true?

What about the disaster? Perhaps it was _her_ disaster he had come to warn _her_ about and that was why _she_ saw him. Perhaps G.o.d sent him!

This thought thrilled her whole being, and she lay very still. Perhaps G.o.d had meant to tell _her_ that she must be careful, and she had not been careful. But then how could she have guessed?

Gwendolen had been confirmed only two years ago. She remembered that the preparation for confirmation had been a bore, and yet had given her a pleasant sensation of self-approbation, because she was serving G.o.d in a manner peculiarly agreeable to Him by being in the right Church, especially now in these times of unbelief and neglect of religion. She had a pleasant feeling that there were a great many people disobeying Him; and that heaps of priggish people who fussed about living goody-goody lives, were not really approved of by Him, because they didn't go to church or only went to wrong churches.

Then she recalled the afternoon when she was confirmed. She was at school and there were other girls with her, and the old bishop preached to them, and went on and on and on so long, and was so dull that Gwendolen ceased to listen. But she had gone through it all, and had felt very happy to have it over. She felt safe in G.o.d's keeping. But now she was alone and miserable, and felt strangely unprotected by G.o.d, as if G.o.d didn't care!

Was that strange form she had seen in the library sent not by G.o.d but by the devil to frighten her? If the Warden had been in the house she would have felt less frightened, only now--now she was so horribly alone. Even if he had been in the house, though she couldn't speak to him, she would have been less frightened.

Gwendolen listened for footsteps in the corridor--would any one come to her? Why had she spoken to Lady Dashwood as if she didn't want to be disturbed? Suppose n.o.body came? And what about the devil? Should she ring?

At last, unable to bear herself and her thoughts any longer she rose from her bed and put on her dressing-gown. She opened her door and peeped out into the corridor. There was just a glimpse of light, and she could see pretty clearly from end to end. She could hear what sounded like a person near the head of the staircase. Gwendolen darted forwards towards the curtained end of the corridor. But when she reached the curtain she saw old Robinson going down the staircase.

Gwendolen went back a few steps along the corridor and returned to her room. She pushed the door open. It was too silent and too empty, it frightened her. Should she ring the bell? If she rang the bell what would she say? The dinner had been cleared away. What should she ask for if she rang?

With a groan of despair she went outside again and again listened.

Somebody was approaching the corridor. Somebody was coming into the corridor. She stood where she was. It was Mrs. Dashwood who was coming.

She had mounted the steps, and here she was walking towards her.

Gwendolen stood still and waited.

May saw the figure of the girl, clutching her dressing-gown round her, and staring with large distended eyes like a hunted animal.

"What is it?" asked May. "Do you feel ill, Gwen?"

"Oh!" said the girl, with a shiver, "I'm so glad you've come! I can't go into my bedroom alone. Oh, I am so wretched!"

"I'll take you into your bedroom," said May, and she led Gwen in and closed the door behind them.

"You were in bed," she said. "Get in again and I will straighten you up." She helped Gwendolen to take off her dressing-gown.

"You can't stay with me a little?" demanded Gwen, and her lips trembled.

"I've such a headache."

The handkerchiefs were still bound round her head, and were making her hot and uncomfortable.

"Poor Gwen!" said May. "Yes, I'll stay a little. I dare say some Eau-de-Cologne would help your headache to go."