Demos

‘It’s nothing to you whether I believe it or not. Just be good enough in future to mind your own business; you’ll have plenty of it before long. I suppose that’s what you brought me here for?’

She made no answer; she was vexed and puzzled.

‘Have you anything else to say?’

Alice maintained a stubborn silence.

‘Alice, have you anything more to tell me about Adela?’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Then you might have spared me the trouble. Tell Rodman with my compliments that it would be as well for him to keep out of my way.’

He left her.

On quitting the house he walked at a great pace for a quarter of a mile before he remembered the necessity of taking either train or omnibus. The latter was at hand, but when he had ridden for ten minutes the constant stoppages so irritated him that he jumped out and sought a hansom. Even thus he did not travel fast enough; it seemed an endless time before the ascent of Pentonville Hill began. He descended a little distance from his lodgings.

As he was paying the driver another hansom went by; he by chance saw the occupant, and it was Hubert Eldon. At least he felt convinced of it, and he was in no mind to balance the possibilities of mistake. The hansom had come from the street which Mutimer was just entering.

He found Adela engaged in cooking the dinner; she wore an apron, and the sleeves of her dress were pushed up. As he came into the room she looked at him with her patient smile; finding that he was in one of his worst tempers, she said nothing and went on with her work. A coarse cloth was thrown over the table; on it lay a bowl of vegetables which she was preparing for the saucepan.

Perhaps it was the sight of her occupation, of the cheerful simplicity with which she addressed herself to work so unworthy of her; he could not speak at once as he had meant to. He examined her with eyes of angry, half foiled suspicion. She had occasion to pass him; he caught her arm and stayed her before him.

‘What has Eldon been doing here?’

She paused and shrank a little.

‘Mr. Eldon has not been here.’

He thought her face betrayed a guilty agitation.

‘I happen to have met him going away. I think you’d better tell me the truth.’

‘I have told you the truth. If Mr. Eldon has been to the house, I was not aware of it.’

He looked at her in silence for a moment, then asked:

‘Are you the greatest hypocrite living?’

Adela drew farther away. She kept her eyes down. Long ago she had suspected what was in Mutimer’s mind, but she had only been apprehensive of the results of jealousy on his temper and on their relations to each other; it had not entered her thought that she might have to defend herself against an accusation. This violent question affected her strangely. For a moment she referred it entirely to the secrets of her heart, and it seemed impossible to deny what was imputed to her, impossible even to resent his way of speaking. Was she not a hypocrite? Had she not many, many times concealed with look and voice an inward state which was equivalent to infidelity? Was not her whole life a pretence, an affectation of wifely virtues? But the hypocrisy was involuntary; her nature had no power to extirpate its causes and put in their place the perfect dignity of uprightness.

‘Why do you ask me that?’ she said at length, raising her eyes for an instant.

‘Because it seems to me I’ve good cause. I don’t know whether to believe a word you say.’

‘I can’t remember to have told you falsehoods.’ Her cheeks flushed. ‘Yes, one; that I confessed to you.’

It brought to his mind the story of the wedding ring.

‘There’s such a thing as lying when you tell the truth. Do you remember that I met you coming back to the Manor that Monday afternoon, a month ago, and asked you where you’d been?’

Her heart stood still.

‘Answer me, will you?’

‘I remember it.’

‘You told me you’d been for a walk in the wood. You forgot to say who it was you went to meet.’

How did he know of this? But that thought came to her only to pass. She understood at length the whole extent of his suspicion. It was not only her secret feelings that he called in question, he accused her of actual dishonour as it is defined by the world—that clumsy world with its topsy-turvydom of moral judgments. To have this certainty flashed upon her was, as soon as she had recovered from the shock, a sensible assuagement of her misery. In face of this she could stand her ground. Her womanhood was in arms; she faced him scornfully.

‘Will you please to make plain your charge against me?’

‘I think it’s plain enough. If a married woman makes appointments in quiet places with a man she has no business to see anywhere, what’s that called? I fancy I’ve seen something of that kind before now in cases before the Divorce Court.’

It angered him that she was not overwhelmed. He saw that she did not mean to deny having met Eldon, and to have Alice’s story thus confirmed inflamed his jealousy beyond endurance.

‘You must believe of me what you like,’ Adela replied in a slow, subdued voice. ‘My word would be vain against that of my accuser, whoever it is.’

‘Your accuser, as you say, happened not only to see you, but to hear you talking.’

He waited for her surrender before this evidence. Instead of that Adela smiled.

‘If my words were reported to you, what fault have you to find with me?’

Her confidence, together with his actual ignorance of what Rodman had heard, troubled him with doubt.

‘Answer this question,’ he said. ‘Did you make an appointment with that man?’

‘I did not.’

‘You did not? Yet you met him?’

‘Unexpectedly.’

‘But you talked with him?’

‘How can you ask? You know that I did.’

He collected his thoughts.

‘Repeat to me what you talked about.’

‘That I refuse to do.’

‘Of course you do!’ he cried, driven to frenzy. ‘And you think I shall let this rest where it is? Have you forgotten that I came to the Westlakes and found Eldon there with you? And what was he doing in this street this morning if he hadn’t come to see you? I begin to understand why you were so precious eager about giving up the will. That was your fine sense of honesty, of course! You are full of fine senses, but your mistake is to think I’ve no sense at all. What do you take me for?’

The thin crust of refinement was shattered; the very man came to light, coarse, violent, whipped into fury by his passions, of which injured self-love was not the least. Whether he believed his wife guilty or not he could not have said; enough that she had kept things secret from him, and that he could not overawe her. Whensoever he had shown anger in conversation with her, she had made him sensible of her superiority; at length he fell back upon his brute force and resolved to bring her to his feet, if need be by outrage. Even his accent deteriorated as he flung out his passionate words; he spoke like any London mechanic, with defect and excess of aspirates, with neglect of g’s at the end of words, and so on. Adela could not bear it; she moved to the door. But he caught her and thrust her back; it was all but a blow. Her face half recalled him to his senses.