pgw.uneasymoney-第35部分

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oken　that　last　meeting　up；　he　would　have　said　that　her　look　seemed　somehow　to　strike　a　note　of　appeal。　There　was　something　soft　and　repentant　about　her。　She　suggested；　it　seemed　to　Mr　Pickering；　the　prodigal　daughter　revisiting　the　old　homestead。
　'Dudley！'
　She　smiled　a　faint　smile；　a　wistful；　deprecating　smile。　She　was　looking　lovelier　than　ever。　Her　face　glowed　with　a　wonderful　colour　and　her　eyes　were　very　bright。　Mr　Pickering　met　her　gaze；　and　strange　things　began　to　happen　to　his　mind；　that　mind　which　a　moment　before　had　thought　so　clearly　and　established　so　definite　a　point　of　view。
　What　a　gelatine…backboned　thing　is　man；　who　prides　himself　on　his　clear　reason　and　bees　as　wet　blotting…paper　at　one　glance　from　bright　eyes！　A　moment　before　Mr　Pickering　had　thought　out　the　whole　subject　of　woman　and　marriage　in　a　few　bold　flashes　of　his　capable　brain；　and　thanked　Providence　that　he　was　not　as　those　men　who　take　unto　themselves　wives　to　their　undoing。　Now　in　an　instant　he　had　lost　that　iron　outlook。　Reason　was　temporarily　out　of　business。　He　was　slipping。
　'Dudley！'
　For　a　space　Subconscious　Self　thrust　itself　forward。
　'Look　out！　Be　careful！'　it　warned。
　Mr　Pickering　ignored　it。　He　was　watching；　fascinated；　the　glow　on　Claire's　face；　her　shining　eyes。
　'Dudley；　I　want　to　speak　to　you。'
　'Tell　her　you　can　only　be　seen　by　appointment！　Escape！　Bolt！'
　Mr　Pickering　did　not　bolt。　Claire　came　towards　him；　still　smiling　that　pathetic　smile。　A　thrill　permeated　Mr　Pickering's　entire　one　hundred　and　ninety…seven　pounds；　trickling　down　his　spine　like　hot　water　and　ing　out　at　the　soles　of　his　feet。　He　had　forgotten　now　that　he　had　ever　sneered　at　marriage。　It　seemed　to　him　now　that　there　was　nothing　in　life　to　be　pared　with　that　beatific　state；　and　that　bachelors　were　mere　wild　asses　of　the　desert。
　Claire　came　and　sat　down　on　the　arm　of　his　chair。　He　moved　convulsively；　but　he　stayed　where　he　was。
　'Fool！'　said　Subconscious　Self。
　Claire　took　hold　of　his　hand　and　patted　it。　He　quivered；　but　remained。
　'Ass！'　hissed　Subconscious　Self。
　Claire　stopped　patting　his　hand　and　began　to　stroke　it。　Mr　Pickering　breathed　heavily。
　'Dudley；　dear；'　said　Claire；　softly；　'I've　been　an　awful　fool；　and　I'm　dreadful；　dreadful　sorry；　and　you're　going　to　be　the　nicest；　kindest；　sweetest　man　on　earth　and　tell　me　you've　forgiven　me。　Aren't　you？'
　Mr　Pickering's　lips　moved　silently。　Claire　kissed　the　thinning　summit　of　his　head。　There　was　a　pause。
　'Where　is　it？'　she　asked。
　Mr　Pickering　started。
　'Eh？'
　'Where　is　it？　Where　did　you　put　it？　The　ring；　silly！'
　Mr　Pickering　became　aware　that　Subconscious　Self　was　addressing　him。　The　occasion　was　tense；　and　Subconscious　Self　did　not　mince　its　words。
　'You　poor；　maudlin；　sentimental；　doddering　chunk　of　imbecility；'　it　said；　'are　there　no　limits　to　your　insanity？　After　all　I　said　to　you　just　now；　are　you　deliberately　going　to　start　the　old　idiocy　all　over　again？'
　'She's　so　beautiful！'　pleaded　Mr　Pickering。　'Look　at　her　eyes！'
　'Ass！　Don't　you　remember　what　I　said　about　beauty？'
　'Yes；　I　know；　but'
　'She's　as　hard　as　nails。'
　'I'm　sure　you're　wrong。'
　'I'm　not　wrong。'
　'But　she　loves　me。'
　'Forget　it！'
　Claire　jogged　his　shoulders。
　'Dudley；　dear；　what　are　you　sitting　there　dreaming　for？　Where　did　you　put　the　ring？'
　Mr　Pickering　fumbled　for　it；　located　it；　produced　it。　Claire　examined　it　fondly。
　'Did　she　throw　it　at　him　and　nearly　break　his　heart！'　she　said。
　'Bolt！'　urged　Subconscious　Self。　'Fly！　Go　to　Japan！'
　Mr　Pickering　did　not　go　to　Japan。　He　was　staring　worshippingly　at　Claire。　With　rapturous　gaze　he　noted　the　grey　glory　of　her　eyes；　the　delicate　curve　of　her　cheek；　the　grace　of　her　neck。　He　had　no　time　to　listen　to　pessimistic　warnings　from　any　Gloomy　Gus　of　a　Subconscious　Self。　He　was　ashamed　that　he　had　ever　even　for　a　moment　allowed　himself　to　be　persuaded　that　Claire　was　not　all　that　was　perfect。　No　more　doubts　and　hesitations　for　Dudley　Pickering。　He　was　under　the　influence。
　'There！'　said　Claire；　and　slipped　the　ring　on　her　finger。
　She　kissed　the　top　of　his　head　once　more。
　'So　there　we　are！'　she　said。
　'There　we　are！'　gurgled　the　infatuated　Dudley。
　'Happy　now？'
　'Ur…r！'
　'Then　kiss　me。'
　Mr　Pickering　kissed　her。
　'Dudley；　darling；'　said　Claire；　'we're　going　to　be　awfully；　awfully　happy；　aren't　we？'
　'You　bet　we　are！'　said　Mr　Pickering。
　Subconscious　Self　said　nothing；　being　beyond　speech。　
　
　21
　For　some　minutes　after　Claire　had　left　him　Bill　remained　where　he　was；　motionless。　He　felt　physically　incapable　of　moving。　All　the　strength　that　was　in　him　he　was　using　to　throw　off　the　insidious　poison　of　her　parting　speech；　and　it　became　plainer　to　him　with　each　succeeding　moment　that　he　would　have　need　of　strength。
　It　is　part　of　the　general　irony　of　things　that　in　life's　crises　a　man's　good　qualities　are　often　the　ones　that　help　him　least；　if　indeed　they　do　not　actually　turn　treacherously　and　fight　against　him。　It　was　so　with　Bill。　Modesty；　if　one　may　trust　to　the　verdict　of　the　mass　of　mankind；　is　a　good　quality。　It　sweetens　the　soul　and　makes　for　a　kindly　understanding　of　one's　fellows。　But　arrogance　would　have　served　Bill　better　now。　It　was　his　fatal　habit　of　self…depreciation　that　was　making　Claire's　words　so　specious　as　he　stood　there　trying　to　cast　them　from　his　mind。　Who　was　he；　after　all；　that　he　should　imagine　that　he　had　won　on　his　personal　merits　a　girl　like　Elizabeth　Boyd？
　He　had　the　not　very　mon　type　of　mind　that　perceives　the　merit　in　others　more　readily　than　their　faults；　and　in　himself　the　faults　more　readily　than　the　merit。　Time　and　the　society　of　a　great　number　of　men　of　different　ranks　and　natures　had　rid　him　of　the　outer　symbol　of　this　type　of　mind；　which　is　shyness；　but　it　had　left　him　still　unconvinced　that　he　amounted　to　anything　very　much　as　an　individual。
　This　was　the　thought　that　met　him　every　time　he　tried　to　persuade　himself　that　what　Claire　had　said　was　ridiculous；　the　mere　parting　shaft　of　an　angry　woman。　With　this　thought　as　an　ally　her　words　took　on　a　plausibility　hard　to　withstand。　Plausible！　That　was　the　devil　of　it。　By　no　effort　could　he　blind　himself　to　the　fact　that　they　were　that。　In　the　light　of　Claire's　insinuations　what　had　seemed　coincidences　took　on　a　more　sinister　character。　It　had　seemed　to　him　an　odd　and　lucky　chance　that　Nutty　Boyd　should　have　e　to　the　rooms　which　he　was　occupying　that　night；　seeking　a　panion。　Had　it　been　chance？　Even　at　the　time　he　had　thought　it　strange　that；　on　the　strength　of　a　single　evening　spent　together；　Nutty　should　have　invited　a　total　stranger　to　make　an　indefinite　visit　to　his　home。　Had　there　been　design　behind　the　invitation？
　Bill　began　to　walk　slowly　to　the　house。　He　felt　tired　and　unhappy。　He　meant　to　go　to　bed　and　try　to　sleep　away　these　wretched　doubts　and　questionings。　Daylight　would　bring　relief。
　As　he　reached　the　open　front　door　he　caught　the　sound　of　voices；　and　paused　for　an　instant；　almost　unconsciously；　to　place　them。　They　came　from　one　of　the　rooms　upstairs。　It　was　Nutty　speaking　now；　and　it　was　impossible　for　Bill　not　to　hear　what　he　said；　for　Nutty　had　abandoned　his　customary　drawl　in　favour　of　a　high；　excited　tone。
　'Of　course；　you　hate　him　and　all　that；'　said　Nutty；　'but　after　all　you　will　be　getting　five　million　dollars　that　ought　to　have　e　to'
　That　was　all　that　Bill　heard；　for　he　had　stumbled　across　the　hall　and　was　in　his　room；　sitting　on　the　bed　and　staring　into　the　darkness　with　burning　eyes。　The　door　banged　behind　him。
　So　it　was　true！
　There　came　a　knock　at　the　door。　It　was　repeated。　The　handle　turned。
　'Is　that　you；　Bill？'
　It　was　Elizabeth's　voice。　He　could　just　see　her；　framed　in　the　doorway。
　'Bill！'
　His　throat　was　dry。　He　swallowed；　and　found　that　he　could　speak。
　'Yes？'
　'Did　you　just　e　in？'
　'Yes。'
　'Thenyou　heard？'
　'Yes。'
　There　was　a　long　silence。　Then　the　door　closed　gently　and　he　heard　her　go　upstairs。
　
　22
　When　Bill　woke　next　morning　it　was　ten　o'clock；　and　his　first　emotion；　on　a　day　that　was　to　be　crowded　with　emotions　of　various　kinds；　was　one　of　shame。　The　desire　to　do　the　fitting　thing　is　innate　in　man；　and　it　struck　Bill；　as　he　hurried　through　his　toilet；　that　he　must　be　a　shallow；　coarse…fibred　sort　of　person；　lacking　in　the　finer　feelings；　not　to　have　passed　a　sleepless　night。　There　was　something　revolting　in　the　thought　that；　in　circumstances　which　would　have　made　sleep　an　impossibility　for　most　men；　he　had　slept　like　a　log。　He　did　not　do　himself　the　justice　to　recollect　that　he　had　had　a　singularly　strenuous　day；　and　that　it　is　Nature's　business；　which　she　performs　quietly　and　unromantically；　to　send　sleep　to　tired　men　regardless　of　their　private　feelings；　and　it　was　in　a　mood　of　dissatisfaction　with　the　quality　of　his　soul　that　he　left　his　room。
　He　had　a　general　feeling　that　he　was　not　much　of　a　chap　and　that　when　he　diedwhich　he　trusted　would　be　shortlythe　world　would　be　well　rid　of　him。　He　felt　humble　and　depressed　and　hopeless。
　Elizabeth　met　him　in　the　passage。　At　the　age　of　eleven　or　thereabouts　women　acquire　a　poise　and　an　ability　to　handle　difficult　situations　which　a　man；　if　he　is　lucky；　manages　to　achieve　somewhere　in　th