The Captain's Dol Page 4

officers?'

  'Yes, I think so,' said Hannele.

  'And I'm sure so, from what I hear. But of course it is the women

  who are to blame in the first place. We poor women! We are a

  guilty race, I am afraid. But I never throw stones. I know what

  it is myself to have temptations. I have to flirt a little--and

  when I was younger--well, the men didn't escape me, I assure you.

  And I was SO often scorched. But never QUITE singed. My husband

  never minded. He knew I was REALLY safe. Oh yes, I have always

  been faithful to him. But still--I have been very near the flame.'

  And she laughed her winsome little laugh.

  Hannele put her fingers to her ears to make sure they were not

  falling off.

  'Of course during the war it was terrible. I know that in a

  certain hospital it was quite impossible for a girl to stay on if

  she kept straight. The matrons and sisters just turned her out.

  They wouldn't have her unless she was one of themselves. And you

  know what that means. Quite like the convent in Balzac's story--

  you know which I mean, I'm sure.' And the laugh tinkled gaily.

  'But then, what can you expect, when there aren't enough men to go

  round! Why, I had a friend in Ireland. She and her husband had

  been an ideal couple, an IDEAL couple. Real playmates. And you

  can't say more than that, can you? Well, then, he became a major

  during the war. And she was so looking forward, poor thing, to the

  perfectly lovely times they would have together when he came home.

  She is like me, and is lucky enough to have a little income of her

  own--not a great fortune--but--well--Well now, what was I going to

  say? Oh yes, she was looking forward to the perfectly lovely times

  they would have when he came home: building on her dreams, poor

  thing, as we unfortunate women always do. I suppose we shall never

  be cured of it.' A little tinkling laugh. 'Well now, not a bit of

  it. Not a bit of it.' Mrs Hepburn lifted her heavily-jewelled

  little hand in a motion of protest. It was curious, her hands were

  pretty and white, and her neck and breast, now she wore a little

  tea-gown, were also smooth and white and pretty, under the medley

  of twinkling little chains and coloured jewels. Why should her

  face have played her this nasty trick of going all crumpled!

  However, it was so.

  'Not one bit of it,' reiterated the little lady. 'He came home

  quite changed. She said she could hardly recognize him for the

  same man. Let me tell you one little incident. Just a trifle, but

  significant. He was coming home--this was some time after he was

  free from the army--he was coming home from London, and he told her

  to meet him at the boat: gave her the time and everything. Well,

  she went to the boat, poor thing, and he didn't come. She waited,

  and no word of explanation or anything. So she couldn't make up

  her mind whether to go next day and meet the boat again. However,

  she decided she wouldn't. So of course, on that boat he arrived.

  When he got home, he said to her: "Why didn't you meet the boat?"

  "Well," she said, "I went yesterday, and you didn't come." "Then

  why didn't you meet it again today?" Imagine it, the sauce! And

  they had been real playmates. Heart-breaking isn't it? "Well,"

  she said in self-defence, "why didn't you come yesterday?" "Oh,"

  he said, "I met a woman in town whom I liked, and she asked me to

  spend the night with her, so I did." Now what do you think of

  that? Can you conceive of such a thing?'

  'Oh no,' said Hannele. 'I call that unnecessary brutality.'

  'Exactly! So terrible to say such a thing to her! The brutality

  of it! Well, that's how the world is today. I'm thankful my

  husband isn't that sort. I don't say he's perfect. But whatever

  else he did, he'd never be unkind, and he COULDN'T be brutal. He

  just couldn't. He'd never tell me a lie--I know THAT. But callous

  brutality, no, thank goodness, he hasn't a spark of it in him. I'm

  the wicked one, if either of us is wicked.' The little laugh

  tinkled. 'Oh, but he's been perfect to me, perfect. Hardly a

  cross word. Why, on our wedding night, he kneeled down in front of

  me and promised, with God's help, to make my life happy. And I

  must say, as far as possible, he's kept his word. It has been his

  one aim in life, to make my life happy.'

  The little lady looked away with a bright, musing look towards the

  window. She was being a heroine in a romance. Hannele could see

  her being a heroine, playing the chief part in her own life

  romance. It is such a feminine occupation, that no woman takes

  offence when she is made audience.

  'I'm afraid I've more of the woman than the mother in my

  composition,' resumed the little heroine. 'I adore my two

  children. The boy is at Winchester, and my little girl is in a

  convent in Brittany. Oh, they are perfect darlings, both of them.

  But the man is first in my mind, I'm afraid. I fear I'm rather

  old-fashioned. But never mind. I can see the attractions in other

  men--can't I indeed! There was a perfectly exquisite creature--he

  was a very clever engineer--but much, much more than THAT. But

  never mind.' The little heroine sniffed as if there were perfume

  in the air, folded her jewelled hands, and resumed: 'However--I

  know what it is myself to flutter round the flame. You know I'm

  Irish myself, and we Irish can't help it. Oh, I wouldn't be

  English for anything. Just that little touch of imagination, you

  know . . .' The little laugh tinkled. 'And that's what makes me

  able to sympathize with my husband even when, perhaps, I shouldn't.

  Why, when he was at home with me, he never gave a thought, not a

  thought to another woman. I must say, he used to make ME feel a

  little guilty sometimes. But there! I don't think he ever thought

  of another woman as being flesh and blood, after he knew me. I

  could tell. Pleasant, courteous, charming--but other women were

  not flesh and blood to him, they were just people, callers--that

  kind of thing. It used to amaze me, when some perfectly lovely

  creature came, whom I should have been head over heels in love with

  in a minute--and he, he was charming, delightful; he could see her

  points, but she was no more to him than, let me say, a pot of

  carnations or a beautiful old piece of punto di Milano. Not flesh

  and blood. Well, perhaps one can feel too safe. Perhaps one needs

  a tiny pinch of salt of jealousy. I believe one does. And I have

  not had one jealous moment for seventeen years. So that, REALLY,

  when I heard a whisper of something going on here, I felt almost

  pleased. I felt exonerated for my own little peccadilloes, for one

  thing. And I felt he was perhaps a little more human. Because,

  after all, it is nothing but human to fall in love, if you are

  alone for a long time and in the company of a beautiful woman--and

  if you're an attractive man yourself.'

  Hannele sat with her eyes propped open and her ears buttoned back

  with amazement, expecting the
next revelations.

  'Why, of course,' she said, knowing she was expected to say

  something.

  'Yes, of course,' said Mrs Hepburn, eyeing her sharply. 'So I

  thought I'd better come and see how far things had gone. I had

  nothing but a hint to go on. I knew no name--nothing. I had just

  a hint that she was German, and a refugee aristocrat--and that he

  used to call at the studio.' The little lady eyed Hannele sharply,

  and gave a breathless little laugh, clasping her hands nervously.

  Hannele sat absolutely blank: really dazed.

  'Of course,' resumed Mrs Hepburn, 'that was enough. That was quite

  a sufficient clue. I'm afraid my intentions when I called at the

  studio were not as pure as they might have been. I'm afraid I

  wanted to see something more than the dolls. But when you showed

  me HIS doll, then I knew. Of course there wasn't a shadow of doubt

  after that. And I saw at once that she loved him, poor thing. She

  was SO agitated. And no idea who I was. And you were so unkind to

  show me the doll. Of course, you had no idea who you were showing

  it to. But for her, poor thing, it was such a trial. I could see

  how she suffered. And I must say she's very lovely--she's very,

  very lovely, with her golden skin and her reddish amber eyes and

  her beautiful, beautiful carriage. And such a na�ve, impulsive

  nature. Give everything away in a minute. And then her deep

  voice--"Oh yes--Oh, please!"--such a child. And such an

  aristocrat, that lovely turn of her head, and her simple, elegant

  dress. Oh, she's very charming. And she's just the type I always

  knew would attract him, if he hadn't got me. I've thought about it

  many a time--many a time. When a woman is older than a man, she

  does think these things--especially if he has his attractive points

  too. And when I've dreamed of the woman he would love if he hadn't

  got me, it has always been a Spanish type. And the Baroness is

  extraordinarily Spanish in her appearance. She must have had some

  noble Spanish ancestor. Don't you think so?'

  'Oh yes,' said Hannele.' There were such a lot of Spaniards in

  Austria, too, with the various emperors.'

  'With Charles V, exactly. Exactly. That's how it must have been.

  And so she has all the Spanish beauty, and all the German feeling.

  Of course, for myself, I miss the RESERVE, the haughtiness. But

  she's very, very lovely, and I'm sure I could never HATE her. I

  couldn't even if I tried. And I'm not going to try. But I think

  she's much too dangerous for my husband to see much of her. Don't

  you agree, now?'

  'Oh, but really,' stammered Hannele. 'There's nothing in it,

  really.'

  'Well,' said the little lady, cocking her head shrewdly aside, 'I

  shouldn't like there to be any MORE in it.'

  And there was a moment's dead pause. Each woman was reflecting.

  Hannele wondered if the little lady was just fooling her.

  'Anyhow,' continued Mrs Hepburn, 'the spark is there, and I don't

  intend the fire to spread. I am going to be very, very careful,

  myself, not to fan the flames. The last thing I should think of

  would be to make my husband scenes. I believe it would be fatal.'

  'Yes,' said Hannele, during the pause.

  'I am going very carefully. You think there isn't much in it--

  between him and the Baroness?'

  'No--no--I'm sure there isn't,' cried Hannele, with a full voice of

  conviction. She was almost indignant at being slighted so

  completely herself, in the little lady's suspicions.

  'Hm!--mm!' hummed the little woman, sapiently nodding her head

  slowly up and down. 'I'm not so sure! I'm not so sure that it

  hasn't gone pretty far.'

  'Oh NO!' cried Hannele, in real irritation of protest.

  'Well,' said the other. 'In any case, I don't intend it to go any

  farther.'

  There was dead silence for some time.

  'There's more in it than you say. There's more in it than you

  say,' ruminated the little woman. 'I know HIM, for one thing. I

  know he's got a cloud on his brow. And I know it hasn't left his

  brow for a single minute. And when I told him I had been to the

  studio, and showed him the cushion-cover, I knew he felt guilty. I

  am not so easily deceived. We Irish all have a touch of second

  sight, I believe. Of course I haven't challenged him. I haven't

  even mentioned the doll. By the way, WHO ordered the doll? Do you

  mind telling me?'

  'No, it wasn't ordered,' confessed Hannele.

  'Ah--I thought not--I thought not!' said Mrs Hepburn, lifting her

  finger. 'At least, I knew no outsider had ordered it. Of course I

  knew.' And she smiled to herself.

  'So,' she continued, 'I had too much sense to say anything about

  it. I don't believe in stripping wounds bare. I believe in gently

  covering them and letting them heal. But I DID say I thought her a

  lovely creature.' The little lady looked brightly at Hannele.

  'Yes,' said Hannele.

  'And he was very vague in his manner, "Yes, not bad," he said. I

  thought to myself: Aha, my boy, you don't deceive me with your NOT

  BAD. She's very much more than not bad. I said so, too. I

  wanted, of course, to let him know I had a suspicion.'

  'And do you think he knew?'

  'Of course he did. Of course he did. "She's much too dangerous,"

  I said, "to be in a town where there are so many strange men:

  married and unmarried." And then he turned round to me and gave

  himself away, oh, so plainly. "Why?" he said. But such a haughty,

  distant tone. I said to myself: "It's time, my dear boy, you were

  removed out of the danger zone." But I answered him: Surely

  somebody is bound to fall in love with her. Not at all, he said,

  she keeps to her own countrymen. You don't tell ME, I answered

  him, with her pretty broken English! It is a wonder the two of

  them are allowed to stay in the town. And then again he rounded on

  me. Good gracious! he said. Would you have them turned out just

  because they're beautiful to look at, when they have nowhere else

  to go, and they make their bit of a livelihood here? I assure you,

  he hasn't rounded on me in that overbearing way, not once before,

  in all our married life. So I just said quietly: I should like to

  protect OUR OWN MEN. And he didn't say anything more. But he

  looked at me under his brows and went out of the room.'

  There was a silence. Hannele waited with her hands in her lap, and

  Mrs Hepburn mused, with her hands in HER lap. Her face looked

  yellow, and VERY wrinkled.

  'Well now,' she said, breaking again suddenly into life. 'What are

  we to do? I mean what is to be done? You are the Baroness's

  nearest friend. And I wish her NO harm, none whatever.'

  'What can we do?' said Hannele, in the pause.

  'I have been urging my husband for some time to get his discharge

  from the army,' said the little woman. 'I knew he could have it in

  three months' time. But like so many more men, he has no income of

  his own, and he doesn't want to feel dependent. Pe
rfect nonsense!

  So he says he wants to stay on in the army. I have never known him

  before go against my real wishes.'

  'But it IS better for a man to be independent,' said Hannele.

  'I know it is. But it is also better for him to be AT HOME. And I

  could get him a post in one of the observatories. He could do

  something in meteorological work.'

  Hannele refused to answer any more.

  'Of course,' said Mrs Hepburn, 'if he DOES stay on here, it would

  be much better if the Baroness left the town.'

  'I'm sure she will never leave of her own choice,' said Hannele.

  'I'm sure she won't either. But she might be made to see that it

  would be very much WISER of her to move of her own free will.'

  'Why?' said Hannele.

  'Why, because she might any time be removed by the British

  authorities.'

  'Why should she?' said Hannele.

  'I think the women who are a menace to our men should be removed.'

  'But she is NOT a menace to your men.'

  'Well, I have my own opinion on that point.'

  Which was a decided deadlock.

  'I'm sure I've kept you an awful long time with my chatter,' said

  Mrs Hepburn. 'But I did want to make everything as simple as

  possible. As I said before, I can't feel any ill-will against her.

  Yet I can't let things just go on. Heaven alone knows when they

  may end. Of course if I can persuade my husband to resign his

  commission and come back to England--anyhow, we will see. I'm sure

  I am the last person in the world to bear malice.'

  The tone in which she said it conveyed a dire threat.

  Hannele rose from her chair.

  'Oh, and one other thing,' said her hostess, taking out a tiny lace

  handkerchief and touching her nose delicately with it. 'Do you

  think'--dab, dab--'that I might have that DOLL--you know--?'

  'That--?'

  'Yes, of my husband'--the little lady rubbed her nose with her

  kerchief.

  'The price is three guineas,' said Hannele.

  'Oh indeed!'--the tone was very cold. 'I thought it was not for

  sale.'

  Hannele put on her wrap.

  'You'll send it round--will you?--if you will be so kind.'

  'I must ask my friend first.'

  'Yes, of course. But I'm sure she will be so kind as to send it

  me. It is a little--er--indelicate, don't you think!'

  'No,' said Hannele. 'No more than a painted portrait.'

  'Don't you?' said her hostess coldly. 'Well, even a painted

  portrait I think I should like in my own possession. This DOLL--'

  Hannele waited, but there was no conclusion.

  'Anyhow,' she said, 'the price is three guineas: or the equivalent

  in marks.'

  'Very well,' said the little lady, 'you shall have your three

  guineas when I get the doll.'

  V

  Hannele went her way pondering. A man never is quite such an

  abject specimen as his wife makes him look, talking about 'my

  husband'. Therefore, if any woman wishes to rescue her husband

  from the clutches of another female, let her only invite this

  female to tea and talk quite sincerely about 'my husband, you

  know'. Every man has made a ghastly fool of himself with a woman

  at some time or other. No woman ever forgets. And most women will

  give the show away, with real pathos, to another woman. For

  instance, the picture of Alec at his wife's feet on his wedding

  night, vowing to devote himself to her life-long happiness--this

  picture strayed across Hannele's mind time after time, whenever she

  thought of her dear captain. With disastrous consequences to the

  captain. Of course if he had been at her own feet, then Hannele

  would have thought it almost natural: almost a necessary part of

  the show of love. But at the feet of that other little woman! And

  what was that other little woman wearing? Her wedding night!

  Hannele hoped before heaven it wasn't some awful little nightie of