“What?”
“Oh, don’t be alarmed. I don’t want to marry you, or tag around after you, or monopolize you. I just mean that I love you. You’re a wonderful person and so much like a woman. That sounds silly, of course, but you know what I mean. So many women, even the young and pretty ones, aren’t like women at all. They haven’t got that wonderful, magical quality that real women have—like you. What you are explains what all the really first-rate poets are talking about. You’re the first one I’ve known well who has it, and I love you, and I’ll go on loving you. But it’s nothing for you to worry about—just something for me to enjoy. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes, Solly dear, I do. And I’m very grateful. At my age, you see, it’s very flattering to hear that sort of talk from somebody as young as you. But you mustn’t be foolish about me; you should look for someone younger than yourself.”
“Oh, I certainly will. But I’ll try to find somebody as much as possible like you. And that won’t be easy. Shall we join the others?”
“Yes. And don’t think I shall forget what you have said.”
Solly took Valentine in his arms and kissed her. Then they joined the company on the lawn.
Ever since she had parted with Roger at the Ball, Griselda had been ill at ease. She had wanted to be rid of him. Of that she was perfectly sure. But she had not wanted to lecture him on morality. She had not wanted to pop out that pious little saw about the body being in the soul’s keeping. That was what she meant, of course, but she wished that she had expressed it differently. Still, if she had not done so, what would have happened? Roger had made it plain enough that he wanted her to be his mistress. What a silly expression that was! She didn’t want to be a mistress, and especially not the mistress of somebody like Roger. He hinted too much about his prowess with women. What was it he had said? That a woman’s body should be played upon and made to sing like a musical instrument. He had got that out of Balzac. She had read Balzac on that subject herself, and thought it nonsense. If anybody was going to make her sing like a musical instrument it would have to be somebody who had first of all made her happy as a human being, and Roger had never done that. He was flattering, and amusing, but somehow not very likeable.
Still, she wished that she had not spoken to him like that. He would think she was just a Pill. He would probably tell other people that she was a Pill. Not that she cared what other people thought. Daddy always said that you could never be happy so long as you gave a damn what other people thought. But of course Daddy wasn’t a girl, and besides, he was always worrying about what somebody thought himself, so it didn’t count.
She was, she decided with some shame, much simpler than she had imagined. She was like the girls in Trollope; she wanted to be loved, and to love, and when these conditions were met, there was nothing she would not do. But she did not want to mess around with Roger, even though it might be fun while it was going on. She was, she decided after a depressing session with herself, inclined to be Pure. But she wanted it to be quite clear that she was Pure without being a Pill.
And imagine saying that she had looked up his income! Of course she had done so. He talked so much about money that she wanted to know how much he really had. It was the kind of thing girls did that girls should never admit to. But he had talked about marriage, and who wants to marry a girl of eighteen, unless she has money? Griselda was as sensitive on the subject of money as her father.
She was glad to be rid of Roger, but sorry that she had been nasty to him. Well, if that was the case, she would find an opportunity to show him that she was ready to be friendly, but not too friendly. Definitely not a mistress. On the contrary, a Trollope. Not a bad joke that. She would tell it to Freddy if the kid were not so utterly idiotic and likely to blab everything she knew out of sheer childish irresponsibility.
The opportunity came at the party after the dress rehearsal. Griselda was standing by the serving-table on the lawn, eating a plate of chow mein, while most of the company were at some distance, listening to the Cobbler family sing. Roger approached.
“Hello, Roger,” said she. “Have some of this. It’s good.”
“Thanks, I’ve eaten,” said he, in a tone which he believed to be one of distant politeness, but which was really rather surly. “I want a cup of coffee for The Torso. You’re still stuffing, I see.”
“Not still. Just. I’ve been hostessing. Roger?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t be cross about the Ball. I didn’t mean to be horrid.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Oh yes you do! I was a pig, and I’m sorry.”
“You mean you’ve changed your mind?”
“No, I don’t mean that. But I was a pious pig. Will you let me explain?”
“Certainly.”
“Let’s walk.”
“All right.”
“What about The Torso’s coffee?”
“Oh she’s probably forgotten she wanted it by now. Anyway, too much coffee isn’t good for her. I’ll drink it.”
They set off toward the lower lawn. Hector, watching from a distance, saw them pass into shadow, then into a patch of moonlight, and then into shadow again. How should he know that Griselda was industriously eating chow mein as she explained herself, somewhat incoherently, to Roger? He saw only that Roger had put his arm around her shoulders, and then they disappeared into shadow again, and he turned away, heartsick, toward the shrubbery. It was there that he narrowly escaped walking into Solly and Valentine, who at that moment were in each other’s arms. It was a bad night for Hector.
A bad night, and the latest of many such nights. Since the Ball he could think of nothing but Griselda, and of what he supposed to be her intrigue with Roger. He could not sleep. During the daytime he was supposed to be watching over pupils who were writing summer examinations, but he brought no vigilance to this task, in which he had once delighted. In former years he had kept up an incessant prowling in the examination room. Soft-footed, he had paced slowly up and down between the rows of desks, his eyes alert for talkers, peepers, cheats. But this year he had sat slumped at his desk, his eyes fixed on space, and examinees who wanted extra paper or ink were sometimes forced to snap their fingers three times before he took it to them.
His appetite had deserted him. Only habit took him to the Snak Shak at regular intervals; once there he ordered food, but he ate little of it. His skin sagged, and it seemed to him that his hair was turning white. In strict fact, grey hairs had been appearing at his temples for five years, but he had not noticed them or paid heed to them before. In these terrible days they appeared to him to be symbols of the conflict which was going on in his heart.
He loved Griselda, and it seemed to him that in that love there was no room for thought of himself. His longing for her was a pain which filled his whole body. And she was, he felt certain, the creature of that vile thing Tasset; he had persuaded her, by his villainous arts, to give her body to him. She was ruined. A soul so delicate as hers, once in contact with sin, would most certainly be shattered beyond any recovery.
At night he lay in his bed, his body rigid under the stress of the painful thoughts which would not be banished from his mind. She was a harlot. No, no! Not a harlot; not that lovely child, so new to the world and so fresh in her womanhood! She might still be reclaimed, and oh! how grateful she would be to the one who drew her back from the abyss of shame and threw the mantle of a great, understanding, world-defying love around her! After one of these bouts of self-torture, Hector would weep, and his YMCA bed creaked under the violence of his sobs. His mother’s early attempts to purge him had given him a horror of drugs, but under this stress he began to take aspirin tablets, sometimes two at a time, so reckless was he, and they helped him to get a little sleep.