His general attitude towards women was hostility, he looked upon them as unfortunate obstacles in the path of adventure, and howled dismally when they caressed him. He had more tolerance for his mother who seemed to him an object provided by Providence in connection with a sofa, on purpose for him to climb over.
Her maternal instinct went so far as to allow him to climb over it twice a day for short intervals. After all he had gained her two years.
Estelle lay on the sofa one autumn afternoon at four o’clock, with her eyes firmly shut. She was aware that Winn had come in, and was very inconsiderately tramping to and fro in heavy boots. He seldom entered the drawing-room at this hour, and if he did, he went out again as soon as he saw that her eyes were shut.
Probably he meant to say something horrible about India; she had been expecting it for some time. The report on Tibet was finished, and he could let his staff work go when he liked.
He stood at the foot of her couch and looked at her curiously. Estelle could feel his eyes on her; she wondered if he noticed how thin she was, and how transparent her eyelids were. Every fiber in her body was aware of her desire to impress him with her frailty. She held it before him like a banner.
“Estelle,” he said. When he spoke she winced.
“Yes, dear,” she murmured hardly above a whisper.
“Would you mind opening your eyes?” he suggested. “I’ve got something I want to talk over with you, and I really can’t talk to a door banged in my face.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said meekly; “I’m afraid I’m almost too exhausted to talk, but I’ll try to listen to what you have to say.”
“Thanks,” said Winn. He paused as if, after all, it wasn’t easy to begin, even in the face of this responsiveness. She thought he looked rather odd. His eyes had a queer, dazed look, as if he had been drinking heavily or as if somebody had kicked him.
“Well,” she asked at last, “what is it you want to talk about? Suspense of any kind, you know, is very bad for my heart.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “It was only that I thought I’d better mention I am going to Davos.”
“Davos!” She opened her eyes wide now and stared at him. “That snow place?” she asked, “full of consumptives? What a curious idea! I never have been able to understand how people can care to go there for sport. It seems to me rather cruel; but, then, I know I am specially sensitive about that kind of thing. Other people’s pain weighs so on me.”
“I didn’t say I was going there for sport,” Winn answered in the same peculiar manner. He sat down and began to play with a paper-cutter on his knee. “As a matter of fact, I’m not,” he went on. “I’ve crocked one of my lungs. They seem to think I’ve got to go. It’s a great nuisance.”
It was curious the way he kept looking at her, as if he expected something. He couldn’t have told exactly what he expected himself. He was face to face with a new situation; he wasn’t exactly frightened, but he had a feeling that he would like very much to know how he ought to meet it. He had often been close to death – but he had never somehow thought of dying, he wasn’t close to death now but at the end of something which might be very horrible there would be the long affair of dying. He hoped he would get through it all right and not make a fuss or be a bother to anybody. It had all come with a curious suddenness. He had gone to Travers one day because when Polly pulled he had an odd pain in his chest. He had had a toss the week before, and it had occurred to him that a rib might be broken; but Travers said it wasn’t that.
Travers had tapped him all over and looked grave, uncommonly grave, and said some very uncomfortable things. He had insisted on dragging Winn up to town to see a big man, and the big man had said, “Davos, and don’t lose any time about it.” He hadn’t said much else, only when Winn had remarked, “But, damn it all, you know I’m as strong as a horse,” he had answered, “You’ll need every bit of strength you’ve got,” and all the way home Travers had talked to him like a Dutch uncle.
It was really funny when you came to think of it, because there wasn’t anything to see or even feel – except a little cough – and getting rather hot in the evenings, but after Travers had finished pitching into him Winn had written to Lionel and made his will and had rather wondered what Estelle would feel about it. He hadn’t wanted to upset her. He hadn’t upset her. She stared at him for a moment; then she said:
“How odd! You look perfectly all right. I never have believed in Travers.”
Winn mentioned the name of the big man.
“It does sound rather rot,” he added apologetically. He still waited. Estelle moved restlessly on the sofa.
“Well,” she said, “what on earth am I to do? It’s really horribly inconvenient. I suppose I shall have to go back to my people for the winter unless you can afford to let me take a flat in London.”
“I’m afraid I can’t afford that,” said Winn. “I think it would be best for you to go to your people for the winter, unless, of course, you’d rather go to mine. I’m going down there to-morrow; I’ve written to tell them. I must get my father to let me have some money as it is. It’s really an infernal nuisance from the expense point of view.”
“I couldn’t go to your people,” said Estelle, stiffly. “They have never been nice to me; besides, they would be sure to teach baby how to swear.” Then she added, “I suppose this puts an end to your going to India.”
Winn dropped his eyes.
“Yes,” he said, “this puts an end to my going back to India for the present. I’ve been up before the board; they’re quite agreeable. In fact, they’ve been rather decent to me.”
Estelle gave a long sigh of relief and gratitude. It was really extraordinary how she had been helped to avoid India. She couldn’t think what made Winn go on sitting there, just playing with the paper-knife.
He sat there for a long time, but he didn’t say any more. At last he got up and went to the door.
“Well,” he said, “I think I’ll just run up and have a look at the kid.”
“Poor dear,” said Estelle, “I’m frightfully sorry for you, of course, though I don’t believe it’s at all painful – and by the way, Winn, don’t forget that consumption is infectious.”
He stopped short as if someone had struck him. After all, he didn’t go to the nursery; she heard him go down the passage to the smoking-room instead.
CHAPTER VIII
Sir Peter was having his annual attack of gout. Staines Court appeared at these times like a ship battened down and running before a storm.
Figures of pale and frightened maids flickered through the long passage-ways. The portly butler violently ejected from the dining-room had been seen passing swiftly through the hall, with the ungainly movement of a prehistoric animal startled from its lair.
The room in which Sir Peter sat burned with his language. Eddies of blasphemous sound rushed out and buffeted the landings like a rising gale.
Sir Peter sat in a big arm chair in the center of the room. His figure gave the impression of a fortressed island in the middle of an empty sea. His foot was rolled in bandages and placed on a low stool before him; within reach of his hand was a knobbed blackthorn stick, a bell and a copy of the “Times” newspaper.
Fortunately Lady Staines was impervious to sound and acclimatized to fury. When Sir Peter was well she frequently raised storms, but when he had gout she let him raise them for himself. He was raising one now on the subject of Winn’s letter.