Chapter 2

by William Somerset Maugham

　　Margaret Dauncey shared a flat near the Boulevard du Montparnasse withSusie Boyd; and it was to meet her that Arthur had arranged to come totea that afternoon. The young women waited for him in the studio. Thekettle was boiling on the stove; cups and petits fours stood inreadiness on a model stand. Susie looked forward to the meeting withinterest. She had heard a good deal of the young man, and knew that theconnexion between him and Margaret was not lacking in romance. For yearsSusie had led the monotonous life of a mistress in a school for youngladies, and had resigned herself to its dreariness for the rest of herlife, when a legacy from a distant relation gave her sufficient incometo live modestly upon her means. When Margaret, who had been her pupil,came, soon after this, to announce her intention of spending a coupleof years in Paris to study art, Susie willingly agreed to accompanyher. Since then she had worked industriously at Colarossi's Academy,by no means under the delusion that she had talent, but merely toamuse herself. She refused to surrender the pleasing notion that herenvironment was slightly wicked. After the toil of many years it relievedher to be earnest in nothing; and she found infinite satisfaction inwatching the lives of those around her.She had a great affection for Margaret, and though her own stock ofenthusiasms was run low, she could enjoy thoroughly Margaret's youngenchantment in all that was exquisite. She was a plain woman; but therewas no envy in her, and she took the keenest pleasure in Margaret'scomeliness. It was almost with maternal pride that she watched each yearadd a new grace to that exceeding beauty. But her common sense was sound,and she took care by good-natured banter to temper the praises whichextravagant admirers at the drawing-class lavished upon the handsome girlboth for her looks and for her talent. She was proud to think that shewould hand over to Arthur Burdon a woman whose character she had helpedto form, and whose loveliness she had cultivated with a delicate care.Susie knew, partly from fragments of letters which Margaret read to her,partly from her conversation, how passionately he adored his bride; andit pleased her to see that Margaret loved him in return with a gratefuldevotion. The story of this visit to Paris touched her imagination.Margaret was the daughter of a country barrister, with whom Arthur hadbeen in the habit of staying; and when he died, many years after hiswife, Arthur found himself the girl's guardian and executor. He sent herto school; saw that she had everything she could possibly want; and when,at seventeen, she told him of her wish to go to Paris and learn drawing,he at once consented. But though he never sought to assume authority overher, he suggested that she should not live alone, and it was on thisaccount that she went to Susie. The preparations for the journey werescarcely made when Margaret discovered by chance that her father had diedpenniless and she had lived ever since at Arthur's entire expense. Whenshe went to see him with tears in her eyes, and told him what she knew,Arthur was so embarrassed that it was quite absurd.'But why did you do it?' she asked him. 'Why didn't you tell me?''I didn't think it fair to put you under any obligation to me, and Iwanted you to feel quite free.'She cried. She couldn't help it.'Don't be so silly,' he laughed. 'You own me nothing at all. I've donevery little for you, and what I have done has given me a great deal ofpleasure.''I don't know how I can ever repay you.''Oh, don't say that,' he cried. 'It makes it so much harder for me to saywhat I want to.'She looked at him quickly and reddened. Her deep blue eyes were veiledwith tears.'Don't you know that I'd do anything in the world for you?' she cried.'I don't want you to be grateful to me, because I was hoping--I might askyou to marry me some day.'Margaret laughed charmingly as she held out her hands.'You must know that I've been wanting you to do that ever since I wasten.'She was quite willing to give up her idea of Paris and be married withoutdelay, but Arthur pressed her not to change her plans. At first Margaretvowed it was impossible to go, for she knew now that she had no money,and she could not let her lover pay.'But what does it matter?' he said. 'It'll give me such pleasure to goon with the small allowance I've been making you. After all, I'm prettywell-to-do. My father left me a moderate income, and I'm making a gooddeal already by operating.''Yes, but it's different now. I didn't know before. I thought Iwas spending my own money.''If I died tomorrow, every penny I have would be yours. We shall bemarried in two years, and we've known one another much too long tochange our minds. I think that our lives are quite irrevocably united.'Margaret wished very much to spend this time in Paris, and Arthur hadmade up his mind that in fairness to her they could not marry till shewas nineteen. She consulted Susie Boyd, whose common sense prevented herfrom paying much heed to romantic notions of false delicacy.'My dear, you'd take his money without scruple if you'd signed yournames in a church vestry, and as there's not the least doubt that you'llmarry, I don't see why you shouldn't now. Besides, you've got nothingwhatever to live on, and you're equally unfitted to be a governess or atypewriter. So it's Hobson's choice, and you'd better put your exquisitesentiments in your pocket.'Miss Boyd, by one accident after another, had never seen Arthur, butshe had heard so much that she looked upon him already as an old friend.She admired him for his talent and strength of character as much as forhis loving tenderness to Margaret. She had seen portraits of him, butMargaret said he did not photograph well. She had asked if he wasgood-looking.'No, I don't think he is,' answered Margaret, 'but he's very paintable.''That is an answer which has the advantage of sounding well and meaningnothing,' smiled Susie.She believed privately that Margaret's passion for the arts was a notunamiable pose which would disappear when she was happily married. Tohave half a dozen children was in her mind much more important than topaint pictures. Margaret's gift was by no means despicable, but Susiewas not convinced that callous masters would have been so enthusiasticif Margaret had been as plain and old as herself.Miss Boyd was thirty. Her busy life had not caused the years to passeasily, and she looked older. But she was one of those plain women whoseplainness does not matter. A gallant Frenchman had to her face called hera belle laide, and, far from denying the justness of his observation,she had been almost flattered. Her mouth was large, and she had littleround bright eyes. Her skin was colourless and much disfigured byfreckles. Her nose was long and thin. But her face was so kindly, hervivacity so attractive, that no one after ten minutes thought of herugliness. You noticed then that her hair, though sprinkled with white,was pretty, and that her figure was exceedingly neat. She had good hands,very white and admirably formed, which she waved continually in thefervour of her gesticulation. Now that her means were adequate she tookgreat pains with her dress, and her clothes, though they cost much morethan she could afford, were always beautiful. Her taste was so great,her tact so sure, that she was able to make the most of herself. Shewas determined that if people called her ugly they should be forcedin the same breath to confess that she was perfectly gowned. Susie'stalent for dress was remarkable, and it was due to her influence thatMargaret was arrayed always in the latest mode. The girl's taste inclinedto be artistic, and her sense of colour was apt to run away with herdiscretion. Except for the display of Susie's firmness, she wouldscarcely have resisted her desire to wear nondescript garments ofviolent hue. But the older woman expressed herself with decision.'My dear, you won't draw any the worse for wearing a well-made corset,and to surround your body with bands of grey flannel will certainly notincrease your talent.''But the fashion is so hideous,' smiled Margaret.'Fiddlesticks! The fashion is always beautiful. Last year it wasbeautiful to wear a hat like a pork-pie tipped over your nose; andnext year, for all I know, it will be beautiful to wear a bonnet likea sitz-bath at the back of your head. Art has nothing to do with a smartfrock, and whether a high-heeled pointed shoe commends itself or not tothe painters in the quarter, it's the only thing in which a woman's footlooks really nice.'Susie Boyd vowed that she would not live with Margaret at all unless shelet her see to the buying of her things.'And when you're married, for heaven's sake ask me to stay with you fourtimes a year, so that I can see after your clothes. You'll never keepyour husband's affection if you trust to your own judgment.'Miss Boyd's reward had come the night before, when Margaret, coming homefrom dinner with Arthur, had repeated an observation of his.'How beautifully you're dressed!' he had said. 'I was rather afraid you'dbe wearing art-serges.''Of course you didn't tell him that I insisted on buying every stitchyou'd got on,' cried Susie.'Yes, I did,' answered Margaret simply. 'I told him I had no taste atall, but that you were responsible for everything.''That was the least you could do,' answered Miss Boyd.But her heart went out to Margaret, for the trivial incident showed oncemore how frank the girl was. She knew quite well that few of her friends,though many took advantage of her matchless taste, would have made suchan admission to the lover who congratulated them on the success of theircostume.There was a knock at the door, and Arthur came in.'This is the fairy prince,' said Margaret, bringing him to her friend.'I'm glad to see you in order to thank you for all you've done forMargaret,' he smiled, taking the proffered hand.Susie remarked that he looked upon her with friendliness, but with acertain vacancy, as though too much engrossed in his beloved really tonotice anyone else; and she wondered how to make conversation with a manwho was so manifestly absorbed. While Margaret busied herself with thepreparations for tea, his eyes followed her movements with a doglike,touching devotion. They travelled from her smiling mouth to her defthands. It seemed that he had never seen anything so ravishing as the wayin which she bent over the kettle. Margaret felt that he was looking ather, and turned round. Their eyes met, and they stood for an appreciabletime gazing at one another silently.'Don't be a pair of perfect idiots,' cried Susie gaily. 'I'm dying for mytea.'The lovers laughed and reddened. It struck Arthur that he should saysomething polite.'I hope you'll show me your sketches afterwards, Miss Boyd. Margaret saysthey're awfully good.''You really needn't think it in the least necessary to show any interestin me,' she replied bluntly.'She draws the most delightful caricatures,' said Margaret. 'I'll bringyou a horror of yourself, which she'll do the moment you leave us.''Don't be so spiteful, Margaret.'Miss Boyd could not help thinking all the same that Arthur Burdon wouldcaricature very well. Margaret was right when she said that he was nothandsome, but his clean-shaven face was full of interest to so passionatean observer of her kind. The lovers were silent, and Susie had theconversation to herself. She chattered without pause and had thesatisfaction presently of capturing their attention. Arthur seemed tobecome aware of her presence, and laughed heartily at her burlesqueaccount of their fellow-students at Colarossi's. Meanwhile Susie examinedhim. He was very tall and very thin. His frame had a Yorkshireman'ssolidity, and his bones were massive. He missed being ungainly onlythrough the serenity of his self-reliance. He had high cheek-bones anda long, lean face. His nose and mouth were large, and his skin wassallow. But there were two characteristics which fascinated her, animposing strength of purpose and a singular capacity for suffering. Thiswas a man who knew his mind and was determined to achieve his desire; itrefreshed her vastly after the extreme weakness of the young painterswith whom of late she had mostly consorted. But those quick dark eyeswere able to express an anguish that was hardly tolerable, and the mobilemouth had a nervous intensity which suggested that he might easily sufferthe very agonies of woe.Tea was ready, and Arthur stood up to receive his cup.'Sit down,' said Margaret. 'I'll bring you everything you want, and Iknow exactly how much sugar to put in. It pleases me to wait on you.'With the grace that marked all her movements she walked cross the studio,the filled cup in one hand and the plate of cakes in the other. To Susieit seemed that he was overwhelmed with gratitude by Margaret'scondescension. His eyes were soft with indescribable tenderness as hetook the sweetmeats she gave him. Margaret smiled with happy pride. Forall her good-nature, Susie could not prevent the pang that wrung herheart; for she too was capable of love. There was in her a wealth ofpassionate affection that none had sought to find. None had everwhispered in her ears the charming nonsense that she read in books. Sherecognised that she had no beauty to help her, but once she had at leastthe charm of vivacious youth. That was gone now, and the freedom to gointo the world had come too late; yet her instinct told her that she wasmade to be a decent man's wife and the mother of children. She stoppedin the middle of her bright chatter, fearing to trust her voice, butMargaret and Arthur were too much occupied to notice that she had ceasedto speak. They sat side by side and enjoyed the happiness of oneanother's company.'What a fool I am!' thought Susie.She had learnt long ago that common sense, intelligence, good-nature, andstrength of character were unimportant in comparison with a pretty face.She shrugged her shoulders.'I don't know if you young things realise that it's growing late. If youwant us to dine at the Chien Noir, you must leave us now, so that we canmake ourselves tidy.''Very well,' said Arthur, getting up. 'I'll go back to my hotel and havea wash. We'll meet at half-past seven.'When Margaret had closed the door on him, she turned to her friend.'Well, what do you think?' she asked, smiling.'You can't expect me to form a definite opinion of a man whom I've seenfor so short a time.''Nonsense!' said Margaret.Susie hesitated for a moment.'I think he has an extraordinarily good face,' she said at lastgravely. 'I've never seen a man whose honesty of purpose was sotransparent.'Susie Boyd was so lazy that she could never be induced to occupy herselfwith household matters and, while Margaret put the tea things away, shebegan to draw the caricature which every new face suggested to her. Shemade a little sketch of Arthur, abnormally lanky, with a colossal nose,with the wings and the bow and arrow of the God of Love, but it was nothalf done before she thought it silly. She tore it up with impatience.When Margaret came back, she turned round and looked at her steadily.'Well?' said the girl, smiling under the scrutiny.She stood in the middle of the lofty studio. Half-finished canvasesleaned with their faces against the wall; pieces of stuff were hunghere and there, and photographs of well-known pictures. She had fallenunconsciously into a wonderful pose, and her beauty gave her,notwithstanding her youth, a rare dignity. Susie smiled mockingly.'You look like a Greek goddess in a Paris frock,' she said.'What have you to say to me?' asked Margaret, divining from the searchinglook that something was in her friend's mind.Susie stood up and went to her.'You know, before I'd seen him I hoped with all my heart that he'd makeyou happy. Notwithstanding all you'd told me of him, I was afraid. Iknew he was much older than you. He was the first man you'd ever known.I could scarcely bear to entrust you to him in case you were miserable.''I don't think you need have any fear.''But now I hope with all my heart that you'll make him happy. It's notyou I'm frightened for now, but him.'Margaret did not answer; she could not understand what Susie meant.'I've never seen anyone with such a capacity for wretchedness as that manhas. I don't think you can conceive how desperately he might suffer. Bevery careful, Margaret, and be very good to him, for you have the powerto make him more unhappy than any human being should be.''Oh, but I want him to be happy,' cried Margaret vehemently. 'You knowthat I owe everything to him. I'd do all I could to make him happy, evenif I had to sacrifice myself. But I can't sacrifice myself, because Ilove him so much that all I do is pure delight.'Her eyes filled with tears and her voice broke. Susie, with a littlelaugh that was half hysterical, kissed her.'My dear, for heaven's sake don't cry! You know I can't bear people whoweep, and if he sees your eyes red, he'll never forgive me.'