considerably queened it there or thereabouts,
what with our money and the support of the Ashburnhams. Her uncle,
as soon as he considered that she had really settled down with
me—and I sent him only the most glowing accounts of her virtue and
constancy—made over to her a very considerable part of his fortune
for which he had no use. I suppose that we had, between us, fifteen
thousand a year in English money, though I never quite knew how
much of hers went to Jimmy. At any rate, we could have shone in
Fordingbridge. I never quite knew, either, how she and Edward got
rid of Jimmy. I fancy that fat and disreputable raven must have had
his six golden front teeth knocked down his throat by Edward one
morning whilst I had gone out to buy some flowers in the Rue de la
Paix, leaving Florence and the flat in charge of those two. And
serve him very right, is all that I can say. He was a bad sort of
blackmailer; I hope Florence does not have his company in the next
world.
As God is my Judge, I do not believe that I would have separated
those two if I had known that they really and passionately loved
each other. I do not know where the public morality of the case
comes in, and, of course, no man really knows what he would have
done in any given case. But I truly believe that I would have
united them, observing ways and means as decent as I could. I
believe that I should have given them money to live upon and that I
should have consoled myself somehow. At that date I might have
found some young thing, like Maisie Maidan, or the poor girl, and I
might have had some peace. For peace I never had with Florence, and
hardly believe that I cared for her in the way of love after a year
or two of it. She became for me a rare and fragile object,
something burdensome, but very frail. Why it was as if I had been
given a thin-shelled pullet's egg to carry on my palm from
Equatorial Africa to Hoboken. Yes, she became for me, as it were,
the subject of a bet—the trophy of an athlete's achievement, a
parsley crown that is the symbol of his chastity, his soberness,
his abstentions, and of his inflexible will. Of intrinsic value as
a wife, I think she had none at all for me. I fancy I was not even
proud of the way she dressed.
But her passion for Jimmy was not even a passion, and, mad as
the suggestion may appear, she was frightened for her life. Yes,
she was afraid of me. I will tell you how that happened. I had, in
the old days, a darky servant, called Julius, who valeted me, and
waited on me, and loved me, like the crown of his head. Now, when
we left Waterbury to go to the "Pocahontas", Florence entrusted to
me one very special and very precious leather grip. She told me
that her life might depend on that grip, which contained her drugs
against heart attacks. And, since I was never much of a hand at
carrying things, I entrusted this, in turn, to Julius, who was a
grey-haired chap of sixty or so, and very picturesque at that. He
made so much impression on Florence that she regarded him as a sort
of father, and absolutely refused to let me take him to Paris. He
would have inconvenienced her.
Well, Julius was so overcome with grief at being left behind
that he must needs go and drop the precious grip. I saw red, I saw
purple. I flew at Julius. On the ferry, it was, I filled up one of
his eyes; I threatened to strangle him. And, since an unresisting
negro can make a deplorable noise and a deplorable spectacle, and,
since that was Florence's first adventure in the married state, she
got a pretty idea of my character. It affirmed in her the desperate
resolve to conceal from me the fact that she was not what she would
have called "a pure woman". For that was really the mainspring of
her fantastic actions. She was afraid that I should murder
her....
So she got up the heart attack, at the earliest possible
opportunity, on board the liner. Perhaps she was not so very much
to be blamed. You must remember that she was a New Englander, and
that New England
what with our money and the support of the Ashburnhams. Her uncle,
as soon as he considered that she had really settled down with
me—and I sent him only the most glowing accounts of her virtue and
constancy—made over to her a very considerable part of his fortune
for which he had no use. I suppose that we had, between us, fifteen
thousand a year in English money, though I never quite knew how
much of hers went to Jimmy. At any rate, we could have shone in
Fordingbridge. I never quite knew, either, how she and Edward got
rid of Jimmy. I fancy that fat and disreputable raven must have had
his six golden front teeth knocked down his throat by Edward one
morning whilst I had gone out to buy some flowers in the Rue de la
Paix, leaving Florence and the flat in charge of those two. And
serve him very right, is all that I can say. He was a bad sort of
blackmailer; I hope Florence does not have his company in the next
world.
As God is my Judge, I do not believe that I would have separated
those two if I had known that they really and passionately loved
each other. I do not know where the public morality of the case
comes in, and, of course, no man really knows what he would have
done in any given case. But I truly believe that I would have
united them, observing ways and means as decent as I could. I
believe that I should have given them money to live upon and that I
should have consoled myself somehow. At that date I might have
found some young thing, like Maisie Maidan, or the poor girl, and I
might have had some peace. For peace I never had with Florence, and
hardly believe that I cared for her in the way of love after a year
or two of it. She became for me a rare and fragile object,
something burdensome, but very frail. Why it was as if I had been
given a thin-shelled pullet's egg to carry on my palm from
Equatorial Africa to Hoboken. Yes, she became for me, as it were,
the subject of a bet—the trophy of an athlete's achievement, a
parsley crown that is the symbol of his chastity, his soberness,
his abstentions, and of his inflexible will. Of intrinsic value as
a wife, I think she had none at all for me. I fancy I was not even
proud of the way she dressed.
But her passion for Jimmy was not even a passion, and, mad as
the suggestion may appear, she was frightened for her life. Yes,
she was afraid of me. I will tell you how that happened. I had, in
the old days, a darky servant, called Julius, who valeted me, and
waited on me, and loved me, like the crown of his head. Now, when
we left Waterbury to go to the "Pocahontas", Florence entrusted to
me one very special and very precious leather grip. She told me
that her life might depend on that grip, which contained her drugs
against heart attacks. And, since I was never much of a hand at
carrying things, I entrusted this, in turn, to Julius, who was a
grey-haired chap of sixty or so, and very picturesque at that. He
made so much impression on Florence that she regarded him as a sort
of father, and absolutely refused to let me take him to Paris. He
would have inconvenienced her.
Well, Julius was so overcome with grief at being left behind
that he must needs go and drop the precious grip. I saw red, I saw
purple. I flew at Julius. On the ferry, it was, I filled up one of
his eyes; I threatened to strangle him. And, since an unresisting
negro can make a deplorable noise and a deplorable spectacle, and,
since that was Florence's first adventure in the married state, she
got a pretty idea of my character. It affirmed in her the desperate
resolve to conceal from me the fact that she was not what she would
have called "a pure woman". For that was really the mainspring of
her fantastic actions. She was afraid that I should murder
her....
So she got up the heart attack, at the earliest possible
opportunity, on board the liner. Perhaps she was not so very much
to be blamed. You must remember that she was a New Englander, and
that New England
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