The Pool in the Desert [91]
peach-bordered road that leads to the Wazir-Bagh. The trees were all in blossom and made a picture that might well catch dreaming hearts into a beatitude that would correspond. The air was full of spring and the scent of violets, those wonderful Peshawur violets that grow in great clumps, tall and double. Gracious clouds came and trailed across the frontier barrier; blue as an idyll it rose about us; the city smiled in her gardens.
She had it all in her face, poor Judy, all the spring softness and more, the morning she came, intensely controlled, to announce her defeat. I was in the drawing-room doing the flowers; I put them down to look at her. The wonderful telegram from Simla arrived-- that was the wonderful part--at the same time; I remembered how the red, white, and blue turban of the telegraph peon bobbed up behind her shoulder in the veranda. I signed and laid it on the table; I suppose it seemed hardly likely that anything could be important enough to interfere at the moment with my impression of what love, unbound and victorious, could do with a face I thought I knew. Love sat there careless of the issue, full of delight. Love proclaimed that between him and Judith Harbottle it was all over--she had met him, alas, in too narrow a place--and I marvelled at the paradox with which he softened every curve and underlined every vivid note of personality in token that it had just begun. He sat there in great serenity, and though I knew that somewhere behind lurked a vanquished woman, I saw her through such a radiance that I could not be sure of seeing her at all. . .
She went back to the very first of it; she seemed herself intensely interested in the facts; and there is no use in pretending that, while she talked, the moral consideration was at all present with me either; it wasn't. Her extremity was the thing that absorbed us; she even, in tender thoughtfulness, diagnosed it from its definite beautiful beginning.
'It was there, in my heart, when I woke one morning, exquisite and strange, the assurance of a gift. How had it come there, while I slept? I assure you when I closed my eyes it did not exist for me. . .Yes, of course, I had seen him, but only somewhere at dinner. . .As the day went on it changed--it turned into a clear pool, into a flower. And I--think of my not understanding! I was pleased with it! For a long time, for days, I never dreamed that it could be anything but a little secret joy. Then, suddenly--oh, I had not been perceiving enough!--it was in all my veins, a tide, an efflorescence, a thing of my very life.
'Then--it was a little late--I understood, and since--
'I began by hating it--being furious, furious--and afraid, too. Sometimes it was like a low cloud, hovering and travelling always with me, sometimes like a beast of prey that went a little way off and sat looking at me. . ..
'I have--done my best. But there is nothing to do, to kill, to abolish. How can I say, "I will not let you in," when it is already there? How can I assume indifference when this thing is imposed upon every moment of my day? And it has grown so sweet--the longing--that--isn't it strange?--I could more willingly give him up than the desire of him. That seems as impossible to part with as life itself.'
She sat reflective for a moment, and I saw her eyes slowly fill.
Don't--don't CRY, Judy,' I faltered, wanting to horribly, myself.
She smiled them dry.
'Not now. But I am giving myself, I suppose, to many tears.'
'God help you,' I said. What else was there to say?
'There is no such person,' she replied, gaily. 'There is only a blessed devil.'
'Then you go all the way--to the logical conclusion?'
She hardly hesitated. 'To the logical conclusion. What poor words!'
'May I ask--when?'
'I should like to tell you that quite definitely, and I think I can. The English mail leaves tonight.'
'And you have arranged to take it?'
'We have arranged nothing. Do you know'--she smiled as if at the fresh colours of an idyll--'we have not even come to the admission?
She had it all in her face, poor Judy, all the spring softness and more, the morning she came, intensely controlled, to announce her defeat. I was in the drawing-room doing the flowers; I put them down to look at her. The wonderful telegram from Simla arrived-- that was the wonderful part--at the same time; I remembered how the red, white, and blue turban of the telegraph peon bobbed up behind her shoulder in the veranda. I signed and laid it on the table; I suppose it seemed hardly likely that anything could be important enough to interfere at the moment with my impression of what love, unbound and victorious, could do with a face I thought I knew. Love sat there careless of the issue, full of delight. Love proclaimed that between him and Judith Harbottle it was all over--she had met him, alas, in too narrow a place--and I marvelled at the paradox with which he softened every curve and underlined every vivid note of personality in token that it had just begun. He sat there in great serenity, and though I knew that somewhere behind lurked a vanquished woman, I saw her through such a radiance that I could not be sure of seeing her at all. . .
She went back to the very first of it; she seemed herself intensely interested in the facts; and there is no use in pretending that, while she talked, the moral consideration was at all present with me either; it wasn't. Her extremity was the thing that absorbed us; she even, in tender thoughtfulness, diagnosed it from its definite beautiful beginning.
'It was there, in my heart, when I woke one morning, exquisite and strange, the assurance of a gift. How had it come there, while I slept? I assure you when I closed my eyes it did not exist for me. . .Yes, of course, I had seen him, but only somewhere at dinner. . .As the day went on it changed--it turned into a clear pool, into a flower. And I--think of my not understanding! I was pleased with it! For a long time, for days, I never dreamed that it could be anything but a little secret joy. Then, suddenly--oh, I had not been perceiving enough!--it was in all my veins, a tide, an efflorescence, a thing of my very life.
'Then--it was a little late--I understood, and since--
'I began by hating it--being furious, furious--and afraid, too. Sometimes it was like a low cloud, hovering and travelling always with me, sometimes like a beast of prey that went a little way off and sat looking at me. . ..
'I have--done my best. But there is nothing to do, to kill, to abolish. How can I say, "I will not let you in," when it is already there? How can I assume indifference when this thing is imposed upon every moment of my day? And it has grown so sweet--the longing--that--isn't it strange?--I could more willingly give him up than the desire of him. That seems as impossible to part with as life itself.'
She sat reflective for a moment, and I saw her eyes slowly fill.
Don't--don't CRY, Judy,' I faltered, wanting to horribly, myself.
She smiled them dry.
'Not now. But I am giving myself, I suppose, to many tears.'
'God help you,' I said. What else was there to say?
'There is no such person,' she replied, gaily. 'There is only a blessed devil.'
'Then you go all the way--to the logical conclusion?'
She hardly hesitated. 'To the logical conclusion. What poor words!'
'May I ask--when?'
'I should like to tell you that quite definitely, and I think I can. The English mail leaves tonight.'
'And you have arranged to take it?'
'We have arranged nothing. Do you know'--she smiled as if at the fresh colours of an idyll--'we have not even come to the admission?