And pushing the cigarette-box toward Rosek, he turned away his head. It would be money he had come about, or--that girl! That girl--he wished she was dead! Soft, clinging creature! A baby!
God! What a fool he had been--ah, what a fool! Such absurdity!
Unheard of! First Gyp--then her! He had tried to shake the girl off. As well try to shake off a burr! How she clung! He had been patient--oh, yes--patient and kind, but how go on when one was tired--tired of her--and wanting only Gyp, only his own wife? That was a funny thing! And now, when, for an hour or two, he had shaken free of worry, had been feeling happy--yes, happy--this fellow must come, and stand there with his face of a sphinx! And he said pettishly:
"Well, Paul! sit down. What troubles have you brought?"Rosek lit a cigarette but did not sit down. He struck even Fiorsen by his unsmiling pallor.
"You had better look out for Mr. Wagge, Gustav; he came to me yesterday. He has no music in his soul."Fiorsen sat up.
"Satan take Mr. Wagge! What can he do?"
"I am not a lawyer, but I imagine he can be unpleasant--the girl is young."Fiorsen glared at him, and said:
"Why did you throw me that cursed girl?"
Rosek answered, a little too steadily:
"I did not, my friend."
"What! You did. What was your game? You never do anything without a game. You know you did. Come; what was your game?""You like pleasure, I believe."
Fiorsen said violently:
"Look here: I have done with your friendship--you are no friend to me. I have never really known you, and I should not wish to. It is finished. Leave me in peace."Rosek smiled.
"My dear, that is all very well, but friendships are not finished like that. Moreover, you owe me a thousand pounds.""Well, I will pay it." Rosek's eyebrows mounted. "I will. Gyp will lend it to me.""Oh! Is Gyp so fond of you as that? I thought she only loved her music-lessons."Crouching forward with his knees drawn up, Fiorsen hissed out:
"Don't talk of Gyp! Get out of this! I will pay you your thousand pounds."Rosek, still smiling, answered:
"Gustav, don't be a fool! With a violin to your shoulder, you are a man. Without--you are a child. Lie quiet, my friend, and think of Mr. Wagge. But you had better come and talk it over with me.
Good-bye for the moment. Calm yourself." And, flipping the ash off his cigarette on to the tray by Fiorsen's elbow, he nodded and went.
Fiorsen, who had leaped out of bed, put his hand to his head. The cursed fellow! Cursed be every one of them--the father and the girl, Rosek and all the other sharks! He went out on to the landing. The house was quite still below. Rosek had gone--good riddance! He called, "Gyp!" No answer. He went into her room.
Its superlative daintiness struck his fancy. A scent of cyclamen!
He looked out into the garden. There was the baby at the end, and that fat woman. No Gyp! Never in when she was wanted. Wagge! He shivered; and, going back into his bedroom, took a brandy-bottle from a locked cupboard and drank some. It steadied him; he locked up the cupboard again, and dressed.
Going out to the music-room, he stopped under the trees to make passes with his fingers at the baby. Sometimes he felt that it was an adorable little creature, with its big, dark eyes so like Gyp's.
Sometimes it excited his disgust--a discoloured brat. This morning, while looking at it, he thought suddenly of the other that was coming--and grimaced. Catching Betty's stare of horrified amazement at the face he was making at her darling, he burst into a laugh and turned away into the music-room.
While he was keying up his violin, Gyp's conduct in never having come there for so long struck him as bitterly unjust. The girl--who cared about the wretched girl? As if she made any real difference! It was all so much deeper than that. Gyp had never loved him, never given him what he wanted, never quenched his thirst of her! That was the heart of it. No other woman he had ever had to do with had been like that--kept his thirst unquenched.
No; he had always tired of them before they tired of him. She gave him nothing really--nothing! Had she no heart or did she give it elsewhere? What was that Paul had said about her music-lessons?
And suddenly it struck him that he knew nothing, absolutely nothing, of where she went or what she did. She never told him anything. Music-lessons? Every day, nearly, she went out, was away for hours. The thought that she might go to the arms of another man made him put down his violin with a feeling of actual sickness. Why not? That deep and fearful whipping of the sexual instinct which makes the ache of jealousy so truly terrible was at its full in such a nature as Fiorsen's. He drew a long breath and shuddered. The remembrance of her fastidious pride, her candour, above all her passivity cut in across his fear. No, not Gyp!
He went to a little table whereon stood a tantalus, tumblers, and a syphon, and pouring out some brandy, drank. It steadied him. And he began to practise. He took a passage from Brahms' violin concerto and began to play it over and over. Suddenly, he found he was repeating the same flaws each time; he was not attending. The fingering of that thing was ghastly! Music-lessons! Why did she take them? Waste of time and money--she would never be anything but an amateur! Ugh! Unconsciously, he had stopped playing. Had she gone there to-day? It was past lunch-time. Perhaps she had come in.
He put down his violin and went back to the house. No sign of her!
The maid came to ask if he would lunch. No! Was the mistress to be in? She had not said. He went into the dining-room, ate a biscuit, and drank a brandy and soda. It steadied him. Lighting a cigarette, he came back to the drawing-room and sat down at Gyp's bureau. How tidy! On the little calendar, a pencil-cross was set against to-day--Wednesday, another against Friday. What for?
