Bliss, and other stories

ay, and he was not going to let her know how successful it was. But really, really, to wake a sensitive person like that was positively dangerous! It took him hours to get over it-simply hours. Sh

t’s that? What

nd out she went, shutting the door quietly aft

n to shell out for Adrian’s kindergarten? . . . And had he ever reproached her for not having a penny to her name? Never a word-never a sign! The truth was that once you married a woman she became insatiable, and the truth was that nothing was more fatal for an artist than marriage, at any rate until he was well over forty. . . . Why had he married her? He asked himself this question on an average about three times a day, but he never could answer it satisfactorily. She had caught him at a weak moment, when the first plunge into reality had bewildered and overwhelmed him for a time. Looking back, he saw a pathet

le the bath water ran, Regi

ends her before t

r laces, tyin

g to the quality, nursing his voic

were this wild t

triumph that the tooth-glass on the bathroom shelf trem

He could fill Covent Garden with it! ”Wedded ,” he shouted again, seizing the towel with a magnificent operatic gesture, and went on singing while he rub

e was one thing he had a horror of it was of getting fat, and men in his profession had a dreadful tendency that way. However, there was no sign of it at present. He was, he decided, just right, just in good proportion. In fact, he could not help a thrill of satisfaction when he saw himself in t

before, if he was English. People seemed to find it impossible to believe that he hadn’t some Southern blood. True, there was an emotional quali

er says breakfast is

ald. Then, just as Adri

, fa

t said ‘goo

ng and shook hands with them. Reginald thought the practice charming, and introduced it immediately, but Adrian felt dreadfully silly

le of letters, a copy of the Times , and a little covered dish. He glanced at the

ant any baco

apple. I don’t feel the n

him to have bacon every morning, either, an

oing the work. Simply because all the women we have had in the past have been failures, and utterly upset my regime, and made it almost impossible for me

s life so much more peaceful. . . . Run alon

y reason, you love to humiliate me. Objectively, you may not know that, but, subjectively, it’s the case.” Thi

MR. PE

a girl, if this is all. I mean, if this ordinary world is all. If there is not, perhaps, for those of us who understand, divine beauty and richness awaiting us if we only have the courage to

most si

NE

ery afternoon t

de paper. Vanity, that bright bird, lifted its wings a

el,” said he, and actually f

ot great enou

to school,” said she. “Your

war between them! But he was hanged if

would have to make some other arrangement. That was obvious. Tied and bound like this, how could he help the world to escape from life? He opened th

went to the door. Miss Betty Brittle was there, d

blushing and shy, and she opened h

m only too charmed,” said R

Miss Brittle. “I walked across the pa

rcises,” said Reginald, sitting down at the pia

ius Mr. Peacock was. She parted her pre

t would waft a hardened criminal to heaven. “Make the notes round

in her white frock, her little blonde

d Reginald. “You ought to, you know; it mak

the mirror and s

moo-e-koo-

er. “Oh,” she cried, “I can’t. It makes me feel so si

” said Reginald, but laughed, to

and Betty Brittle quit

ue silk case. “I want to take as many lessons as I can just now. Oh, M

nly too charmed,” said R

e had just touched his black one. He could feel-yes, he could actually feel a

e money? I must pay the dairy. And

buck’s at half past nine. Can you make

y, Reginald. It’s

’s very heav

t ought to be. And Ad

Now she was standing up

deny my child a proper amount of mil

rang. He wen

put her hand over her heart as she followed him into the music-room. She was a

r hands in her delightful foreign way. “No, today, I want only to

y fade so soon,” playe

dropping them in a little vase that stood

should be only

hrase: “You love me. Yes, I know you love me!” Down dropped

hat,” cried Reginald ardently. “You must sing as if you w

mean,” stammered the little

go. Confess yourself. Make proud surrender!

me. There must be a kind of exultant defiance as well-don’t you feel?” And t

Yes, I know

s quite perfect. The little foreign hands

ing your violets,” s

the Countess, biting her underlip. What

my house on Sunday and

be only too charme

more, sad

ye flow

ut her eyes filled with te

Reginald. “Let me play it fo

r?” asked Reginald. “You’re

; she was awfu

re to tell me

She had those moods sometimes wh

e said; “if I c

it were not for my lessons

e violets and let me sing to you. It wi

all men like

ight-just about what I felt. Of course,

should be only

sofa to rest his voice before dressing. The door of his room was

inds me of, Mummy? It reminds me

, Mr. Ab

. The telephon

at Lord Timbuck’s tonight. Will you dine with me, and we can go on together a

should be only

ve to Lord Timbuck’s in her white motor-car, when she thanked him again for the u

And wasn’t he? He was an artist. He could sway them all. And wasn’t he teaching them all to escape from life? How he sang! And as

r glass of w

lifting a finger,” thought Peac

y speak to me without offending against even good manners?” It was incredible, he thought, that she cared so little for him-incredible that she wasn’t interested in the slightest in his triumphs and his artistic career. When so many women in her place would have given their eyes. . . . Yes, he knew it. . . . Why not acknowledge it? . . . And there she lay,

ddenly decided to have one more try to treat her as a friend, to tell her everything, to win her. Down he sat on the side of the bed, and seized one of her hands. But of all