Chapter I: Husks

Chops the setter was puzzled.

He had been following his mistress about in his faithful way throughout the whole of that hot July afternoon, and he had fathomed the fact that she was preparing for a visitor. He even half-suspected that he knew who the visitor would prove to be. But none the less was he puzzled by her attitude. For to Chops' plain and honest mind the coming of a guest was a cause for undiluted joy. But it was evident that to Maud the advent of this one was a matter of anxiety, even almost of dread.

Jake's old bedroom facing the Stables had been assigned to the newcomer. She had spent hours of loving care upon it, yet on this, the great day of arrival, she did not seem happy or by any means content.

A great restlessness possessed her, and Chops in consequence was uneasy also. He had conceived a vast affection for his young mistress that was in some fashion vaguely mingled with pitying concern. She had a disconcerting way of weeping in private when only Chops might see, and he had a feeling that such consolation as he was able to proffer, though quite whole-hearted, was never altogether equal to the occasion. The tears she shed were so piteously hopeless, and even her smiles were hopeless too. Chops often mourned over the sadness of his idol.

She had just come in from the garden with a great handful of sweet peas. It was a glorious sunny morning, and she had put on an old blue sunbonnet that had done duty down on the sea-shore in previous summers to protect her from the glare. She was holding the flowers up to her face as she mounted the steps to the parlour, and such was her absorption that she did not notice what Chops, following close behind, perceived on the instant,--the strong, square figure of her husband waiting in the entrance of the glass door.

She was actually within touch of him before she was aware of his presence, and then with a great start she lowered her flowers, while over her face there came a look that was like the sudden donning of a mask.

"I thought you had gone," she said.

"Not quite," said Jake.

He bent slightly as she entered, stretched out a hand, took her by the chin, and kissed her mask-like face.

She endured his action with the most complete show of indifference, neither returning nor avoiding his caress. A faint, faint tinge of colour showed in her cheeks as with scarcely a pause she passed on into the room; that was all.

"It is getting late," she observed. "I think you had better go."

Jake's eyes, red-brown and shining, followed her with a masterful expression as she moved to the table and laid down her flowers, marking the queenly bend of her neck, the cold majesty of her pose.

He said nothing for the moment, merely took his pipe out of his pocket and began to fill it.

Maud went to the sideboard for a vase. Her movements were very measured, very stately. She did not so much as glance towards the man who watched her. The old quick nervousness of manner had gone utterly from her. She was like a marble statue endued with a certain icy animation.

"You don't look exactly--excited," remarked Jake, as he finally stuck his pipe into his mouth.

She smiled, a cold, aloof smile, saying nothing.

He lighted his pipe, his eyes still upon her. "Say, Maud," he said, between the puffs, "why don't you come too?"

She raised her beautiful brows a little at the question and slightly shrugged her shoulders.

"You don't want to?" pursued Jake.

Her blue eyes met his for a single instant. They were dark and remote as a deep mountain tarn. "Not in the least," she said.

He swung round with a jingle of spurs and came to the table by which she stood.

"What if I wish you to come?" he said.

The faint, cold smile still drew her lips. She had begun already to arrange her flowers.

"Of course your wish is law," she said.

He leaned towards her, laying an abrupt hand upon hers. "Maud!" he said.

She became still on the instant, but she did not look at him or attempt to avoid the tobacco smoke that curled between them.

"Maud," he said again, and there was a hint of pleading in his voice, "why can't you be friends with me? Surely I'm not all that hard to get on with!"

She kept her eyes lowered. The pale composure of her face did not vary as she made reply. "I am sorry if you are not satisfied. I thought you had got--all you wanted."

He pulled the pipe from his mouth and laid it on the table. "Do you think any man is satisfied with husks?" he said.

Her lip curled a little. She said nothing.

He took her by the arms, not violently but with firmness. "Maud," he said, and there was urgency in his voice, "where's the use of behaving like this? Do you think it's going to make life easier, happier? Is it doing God's work in the world to be always fighting the inevitable? I'm rough, I know; but I'm white. Why can't you take me as I am, and make the best of me?"

He had never thus appealed to her before. She stood stiffly between his hands. But still she did not look at him. Her eyes were upon the flowers on the table that lay scorching and slowly shrivelling under his pipe.

"I really don't know what you want," she said, in a tone of cold aloofness.

"And don't care!" said Jake, with sudden vehemence. "On my soul, I sometimes think to myself that if you treated Sheppard as you treat me, he had some reason for giving you a hiding."

Her eyelids quivered sharply at the rough allusion, but she did not raise them. "You are rather--hard to please," she said, in a low voice.

"Am I?" said Jake. "And do you ever try to please me by any chance?"

A slight tremor went through her. "I give you submission--obedience," she said. "You have--all that you married me for."

"Have I?" said Jake. His voice was suddenly ironical. "Ah, my girl, you know a mighty lot about that, don't you? And have I also your confidence, your goodwill, your--friendship?"

Her eyes flashed him a look of swift protest. "They were not a part of the bargain," she said.

"Damn the bargain!" said Jake, with force. "If I didn't want them, what did I want?"

Her eyes comprehended him and fell again. She said nothing.

He held her by the shoulders and gave her a sharp shake as if to bring her to her senses.

"P'raps you think I'm brutal," he said. "But you treat me as I wouldn't treat any brute in creation. Why do you never speak to me? Why do you never kiss me? On my oath, you starve me of all that's good in life and yet expect me to remain civilized."

She made no attempt to free herself, nor did she utter remonstrance of any kind. If the grip of his hands hurt her, she did not show it. She stood in utter silence.

Slowly Jake's hold relaxed. The fierceness went out of it. He stood for a few seconds watching her, a deep frown between his brows.

"I don't seem able to get hold of you somehow," he said at length. "And yet it ain't for want of trying. Say, Maud, can't you be decent to me for a bit now the little chap is coming? He'll notice, sure, if you're not. Guess we don't either of us want him pestering around with questions."

There was a species of half-grudging persuasion in his voice. He held her as though at the faintest sign of encouragement he would have drawn her into his arms.

But Maud made no such sign. She stood motionless. Without looking at him she spoke.

"I can't pretend to love you. You see,--I don't."

He made a sharp gesture--such a gesture as a man might make if stabbed in the back. A very bitter look came into his eyes. It was as if an evil spirit looked gibing forth. They glittered like the red flare of a torch.

"All right, my girl," he said, and his voice was soft and slow and wholly without emotion. "Then I continue my meal of husks."

With the words he let her go, took up his pipe from the table, and left her. Mutely she watched him go. Then, as the sound of his footsteps died away, she sank on her knees by the table, burying her face upon the scorched and ruined flowers; and so she remained for a long, long time.

Even the sympathy of Chops was lacking. He had followed his master and the dog-cart to the station to welcome the visitor for whom such loving preparations had been made. And he was being compelled to fly like the wild to keep pace with the flying wheels.