"I want it carefully packed," said Vera.
"Yes, ma"am. It will be delivered in the morning."
She was just beginning to realize that she had been under the sinister influence of the ecstasy, and that she had not bought the cigar-cabinet, and that she had practically no more money, and that Stephen"s rule against credit was the strictest of all his rules, when she caught sight of Mr Charles Woodruff buying toys, doubtless for his nephews and nieces.
Mr Woodruff was the bachelor friend of the family. He had loved Vera before Stephen loved her, and he was still attached to her. Stephen and he were chums of the most advanced kind. Why! Stephen and Vera thought nothing of bickering in front of Mr Woodruff, who rated them both and sided with neither.
"h.e.l.lo!" said Woodruff, flushing, and moving his long, clumsy limbs when she touched him on the shoulder. "I"m just buying a few toys."
She helped him to buy toys, and then he asked her to go and have tea with him at the newly-opened Sub Rosa Tea Rooms, in Machin Street. She agreed, and, in pa.s.sing the music-stool, gave a small parcel which she was carrying to Penkethman, and told him he might as well put it in the music-stool. She was glad to have tea with Charlie Woodruff. It would distract her, prevent her from thinking. The ecstasy had almost died out, and she had a violent desire not to think.
III
A terrible blow fell upon her the next morning. Stephen had one of his bad colds, one of his worst. The mere cold she could have supported with fort.i.tude, but he was forced to remain indoors, and his presence in the house she could not support with fort.i.tude. The music-stool would be sure to arrive before lunch, and he would be there to see it arrive. The ecstasy had fully expired now, and she had more leisure to think than she wanted. She could not imagine what mad instinct had compelled her to buy the music-stool. (Once out of the shop these instincts always are difficult to imagine.) She knew that Stephen would be angry. He might perhaps go to the length of returning the music-stool whence it came. For, though she was a pretty and pampered woman, Stephen had a way, in the last resort, of being master of his own house. And she could not even placate him with the gift of a cigar-cabinet. She could not buy a five-guinea cigar-cabinet with ten and six. She had no other money in the world. She never had money, yet money was always running through her fingers. Stephen treated her generously, gave her an ample allowance, but he would under no circ.u.mstances permit credit, nor would he pay her allowance in advance.
She had nothing to expect till the New Year.
She attended to his cold, and telephoned to the works for a clerk to come up, and she refrained from telling Stephen that he must have been very careless while in London, to catch a cold like that. Her self-denial in this respect surprised Stephen, but he put it down to the beneficent influence of Christmas and the Venetian vases.
Bostock"s pair-horse van arrived before the garden gate earlier than her worse fears had antic.i.p.ated, and Bostock"s men were evidently in a tremendous hurry that morning. In quite an abnormally small number of seconds the wooden case containing the fragile music-stool was lying in the inner hall, waiting to be unpacked. Having signed the delivery-book Vera stood staring at the accusatory package. Stephen was lounging over the dining-room fire, perhaps dozing. She would have the thing swiftly transported up-stairs and hidden in an attic for a time.
But just then Stephen popped out of the dining-room. Stephen"s masculine curiosity had been aroused by the advent of Bostock"s van. He had observed the incoming of the package from the window, and he had ventured to the hall to inspect it. The event had roused him wonderfully from the heavy torpor which a cold induces. He wore a dressing-gown, the pockets of which bulged with handkerchiefs.
"You oughtn"t to be out here, Stephen," said his wife.
"Nonsense!" he said. "Why, upon my soul, this steam heat is warmer than the dining-room fire." Vera, silenced by the voice of truth, could not reply.
Stephen bent his great height to inspect the package. It was an appetizing Christmas package; straw escaped from between its ribs, and it had an air of being filled with something at once large and delicate.
"Oh!" observed Stephen, humorously. "Ah! So this is it, is it? Ah! Oh!
Very good!"
And he walked round it.
How on earth had he learnt that she had bought it? She had not mentioned the purchase to Mr Woodruff.
"Yes, Stephen," she said timidly. "That"s it, and I hope--"
"It ought to hold a tidy few cigars, that ought," remarked Stephen complacently.
He took it for the cigar-cabinet!
She paused, struck. She had to make up her mind in an instant.
"Oh yes," she murmured.
"A thousand?"
"Yes, a thousand," she said.
"I thought so," murmured Stephen. "I mustn"t kiss you, because I"ve got a cold," said he. "But, all the same I"m awfully obliged, Vera. Suppose we have it opened now, eh? Then we could decide where it is to go, and I could put my cigars in it."
"Oh no," she protested. "Oh no, Stephen! That"s not fair! It mustn"t be opened before Christmas morning."
"But I gave you my vases yesterday."
"That"s different," she said. "Christmas is Christmas." "Oh, very well," he yielded. "That"s all right, my dear."
Then he began to sniff.
"There"s a deuced odd smell from it," he said.
"Perhaps it"s the wood!" she faltered.
"I hope it isn"t," he said. "I expect it"s the straw. A deuced odd smell. We"ll have the thing put in the side hall, next to the clock. It will be out of the way there. And I can come and gaze at it when I feel depressed. Eh, Maria?" He was undoubtedly charmed at the prospect of owning so large and precious a cigar-cabinet.
Considering that the parcel which she had given to Penkethman to put in the music-stool comprised a half-a-pound of Bostock"s very ripest Gorgonzola cheese, bought at the cook"s special request, the smell which proceeded from the mysterious inwards of the packing-case did not surprise Vera at all. But it disconcerted her none the less. And she wondered how she could get the cheese out.
For thirty hours the smell from the unopened packing-case waxed in vigour and strength. Stephen"s cold grew worse and prevented him from appreciating its full beauty, but he savoured enough of it to induce him to compare it facetiously to the effluvium of a dead rat, and he said several times that Bostock"s really ought to use better straw. He was frequently to be seen in the hall, gloating over his cigar-cabinet.
Once he urged Vera to have it opened and so get rid of the straw, but she refused, and found the nerve to tell him that he was exaggerating the odour.
She was at a loss what to do. She could not get up in the middle of the night and unpack the package and hide its guilty secret. Indeed, to unpack the package would bring about her ruin instantly; for, the package unpacked, Stephen would naturally expect to see the cigar-cabinet. And so the hours crept on to Christmas and Vera"s undoing. She gave herself a headache.
It was just thirty hours after the arrival of the package when Mr Woodruff dropped in for tea. Stephen was asleep in the dining-room, which apartment he particularly affected during his colds. Woodruff was shown into the drawing-room, where Vera was having her headache. Vera brightened. In fact, she suddenly grew very bright. And she gave Woodruff tea, and took some herself, and Woodruff pa.s.sed an enjoyable twenty minutes.
The two Venetian vases were on the mantelpiece. Vera rose into ecstasies about them, and called upon Charlie Woodruff to rise too. He got up from his chair to examine the vases, which Vera had placed close together side by side at the corner of the mantelpiece nearest to him.
Vera and Woodruff also stood close together side by side. And just as Woodruff was about to handle the vases, Vera knocked his arm; his arm collided with one vase; that vase collided with the next, and both fell to earth--to the hard, unfeeling, unyielding tiles of the hearth.
IV
They were smashed to atoms.
Vera screamed. She screamed twice, and ran out of the room.
"Stephen, Stephen!" she cried hysterically. "Charlie has broken my vases, both of them. It IS too bad of him. He"s really too clumsy!"
There was a terrific pother. Stephen wakened violently, and in a moment all three were staring ineffectually at the thousand crystal fragments on the hearth.
"But--" began Charlie Woodruff.
And that was all he did say.