She'd like to do me an injury.She follows me round the house.She's always watching me, and now that she thinks that I killed her uncle it's worse.I'm not safe, Paul, and that's the truth.She hides in my room behind the curtains waiting for me.It's my safety you've got to consider.It's me or her.I know she's your wife, but what Imean is that there'll be something awful happening if you aren't careful."Grace, as she spoke, was a woman in the very heart of a desperate panic.Her whole body trembled; her face was transfixed as though she saw Maggie standing in front of her there with a knife.No one looking at her could deny that she was in mortal terror--no affectation here.And Paul loved her.He came over to her and put his arm round her; she caught hold of his hand, clutched it desperately.When he felt the trembling of her body beneath his hand his love for her and protective care of her overwhelmed him.
"Grace, dear, it's all right," he said."You're exaggerating all this.Maggie wouldn't hurt a fly--indeed, she wouldn't.She has her faults, perhaps, but cruelty isn't one of them.You must remember that she's had a bad time lately losing her aunt and then finding her uncle in that horrible way.After all, she's only a child.Iknow that you two haven't got on well together, and I daresay that it has been very largely my fault; but you mustn't be frightened like that.No harm shall come to you so long as I am alive--no harm whatever."But she stared in front of her, like a woman in a dream, repeating--"No, no, Paul.Either she goes or I go.She's your wife.She must stay.Then I must go.I can't stand it; I can't indeed.I'm not sleeping; I'm not indeed.It isn't fair to ask it.What I mean is that it isn't fair to me."Although he had known Grace for years he still believed her threats and promises."My sister's an obstinate woman," he would say, although had he looked truly into his experience he must have seen that she changed her mind more frequently by far than she changed her clothes.He thought that now she meant what she said; indeed, on his own side he really did not see how in the future Maggie and Grace could continue to live in the same house.But, as Grace had said, he was married to Maggie and therefore it was Grace that must go.Then when he confronted the fact of Grace's departure he could not endure it.No, he could not.Had Maggie been everything to him that she might have been, bad she been his true wife, had she loved him, had she--oh! a thousand things she might have been!--then perhaps life would be possible without Grace.But now!...at the thought of being alone for ever with Maggie a strange passion, mingled of fascination and fear, affection and sensuality, cowardice and excitement, pervaded him.What would their life together be?
Then he turned to Grace as the very rock of his safety.
"Oh, Grace, you mustn't go--you mustn't think of going.Whatever should I do without you?"A dull flush of gratification coloured her cheeks.
"Either she goes or I," she repeated."It can't go on.You must see that it can't.Fancy what people must be thinking!"As always, he postponed the issue."We'll settle something.Don't you worry, dear.You go and lie down.That's what you want--a thorough good rest."She plodded off.For himself he decided that fresh air was what he needed.He went for a stroll.As soon as he was in the Charleston Road that led to the High Street he was pleased with the day.Early spring; mild, faint haze, trees dimly purple, a bird clucking, the whisper of the sea stirring the warm puddles and rivulets across the damp dim road.Warm, yes, warm and promising.Lent...tiresome.
Long services, gloomy sermons.Rebuking people, scolding them--made them angry, did them no good.Then Easter.That was better.Jolly hymns."Christ is risen! Christ is risen!" Jolly flowers--primroses, crocuses--(no, they were earlier).They'll have forgotten about Maggie's uncle by then.Live it down--that's the thing.Give them a good genial sermon this Sunday.Show them he wasn't caring...If only the women would get on together.Women--women.How difficult they were! Yes, Sunday would be difficult--facing them all.He knew what they'd be thinking.He wanted to be jolly again.Jolly.That was the thing.Joking with Grace, jolly even with Maggie.Jolly with his congregation.Jolly with God.Why wasn't he left alone? Had been until Maggie came.Maggie like a stone flung into a frosty pool!
Broke everything up, simply because she was unlike other people.
He'd married her because he thought he could make her into what he pleased.Well, it had been the other way.Oh, she was queer, queer, queer.
He stopped, his large boots in a warm puddle.He felt the warm sun hot through the damp mist.He wanted to take her into his arms, to hug her, above all to feel her response.To feel her response, that was what, for years now, he had been wanting, and never once had she responded.Never once.She let him do as he pleased, but she was passive.She didn't love him.Grace loved him, but how dull Grace was! Dull--it was all dull! Grace was dull, Skeaton was dull, the church was dull--God was dull! God? Where was God? He looked around.
There was no God.To what had he been praying all these years? He had not been praying.His congregation had not been praying.They were all dead and God was dead too.
He looked up and saw that his boots were in a puddle.He walked on.
For a moment, the mists of sloth and self-indulgence that had for years obscured his vision had shifted and cleared, but even as he moved they settled down and resolved themselves once more.The muscles of Paul's soul were stiff with disuse.Training is a lengthy affair and a tiresome business to the stout and middle-aged.
