pgw.uneasymoney-第28部分

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　She　swung　round。
　'Good　night；'　she　called　over　her　shoulder。
　He　could　hear　her　laughing　as　she　went　down　the　road。
　
　20
　In　the　smoking…room　of　Lady　Wetherby's　house；　chewing　the　dead　stump　of　a　once　imposing　cigar；　Dudley　Pickering　sat　alone　with　his　thoughts。　He　had　been　alone　for　half　an　hour　now。　Once　Lord　Wetherby　had　looked　in；　to　withdraw　at　once　coldly；　with　the　expression　of　a　groom　who　has　found　loathsome　things　in　the　harness…room。　Roscoe　Sherriff；　good；　easy　man；　who　could　never　dislike　people；　no　matter　what　they　had　done；　had　e　for　a　while　to　bear　him　pany；　but　Mr　Pickering's　society　was　not　for　the　time　being　entertaining。　He　had　answered　with　grunts　the　Press…agent's　kindly　attempts　at　conversation；　and　the　latter　Had　withdrawn　to　seek　a　more　congenial　audience。　And　now　Mr　Pickering　was　alone；　talking　things　over　with　his　subconscious　self。
　A　man's　subconscious　self　is　not　the　ideal　panion。　It　lurks　for　the　greater　part　of　his　life　in　some　dark　den　of　its　own；　hidden　away；　and　emerges　only　to　taunt　and　deride　and　increase　the　misery　of　a　miserable　hour。　Mr　Pickering's　rare　interviews　with　his　subconscious　self　had　happened　until　now　almost　entirely　in　the　small　hours　of　the　night；　when　it　had　popped　out　to　remind　him；　as　he　lay　sleepless；　that　all　flesh　was　grass　and　that　he　was　not　getting　any　younger。　To…night；　such　had　been　the　shock　of　the　evening's　events；　it　came　to　him　at　a　time　which　was　usually　his　happiestthe　time　that　lay　between　dinner　and　bed。　Mr　Pickering　at　that　point　of　the　day　was　generally　feeling　his　best。　But　to…night　was　different　from　the　other　nights　of　his　life。
　One　may　picture　Subconscious　Self　as　a　withered；　cynical；　malicious　person　standing　before　Mr　Pickering　and　regarding　him　with　an　evil　smile。　There　has　been　a　pause；　and　now　Subconscious　Self　speaks　again：
　'You　will　have　to　leave　to…morrow。　Couldn't　possibly　stop　on　after　what's　happened。　Now　you　see　what　es　of　behaving　like　a　boy。'
　Mr　Pickering　writhed。
　'Made　a　pretty　considerable　fool　of　yourself；　didn't　you；　with　your　revolvers　and　your　hidings　and　your　trailings？　Too　old　for　that　sort　of　thing；　you　know。　You're　getting　on。　Probably　have　a　touch　of　lumbago　to…morrow。　You　must　remember　you　aren't　a　youngster。　Got　to　take　care　of　yourself。　Next　time　you　feel　an　impulse　to　hide　in　shrubberies　and　take　moonlight　walks　through　damp　woods；　perhaps　you　will　listen　to　me。'
　Mr　Pickering　relit　the　stump　of　his　cigar　defiantly　and　smoked　in　long　gulps　for　a　while。　He　was　trying　to　persuade　himself　that　all　this　was　untrue；　but　it　was　not　easy。　The　cigar　became　unfortably　hot；　and　he　threw　it　away。　He　fumbled　in　his　waistcoat　pocket　and　produced　a　diamond　ring；　at　which　he　looked　pensively。
　'A　pretty　thing；　is　it　not？'　said　Subconscious　Self
　Mr　Pickering　sighed。　That　moment　when　Claire　had　thrown　the　ring　at　his　feet　and　swept　out　of　his　life　like　an　offended　queen　had　been　the　culminating　blow　of　a　night　of　blows；　the　knock…out　following　on　a　series　of　minor　punches。　Subconscious　Self　seized　the　opportunity　to　bee　offensive　again。
　'You've　lost　her；　all　through　your　own　silly　fault；'　it　said。　'How　on　earth　you　can　have　been　such　a　perfect　fool　beats　me。　Running　round　with　a　gun　like　a　boy　of　fourteen！　Well；　it's　done　now　and　it　can't　be　mended。　Countermand　the　order　for　cake；　send　a　wire　putting　off　the　wedding；　dismiss　the　bridesmaids；　tell　the　organist　he　can　stop　practising　〃The　Voice　that　Breathed　O'er　Eden〃no　wedding…bells　for　you！　For　Dudley　Damfool　Pickering；　Esquire；　the　lonely　hearth　for　evermore！　Little　feet　pattering　about　the　house？　Not　on　your　life！　Childish　voices　sticking　up　the　old　man　for　half　a　dollar　to　buy　candy？　No；　sir！　Not　for　D。　Bonehead　Pickering；　the　amateur　trailing　arbutus！'
　Subconscious　Self　may　have　had　an　undesirable　way　of　expressing　itself；　but　there　was　no　denying　the　truth　of　what　it　said。　Its　words　carried　conviction。　Mr　Pickering　replaced　the　ring　in　his　pocket；　and；　burying　his　head　in　his　hands；　groaned　in　bitterness　of　spirit。
　He　had　lost　her。　He　must　face　the　fact。　She　had　thrown　him　over。　Never　now　would　she　sit　at　his　table；　the　brightest　jewel　of　Detroit's　glittering　social　life。　She　would　have　made　a　stir　in　Detroit。　Now　that　city　would　never　know　her。　Not　that　he　was　worrying　much　about　Detroit。　He　was　worrying　about　himself。　How　could　he　ever　live　without　her？
　This　mood　of　black　depression　endured　for　a　while；　and　then　Mr　Pickering　suddenly　became　aware　that　Subconscious　Self　was　sneering　at　him。　'You're　a　wonder！'　said　Subconscious　Self。
　'What　do　you　mean？'
　'Why；　trying　to　make　yourself　think　that　at　the　bottom　of　your　heart　you　aren't　tickled　to　death　that　this　has　happened。　You　know　perfectly　well　that　you're　tremendously　relieved　that　you　haven't　got　to　marry　the　girl　after　all。　You　can　fool　everybody　else；　but　you　can't　fool　me。　You're　delighted；　man；　delighted！'　The　mere　suggestion　revolted　Mr　Pickering。　He　was　on　the　point　of　indignant　denial；　when　quite　abruptly　there　came　home　to　him　the　suspicion　that　the　statement　was　not　so　preposterous　after　all。　It　seemed　incredible　and　indecent　that　such　a　thing　should　be；　but　he　could　not　deny；　now　that　it　was　put　to　him　point…blank　in　this　way；　that　a　certain　sense　of　relief　was　beginning　to　mingle　itself　with　his　gloom。　It　was　shocking　to　realize；　butyes；　he　actually　was　feeling　as　if　he　had　escaped　from　something　which　he　had　dreaded。　Half　an　hour　ago　there　had　been　no　suspicion　of　such　an　emotion　among　the　many　which　had　occupied　his　attention；　but　now　he　perceived　it　clearly。　Half　an　hour　ago　he　had　felt　like　Lucifer　hurled　from　heaven。　Now；　though　how　that　train　of　thought　had　started　he　could　not　have　said；　he　was　distinctly　conscious　of　the　silver　lining。　Subconscious　Self　began　to　drive　the　thing　home。
　'Be　honest　with　yourself；'　it　said。　'You　aren't　often。　No　man　is。　Look　at　the　matter　absolutely　fairly。　You　know　perfectly　well　that　the　mere　idea　of　marriage　has　always　scared　you。　You　hate　making　yourself　conspicuous　in　public。　Think　what　it　would　be　like；　standing　up　there　in　front　of　all　the　world　and　getting　married。　And　thenafterwards！　Why　on　earth　do　you　think　that　you　would　have　been　happy　with　this　girl？　What　do　you　know　about　her　except　that　she　is　a　beauty？　I　grant　you　she's　that；　but　are　you　aware　of　the　infinitesimal　part　looks　play　in　married　life？　My　dear　chap；　better　is　it　for　a　man　that　he　marry　a　sympathetic　gargoyle　than　a　Venus　with　a　streak　of　hardness　in　her。　You　knowand　you　would　admit　it　if　you　were　honest　with　yourselfthat　this　girl　is　hard。　She's　got　a　chilled…steel　soul。
　'If　you　wanted　to　marry　some　oneand　there's　no　earthly　reason　why　you　should；　for　your　life's　perfectly　full　and　happy　with　your　workthis　is　the　last　girl　you　ought　to　marry。　You're　a　middle…aged　man。　You're　set。　You　like　life　to　jog　along　at　a　peaceful　walk。　This　girl　wants　it　to　be　a　fox…trot。　You've　got　habits　which　you　have　had　for　a　dozen　years。　I　ask　you；　is　she　the　sort　of　girl　to　be　content　to　be　a　stepmother　to　a　middle…aged　man's　habits？　Of　course；　if　you　were　really　in　love　with　her；　if　she　were　your　mate；　and　all　that　sort　of　thing；　you　would　take　a　pleasure　in　making　yourself　over　to　suit　her　requirements。　But　you　aren't　in　love　with　her。　You　are　simply　caught　by　her　looks。　I　tell　you；　you　ought　to　look　on　that　moment　when　she　gave　you　back　your　ring　as　the　luckiest　moment　of　your　life。　You　ought　to　make　a　sort　of　anniversary　of　it。　You　ought　to　endow　a　hospital　or　something　out　of　pure　gratitude。　I　don't　know　how　long　you're　going　to　liveif　you　act　like　a　grown…up　man　instead　of　a　boy　and　keep　out　of　woods　and　shrubberies　at　night　you　may　live　for　everbut　you　will　never　have　a　greater　bit　of　luck　than　the　one　that　happened　to　you　to…night。'
　Mr　Pickering　was　convinced。　His　spirits　soared。　Marriage！　What　was　marriage？　Slavery；　not　to　be　endured　by　your　man　of　spirit。　Look　at　all　the　unhappy　marriages　you　saw　everywhere。　Besides；　you　had　only　to　recall　some　of　the　novels　and　plays　of　recent　years　to　get　the　right　angle　on　marriage。　According　to　the　novelists　and　playwrights；　shrewd　fellows　who　knew　what　was　what；　if　you　talked　to　your　wife　about　your　business　she　said　you　had　no　soul；　if　you　didn't；　she　said　you　didn't　think　enough　of　her　to　let　her　share　your　life。　If　you　gave　her　expensive　presents　and　an　unlimited　credit　account；　she　plained　that　you　looked　on　her　as　a　mere　doll；　and　if　you　didn't；　she　called　you　a　screw。　That　was　marriage。　If　it　didn't　get　you　with　the　left　jab；　it　landed　on　you　with　the　right　upper…cut。　None　of　that　sort　of　thing　for　Dudley　Pickering。
　'You're　absolutely　right；'　he　said；　enthusiastically。　'Funny　I　never　looked　at　it　that　way　before。'
　Somebody　was　turning　the　door…handle。　He　hoped　it　was　Roscoe　Sherriff。　He　had　been　rather　dull　the　last　time　Sherriff　had　looked　in。　He　would　be　quite　different　now。　He　would　be　gay　and　sparkling。　He　remembered　two　good　stories　he　would　like　to　tell　Sherriff。
　The　door　opened　and　Claire　came　in。　There　was　a　silence。　She　stood　looking　at　him　in　a　way　that　puzzled　Mr　Pickering。　If　it　had　not　been　for　her　attitude　at　their　last　meeting　and　the　manner　in　which　she　had　broken　that　last　meeting　up；　he　would　have　said　that　her　look　seemed　somehow　to　strike　a　note　of　appeal。　There　was　something　soft　and　repentant　about　her。　She　suggested；　it　seemed　to　Mr　Pickering；　the　prodigal　daughter　revisiting　the　old　homestead。
　'Dudley！'
　She　smiled　a　faint　smile；　a　wistful；　deprecating　smile。　She　was　looking　lovelier　than　ever。　Her　face　glowed　with　a　wonderful　colour　and　her　eyes　were　very　bright。　Mr　Pickering　met　her　gaze；　and　strange　things　began　to　happen　to　his　mind；　that　mind　which　a　moment　before　had　thought　so　clearly　and　established　so　definite　a　point　of　view。
　What　a　gelatine…backboned　thing　is　man；　who　prides　himself　on　his　clear　reason　and　bees　as　wet　blotting…paper　at　one　glance　from　bright　eyes！　A　moment　before　Mr　Pickering　had　thought　out　the　whole　subject　of　woman　and　marriage　in　a　few　bold　flashes　of　his　capable　brain；　and　thanked　Providence　that　he　was　not　as　those　men　who　take　unto　themselves　wives　to　their　undoing。　Now　in　an　instant　he　had　lost　that　iron　outlook。　Reason　was　temporarily　out　of　business。　He　was　slipping。
　'Dudley！'
　For　a　space　Subconscious　Self　thrust　itself　forward。
　'Look　out！　Be　careful！'　it　warned。
　Mr　Pickering　ignored　it。　He　was　watching；　fascinated；　the　glow　on　Claire's　face；　her　shining　eyes。
　'Dudley；　I　want　to　speak　to　you。'
　'Tell　her　you　can　only　be　seen　by　appointment！　Escape！　Bolt！'
　Mr　Pickering　did　not　bolt。　Claire　came　towards　him；　still　smiling　that　pathetic　smile。　A　thrill　permeated　Mr　Pickering's　entire　one　hundred　and　ninety…seven　pounds；　trickling　down　his　spine　like　hot　water　and　ing　out　at　the　soles　of　his　feet。　He　had　forgotten　now　that　he　had　ever　sneered　at　marriage。　It　seemed　to　him　now　that　there　was　nothing　in　life　to　be　pared　with　that　beatific　state；　and　that　bachelors　were　mere　wild　asses　of　the　desert。
　Claire　came　and　sat　down　on　the　arm　of　his　chair。　He　moved　convulsively；　but　he　stayed　where　he　was。
　'Fool！'　said　Subconscious　Self。
　Claire　took　hold　of　his　hand　and　patted　it。　He　quivered；　but　remained。
　'Ass！'　hissed　Subconscious　S