The Dark Tower

Gentleness was superlative kindness, and no woman who had not had just that sort of kindness from the man she married, could help being rather nasty. He had owed it to Estelle — no matter whether she told him the truth or not.

“Look here, Estelle,” he began. “I want our boy to go to Charterhouse.”

It wasn’t exactly what he meant to say, but it was something; he had never called Peter “our boy” before. Estelle did not notice it.

“Of course, I should prefer Eton,” she said, “but I suppose you will do as you like — as usual!”

Winn dropped the piece of tassel, but he persevered.

“I say,” he began, “don’t you think we’ve got rather off the track? I know it’s not your fault, but your being ill and my being away and all that? I don’t want you to feel sore about it, you know. I want you to realize that I know I’ve been rather a beast to you. I don’t think I’m fitted somehow for domestic life — what?”

“Fitted for it!” said Estelle, tragically. “I have never known one happy moment with you! You seem incapable of any kind of chivalry! I never would have believed a man could exist who knew less how to make a woman happy! It’s too late to talk of it all now! I’ve made my supreme sacrifice. I’ve offered up my broken heart! I am living upon a higher plane! You would never understand anything that wasn’t coarse, brutal, and low! So I shan’t explain it to you. I know my duty, but I don’t think after the way you have behaved I really need consider myself under any obligation to live with you again. Father Anselm agrees with me.”

Winn laughed. “Don’t you worry about that,” he hastened to assure her, “or Father Anselm either; there isn’t the least necessity — and it wasn’t what I meant.”

Estelle looked annoyed. It plainly should have been what Winn meant.

“Have as much of the higher plane as you like,” he went on, “only look after the boy. I’m off to London to-night, there’s probably going to be some work of a kind that I can do. I mayn’t be back directly. Hope you’ll be all right. We can write about plans.”

He stood up, hesitating a little. He had an idea that it would make him feel less strange if she kissed him. Of course it was absurd, because just to have a woman’s arms round his neck wasn’t going to be the least like Claire. But he had a curious feeling that perhaps he might never be alone with a woman again, and he wanted to part friends with Estelle.

“I wonder,” he said, leaning towards her, “would you mind very much if I kissed you?”

Estelle turned her head away with a little gesture of aversion.

“I am sorry,” she said. “I shall not willingly allow you to kiss me, but of course you are my husband — I am in your power.”

“By Jove,” said Winn, unexpectedly, “what a little cat you are!”

They were the last words he ever said to her.

CHAPTER XXX

For a time he could do nothing but think of his luck — it was astounding how obstacles had been swept aside for him.

The best he had expected was that in the hurry of things he might get back to India without a medical examination, in the hope that his regiment would be used later. But his work at the Staff College had brought him into notice, a man conveniently died, and Winn appeared at the right moment.

Within twenty-four hours of his visit to the War Office, he was attached for staff duty to a British division.

Then work closed over his head. He became a railway time-table, a lost-luggage office, a registrar, and a store commissioner.

He had the duties of a special Providence thrust upon him, with all the disadvantages of being readily held accountable, so skilfully evaded by the higher powers.

Junior officers flew to him for orders as belated ladies fly to their pin cushions for pins.

He ate when it was distinctly necessary, and slept two hours out of the twenty-four.

He left nothing undone which he could do himself; his mind was unfavorable to chance. The heads of departments listened when he made suggestions, and found it convenient to answer with accuracy his sudden questions.

Subordinates hurried to obey his infrequent but final orders; and when Winn said, “I think you’d find it better,” people found it better.

The division slipped off like cream, without impediment or hitch.

There were no delays, the men acquired their kit, and found their railway carriages.

The trains swept in velvet softness out of the darkened London station through the sweet, quiet, summer night into a sleepless Folkestone. The division went straight onto the right transports; there wasn’t a man, a horse, or a gun out of place.

Winn heaved a sigh of relief as he stepped on board; his troubles as a staff officer had only just begun, but they had begun as troubles should always begin, by being adequately met. There were no arrears.

He did not think of Claire until he stood on deck and saw the lights receding and the shadow that was England passing out of his sight.

He remembered her then with a little pang of joy — for suddenly he knew that he was free to think of her.