Mortal Coils | Page 9

other resolutions. Unreason had
triumphed; at the first itch of desire he had given way. He was hopeless,
hopeless.
For a long time he lay with closed eyes, ruminating his humiliation.
The 'girl stirred in her sleep. Mr. Hutton turned over and looked in her
direction. Enough faint light crept in between the half-drawn curtains to
show her bare arm and shoulder, her neck, and the dark tangle of hair
on the pillow. She was beautiful, desirable. Why did he lie there
moaning over his sins? What did it matter? If he were hopeless, then so
be it; he would make the best of his hopelessness. A glorious sense of
irresponsibility suddenly filled him. He was free, magnificently free. In
a kind of exaltation he drew the girl towards him. She woke,
bewildered, almost frightened under his rough kisses.
The storm of his desire subsided into a kind of serene merriment. The
whole atmosphere seemed to be quivering with enormous silent
laughter.
"Could anyone love you as much as I do, Teddy Bear?" The question
came faintly from distant worlds of love.
"I think I know somebody who does," Mr. Hutton replied. The
submarine laughter was swelling, rising, ready to break the surface of
silence and resound.
"Who? Tell me. What do you mean?" The voice had come very close;
charged with suspicion, anguish, indignation, it belonged to this
immediate world.

"A ah'!"
"Who?"
"You'll never guess." Mr. Hutton kept up the joke until it began to grow
tedious, and then pronounced the name "Janet Spence."
Doris was incredulous. "Miss Spence of the Manor? That old woman?"
It was too ridiculous. Mr. Hutton laughed too.
"But it's quite true," he said. "She adores me." Oh, the vast joke. He
would go and see her as soon as he returned see and conquer. "I believe
she wants to marry me!" he added.
"But you wouldn't... you don't intend..."
The air was fairly crepitating with humour. Mr. Hutton laughed aloud.
"I intend to marry you," he said. It seemed to him the best joke he had
ever made in his life.
When Mr. Hutton left Southend he was once more a married man. It
was agreed that, for the time being, the fact should be kept secret. In the
autumn they would go abroad together, and the world should be
informed. Meanwhile he was to go back to his own house and Doris to
hers.
The day after his return he walked over in the afternoon to see Miss
Spence. She received him with the old Gioconda.
"I was expecting you to come."
"I couldn't keep away," Mr. Hutton gallantly replied.
They sat in the summer-house. It was a pleasant place a little old stucco
temple bowered among dense bushes of evergreen. Miss Spence had
left her mark on it by hanging up over the seat a blue-and-white Delia
Robbia plaque.
"I am thinking of going to Italy this autumn," said Mr. Hutton. He felt

like a ginger-beer bottle, ready to pop with bubbling humorous
excitement.
"Italy..." Miss Spence closed her eyes ecstatically. "I feel drawn there
too."
"Why not let yourself be drawn?"
"I don't know. One somehow hasn't the energy and initiative to set out
alone."
"Alone...." Ah, sound of guitars and throaty singing! "Yes, travelling
alone isn't much fun."
Miss Spence lay back in her chair without speaking. Her eyes were still
closed. Mr. Hutton stroked his moustache. The silence prolonged itself
for what seemed a very long time.
Pressed to stay to dinner, Mr. Hutton did not refuse. The fun had hardly
started. The table was laid in the loggia. Through its arches they looked
out on to the sloping garden, to the valley below and the farther hills.
Light ebbed away; the heat and silence were oppressive. A huge cloud
was mounting up the sky, and there were distant breathings of thunder.
The thunder drew nearer, a wind began to blow, and the first drops of
rain fell. The table was cleared. Miss Spence and Mr. Hutton sat on in
the growing darkness.
Miss Spence broke a long silence by saying meditatively :
"I think everyone has a right to a certain amount of happiness, don't
you?"
"Most certainly." But what was she leading up to? Nobody makes
generalisations about life unless they mean to talk about themselves.
Happiness: he looked back on his own life, and saw a cheerful, placid
existence disturbed by no great griefs or discomforts or alarms. He had
always had money and freedom; he had been able to do very much as
he wanted. Yes, he supposed he had been happy happier than most men.

And now he was not merely happy; he had discovered in
irresponsibility the secret of gaiety. He was about to say something
about his happiness when Miss Spence went on