Mrs Korner Sins Her Mercies | Page 3

that may
have been his joke; but in any case I cannot see how just one glass--I
wonder could I have taken more than one glass while he was talking."
It was a point that worried Mr. Korner.
The "he" who had talked, possibly, to such bad effect was a distant
cousin of Mr. Korner's, one Bill Damon, chief mate of the steamship La
Fortuna. Until their chance meeting that afternoon in Leadenhall Street,
they had not seen each other since they were boys together. The
Fortuna was leaving St. Katherine's Docks early the next morning
bound for South America, and it might be years before they met again.
As Mr. Damon pointed out, Fate, by thus throwing them into each
other's arms, clearly intended they should have a cosy dinner together
that very evening in the captain's cabin of the Fortuna.
Mr. Korner, returning to the office, despatched to Ravenscourt Park an
express letter, announcing the strange news that he might not be home
that evening much before ten, and at half-past six, for the first time
since his marriage, directed his steps away from home and Mrs.
Korner.
The two friends talked of many things. And later on they spoke of
sweethearts and of wives. Mate Damon's experiences had apparently
been wide and varied. They talked--or, rather, the mate talked, and Mr.
Korner listened--of the olive-tinted beauties of the Spanish Main, of the
dark-eyed passionate creoles, of the blond Junos of the Californian
valleys. The mate had theories concerning the care and management of
women: theories that, if the mate's word could be relied upon, had
stood the test of studied application. A new world opened out to Mr.
Korner; a world where lovely women worshipped with doglike

devotion men who, though loving them in return, knew how to be their
masters. Mr. Korner, warmed gradually from cold disapproval to
bubbling appreciation, sat entranced. Time alone set a limit to the
recital of the mate's adventures. At eleven o'clock the cook reminded
them that the captain and the pilot might be aboard at any moment. Mr.
Korner, surprised at the lateness of the hour, took a long and tender
farewell of his cousin, and found St. Katherine's Docks one of the most
bewildering places out of which he had ever tried to escape. Under a
lamp-post in the Minories, it suddenly occurred to Mr. Korner that he
was an unappreciated man. Mrs. Korner never said and did the sort of
things by means of which the beauties of the Southern Main
endeavoured feebly to express their consuming passion for gentlemen
superior in no way--as far as he could see--to Mr. Korner himself.
Thinking over the sort of things Mrs. Korner did say and did do, tears
sprung into Mr. Korner's eyes. Noticing that a policeman was eyeing
him with curiosity, he dashed them aside and hurried on. Pacing the
platform of the Mansion House Station, where it is always draughty,
the thought of his wrongs returned to him with renewed force. Why
was there no trace of doglike devotion about Mrs. Korner? The
fault--so he bitterly told himself--the fault was his. "A woman loves her
master; it is her instinct," mused Mr. Korner to himself. "Damme,"
thought Mr. Korner, "I don't believe that half her time she knows I am
her master."
"Go away," said Mr. Korner to a youth of pasty appearance who, with
open mouth, had stopped immediately in front of him.
"I'm fond o' listening," explained the pasty youth.
"Who's talking?" demanded Mr. Korner.
"You are," replied the pasty youth.
It is a long journey from the city to Ravenscourt Park, but the task of
planning out the future life of Mrs. Korner and himself kept Mr. Korner
wide awake and interested. When he got out of the train the thing
chiefly troubling him was the three-quarters of a mile of muddy road
stretching between him and his determination to make things clear to

Mrs. Korner then and there.
The sight of Acacia Villa, suggesting that everybody was in bed and
asleep, served to further irritate him. A dog-like wife would have been
sitting up to see if there was anything he wanted. Mr. Korner, acting on
the advice of his own brass plate, not only knocked but also rang. As
the door did not immediately fly open, he continued to knock and ring.
The window of the best bedroom on the first floor opened.
"Is that you?" said the voice of Mrs. Korner. There was, as it happened,
a distinct suggestion of passion in Mrs. Korner's voice, but not of the
passion Mr. Korner was wishful to inspire. It made him a little more
angry than he was before.
"Don't you talk to me with your head out of the window as if this were
a