The Garden of Survival | Page 6

but was ever sheathed. Did she
discern my weakness, perhaps, and know that the subtle power would
work upon me most effectively if left to itself? Did she, rich in
experience, deem that its too direct use might waken a reaction in my
better self? I cannot say, I do not know. . . . Every feminine art was at
her disposal, as every use of magic pertaining to young and comely
womanhood was easily within her reach. As you and I might express it
bluntly, she knew men thoroughly, she knew every trick; she drew me
on, then left me abruptly in the wrong, puzzled, foolish, angry, only to
forgive me later with the most enchanting smile or word imaginable.
But never once did she deliberately make use of the merciless weapon
of her physical beauty although--perhaps because--she knew that it was
the most powerful in all her armoury.
For listen to this: when at last I took her in my arms with passion that
would not be denied, she actually resented it. She even sought to repel
me from her touch that had undone me. I repeat what I said before: She
did not wish to win me in that way. The sigh of happiness she drew in
that moment--I can swear to it--included somewhere, too, the pain of
bitter disappointment.
The weapon, however, that she did use without hesitation was her
singing. There was nothing special either in its quality or skill; it was a
voice untrained, I believe, and certainly without ambition; her
repertoire was limited; she sang folk-songs mostly, the simple
love-songs of primitive people, of peasants and the like, yet sang them
with such truth and charm, with such power and conviction, somehow,
that I knew enchantment as I listened. This, too, she instantly divined,
and that behind my compliments lay hid a weakness of deep origin she
could play upon to her sure advantage. She did so without mercy, until
gradually I passed beneath her sway.

I will not now relate in detail the steps of my descent, or if you like it
better, of my capture. This is a summary merely. So let me say in brief
that her singing to the harp combined with the revelation of her
physical beauty to lead me swiftly to the point where I ardently desired
her, and that in this turmoil of desire I sought eagerly to find real love.
There were times when I deceived myself most admirably; there were
times when I plainly saw the truth. During the former I believed that
my happiness lay in marrying her, but in the latter I recognised that a
girl who meant nothing to my better self had grown of a sudden
painfully yet exquisitely desirable. But even during the ascendancy of
the latter physical mood, she had only to seat herself beside the harp
and sing, for the former state to usurp its place, I watched, I listened,
and I yielded. Her voice, aided by the soft plucking of the strings,
completed my defeat. Now, strangest of all, I must add one other tiling,
and I will add it without comment. For though sure of its truth, I would
not dwell upon it. And it is this: that in her singing, as also in her
playing, in the "colour" of her voice as also in the very attitude and
gestures of her figure as she sat beside the instrument, there lay, though
marvellously hidden, something gross. It woke a response of something
in myself, hitherto unrecognized, that was similarly gross. . . .
It was in the empty billiard-room when the climax came, a calm
evening of late July, the dusk upon the lawn, and most of the
house-party already gone upstairs to dress for dinner. I had been
standing beside the open window for some considerable time,
motionless, and listening idly to the singing of a thrush or blackbird in
the shrubberies--when I heard the faint twanging of the harp-strings in
the room behind me, and turning, saw that Marion had entered and was
there beside the instrument. At the same moment she saw me, rose
from the harp and came forward. During the day she had kept me at a
distance. I was hungry for her voice and touch; her presence excited
me--and yet I was half afraid.
"What! Already dressed!" I exclaimed, anxious to avoid a talk a deux.
"I must hurry then, or I shall be later than usual."
I crossed the room towards the door, when she stopped me with her

eyes.
"Do you really mean to say you don't know the difference between an
evening frock and--and this," she answered lightly, holding out the skirt
in her fingers for me to touch. And in the voice was that hint of a