The Tale of Mr. Peter Brown - Chelsea Justice | Page 5

life, you
understand, I was neither lonely nor unhappy. The only thing that
jarred was his presence. The evenings when he was there were all out
of tune. All out of tune."
The man with the white hair paused to pour himself out another glass
of wine; and his voice, losing the dreamy note of reminiscence,
sharpened to a more rapid utterance--a crescendo for which I had been
waiting.
"I haven't an attractive character," he resumed; "I don't want you to
think that I have, and so accord me more sympathy than I deserve.
Please be quite impartial. Please realise that, according to ordinary
standards, I played the part of a cad. Think: there was a man, ostensibly
my friend, who had given me the run of his house; I accept his

hospitality and his friendship, and then take advantage of his absences
to make love to his wife. Not a pretty story, although a commonplace
one. Please be quite harsh towards me, and let me be quite harsh
towards myself. I did none of the things I ought to have done under the
circumstances; I neither went quietly abroad without making a fuss, nor
did I attempt to conceal my feelings from her. If you knew her," he said,
with an anguish of longing that lit up the whole story for me better than
any words of his could have done, "if you knew her, you would realise
at once that she wasn't a woman from whom one could conceal one's
feelings. There was that calm gentleness about her which made all
hypocrisy a shame and a sham. Also, deceiving her would have been
like deceiving a child; hurting her was like hurting a child. (That was
what enraged me when he hurt her, and I had to stand by, and listen.)
She was so simple, and direct, and defenceless. So, you see, as soon as
I realised what had happened, I told her. It wasn't a dramatic avowal,
and it had no very immediately dramatic consequences. In fact, for a
while its only effect was to bring me across the room from my habitual
arm-chair, to sit on the floor near her with my head against her knee;
and so we would remain for hours, not moving, scarcely speaking, for
there was such harmony and such content between us that we seemed
to know everything that passed in each other's minds.
"Of course, that couldn't last. We were young and human, you see; and
standing in the background, overshadowing the perfection of our
solitary hours, was his long, sarcastic figure--her husband and my
friend. An impossible situation, when you come to consider it. The
evenings that he spent at home very soon became intolerable, from
every point of view. I grew so nervous with the strain of keeping a hold
on myself, that even her tenderness could no longer soothe me. He
didn't seem to notice anything amiss, and, you know, the funny,
horrible, contradictory part was that, much as I now hated him, I was
still conscious of his charm. And so, I think, was she. Can't you picture
the trio in that little Chelsea room, while the barges floated by, and she
and I sat on opposite sides of the fireplace, so terribly aware of one
another, and he lay on the sofa, his long legs trailing over the end,
discoursing in his admirable and varied way on life, politics, and letters?
I wonder in how many London drawing-rooms that situation was being

simultaneously reproduced?
"Why do I bore you with a recital so commonplace?" he exclaimed,
bringing his fist down on the table; "are you beginning to ask yourself
that? What have you to do with journalistic adulteries? Only wait: you
shan't complain that the sequel is commonplace, and perhaps, one day,
when you read in the papers the sequel to the sequel, you will
remember and be entertained. He caught us red-handed, you see. It was
one evening when we hadn't expected him home until after midnight,
and at ten o'clock the door opened and he stood suddenly in the room.
Squalid enough, isn't it? To this day I don't know whether he had laid a
trap for us, or whether he was as surprised as we were. He stood there
stock still, and I sprang up and stood too, and we glared across at one
another. After a moment he said, 'Paolo and Francesca? this scene
acquires quite a classic dignity, doesn't it, from frequent repetition?'
And then he said the most astonishing thing; he said, 'Don't let me
disturb you, and above all remember that I don't mind,' and with that he
went out of the room and shut the door.
"After that," said the man with the white hair, "I didn't go near