A MODERN MARRIAGE.

Auckland Star, Volume LVIII, Issue 136, 11 June 1927, Page 34

A MODERN MARRIAGE.

j BT RONALD PEMBROKE. I Author 0/ "When Flora Listened," etc. CHAPTER XVIII. Mr. Stewart hummed and ha-ed a little at first—regretted that the "professional prospects" were not a bit more rosy, expanded on the expensiveness of a family. But his resistance was merely conventional. Both his wife and lie had come to perceive certain disadvantages in the indefinite engagement they had been so willing to sanction, and thought it had "gone on long enough." On the material side—well—the wedding once over, Diana would cost them less than she had been doing—a trifling dress allowance, perhaps, and that would be all. Neil was a steady fellow, etc., etc. They were married, quickly, in the late autumn, and after a fortnight in Cornwall, came back to their first home, a small flat in Battersea. A very small flat, indeed, just enough for themselves, but the highest of six smaller flats in the same buildings. Neil chose it on the principle of beginning as he did not mean to go on. Diana acquiesced because it "wouiJ leave them money for other things." What "other things" she had in her mind did not immediately disclose themselves.

Lueinda was helpful to Diana in this first phase; she meant to be. She forebore to criticise details that were obviously open to criticism from a housekeeper's point of view. She repressed a strong itch to talk to Neil about Diana's ways of management. The only latitude Lueinda allowed herself in this respect was to tell him every now and again: "Diana will learn"—with a little smile of re-assurance. When Neil first heard this, he stared at her in blank astonishment. The idea of Diana having to learn anything in so simple a matter as catering for the two of them! In that affair of Eric, she had shown—for a girl—a surprising grasp of financial matters, had proved herself the possessor of a "business head." Confound Lucinda's cheek! That did not, of course, prevent Lueinda from saying the same thing again at more or less frequent intervals. In time it began to assume a sort of significance in Neil's mind. Bank books rarely liej and at the end of the first six months his afforded a somewhat discouraging commentary on Diana's management. He blamed "himself. He had given her extra money whenever she asked for it, without protest, without question—this deliberately and of set purpose. Kindly friends had warned him that the cause of the first "tiff" between married people was, in nine cases out of ten, a difference about money, and he had determined then and there to face the problem squarely. He had faced it in the fashion that seemed

best to him—by resolving that no "difference" shuold ever become a "dispute." Or that it should ever be a reason for discord or unheppiness, even for one moment. For the purpose of their scheme of life, money matters were to be treated as non-existent. In these first months—quite apart from his superb faith in Diana's wisdom —it had been wonderfully easy to maintain this attitude. He was living in a world of almost unspeakable glamour and delight that made the fa&t-reccding memory of the engagement period flat and tame by comparison. Such was the

marvel and mystery of this new life of the intimacies that make life itself worth ljving, that he could have spent his whole time in contemplating them, absorbing them into his psychic system, basking an the gentle radiance of thir joyfulness. Strangely, as it seemed to him, he derived an almost equal pleasure from discovering both the spiritual' points of contact and the points or difference between Diana and himself. In fact, at this stage, the differences were by far the more fascinating of the two. He saw no menace in them, found no flaw in the half-intellectual, half-sensuous satisfaction they gave.

Even after six months of his waking dream the condition of his bank balance did not seriously disturb him. The only reason why he had thought about it at all was the fact—at least the doctor said it was a fact—that Diana was with child.

He knew little about such matters, but he did know that even the bringing of a baby into the world costs money. He had o;ily the vaguest idea of how much it would cost, but he imagined it would cost a good deal. That would mean realisation of capital or borrowing the cash—it came to much the same thing in the end—and when one begins to realise or borrow, the practice has an unpleasant habit of repeating itself.

To be sure, there was nothing to worry about.

Yet it was just as a faint wisp of cloud in the blueness of his sky—because he knew that he had been giving Diana quite a lot of money for this thing or that; more, much more, than their care,fulJy drawn up schedule of household expenses called for.

One evening Eric came in. This member of the clan had only paid one previous visit, some two months ago, when he fyad talked continuously of booming land priccs. The Baltimore concern was to Be formed into & limited company. Neil's money' had always been safe, but this new development would make it doubly so.

Neil had hot seen why, but had not pressed for further information, since Eric promised to let him know full particulars later.

No particulars, however, had been forthcoming, and, what was more, the half year's interest on the mortgage was two months overdue. Repeated attempts to extract it had met with apologies and verbose explanations of how heavy promotion costs had temporarily swallowed the company's liquid resources. There had been a promise of extra interest on the deferred interest.

This evening Eric came to talk about the Baltimore Land Company, but not of its booming prices or its glorious prospects. In fact, he was decidedly pessimistic.

"Wish we'd never started building," he said gloomily. "Builders are so unreasonable—they want a cheque for every brick they lay. And the promoter chap whose working with Cohen over this company business—he's another greedy blighter. And we never did have much loose cash lyir.g about." "How's the share issue going?" asked Neil.

"Slowly," confessed Eric. "Very slowly. Somehow the public don't seem to be attracted. You haven't applied for any shares, have you?" Neil shook his head. "Will you tro to allotment ?"

"Heaven knows! Of course, as a partner in the concern I shall have a certain holding—in lieu of .cash, you see. Cohen said it would look bad otherwise. But I hope to get back some of the money the governor put up for the flotation conies off. Oh, by the way" --he rgddhmgd slight Jjr---" tha t mortgage

interest of yours—we hope to pay it next week. "I could do with it just now," said Neil. Diana looked up in surprise. "Oh, we're not so awfully hard up, Neil dear," she said protestingly. Neil wished he had not made his remark. But he had to justify it. "We've been spending a good deal lately, Di," he said. Diana looked at him, and a sudden suspicion crossed her mind. "You mean, I suppose, that I've been spending a good deal lately," she said slowly. "Has Lucinda been at you?" The last suggestion irritated him, in spite of himself and his resolves. "Leave Lucinda out of it," he said sharply. "I mean't exactly what I said, and no more nor less." "Oil, all right—as if 1 didn't know. All the same, I should have thought with those thousands you got from your father, tlie being kept waiting a bit for a few pounds would not hurt us." "Yon don't understand—" began Neil. But Eric who, with all his faults, had flashes of commonsense and tautfulness, now butted in.

"Neil's quite right, Di," he said mildly. "It doesn't matter tuppence whether he's hard up or not. The interest was due to bo paid, and ought to have been paid. It's a matter of business—that's all."

This quelled the little storm for a time. But Diana did not forget, and as soon as Eric had gone, she asked one of her disconcertingly direct questions. "Have I been extravagant, Neil?'* "I never suggested such a thing," he returned warmlv.

"But have I—managed well?" "Quite well enough for me, Di darling. And that's all that matters."

"But you said we had spent a lot of money, and that I didn't understand." "Yea—it was damned silly of me," he said recklessly. She was studying his face, a halfquizzical look on her own. She said gently: "I'm not a bit angry. Not even sad. I suppose I ought to be, but the truth is—l'm really rather glad that you said that Neil. I'm a bit fed-up with this housekeeping business. It doesn't give me a chance to live. One can't live among pots and pans and sink tidies and kettles that won't come to the boil and stews that will boil and—oh— Lucinda's lectures on how not to do it. Cooking was jolly enough—cooking for J*""' * mean—was jolly enough to start with it was a sort of continuation of our picnics, but now"—she made a grimace—"it's only a continuation of a continuation."

'You cook splendidlv," he said earnestly, but she took no notice. "I'd have been afraid to throw up the job if you really though I was better at it than anybody else," she went on evenly, "but now I'm awful glad you've given me an excuse to drop it. You didn't marry me because you thought I could cook, did yon?" He muttered that he had not thought anything about the matter, and added that in any case—Diana's health being what it was—he had been going to suggest her getting a daily maid for the time being.

"Then, that's one thing settled," said Diana with a relieved air. "Now about tr ( l 9~y° u Ba 'd I didn't understand?" I have said already it was silly of me to say that," ho spoke humbly. I hate to hear that £1400 of yours mentioned," she said. "Darling! It's only a matter of business—as Eric said just now. If I i OS e the lot, I shan't blame Eric. And I shan't worry—nor regret. Good heavens, no! Why, that very transaction was what brought me the very best bit of luck I've ever had in the world. I«, was just after I'd decided to help Eric out that you—you, darling—Promised to marry nie. Regret it, indeed! Di, if I'd loaned Eric all the money I possessed at the time I should not regret it. My— dear, whatever is the matter?"

She had covered her face with her hands. She was shaking from head to foot.

"Don't—don't say those things, Neil dear. It is terrible. You make me feel as if I had sold myself to you for that wretched money. Don't say I did. Don't, Neil."

"Don't you be a ridiculous darling. Just as if two such things could be connected. You're tired, Di—it's the child that's coming—our child—Eric stayed too—that's it, you're tired and overwrought. Come along to bed this minute."

But Diana began to sob. He tried a little more persuasion, then desisted, and sat waiting. It was probably a form of hysteria. The doctor had warned him of the possibility of some such thing. It would pass—and the nonsensical morbid imaginings with it.

Diana sat up, dabbing her eyes. "What's to be done about it" she asked in a strained voice.

"Nothing," he said lightly. "It's moonshine. Nothing is ever done about moonshine," and he laughed. "But what if—if it is true—if I did promise just because of that?"

"I don't remember we made any bargain—cash down o. anything of that sort," he said facetiously, humouring while scouting the wild suggestion. "Suppose the bargain was in my mind —all the time?"

Neil felt a queer tightening at his throat—the stranglehold of a dread calamity impending. He stared at her iu silence. Then he said woodenly: "I don't quite see what you're drivinc at, Di."

"It was in my mind," she repeated drearily. "Just at that time I was in a muddle all round—a mental muddle— perhaps you'd call it a heart muddle— with various people. Then, when you told me what you were going to do for Eric, it struck me—hard—what a brick you were—what a brick you'd been to me all along. And I thought—being in a muddle —I thought, if I married you, I should be giving something in return for your goodness, and should be sort of safe from myself—and that you loved me so much that it would be enough for both of us." She stopped, glancing at hiih fearfully.

His face was as a stone.

CHAPTER XIX. "I—don't—know. I'm very fond of you, Neil, dear, but—it's different — somehow—from love." He looked at her bowed head; then, with shaking fingers, lit a cigarette. "Why have you told me this—tonight?" he asked after a pause. "It was the baby made me think about of. I felt—oh, I felt afraid about it, afraid of something dreadful happening. It didn't seem right that we should be having a child—when I did not love you. And I felt mean, ever so mean because—because it was not only your giving that money that made me marry you. It was Lucinda as well." "Lucinda ?" "Yes —Lucinda was beginning to be fond of you. And I was afraid, if Lucinda marriofl you, I should lose you for a pal. It was wicked—stupid of me." Neil said nothing to this. In the scattered jumble of his thoughts, one fact stood out with terrible distinctness.

hammering itself on his brain. Whal he had achieved, after all his tribulation was Diana without Diana's heart, with' out her soul. He had vainly imagined that the bright spark of his own lov« had kindled an answering flame in her And he had really done nothing of the kind. Spiritually, she was as far from him as she had been that day at I'evensey. What lie had brought about was not Conquest, but Purchase. It was all so bewildering, this unreal marriage of his, that the revelation of Lucinda's part in bringing it about touched him hardly at all. It was only later that he could bring himself to think a little about Lucinda. He said dully: "You were right to tell me, Di. I shall know now what to not to expect." "\ou won't hate me?" she whispered, the tears again her eyes. He shook his head. "We must just carry on. It's not only ourselves we have to consider now." They "carried on." Next day he made no reference to the subject. Neither did she. The inevitable constraint between them was less than he had feared—after a few days, ordinary eventless life had dulled the sharpness of the blow he had received. Diana, naturally, was the first to recover her normal spirits. In her case there had been no dislocation; merely a jarring of her psychological system that would richt itself with rest. n But with Neil the very ground of his existence had been torn from under his feet. It was November when their baby was born. One foggy morning in response to an urgent telephone message, Lucinda came post haste to (he flat, followed an hour or two later by the maternity nurse, who had been engaged some weeks pdeviously. Together these two women literally elbowed Neil away from Diana's side. He was told flatly that as he was no use there, and might be in the way, lie had best go to the office as usual. Nothing was likely to happen before his return at the usual hour.

Ho went, but hurried home about five o'clock through a fog that had grown denser. The tiny flat was full of it, dimming the polished surfaces of furniture, glass, even the brightness of the electric bulbs.

The door of the bedroom was open. He peeped in, caught a swift vision of Diana's face, flushed against the white pillow, contorted with pain; hesitated. Lucinda, emerging from the kitchen, plucked at his arm. "Don't go in," she whispered. "It'll only distress you—and 6he's quit© all right really. \ou can't do anything you know, until it's time for the doctor." That was the strict truth. He couldn't do anything, but Diana had seen him. and was waving her hand a grotesquely jaunty gesture. He waved back; turned away, gulping, and afraid, terribly afraid. Through the long night he sat in the small sitting room, listening to every sound that reached him through the thin wall —the murmur of conversation, an occasional exclamation—more than an occasional groan and odd whimpering cry. He had a dreadful ache to go in and try to comfort her. The "business," or rather the first phase of it, culminated in the small hours of the morning. "A fine boy" the doctor told him in a voice husky with fog. "Nine pounds—just over," he added—as if the information were important. Neil was allowed to fee Diana as the ordeal left her—a shadow of herself and to inspect the new arrival. He was shocked at his wife's appearance. Towards the red-faced bundle that was his son he felt nothing whatever.

\ou aren't bit of tho proud father," Lucinda rallied him, and he had to be apologetic, self-excusatory, in order to satisfy these women's sense of the joyousness of the occasion.

After that, Lucinda came every day for a week. There was a daily maid as well —to say nothing of the nurse—so no need actually existed for her presence. But she came and often stayed to dinner with Neil; and Diana seemed glad that she came.

In the monstrously swollen menage there was just room for Neil, and no more. While the nurse stayed, domestic life was little better than a picnic existence. Yet the picnic was quite a cheerful one, and Diana at least appeared to be thoroughly enjoying it. She found the baby amusing, she told Neil once. But something kept them from discussing tho baby overmuch.

Then the nurse departed. Lucinda's visits began to straggle out—there was Christmas shopping to do. And the second stage of the "business" began. Diana supported this stage, indifferently at first, then badly. At the end of a week, the sunniness that was natural to her had departed, she became peevish, irritable Impotent to help her much in dealing with the baby, Neil could only look on and wonder whethfer this was the common experience of the parents, and if so, why. Or if not that, whether it was due to Diana not having wanted the child, to the fact of its being the child, not of their love but of his passion. It was the last thought that got hold of him. Three weeks of misery, and then Lucinda came to the rescue. Lucinda, cheerful, eager for service. ' She took up her quarters in their one spare bedroom. The difference was at once apparent. It was not merely that she relieved Diana of a great part of her maternal duties; she also took

charge of the daily maid, ordered the meals, ran the household. Neil was no slave to his own comfort, but he could not help noticing that Lucinda made things a vast deal more comfortable. It was not merely that meal* became once more an enjoyable function; the domestic atmosphere underwent a complete change.

Diana reacted quickly, and settled down to a marvellous contentment with things in general. Neil had half feared that as soon as her first sense of relief from her burdens had passed off she would begin to resent the way in which Lucinda took matters out of her hands. In his view, it really amounted to the abdication of her position in the household. But he need not have worried. She seemed positively to glory in being "bossed" by Lucinda—particularly in matters relating to the youthful "Neil" as they had decided to call him.

Lucinda surprised Neil, the father, one day by his opinion on a new food preparation she proposed giving tt» his offspring, who had been ailing somewhat.

"I don't know anything about it," he protested. "What does Di say?" Lucinda said: "I haven't aslced Di. She doesn't take any interest in his food." Dnrinp office hours Neil considered the implication of this statement—or rather, accusation—and decided to test its truth. Alone with Diana that night, h» circumspectly approached the subject of baby welfare in general, and of tlieir baby's in particular. "There's nothing the matter with baby," said Diana. "Lucinda seems to think there is." "Oh, Lucinda's cut out for a grandmother. Let's talk about something else." There was no other subject in his mind uiFt then. He said nothing. "Neil!" she said presently. "Yes." "Babies are rotten." There was so much of the old Dhna '.n this emphatic generalisation that he laughed. He *aid" "But there's no gettinp away from the fact of Baby Neil. Better make the best of it—and him." "That's what I'm trying to do," she rejoined a trifle mysteriously. (To be continued Saturday next.)