THE SECRET OF MRS TOM SMITH.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XVII, Issue II, 11 July 1896, Page 56

THE SECRET OF MRS TOM SMITH.

BY

ROMA WHITE.

4 T" nay, who's that lovely woman ?’ || • Mrs Tom Smith.’ * And the Johnnie with her ?’ • Mr Ditto.’ • No ; you don’t say so !’ ‘ Fact '.’ • That’s the way of the world. It isn’t the ungodly who flourish like green baytrees nowadays; it’s the dull, hopeless, lifeless, uninteresting people—the people who are like cold veal or tepid lemonade. The Tom Smiths, in fact. • How do you know Tom Smith does flourish like a green bay tree? He doesn’t give one the idea of suggesting the simile. Look ; he's going to talk to the Vicar’s daughter. Somehow he always is talking to Vicar’s daughters. One gets to regard it as bis vocation.* • Flourish ? of course be does ! Hasn’t he married the loveliest woman I ever saw in my life? And, by Jove ! she’s attractive, too, which is more than I can say of all pretty women. Watch her smile; and see that old Bishop getting more hopelessly drawn in every moment. Is she always surrounded by most of the men in the room.’ • Always. They go to her like flies to sugar. ’ • Why did she marry that dull-looking Tom Smith ?’

The man who asked the question stood in the corner of a crowded Kensington drawing-room, ducking his head occasionally that he might catch a glimpse of the woman who had so excited his interest. The second speaker was leaning against the wall.

* That’s what everybody asks and nobody can answer.’

* Money, I suppose ?’ * Not a bit of it. Tom Smith was poor until he married her—Violet Emerson she was then. The money is her own.* * Position ? No, that’s equally impossible on the face of it.’

* Impossible, of course. She is better born and better bred than he is. She is beautiful, clever, fascinating, and popular. He seems to be a sort of sonl transmigration of that rat in Rudyard Kipling’s story —what’s its name ? The thing that ran round and round by tbe walls, and never came out into the middle of the room.’ Duncan Spencer, the original questioner, moved his position slightly. He wanted to remain in view of Mrs Tom.

* Torkington, old chap!’ he said suddenly, • there’s a mystery somewhere, depend upon it. She has a secret.’ *No doubt she has. Most women have heaps, haven’t they ?’ Charlie Torkington’s eyes had wandered to the door. A couple was just entering—a tall, fair man and a very handsome dark girl in a dress which bad palpably done duty at the altar within the last few months. Many of the guests at Mrs Nottingham’s party hailed the appearance of this couple with interest. Duncan Spencer ran his glance over them and then allowed it to travel back to Mrs Tom Smith. She was also looking towards the couple, and her sweet, fair face lost its brightness for a moment. She had a sudden tired appearance, and her big, soft eyes grew singularly wistful. Tbe change only lasted for a few seconds, then she seemed to recover herself, and turned to the Bishop. Duncan Spencer bad observed all this. He made a step which brought him nearer to his companion. * I say, Torkington, who are those ?' * Mr and Mrs Melville ; fresh back from honeymooning in Italy.’ * What have they to do with Mrs Tom Smith ?’

Charlie Torkington roused himself from his habitual languor with a laugh. ■ What a zest for life you have, Spencer. I wish I could be as interested in things. How do you know they have anything to do with her at all ?’

* I’ve got eyes, old fellow, and I’m more than half in love with Mrs Tom Smith myself. Come, what’s the story ?’ * There is only half of one. Melville paid a good deal of attention to her about a year ago. Then Tom Smith and Mrs Melville —she was Carrie Fane then—came on the scene about the same time. Everyone bad been expecting to hear of Melville’s engagement to Miss Emerson, when suddenly it was announced that be was going to marry Carrie Fane. About a fortnight later Violet Emerson was engaged to Tom Smith. That’s all the world knows about the matter.’

Duncan Spencer looked thoughtful, and continued to watch the four people whom he and Torkington had just discussed. The result of his musings he summed up in an inward soliloquy : • Mrs Tom Smith is in love with some body. No woman ever wears that look unless she is in love. It can’t possibly he with her husband, so it must be with Melville. He looks about as haggard as a man could, and Mrs M. looks anxious and jeal-

ou.s Mr Tom Smith looks as if nothing would ever rouse him to active interest in anything. Ah I but he is interested, too. How oddly he’s looking at his wife, now that Melville has crossed to talk to her. Hullo I somebody in front is speaking of them, too.’

The somewhat strident voice of the lady in front of him reached Duncan Spencer clearly. * Of course everybody knows that Violet Emerson only married Tom Smith out of pique. Pique and a wish for the freedom of a married woman. Poor man ! One can see be is desperately in love with her.

and she treats him shamefully—make* him ■link about in the background while she creates a racial sensation. Ob, yes, I know how popular she is, bnt I should think better of ber if tbe had a little more sense of wifely duty. Wifely lave is what one has learnt not to look for in these modern women. Poor Mr Smith, there he is, shoved into a corner, as usual, talking to the plainest and dowdiest woman in the room.’

Duncan Spencer and Charlie Torkington glanced at each other with a twinkle of amusement. Then Torkington withdrew his shoulders lazily from tbe wall.

* I’ll introduce you to ber, if you like.’ he said. * She’s a very old friend of mine.’ The two men made their way across the crowded drawing-room, and Spencer was presented to Mrs Tom Smith. With the curious attraction that women sometimes feel for their rivals, she and Mrs Melville had already sought each other out. They were chattering busily and with every appearance df friendliness, when the introduction broke in upon their momentary tite <l- - Then Charlie Torkington took Mrs Melville downstairs for some coffee, and Dunean Spencer was left to enjoy the conversation of Mrs Tom.

And very bright, witty conversation it was, falling as spontaneously from her pretty curved lips as the chatter of a child. Spencer listened and answered admiringly, feeling half envious of, half sorry for, poor obliterated Tom Smith, who was exchanging very halting and occasional platitudes with the Vicar’s daughter in the corner.

* Poor chap !’ thought Duncan to himself. * Of course he must know that his wife isn’t in love with him, and I expect he feels pretty bad about it. I should, though I shouldn’t adore her the less. I wonder if she’s tolerant of him. She must be a tender-hearted . woman, or she wouldn't have that soft look in her big blue eyes.’ Mrs Tom Smith bad been silent for a minute or two. Mrs Melville had returned to the room, and was standing by her husband. Mrs Tom Smith was watching them, and the sad. wistful look had come back to her face. Suddenly she rose. ‘Good night, Mr Spencer,’ she said. * I think my busband looks as if the carriage were waiting !’. She smiled and nodded, and went across to where Mr Tom Smith sat, looking dull and bored, in his corner. They left the room together, and Duncan Spencer watched them through the doorway.

* The sweetest woman I ever met in my life,’ he said to himself. * Lucky Tom Smith ! Poor Tom Smith !’ Meanwhile, Mr and Mrs Tom Smith were driving down Park Lane. Mrs Smith bad opened the carriage-window, and was wishing she were at home in Herefordshire, where she could smell the appleblossoms and see the stars. Suddenly she half turned her face, and her little gloved fingers sought for her husband’s hand.

She found it, after some hunting, plunged into bis pocket. And she nestled her fingers coaxingly into hie palm. • Tom,’ she said, softly.

‘ Yes,’ answered Tom. His voice had nothing particular about it; it was dull and neutral as his personality. And he did not return the pressure of her fingers. ‘ There is one little thing* in my life I have never told you.’ * Well, what is it’’ * Mr Melville proposed to me before he proposed to Carrie Fane.’ * Did he ? I thought they seemed very gone on each other.’

Mrs Tom Smith sighed. * No, they’re not, dear; they’re not. Not yet. But they will be ; they suit each other exactly. They will have a happy married life. Somehow, to night they made me feel choky.’ ‘Why? You could have married Melville if you’d wanted to !’ * I didn’t want to—you know that, Tom !’

Mrs Tom Smith made another movement, which brought her still nearer to her husband. It would have become a caress had he encouraged it. But be withdrew from it, and she started back as if she had been stung. * They have hope in life, Tom,’ she said, with a note of bitterness in her voice. * And I—we—have we any ?’ The carriage stopped, and so Tom Smith never gave any answer to that question. His wife swept upstairs with a proud gait, and closed her bedroom door. He turned into his sanctum, and began to smoke.

As he smoked, his dull, uninteresting eyes stared at a portrait on his desk. It was a portrait of his wife, looking back over her shoulder with a merry smile. He had seen men’s eyes grow bright and warm when she had made that gesture, which was as natural and gracious as everything else she said and did. But his own heart was never stirred by it—never bad been stirred as far as he could recollect. Looking back on his courtship, he remembered that he had wooed Violet Emerson in a vague sort of fashion, until it had suddenly occurred to him that he might as well ask her to marry him. He knew that Jhe had made an impression on her, yet be was rather surprised at her instant acceptance of him; for he had been but half-hearted throughont. He was well aware that he had a trick of voice and gesture which he could assume for a woman when alone with her, the existence of which had never been suspected by the world at large. He fancied it was this meaningless trick which had won Violet Emerson from all her suitors ; but he did not know. He only knew that she was too brilliant for him—too clever, too popular ; and that he bad found it out since he had married her. He would have liked a woman who could knit socks and to whom be might read extracts from the Encyclopaedia. Violet expected ideals from him, and he had none; ex-

pected moral strength and sincerity, and he was deficient in these also.

So he smoksd on, dully and gloomily, staring with uninterested eyes at the portrait, and wondering why he should be the only man in the world incapable of appreciating his wife's charms. And meanwhile Duncan Spencer went home with Charlie Torkiugton, and delivered his views of the situation.

* I tell you what, Torkiugton, that woman’s marriage is just bondage to her. She must almost bate her husband. I wish he’d hook it; I’d go in for her myself. Why does a woman ever marry a mau she doesn’t love ? What is the secret that made Miss Violet Emerson into Mrs Tom Smith !’

And upstairs, in a locked bedroom, was a woman, sobbing. A woman who could have given the answer to the world, and made them participators in her secret, had there been the faintest chance of the world believing her. And, as she sobbed, she knelt and prayed. *ls it because I love him too much ’ Is it because I make too many demands upon him, and weary him ’ Ob. why didn't he leave me alone ? Why did he ever look and speak like that if he didn’t know what it meant to make a woman care? Oh, Tom, Tom, darling, why did you marry me if yon didn’t know how to love me ’ Other people have known how—but never you. And I have to go on, day after day, day after day, hoping, and sickening of hope, and trying every way to make the love grow. It has never been the same with other people—only with you, Tom, my love, only with yon.’ And so the secret of Mrs Tom Smith was never told, expect to Heaven.