A Duet

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But suddenly he sprang from his chair. There was the sound of steps,
of several steps, outside upon the gravel path. Then a key clicked,
and a burst of cold air told them that the door was open.

'It's agin' the law for me to enter,' said a gruff voice.

'I tell you she's very strong and violent,' said a second voice,
which Frank recognised as that of Mrs. Watson. 'She chased the maid
out of the house, and I can do nothing with her.'

'Very sorry, mum, but it's clean agin' the law of England. Give me a
warrant, and in I come. If you will bring her to the doorstep, I
will be answerable for her removal.'

'She's in the dining-room. I can see the lights,' said Mrs. Watson;
and then, 'Good Lord, Mr. Crosse, what a fright you gave me! Oh dear
me, that you should have come when I was out, and I not expecting you
for another two days yet. Well, now, I shall never forgive myself
for this.'

But all the mistakes and misfortunes were very quickly explained.
The telegram was the root of the evil. And then the new cook had
proved to be a violent, intermittent drunkard. She had chased the
other maid out of the house, and then, while Mrs. Watson rushed for
the police, she had drunk herself into the stupor in which she had
been found. But now, in the nick of time, the station cab came up
with the luggage, and so the still placidly slumbering culprit was
carried out to it, and sent off in the charge of the policeman. Such
was the first entry of Mr. and Mrs. Crosse into their home at The
Lindens.

CHAPTER IX--LAYING A COURSE

Frank Crosse was a methodical young man--his enemies might sometimes
have called him pedantic,--and he loved to reduce his life to rule
and order. It was one of his peculiarities. But how about this new
life into which he was entering? It took two to draw up the rules
for that. The little two-oared craft who put out upon that voyage
have to lay their own course, each for itself; and all round them, as
they go, they see the floating timbers and broken keels of other
little boats, which had once started out full of hope and confidence.
There are currents and eddies, low sand-banks and sunken reefs, and
happy the crews who see them ahead, and trim their course to avoid
them. Frank brooded over it all. He had seen something of life, for
his years. He was observant and reflective. He had watched his
friends who were happy, and he had watched his friends who were not.
And now, as a result of all this wise cogitation, he sat down at a
table one evening, with a solemn face, and a sheet of foolscap.

'Now, Maude,' said he, 'I want to have a serious talk.'

Maude looked up in surprise from the linen which she was marking.

'Oh dear!' she cried.

'Why "oh dear"?'

'There's something wrong?'

'Nothing in the world.'

'You looked so solemn, Frank. I thought you had been looking at the
tradesman's books. What is it, dear?'

'Well, Maude, I have been thinking of married life in general. Don't
you think it would be a good thing if we were to make some
resolutions as to how it should be conducted--some fundamental
principles, as it were?'

'Oh do, dear, do! What fun it will be!'

'But it's serious, Maude.'

'Yes, dear, I am quite serious.'

'It seemed to me, that if we could reduce it to certain rules, then,
whatever came upon us in the future, we should always know exactly
how to act.'

'What are the rules, dear?'

'Well, we can only arrive at them by talking it over between
ourselves. I could not draw up a set of rules, and ask you to submit
to them. That is not my idea of a partnership. But if we found that
we were agreed upon certain points, then we could both adopt them by
mutual consent.'

'How charming, Frank! Do please tell me some of the points.'

'I have a few in my mind, and I should like to hear any which you may
have--any ideas, you know, how to get the very highest and best out
of our life. Now, first of all, there is the subject of
quarrelling.'

'O Frank, how horrid!'

'Dear girl, we must look into the future. We are going to live all
our lives together. We must foresee and prepare for all the chances
of life.'

'But that is absurd.'

'You can't live all your life and never be in a bad temper!'

'But not with YOU, Frank.'

'Oh, I can be very aggravating sometimes. Now, my idea is this.
Ill-humour passes and hurts nobody. But if two people are ill-
humoured, then each excites the other, and they say ever so much more
than they mean. Let us make a compact never both to be ill-humoured
at the same time. If YOU are cross, then it is your turn, and I
stand clear. If _I_ am cross, you let me work it off. When either
hoists the danger-signal, the other is on guard. What do you think
of that?'

'I think you are the funniest old boy--'

'Do you agree?'

'Yes, dear, of course I agree.'

'Article number one,' said Frank, and scribbled upon his paper.

'Your turn, now.'

'No, dear, I have not thought of anything.'

'Well, then, here is another point. Never take each other for
granted.'

'What do you mean by that?'

'Never relax those attentions which one lover shows to another. Some
husbands seem to forget that their wives are ladies. Some wives
speak to their husbands with less courtesy and consideration than to
any casual male visitor. They mean no harm, but they get into a
slack way. We must not do that.'

'I don't think we are likely to.'

'People get into it unconsciously. Pull me up sharply at the first
sign.'

'Yes, sir, I will.'

'The next point that I have noted is an extension of the last. Let
each strive to be worthy of the love of the other. People get
slovenly and slipshoddy, as if it didn't matter now that they were
married. If each were very keen to please the other, that would not
be so. How many women neglect their music after marriage.'

'My goodness, I haven't practised for a week!' cried Maude.

'And their dress and their hair'--Maude's hand flew up to her curls.
'My darling, yours is just perfect. But you know how often a woman
grows careless. "He will love me anyhow," she says to herself, and
perhaps she is right, but still it is not as it should be.'

'Why, Frank, I had no idea you knew so much.'

'I have heard my friends' experiences.--And the man too: he should
consider his wife's feelings as much as he did his sweetheart's. If
she dislikes smoke, he should not smoke. He should not yawn in her
presence. He should keep himself well-groomed and attractive. Look
at that dirty cuff! I have no business to have it.'

'As if it could make any difference to me.'

'There now! That is what is so demoralising. You should stand out
for the highest. When I came to you at St Albans, I had not dirty
cuffs.'

'You forgive me the music, Frank, and I'll forgive you the cuff. But
I agree to all you say. I think it is so wise and good. Now I've
got something to add.'

'Good. What is it?'

'Each should take an interest in the other's department.'

'Why, of course they should.'

'But it is not done.'

'Why naturally, dear, you take an interest in my City work.'

'Yes, sir, but do you take as keen an interest in my housekeeping?'

'Perhaps I have been a little thoughtless.'

'No, no, dear, you haven't. You are always full of consideration.
But I have noticed it with mother, and with others also. The husband
pulls out his cheque-book at the end of the week or month, and he
says, "Well, this is rather more than we can afford," or "This is
less than I expected," but he never really takes any interest in his
wife's efforts to keep things nice on a little. He does not see it
with her eyes and try to realise her difficulties. Oh, I wish I
could express myself better, but I know that the interest is one-
sided.'

'I think what you say is quite right. I'll try to remember that.
How shall we enter it upon our list?'

'That Interests should be mutual.'

'Quite right. I have it down. Well, any more points?'

'It is your turn.'

'Well, there is this, and I feel that it is just the holiest thing in
matrimony, and its greatest justification--that love should never
degenerate into softness, that each should consciously stimulate the
better part of the other and discourage the worse, that there should
be a discipline in our life, and that we should brace each other up
to a higher ideal. The love that says, "I know it is wrong, but I
love him or her so much that I can't refuse," is a poor sort of love
for the permanent use of married life. The self-respect which
refuses to let the most lofty ideal of love down by an inch is a far
nobler thing, and it wears better too.'

'How will you express all that?'

'Mutual respect is necessary for mutual love.'

'Yes, I am sure that that is right.'

'It sounds obvious, but the very intensity of love makes love soft
and blind. Now I have another, which I am convinced that you will
not agree with.'

'Let me hear it.'

'I have put it in this way, "The tight cord is the easiest to snap."'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, I mean that married couples should give each other a certain
latitude and freedom. If they don't, one or other will sooner or
later chafe at the restriction. It is only human nature, which is an
older and more venerable thing than marriage.'

'I don't like that at all, Frank.'

'I feared you wouldn't, dear, but I believe you'll see it with me
when I explain what I mean. If you don't, then I must try to see it
with you. When one talks of freedom in married life, it means, as a
rule, freedom only for the man. He does what he likes, but still
claims to be a strict critic of his wife. That, I am sure, is wrong.
To take an obvious example of what I mean, has a husband a right to
read his wife's letters? Certainly not, any more than she has a
right to read his without his permission. To read them as a matter
of course would be stretching the chain too tight.'

'Chain is a horrid word, Frank.'

'Well, it is only a metaphor. Or take the subject of friendships.
Is a married man to be debarred from all friendship and intimacy with
another woman?'

Maude looked doubtful.

'I should like to see the woman first,' she said.

'Or is a married woman to form no friendship with another man who
might interest or improve her? There is such a want of mutual
confidence in such a view. People who are sure of each other should
give each other every freedom in that. If they don't, they are again
stretching it tight.'

'If they do, it may become so slack that it might as well not be
there at all.'

'I felt sure that we should have an argument over this. But I have
seen examples. Look at the Wardrops. THERE were a couple who were
never apart. It was their boast that everything was in common with
them. If he was not in, she opened his letters, and he hers. And
then there came a most almighty smash. The tight cord had snapped.
Now, I believe that for some people, it is a most excellent thing
that they should take their holidays at different times.'

'O Frank!'

'Yes, I do. No, not for us, by Jove! I am generalising now. But
for some couples, I am sure that it is right. They reconsider each
other from a distance, and they like each other the better.'

'Yes, but these rules are for our guidance, not for that of other
people.'

'Quite right, dear. I was off the rails. "As you were," as your
brother Jack would say. But I am afraid that I am not going to
convince you over this point.'

Maude looked charmingly mutinous.

'No, Frank, you are not. I don't think marriage can be too close. I
believe that every hope, and thought, and aspiration should be in
common. I could never get as near to your heart and soul as I should
wish to do. I want every year to draw me closer and closer, until we
really are as nearly the same person as it is possible to be upon
earth.'

When you have to surrender, it is well to do so gracefully. Frank
stooped down and kissed his wife's hand, and apologised. 'The wisdom
of the heart is greater than the wisdom of the brain,' said he. But
the love of man comes from the brain, far more than the love of
woman, and so it is that there will always be some points upon which
they will never quite see alike.

'Then we scratch out that item.'

'No, dear. 'Put "The cord which is held tight is the easiest to
snap." That will be all right. The cord of which I speak is never
held at all. The moment it is necessary to hold it, it is of no
value. It must be voluntary, natural, unavoidable.'

So Frank amended his aphorism.

'Anything more, dear?'

'Yes, I have thought of one other,' said she. 'It is that if ever
you had to find fault with me about anything, it should be when we
are alone.'

'And the same in your case with me. That is excellent. What can be
more vulgar and degrading than a public difference of opinion?
People do it half in fun sometimes, but it is wrong all the same.
Duly entered upon the minutes. Anything else?'

'Only material things.'

'Yes, but they count also. Now, in the matter of money, I feel that
every husband should allow his wife a yearly sum of her own, to be
paid over to her, and kept by her, so that she may make her own
arrangements for herself. It is degrading to a woman to have to
apply to her husband every time she wants a sovereign. On the other
hand, if the wife has any money, she should have the spending of it.
If she chooses to spend part of it in helping the establishment, that
is all right, but I am sure that she should have her own separate
account, and her own control of it.'

'If a woman really loves a man, Frank, how can she grudge him
everything she has? If my little income would take one worry from
your mind, what a joy it would be to me to feel that you were using
it!'

'Yes, but the man has his self-respect to think of. In a great
crisis one might fall back upon one's wife--since our interests are
the same, but only that could justify it. So much for the wife's
money. Now for the question of housekeeping.'

'That terrible question!'

'It is only hard because people try to do so much upon a little. Why
should they try to do so much? The best pleasures of life are
absolutely inexpensive. Books, music, pleasant intimate evenings,
the walk among the heather, the delightful routine of domestic life,
my cricket and my golf--these things cost very little.'

'But you must eat and drink, Frank. And as to Jemima and the cook,
it is really extraordinary the amount which they consume.'

'But the tendency is for meals to become much too elaborate. Why
that second vegetable?'

'There now! I knew that you were going to say something against that
poor vegetable. It costs so little.'

'On an average, I have no doubt that it costs threepence a day. Come
now, confess that it does. Do you know what threepence a day comes
to in a year? There is no use in having an accountant for a husband,
if you can't get at figures easily. It is four pounds eleven
shillings and threepence.'

'It does not seem very much.'

'But for that money, and less, one could become a member of the
London Library, with the right to take out fifteen books at a time,
and all the world's literature to draw from. Now just picture it:
on one side, all the books in the world, all the words of the wise,
and great, and witty; on the other side, a lot of cauliflowers and
vegetable-marrows and French beans. Which is the better bargain?'

'Good gracious, we shall never have a second vegetable again!'

'And pudding?'

'My dear, you always eat the pudding.'

'I know I do. It seems an obvious thing to do when the pudding is
there in front of me. But if it were not there, I should neither eat
it nor miss it, and I know that you care nothing about it. There
would be another five or six pounds a year.'

'We'll have a compromise, dear. Second vegetable one day, pudding
the next.'

'Very good.'

'I notice that it is always after you have had a substantial meal
that you discuss economy in food. I wonder if you will feel the same
when you come back starving from the City to-morrow? Now, sir, any
other economy?'

'I don't think money causes happiness. But debt causes unhappiness.
And so we must cut down every expense until we have a reserve fund to
meet any unexpected call. If you see any way in which I could save,
or any money I spend which you think is unjustifiable, I do wish that
you would tell me. I got into careless ways in my bachelor days.'

'That red golfing-coat.'

'I know. It was idiotic of me.'

'Never mind, dear. You look very nice in it. After all, it was only
thirty shillings. Can you show me any extravagance of mine?'

'Well, dear, I looked at that dressmaker's bill yesterday.'

'O Frank, it is such a pretty dress, and you said you liked it, and
you have to pay for a good cut, and you said yourself that a wife
must not become dowdy after marriage, and it would have cost double
as much in Regent Street.'

'I didn't think the dress dear.'

'What was it, then?'

'The silk lining of the skirt.'

'You funny boy!'

'It cost thirty shillings extra. Now, what can it matter if it is
lined with silk or not?'

'Oh, doesn't it? Just you try one and see.'

'But no one can know that it is lined with silk.'

'When I rustle into a room, dear, every woman in it knows that my
skirt is lined with silk.'

Frank felt that he had ventured out of his depth, so he struck out
for land again.

'There's only one economy which I don't think is justifiable,' said
he, 'and that is, to cut down your subscriptions to charities. It is
such a very cheap way of doing things. Not that I do much in that
line--too little, perhaps. But to say that because WE want to
economise, therefore some poor people are to suffer, is a very poor
argument. We must save at our own expense.'

So now Frank, in his methodical fashion, had all his results
tabulated upon his sheet of foolscap. It was not a very brilliant
production, but it might serve as a chart for the little two-oared
boats until a better one is forthcoming. It ran in this way -

Maxims for the Married

1. Since you ARE married, you may as well make the best of it.

2. So make some maxims and try to live up to them.

3. And don't be discouraged if you fail. You WILL fail, but perhaps
you won't always fail.

4. Never both be cross at the same time. Wait your turn.

5. Never cease to be lovers. If you cease, some one else may begin.

6. You were gentleman and lady before you were husband and wife.
Don't forget it.

7. Keep yourself at your best. It is a compliment to your partner.

8. Keep your ideal high. You may miss it, but it is better to miss
a high one than to hit a low one.

9. A blind love is a foolish love. Encourage the best in each
other's nature.

10. Permanent mutual respect is necessary for a permanent mutual
love. A woman can love without respect, but a man cannot.

11. The tight cord is the easiest to snap.

12. Let there be one law for both.

13. There is only one thing worse than quarrels in public. That is
caresses.

14. Money is not essential to happiness, but happy people usually
have enough.

15. So save some.

16. The easiest way of saving is to do without things.

17. If you can't, then you had better do without a wife.

18. The man who respects his wife does not turn her into a
mendicant. Give her a purse of her own.

19. If you save, save at your own expense.

20. In all matters of money, prepare always for the worst and hope
for the best.

Such was their course as far as this ambitious young couple could lay
it. They may correct it by experience, and improve it by use, but it
is good enough to guide them safely out to sea.

CHAPTER X--CONFESSIONS

'Tell me, Frank, did you ever love any one before me?'

'How badly trimmed the lamp is to-night!' said he. It was so bad
that he went off instantly into the dining-room to get another. It
was some time before he returned.

She waited inexorably until he had settled down again.

'Did you, Frank?' she asked.

'Did I what?'

'Ever love any one else?'

'My dear Maude, what IS the use of asking questions like that?'

'You said that there were no secrets between us.'

'No, but there are some things better left alone.'

'That is what I should call a secret.'

'Of course, if you make a point of it--'

'I do.'

'Well, then, I am ready to answer anything that you ask. But you
must not blame me if you do not like my answers.'

'Who was she, Frank?'

'Which?'

'O Frank, more than one!'

'I told you that you would not like it.'

'Oh, I wish I had not asked you!'

'Then do let us drop it.'

'No, I can't drop it now, Frank. You have gone too far. You must
tell me everything.'

'Everything?'

'Yes, everything, Frank.'

'I am not sure that I can.'

'Is it so dreadful as that?'

'No, there is another reason.'

'Do tell me, Frank.'

'There is a good deal of it. You know how a modern poet excused
himself to his wife for all his pre-matrimonial experiences. He said
that he was looking for her.'

'Well, I do like that!' she cried indignantly.

'I was looking for you.'

'You seem to have looked a good deal.'

'But I found you at last.'

'I had rather you had found me at first, Frank.' He said something
about supper, but she was not to be turned.

'How many did you really love?' she asked. 'Please don't joke about
it, Frank. I really want to know.'

'If I choose to tell you a lie--'

'But you won't!'

'No, I won't. I could never feel the same again.'

'Well, then, how many did you love?'

'Don't exaggerate what I say, Maude, or take it to heart. You see it
depends upon what you mean by love. There are all sorts and degrees
of love, some just the whim of a moment, and others the passion of a
lifetime; some are founded on mere physical passion, and some on
intellectual sympathy, and some on spiritual affinity.'

'Which do you love me with?'

'All three.'

'Sure?'

'Perfectly sure.'

She came over and the cross-examination was interrupted. But in a
few minutes she had settled down to it again.

'Well, now--the first?' said she.

'Oh, I can't, Maude--don't.'

'Come, sir--her name?'

'No, no, Maude, that is going a little too far. Even to you, I
should never mention another woman's name.'

'Who was she, then?'

'Please don't let us go into details. It is perfectly HORRIBLE. Let
me tell things in my own way.'

She made a little grimace.

'You are wriggling, sir. But I won't be hard upon you. Tell it your
own way.'

'Well, in a word, Maude, I was always in love with some one.'

Her face clouded over.

'Your love must be very cheap,' said she.

'It's almost a necessity of existence for a healthy young man who has
imagination and a warm heart. It was all--or nearly all--quite
superficial.'

'I should think all your love was superficial, if it can come so
easily.'

'Don't be cross, Maude. I had never seen you at the time. I owed no
duty to you.'

'You owed a duty to your own self-respect.'

'There, I knew we should have trouble over it. What do you want to
ask such questions for? I dare say I am a fool to be so frank.'

She sat for a little with her face quite cold and set. In his inmost
heart Frank was glad that she should be jealous, and he watched her
out of the corner of his eye.

'Well!' said she at last.

'Must I go on?'

'Yes, I may as well hear it.'

'You'll only be cross.'

'We've gone too far to stop. And I'm not cross, Frank. Only pained
a little. But I do appreciate your frankness. I had no idea you
were such a--such a Mormon.' She began to laugh.

'I used to take an interest in every woman.'

'"Take an interest" is good.'

'That was how it began. And then if circumstances were favourable
the interest deepened, until at last, naturally--well, you can
understand.'

'How many did you take an interest in?'

'Well, in pretty nearly all of them.'

'And how many deepened?'

'Oh, I don't know.'

'Twenty?'

'Well--rather more than that, I think.'

'Thirty?'

'Quite thirty.'

'Forty?'

'Not more than forty, I think.'

Maude sat aghast at the depths of his depravity.

'Let me see: you are twenty-seven now, so you have loved four women
a year since you were seventeen.'

'If you reckon it that way,' said Frank, 'I am afraid that it must
have been more than forty.'

'It's dreadful,' said Maude, and began to cry.

Frank knelt down in front of her and kissed her hands. She had sweet
little plump hands, very soft and velvety.

'You make me feel such a brute,' said he. 'Anyhow, I love you now
with all my heart and mind and soul.'

'Forty-firstly and lastly,' she sobbed, half laughing and half
crying. Then she pulled his hair to reassure him.

'I can't be angry with you,' said she. 'Besides, it would be
ungenerous to be angry when you tell me things of your own free will.
You are not forced to tell me. It is very honourable of you. But I
do wish you had taken an interest in me first.'

'Well, it was not so fated. I suppose there are some men who are
quite good when they are bachelors. But I don't believe they are the
best men. They are either archangels upon earth--young Gladstones
and Newmans--or else they are cold, calculating, timid, un-virile
creatures, who will never do any good. The first class must be
splendid. I never met one except in memoirs. The others I don't
want to meet.'

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