the little white bird-第38节

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that　I　had　last　seen　him　when　I　was　dining　with　him　at　his　club

（for　he　is　become　member　of　a　club　of　painter　fellows；　and　Mary

is　so　proud　of　this　that　she　has　had　it　printed　on　his　card）；

when　undoubtedly　he　had　looked　preoccupied。　　It　had　been　the

look；　I　saw　now；　of　one　who　shared　a　guilty　secret。



As　all　was　thus　suddenly　revealed　to　me　I　laughed　unpleasantly　at

myself；　for；　on　my　soul；　I　had　been　thinking　well　of　Mary　of

late。　Always　foolishly　inflated　about　David；　she　had　been

grudging　him　even　to　me　during　these　last　weeks；　and　I　had

forgiven　her；　putting　it　down　to　a　mother's　love。　　I　knew　from

the　poor　boy　of　unwonted　treats　she　had　been　giving　him；　I　had

seen　her　embrace　him　furtively　in　a　public　place；　her　every　act；

in　so　far　as　they　were　known　to　me；　had　been　a　challenge　to

whoever　dare　assert　that　she　wanted　anyone　but　David。　　How　could

I；　not　being　a　woman；　have　guessed　that　she　was　really　saying

good…bye　to　him？



Reader；　picture　to　yourself　that　simple　little　boy　playing　about

the　house　at　this　time；　on　the　understanding　that　everything　was

going　on　as　usual。　　Have　not　his　toys　acquired　a　new　pathos；

especially　the　engine　she　bought　him　yesterday？



Did　you　look　him　in　the　face；　Mary；　as　you　gave　him　that　engine？

I　envy　you　not　your　feelings；　ma'am；　when　with　loving　arms　he

wrapped　you　round　for　it。　　That　childish　confidence　of　his　to　me；

in　which　unwittingly　he　betrayed　you；　indicates　that　at　last　you

have　been　preparing　him　for　the　great　change；　and　I　suppose　you

are　capable　of　replying　to　me　that　David　is　still　happy；　and　even

interested。　　But　does　he　know　from　you　what　it　really　means　to

him？　　Rather；　I　do　believe；　you　are　one　who　would　not　scruple　to

give　him　to　understand　that　B　（which　you　may　yet　find　stands　for

Benjamin）　is　primarily　a　gift　for　him。　　In　your　heart；　ma'am；

what　do　you　think　of　this　tricking　of　a　little　boy？



Suppose　David　had　known　what　was　to　happen　before　he　came　to　you；

are　you　sure　he　would　have　come？　　Undoubtedly　there　is　an

unwritten　compact　in　such　matters　between　a　mother　and　her　first…

born；　and　I　desire　to　point　out　to　you　that　he　never　breaks　it。

Again；　what　will　the　other　boys　say　when　they　know？　　You　are

outside　the　criticism　of　the　Gardens；　but　David　is　not。　　Faith；

madam；　I　believe　you　would　have　been　kinder　to　wait　and　let　him

run　the　gauntlet　at　Pilkington's。



You　think　your　husband　is　a　great　man　now　because　they　are

beginning　to　talk　of　his　foregrounds　and　middle　distances　in　the

newspaper　columns　that　nobody　reads。　　I　know　you　have　bought　him

a　velvet　coat；　and　that　he　has　taken　a　large；　airy　and　commodious

studio　in　Mews　Lane；　where　you　are　to　be　found　in　a　soft　material

on　first　and　third　Wednesdays。　　Times　are　changing；　but　shall　I

tell　you　a　story　here；　just　to　let　you　see　that　I　am　acquainted

with　it？



Three　years　ago　a　certain　gallery　accepted　from　a　certain　artist

a　picture　which　he　and　his　wife　knew　to　be　monstrous　fine。　　But

no　one　spoke　of　the　picture；　no　one　wrote　of　it；　and　no　one　made

an　offer　for　it。　　Crushed　was　the　artist；　sorry　for　the　denseness

of　connoisseurs　was　his　wife；　till　the　work　was　bought　by　a

dealer　for　an　anonymous　client；　and　then　elated　were　they　both；

and　relieved　also　to　discover　that　I　was　not　the　buyer。　　He　came

to　me　at　once　to　make　sure　of　this；　and　remained　to　walk　the

floor　gloriously　as　he　told　me　what　recognition　means　to

gentlemen　of　the　artistic　callings。　　O；　the　happy　boy！



But　months　afterward；　rummaging　at　his　home　in　a　closet　that　is

usually　kept　locked；　he　discovered　the　picture；　there　hidden

away。　　His　wife　backed　into　a　corner　and　made　trembling

confession。　　How　could　she　submit　to　see　her　dear's　masterpiece

ignored　by　the　idiot　public；　and　her　dear　himself　plunged　into

gloom　thereby？　　She　knew　as　well　as　he　（for　had　they　not　been

married　for　years？）　how　the　artistic　instinct　hungers　for

recognition；　and　so　with　her　savings　she　bought　the　great　work

anonymously　and　stored　it　away　in　a　closet。　　At　first；　I　believe；

the　man　raved　furiously；　but　by…and…by　he　was　on　his　knees　at　the

feet　of　this　little　darling。　　You　know　who　she　was；　Mary；　but；

bless　me；　I　seem　to　be　praising　you；　and　that　was　not　the

enterprise　on　which　I　set　out。　　What　I　intended　to　convey　was

that　though　you　can　now　venture　on　small　extravagances；　you　seem

to　be　going　too　fast。　　Look　at　it　how　one　may；　this　Barbara　idea

is　undoubtedly　a　bad　business。



How　to　be　even　with　her？　　I　cast　about　for　a　means；　and　on　my

lucky　day　I　did　conceive　my　final　triumph　over　Mary；　at　which　I

have　scarcely　as　yet　dared　to　hint；　lest　by　discovering　it　I

should　spoil　my　plot。　　For　there　has　been　a　plot　all　the　time。



For　long　I　had　known　that　Mary　contemplated　the　writing　of　a

book；　my　informant　being　David；　who；　because　I　have　published　a

little　volume　on　Military　tactics；　and　am　preparing　a　larger　one

on　the　same　subject　（which　I　shall　never　finish）；　likes　to　watch

my　methods　of　composition；　how　I　dip；　and　so　on；　his　desire　being

to　help　her。　　He　may　have　done　this　on　his　own　initiative；　but　it

is　also　quite　possible　that　in　her　desperation　she　urged　him　to

it；　he　certainly　implied　that　she　had　taken　to　book…writing

because　it　must　be　easy　if　I　could　do　it。　　She　also　informed　him

（very　inconsiderately）；　that　I　did　not　print　my　books　myself；　and

this　lowered　me　in　the　eyes　of　David；　for　it　was　for　the　printing

he　had　admired　me　and　boasted　of　me　in　the　Gardens。



〃I　suppose　you　didn't　make　the　boxes　neither；　nor　yet　the

labels；〃　he　said　to　me　in　the　voice　of　one　shorn　of　belief　in

everything。



I　should　say　here　that　my　literary　labours　are　abstruse；　the

token　whereof　is　many　rows　of　boxes　nailed　against　my　walls；　each

labelled　with　a　letter　of　the　alphabet。　　When　I　take　a　note　in　A；

I　drop　its　into　the　A　box；　and　so　on；　much　to　the　satisfaction　of

David；　who　likes　to　drop　them　in　for　me。　　I　had　now　to　admit　that

Wheeler　&　Gibb　made　the　boxes。



〃But　I　made　the　labels　myself；　David。〃



〃They　are　not　so　well　made　as　the　boxes；〃　he　replied。



Thus　I　have　reason　to　wish　ill　to　Mary's　work　of　imagination；　as

I　presumed　it　to　be；　and　I　said　to　him　with　easy　brutality；　〃Tell

her　about　the　boxes；　David；　and　that　no　one　can　begin　a　book

until　they　are　all　full。　　That　will　frighten　her。〃



Soon　thereafter　he　announced　to　me　that　she　had　got　a　box。



〃One　box！〃　I　said　with　a　sneer。



〃She　made　it　herself；〃　retorted　David　hotly。



I　got　little　real　information　from　him　about　the　work；　partly

because　David　loses　his　footing　when　he　descends　to　the

practical；　and　perhaps　still　more　because　he　found　me

unsympathetic。　　But　when　he　blurted　out　the　title；　〃The　Little

White　Bird；〃　I　was　like　one　who　had　read　the　book　to　its　last

page。　　I　knew　at　once　that　the　white　bird　was　the　little　daughter

Mary　would　fain　have　had。　　Somehow　I　had　always　known　that　she

would　like　to　have　a　little　daughter；　she　was　that　kind　of　woman；

and　so　long　as　she　had　the　modesty　to　see　that　she　could　not　have

one；　I　sympathised　with　her　deeply；　whatever　I　may　have　said

about　her　book　to　David。



In　those　days　Mary　had　the　loveliest　ideas　for　her　sad　little

book；　and　they　came　to　her　mostly　in　the　morning　when　she　was

only　three…parts　awake；　but　as　she　stepped　out　of　bed　they　all

flew　away　like　startled　birds。　　I　gathered　from　David　that　this

depressed　her　exceedingly。



Oh；　Mary；　your　thoughts　are　much　too　pretty　and　holy　to　show

themselves　to　anyone　but　yourself。　　The　shy　things　are　hiding

within　you。　　If　they　could　come　into　the　open　they　would　not　be　a

book；　they　would　be　little　Barbara。



But　that　was　not　the　message　I　sent　her。　　〃She　will　never　be　able

to　write　it；〃　I　explained　to　David。　　〃She　has　not　the　ability。

Tell　her　I　said　that。〃



I　remembered　now　that　for　many　months　I　had　heard　nothing　of　her

ambitious　project；　so　I　questioned　David　and　discovered　that　it

was　abandoned。　　He　could　not　say　why；　nor　was　it　necessary　that

he　should；　the　trivial　little　reason　was　at　once　so　plain　to　me。

From　that　moment　all　my　sympathy　with　Mary　was　spilled；　and　I

searched　for　some　means　of　exulting　over　her　until　I　found　it。　

It　was　this。　　I　decided；　unknown　even　to　David；　to　write　the　book

〃The　Little　White　Bird；〃　of　which　she　had　proved　herself

incapable；　and　then　when；　in　the　fulness　of　time；　she　held　her

baby　on　high；　implying　that　she　had　done　a　big　thing；　I　was　to

hold　up　the　book。　　I　venture　to　think　that　such　a　devilish

revenge　was　never　before　planned　and　carried　out。



Yes；　carried　out；　for　this　is　the　book；　rapidly　approaching

completion。　　She　and　I　are　running　a　neck…and…neck　race。



I　have　also　once　more　brought　the　story　of　David's　adventures　to

an　abrupt　end。　　〃And　it　really　is　the　end　this　time；　David；〃　I

said　severely。　　（I　always　say　that。）



It　ended　on　the　coast　of　Patagonia；　whither　we　had　gone　to　shoot

the　great　Sl