Some Do Not … Ford Madox Ford (top ten ebook reader TXT) 📖

and rapid career towards some illustrious position in the public services. He would very willingly⁠—he desired, indeed, nothing better!⁠—have seen Tietjens pass over his own head! It did not seem to him a condemnation of the public services that this appeared to be unlikely.

Yet Macmaster was still not without hope. He was quite aware that there are other techniques of careers than that which he had prescribed for himself. He could not imagine himself, even in the most deferential way, correcting a superior; yet he could see that, though Tietjens treated almost every hierarch as if he were a born fool, no one very much resented it. Of course Tietjens was a Tietjens of Groby; but was that going to be enough to live on forever? Times were changing, and Macmaster imagined this to be a democratic age.

But Tietjens went on, with both hands as it were, throwing away opportunity and committing outrage.⁠ ⁠…

That day Macmaster could only consider to be one of disaster. He got up from his chair and filled himself another drink; he felt himself to be distressed and to need it. Slouching amongst his cretonnes, Tietjens was gazing in front of him. He said:

“Here!” without looking at Macmaster, and held out his long glass. Into it Macmaster poured whisky with a hesitating hand. Tietjens said: “Go on!”

Macmaster said:

“It’s late; we’re breakfasting at the Duchemin’s at ten.”

Tietjens answered:

“Don’t worry, sonny. We’ll be there for your pretty lady.” He added: “Wait another quarter of an hour. I want to talk to you.”

Macmaster sat down again and deliberately began to review the day. It had begun with disaster, and in disaster it had continued.

And, with something like a bitter irony, Macmaster remembered and brought up now for digestion the parting words of General Campion to himself. The General had limped with him to the hall door up at Mountsby and, standing patting him on the shoulder, tall, slightly bent and very friendly, had said:

“Look here. Christopher Tietjens is a splendid fellow. But he needs a good woman to look after him. Get him back to Sylvia as quick as you can. Had a little tiff, haven’t they? Nothing serious? Chrissie hasn’t been running after the skirts? No? I daresay a little. No? Well then⁠ ⁠…”

Macmaster had stood like a gatepost, so appalled. He had stuttered:

“No! No!”

“We’ve known them both so long,” the General went on. “Lady Claudine in particular. And, believe me, Sylvia is a splendid girl. Straight as a die; the soul of loyalty to her friends. And fearless.⁠—She’d face the devil in his rage. You should have seen her out with the Belvoir! Of course you know her.⁠ ⁠… Well then!”

Macmaster had just managed to say that he knew Sylvia, of course.

“Well then⁠ ⁠…” the General had continued⁠ ⁠… “you’ll agree with me that if there is anything wrong between them he’s to blame. And it will be resented. Very bitterly. He wouldn’t set foot in this house again. But he says he’s going out to her and Mrs. Satterthwaite.⁠ ⁠…”

“I believe⁠ ⁠…” Macmaster had begun⁠ ⁠… “I believe he is⁠ ⁠…”

“Well then!” the General had said: “It’s all right.⁠ ⁠… But Christopher Tietjens needs a good woman’s backing.⁠ ⁠… He’s a splendid fellow. There are few young fellows for whom I have more⁠ ⁠… I could almost say respect.⁠ ⁠… But he needs that. To ballast him.”

In the car, running down the hill from Mountby, Macmaster had exhausted himself in the effort to restrain his execrations of the General. He wanted to shout that he was a pigheaded old fool: a meddlesome ass. But he was in the car with the two secretaries of the Cabinet Minister: the Rt. Hon. Edward Fenwick Waterhouse, who, being himself an advanced Liberal down for a weekend of golf, preferred not to dine at the house of the Conservative member. At that date there was, in politics, a phase of bitter social feud between the parties: a condition that had not till lately been characteristic of English political life. The prohibition had not extended itself to the two younger men.

Macmaster was not unpleasurably aware that these two fellows treated him with a certain deference. They had seen Macmaster being talked to familiarly by General Lord Edward Campion. Indeed, they and the car had been kept waiting whilst the General patted their fellow guest on the shoulder; held his upper arm and spoke in a low voice into his ear.⁠ ⁠…

But that was the only pleasure that Macmaster got out of it.

Yes, the day had begun disastrously with Sylvia’s letter; it ended⁠—if it was ended!⁠—almost more disastrously with the General’s eulogy of that woman. During the day he had nerved himself to having an immensely disagreeable scene with Tietjens. Tietjens must divorce the woman; it was necessary for the peace of mind of himself, of his friends, of his family; for the sake of his career; in the very name of decency!

In the meantime Tietjens had rather forced his hand. It had been a most disagreeable affair. They had arrived at Rye in time for lunch⁠—at which Tietjens had consumed the best part of a bottle of Burgundy. During lunch Tietjens had given Macmaster Sylvia’s letter to read, saying that, as he should later consult his friend, his friend had better be made acquainted with the document.

The letter had appeared extraordinary in its effrontery, for it said nothing. Beyond the bare statement, “I am now ready to return to you,” it occupied itself simply with the fact that Mrs. Tietjens wanted⁠—could no longer get on without⁠—the services of her maid, whom she called Hullo Central. If Tietjens wanted her, Mrs. Tietjens, to return to him he was to see that Hullo Central was waiting on the doorstep for her, and so on. She added the detail that there was no one else, underlined, she could bear round her while she was retiring for the night. On reflection Macmaster could see that this was the best letter the woman could have written if she wanted to be taken back; for, had she extended herself into either excuses or explanations, it