A Duet (with an occasional chorus) by Arthur Conan Doyle (the reading strategies book .txt) 📖

Blue skies and shining sun, but far down on the horizon one dark cloud gathers and drifts slowly upwards unobserved. Frank Crosse was aware of its shadow when coming down to breakfast he saw an envelope with a well-remembered handwriting beside his plate. How he had loved that writing once, how his heart had warmed and quickened at the sight of it, how eagerly he had read it—and now a viper coiled upon the white tablecloth would hardly have given him a greater shock. Contradictory, incalculable, whimsical life! A year ago how scornfully he would have laughed, what contemptuous unbelief would have filled his soul, if he had been told that any letter of hers could have struck him cold with the vague apprehension of coming misfortune. He tore off the envelope and threw it into the fire. But before he could glance at the letter there was the quick patter of his wife’s feet upon the stair, and she burst, full of girlish health and high spirits, into the little room. She wore a pink crepon dressing-gown, with cream guipure lace at the neck and wrists. Pink ribbon outlined her trim waist. The morning sun shone upon her, and she seemed to him to be the daintiest, sweetest tiling upon earth. He had thrust his letter into his pocket as she entered.

‘You will excuse the dressing-gown, Frank.’

‘I just love you in it. No, you mustn’t pass. Now you can go.’

‘I was so afraid that you would breakfast without me that I had no time to dress. I shall have the whole day to finish in when you are gone. There now—Jemima has forgotten to warm the plates again! And your coffee is cold. I wish you had not waited.’

‘Better cold coffee with Maude’s society.’

‘I always thought men gave up complimenting their wives after they married them. I am so glad you don’t. I think on the whole that women’s ideas of men are unfair and severe. The reason is that the women who have met unpleasant men run about and make a noise, but the women who are happy just keep quiet and enjoy themselves. For example, I have not time to write a book explaining to every one how nice Frank Crosse is; but if he were nasty my life would be empty, and so of course I should write my book.’

‘I feel such a fraud when you talk like that.’

‘That is part of your niceness.’

‘Oh don’t, Maude! It really hurts me.’

‘Why, Frank, what is the matter with you to-day?’

‘Nothing, dear.’

‘Oh yes, there is. I can tell easily.’

‘Perhaps I am not quite myself.’

‘No, I am sure that you are not. I believe that you have a cold coming on. O Frank, do take some ammoniated quinine.’

‘Good heavens, no!’

‘Please! Please!’

‘My dear girlie, there is nothing the matter with me.’

‘But it is such splendid stuff.’

‘Yes, I know. But really I don’t want it.’

‘Have you had any letters, Frank?’

‘Yes, one.’

‘Anything important?’

‘I have hardly glanced at it yet.’

‘Glance at it now.’

‘Oh, I will keep it for the train. Good-bye, dearest. It is time that I was off.’

‘If you would only take the ammoniated quinine. You men are so proud and obstinate. Good-bye, darling. Eight hours, and then I shall begin to live again.’

He had a quiet corner of a carriage to himself, so he unfolded his letter and read it. Then he read it again with frowning brows and compressed lips. It ran in this way -

My Dearest Frankie,—I suppose that I should not address you like this now that you are a good little married man, but the force of custom is strong, and, after all, I knew you long before she did. I don’t suppose you were aware of it, but there was a time when I could very easily have made you marry me, in spite of all you may know about my trivial life and adventures, but I thought it all over very carefully, and I came to the conclusion that it was not good enough. You were always a dear good chap yourself, but your prospects were not quite dashing enough for your festive Violet. I believe in a merry time even if it is a short one. But if I had really wanted to settle down in a humdrum sort of way, you are the man whom I should have chosen out of the whole batch of them. I hope what I say won’t make you conceited, for one of your best points used to be your modesty.

But for all that, my dear Frankie, I by no means give you up altogether, and don’t you make any mistake about that. It was only yesterday that I saw Charlie Scott, and he told me all about you, and gave me your address. Don’t you bless him? And yet I don’t know. Perhaps you have still a kindly thought of your old friend, and would like to see her.

But you are going to see her whether you like or not, my dear boy, so make up your mind to that. You know how you used to chaff me about my whims. Well, I’ve got a whim now, and I’ll have my way as usual. I am going to see you to-morrow, and if you won’t see me under my conditions in London, I shall call at Woking in the evening. Oh my goodness, what a bombshell! But you know that I am always as good as my word. So look out!

Now I’ll give you your orders for the day, and don’t you forget them. To-morrow (Thursday, 14th, no excuses about the date) you will leave your office at 3.30. I know that you can when you like. You will drive to Mariani’s, and you will find me at the door. We shall go up to our old private room, and we shall have tea together, and a dear old chat about all sorts of things. So come! But if you don’t, there is a train which leaves Waterloo at 6.10 and