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Amanda7
"I went out of London to think about my life."
It was manifest that Lady Marayne did not believe him.
"Alone?" she asked.
"Of course alone."
"STUFF!" said Lady Marayne.
She had taken him into her own little sitting-room, she had thrown aside gloves and fan and theatre wrap, curled herself comfortably into the abundantly cushioned corner by the fire, and proceeded to a mixture of cross-examination and tirade that he found it difficult to make head against. She was vibrating between distressed solicitude and resentful anger. She was infuriated at his going away and deeply concerned at what could have taken him away. "I was worried," he said. "London is too crowded to think in. I wanted to get myself alone."
"And there I was while you were getting yourself alone, as you call it, wearing my poor little brains out to think of some story to tell people. I had to stuff them up you had a sprained knee at Chexington, and for all I knew any of them might have been seeing you that morning. Besides what has a boy like you to worry about? It`s all nonsense, Poff."
She awaited his explanations. Benham looked for a moment like his father.
"I`m not getting on, mother," he said. "I`m scattering myself. I`m getting no grip. I want to get a better hold upon life, or else I do not see what is to keep me from going to pieces--and wasting existence. It`s rather difficult sometimes to tell what one thinks and feels--"
She had not really listened to him.
"Who is that woman," she interrupted suddenly, "Mrs. Fly-by-Night, or some such name, who rings you up on the telephone?"
Benham hesitated, blushed, and regretted it.
"Mrs. Skelmersdale," he said after a little pause.
"It`s all the same. Who is she?"
"She`s a woman I met at a studio somewhere, and I went with her to one of those Dolmetsch concerts."
He stopped.
Lady Marayne considered him in silence for a little while. "All men," she said at last, "are alike. Husbands, sons and brothers, they are all alike. Sons! One expects them to be different. They aren`t different. Why should they be? I suppose I ought to be shocked, Poff. But I`m not. She seems to be very fond of you."
"She`s--she`s very good--in her way. She`s had a difficult life. . . ."
"You can`t leave a man about for a moment," Lady Marayne reflected. "Poff, I wish you`d fetch me a glass of water."
When he returned she was looking very fixedly into the fire. "Put it down," she said, "anywhere. Poff! is this Mrs. Helter-Skelter a discreet sort of woman? Do you like her?" She asked a few additional particulars and Benham made his grudging admission of facts. "What I still don`t understand, Poff, is why you have been away."
"I went away," said Benham, "because I want to clear things up."
"But why? Is there some one else?"
"No."
"You went alone? All the time?"
"I`ve told you I went alone. Do you think I tell you lies, mother?"
"Everybody tells lies somehow," said Lady Marayne. "Easy lies or stiff ones. Don`t FLOURISH, Poff. Don`t start saying things like a moral windmill in a whirlwind. It`s all a muddle. I suppose every one in London is getting in or out of these entanglements--or something of the sort. And this seems a comparatively slight one. I wish it hadn`t happened. They do happen."
An expression of perplexity came into her face. She looked at him. "Why do you want to throw her over?"
"I WANT to throw her over," said Benham.
He stood up and went to the hearthrug, and his mother reflected that this was exactly what all men did at just this phase of a discussion. Then things ceased to be sensible.
From overhead he said to her: "I want to get away from this complication, this servitude. I want to do some--some work. I want to get my mind clear and my hands clear. I want to study government and the big business of the world."
"And she`s in the way?"
He assented.
"You men!" said Lady Marayne after a little pause. "What queer beasts you are! Here is a woman who is kind to you. She`s fond of you. I could tell she`s fond of you directly I heard her. And you amuse yourself with her. And then it`s Gobble, Gobble, Gobble, Great Work, Hands Clear, Big Business of the World. Why couldn`t you think of that before, Poff? Why did you begin with her?"
"It was unexpected. . . ."
"STUFF!" said Lady Marayne for a second time. "Well," she said, "well. Your Mrs. Fly-by-Night,--oh it doesn`t matter!--whatever she calls herself, must look after herself. I can`t do anything for her. I`m not supposed even to know about her. I daresay she`ll find her consolations. I suppose you want to go out of London and get away from it all. I can help you there, perhaps. I`m tired of London too. It`s been a tiresome season. Oh! tiresome and disappointing! I want to go over to Ireland and travel about a little. The Pothercareys want us to come. They`ve asked us twice. . . ."
Benham braced himself to face fresh difficulties. It was amazing how different the world could look from his mother`s little parlour and from the crest of the North Downs.
"But I want to start round the world," he cried with a note of acute distress. "I want to go to Egypt and India and see what is happening in the East, all this wonderful waking up of the East, I know nothing of the way the world is going-- . . ."
"India!" cried Lady Marayne. "The East. Poff, what is the MATTER with you? Has something happened--something else? Have you been having a love affair? --a REAL love affair?"
"Oh, DAMN love affairs!" cried Benham. "Mother!--I`m sorry, mother! But don`t you see there`s other things in the world for a man than having a good time and making love. I`m for something else than that. You`ve given me the splendidest time-- . . ."
"I see," cried Lady Marayne, "I see. I`ve bored you. I might have known I should have bored you."
"You`ve NOT bored me!" cried Benham.
He threw himself on the rug at her feet. "Oh, mother!" he said, "little, dear, gallant mother, don`t make life too hard for me. I`ve got to do my job, I`ve got to find my job."
"I`ve bored you," she wept.
Suddenly she was weeping with all the unconcealed distressing grief of a disappointed child. She put her pretty be-ringed little hands in front of her face and recited the accumulation of her woes.
"I`ve done all I can for you, planned for you, given all my time for you and I`ve BORED you."
"Mother!"
"Don`t come near me, Poff! Don`t TOUCH me! All my plans. All my ambitions. Friends--every one. You don`t know all I`ve given up for you. . . ."
He had never seen his mother weep before. Her self-abandonment amazed him. Her words were distorted by her tears. It was the most terrible and distressing of crises. . . .
"Go away from me! How can you help me? All I`ve done has been a failure! Failure! Failure!"
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