The Trespasser

Leaning back in his chair, he felt something in the way. It was a small

teddy-bear and half of a strong white comb. He grinned to himself. This

was the summary of his domestic life--a broken, coarse comb, a child

crying because her hair was lugged, a wife who had let the hair go till

now, when she had got into a temper to see the job through; and then the

teddy-bear, pathetically cocking a black worsted nose, and lifting

absurd arms to him.

He wondered why Gwen had gone to bed without her pet. She would want the

silly thing. The strong feeling of affection for his children came over

him, battling with something else. He sank in his chair, and gradually

his baffled mind went dark. He sat, overcome with weariness and trouble,

staring blankly into the space. His own stifling roused him.

Straightening his shoulders, he took a deep breath, then relaxed again.

After a while he rose, took the teddy-bear, and went slowly to bed.

Gwen and Marjory, aged nine and twelve, slept together in a small room.

It was fairly light. He saw his favourite daughter lying quite

uncovered, her wilful head thrown back, her mouth half open. Her black

hair was tossed across the pillow: he could see the action. Marjory

snuggled under the sheet. He placed the teddy-bear between the

two girls.

As he watched them, he hated the children for being so dear to him.

Either he himself must go under, and drag on an existence he hated, or

they must suffer. But he had agreed to spend this holiday with Helena,

and meant to do so. As he turned, he saw himself like a ghost cross the

mirror. He looked back; he peered at himself. His hair still grew thick

and dark from his brow: he could not see the grey at the temples. His

eyes were dark and tender, and his mouth, under the black moustache, was

full of youth.

He rose, looked at the children, frowned, and went to his own small

room. He was glad to be shut alone in the little cubicle of darkness.

Outside the world lay in a glamorous pallor, casting shadows that made

the farm, the trees, the bulks of villas, look like live creatures. The

same pallor went through all the night, glistening on Helena as she lay

curled up asleep at the core of the glamour, like the moon; on the sea

rocking backwards and forwards till it rocked her island as she slept.

She was so calm and full of her own assurance. It was a great rest to be

with her. With her, nothing mattered but love and the beauty of things.

He felt parched and starving. She had rest and love, like water and

manna for him. She was so strong in her self-possession, in her love of

beautiful things and of dreams.