Connie was surprised at her own feeling of aversion from Clifford.
What is more,she felt she had always really disliked him.Not hate:there was no passion in it.But a profound physical dislike.Almost,it seemed to her,she had married him because she disliked him,in a secret,physical sort of way.But of course,she had married him really because in a mental way he attracted her and excited her.He had seemed,in some way,her master,beyond her.
Now the mental excitement had worn itself out and collapsed,and she was aware only of the physical aversion.It rose up in her from her depths:
and she realized how it had been eating her life away.
She felt weak and utterly forlorn.She wished some help would come from outside.But in the whole world there was no help.Society was terrible because it was insane.Civilized society is insane.Money and so-called love are its two great manias;money a long way first.The individual asserts himself in his disconnected insanity in these two modes:money and love.
Look at Michaelis!His life and activity were just insanity.His love was a sort of insanity.
And Clifford the same.All that talk!All that writing!All that wild struggling to push himself forwards!It was just insanity.And it was getting worse,really maniacal.
Connie felt washed-out with fear.But at least,Clifford was shifting his grip from her on to Mrs Bolton.He did not know it.Like many insane people,his insanity might be measured by the things he was not aware of the great desert tracts in his consciousness.
Mrs Bolton was admirable in many ways.But she had that queer sort of bossiness,endless assertion of her own will,which is one of the signs of insanity in modern woman.She thought she was utterly subservient and living for others.Clifford fascinated her because he always,or so of ten,frustrated her will,as if by a finer instinct.He had a finer,subtler will of self-assertion than herself.This was his charm for her.
Perhaps that had been his charm,too,for Connie.
'It's a lovely day,today!'Mrs Bolton would say in her caressive,persuasive voice.'I should think you'd enjoy a little run in your chair today,the sun's just lovely.'
'Yes?Will you give me that book--there,that yellow one.And I think I'll have those hyacinths taken out.'
'Why they're so beautiful!'She pronounced it with the 'y'sound:be-yutiful!
'And the scent is simply gorgeous.'
'The scent is what I object to,'he said.'It's a little funereal.'
'Do you think so!'she exclaimed in surprise,just a little offended,but impressed.And she carried the hyacinths out of the room,impressed by his higher fastidiousness.
'Shall I shave you this morning,or would you rather do it yourself?'
Always the same soft,caressive,subservient,yet managing voice.
'I don't know.Do you mind waiting a while.I'll ring when I'm ready.'
'Very good,Sir Clifford!'she replied,so soft and submissive,withdrawing quietly.But every rebuff stored up new energy of will in her.
When he rang,after a time,she would appear at once.And then he would say:
'I think I'd rather you shaved me this morning.'
Her heart gave a little thrill,and she replied with extra softness:
'Very good,Sir Clifford!'
She was very deft,with a soft,lingering touch,a little slow.At first he had resented the infinitely soft touch of her lingers on his face.But now he liked it,with a growing voluptuousness.He let her shave him nearly every day:her face near his,her eyes so very concentrated,watching that she did it right.And gradually her fingertips knew his cheeks and lips,his jaw and chin and throat perfectly.He was well-fed and well-liking,his face and throat were handsome enough and he was a gentleman.
She was handsome too,pale,her face rather long and absolutely still,her eyes bright,but revealing nothing.Gradually,with infinite softness,almost with love,she was getting him by the throat,and he was yielding to her.
She now did almost everything for him,and he felt more at home with her,less ashamed of accepting her menial offices,than with Connie.She liked handling him.She loved having his body in her charge,absolutely,to the last menial offices.She said to Connie one day:'All men are babies,when you come to the bottom of them.Why,I've handled some of the toughest customers as ever went down Tevershall pit.But let anything ail them so that you have to do for them,and they're babies,just big babies.Oh,there's not much difference in men!'
At first Mrs Bolton had thought there really was something different in a gentleman,a real gentleman,like Sir Clifford.So Clifford had got a good start of her.But gradually,as she came to the bottom of him,to use her own term,she found he was like the rest,a baby grown to man's proportions:but a baby with a queer temper and a fine manner and power in its control,and all sorts of odd knowledge that she had never dreamed of,with which he could still bully her.
Connie was sometimes tempted to say to him:
'For God's sake,don't sink so horribly into the hands of that woman!'
But she found she didn't care for him enough to say it,in the long run.
It was still their habit to spend the evening together,till ten o'clock.
Then they would talk,or read together,or go over his manu.But the thrill had gone out of it.She was bored by his manus.But she still dutifully typed them out for him.But in time Mrs Bolton would do even that.
For Connie had suggested to Mrs Bolton that she should learn to use a typewriter.And Mrs Bolton,always ready,had begun at once,and practised assiduously.So now Clifford would sometimes dictate a letter to her,and she would take it down rather slowly,but correctly.And he was very patient,spelling for her the difficult words,or the occasional phrases in French.
She was so thrilled,it was almost a pleasure to instruct her.
Now Connie would sometimes plead a headache as an excuse for going up to her room after dinner.
'Perhaps Mrs Bolton will play piquet with you,'she said to Clifford.