The Lamp of Psyche Read online

  Delia looked again at the miniature; then she fixed her eyes upon her husband's.

  "Then why weren't you in the war?" she said.

  Corbett answered her gaze for a moment; then his lids dropped, and he shifted his position slightly.

  "Really," he said, with a smile, "I don't think I know."

  They were the very words which she had used in answering her aunt.

  "You don't know?" she repeated, the question leaping out like an electric shock. "What do you mean when you say that you don't know?"

  "Well -- it all happened some time ago," he answered, still smiling, "and the truth is that I've completely forgotten the excellent reasons that I doubtless had at the time for remaining at home."

  "Reasons for remaining at home? But there were none; every man of your age went to the war; no one stayed at home who wasn't lame, or blind, or deaf, or ill, or -- " Her face blazed, her voice broke passionately.

  Corbett looked at her with rising amazement.

  "Or -- ?" he said.

  "Or a coward," she flashed out. The miniature dropped from her hands, falling loudly on the polished floor.

  The two confronted each other in silence; Corbett was very pale.

  "I've told you," he said, at length, "that I was neither lame, deaf, blind, nor ill. Your classification is so simple that it will be easy for you to draw your own conclusion."

  And very quietly, with that admirable air which always put him in the right, he walked out of the room. Delia, left alone, bent down and picked up the miniature; its protecting crystal had been broken by the fall. She pressed it close to her and burst into tears.

  An hour later, of course, she went to ask her husband's forgiveness. As a woman of sense she could do no less; and her conduct had been so absurd that it was the more obviously pardonable. Corbett, as he kissed her hand, assured her that he had known it was only nervousness; and after dinner, during which he made himself excep- tionally agreeable, he proposed their ending the evening at the Palais Royal, where a new play was being given.

  Delia had undoubtedly behaved like a fool, and was prepared to do meet penance for her folly by submitting to the gentle sarcasm of her husband's pardon; but when the episode was over, and she realized that she had asked her question and received her answer, she knew that she had passed a milestone in her existence. Corbett was perfectly charming; it was inevitable that he should go on being charming to the end of the chapter. It was equally inevitable that she should go on being in love with him; but her love had undergone a modification which the years were not to efface.

  Formerly he had been to her like an unexplored country, full of bewitching surprises and recurrent revelations of wonder and beauty; now she had measured and mapped him, and knew beforehand the direction of every path she trod. His answer to her question had given her the clue to the labyrinth; knowing what he had once done, it seemed quite simple to forecast his future conduct. For that long-past action was still a part of his actual being; he had not outlived or disowned it; he had not even seen that it needed defending.

  Her ideal of him was shivered like the crystal above the miniature of the warrior of Chancellorsville. She had the crystal replaced by a piece of clear glass which (as the jeweller pointed out to her) cost much less and looked equally well; and for the passionate worship which she had paid her husband she substituted a tolerant affection which possessed precisely the same advantages.