Giant’s Bread

‘I’m not sticking up for Deyre,’ said Uncle Sydney. ‘Not at all. I’m just looking at the whole thing as a man of the world. Women lead sheltered lives and they don’t look at these things as men do—quite right that they shouldn’t. You’re a good woman, Myra, and it’s always hard for a good woman to understand these things. Carrie’s just the same.’

‘What has Carrie got to put up with, I should like to know?’ cried Myra. ‘You don’t go off racketing round with disgusting women. You don’t make love to the servants.’

‘N-no,’ said her brother. ‘No, of course not. It’s the principle of the thing I’m talking about. And mind you, Carrie and I don’t see eye to eye over everything. We have our tiffs—why sometimes we don’t speak to each other for two days on end. But bless you, we make it up again, and things go on better than before. A good row clears the air—that’s what I say. But there must be give and take. And no nagging afterwards. The best man in the world won’t stand nagging.’

‘I never nag,’ said Myra tearfully, and believed it. ‘How can you say such a thing?’

‘Now don’t get the wind up, old girl. I’m not saying you do. I’m just laying down general principles. And remember, Deyre’s not our sort. He’s kittle cattle—the touchy sensitive kind. A mere trifle sets them off.’

‘Don’t I know it,’ said Myra bitterly. ‘He’s impossible. Why did I ever marry him?’

‘Well, you know, Sis, you can’t have it both ways. It was a good match. I’m bound to admit it was a good match. Here you are, living in a swell place, knowing all the County, as good as anybody short of Royalty. My word, if poor old Dad had lived, how proud he’d have been! And what I’m getting at is this—everything’s got its seamy side. You can’t have the halfpence without one or two of the kicks as well. They’re decadent, these old families, that’s what they are—decadent, and you’ve just got to face the fact. You’ve just got to sum up the situation in a businesslike way—advantages, so and so. Disadvantages ditto. It’s the only way. Take my word for it, it’s the only way.’

‘I didn’t marry him for the sake of “advantages” as you call it,’ said Myra. ‘I hate this place. I always have. It’s because of Abbots Puissants he married me—not for myself.’

‘Nonsense, Sis, you were a jolly pretty girl—and still are,’ he added gallantly.

‘Walter married me for the sake of Abbots Puissants,’ said Myra obstinately. ‘I tell you I know it.’

‘Well, well,’ said her brother. ‘Let’s leave the past alone.’

‘You wouldn’t be so calm and cold-blooded about it if you were me,’ said Myra bitterly. ‘Not if you had to live with him. I do everything I can think of to please him—and he only sneers and treats me like this.’

‘You nag him,’ said Sydney. ‘Oh, yes, you do. You can’t help it.’

‘If only he’d answer back! If he’d say something—instead of just sitting there.’

‘Yes, but that’s the kind of fellow he is. You can’t alter people in this world to suit your fancy. I can’t say I care for the chap myself—too la-di-da for me. Why, if you put him in to run a concern it would be bankrupt in a fortnight! But I’m bound to say he’s always been very polite and decent to me. Quite the gentleman. When I’ve run across him in London he’s taken me to lunch at that swell club of his and if I didn’t feel too comfortable there that wasn’t his fault. He’s got his good points.’

‘You’re so like a man,’ said Myra. ‘Carrie would understand! He’s been unfaithful to me, I tell you. Unfaithful!’

‘Well, well,’ said Uncle Sydney with a great deal of jingling and his eyes on the ceiling. ‘Men will be men.’

‘But Syd, you never—’

‘Of course not,’ said Uncle Sydney hastily. ‘Of course not—of course not. I’m speaking generally, Myra—generally, you understand.’

‘It’s all finished,’ said Myra. ‘No woman could stand more than I’ve stood. And now it’s the end. I never want to see him again.’

‘Ah!’ said Uncle Sydney. He drew a chair to the table and sat down with the air of one prepared to talk business. ‘Then let’s get down to brass tacks. You’ve made up your mind? What is it you do want to do?’

‘I tell you I never want to see Walter again!’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Uncle Sydney patiently. ‘We’re taking that for granted. Now what do you want? A divorce?’

‘Oh!’ Myra was taken aback. ‘I hadn’t thought—’

‘Well, we must get the thing put on a business-like footing. I doubt if you’d get a divorce. You’ve got to prove cruelty, you know, as well, and I doubt if you could do that.’

‘If you knew the suffering he’s caused me—’

‘I daresay. I’m not denying it. But you want something more than that to satisfy the law. And there’s no desertion. If you wrote to him to come back, he’d come, I suppose?’

‘Haven’t I just told you I never want to see him again?’

‘Yes, yes, yes. You women do harp on a thing so. We’re looking at the thing from a business point of view now. I don’t think a divorce will wash.’

‘I don’t want a divorce.’

‘Well, what do you want, a separation?’

‘So that he could go and live with that abandoned creature in London? Live with her altogether? And what would happen to me, I should like to know?’

‘Plenty of nice houses near me and Carrie. You’d have the boy with you most of the time, I expect.’

‘And let Walter bring disgusting women into this very house, perhaps? No, indeed, I don’t intend to play into his hands like that!’

‘Well, dash it all Myra, what do you want?’

Myra began to cry again.

‘I’m so miserable, Syd, I’m so miserable. If only Walter were different.’

‘Well, he isn’t—and he never will be. You must just make up your mind to it, Myra. You’ve married a fellow who’s a bit of a Don Jooan—and you’ve got to try and take a broadminded view of it. You’re fond of the chap. Kiss and make friends—that’s what I say. We’re none of us perfect. Give and take—that’s the thing to remember—give and take.’

His sister continued to weep quietly.

‘Marriage is a ticklish business,’ went on Uncle Sydney in a ruminative voice. ‘Women are too good for us, not a doubt of it.’

‘I suppose,’ said Myra in a tearful voice. ‘One ought to forgive and forgive—again and again.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ said Uncle Sydney. ‘Women are angels and men aren’t, and women have got to make allowances. Always have had to and always will.’

Myra’s sobs grew less. She was seeing herself now in the role of the forgiving angel.

‘It isn’t as if I didn’t do everything I could,’ she sobbed. ‘I run the house and I’m sure nobody could be a more devoted mother.’

‘Of course you are,’ said Uncle Sydney. ‘And that’s a fine youngster of yours. I wish Carrie and I had a boy. Four girls—it’s a bit thick. Still as I always say to her: “Better luck next time, old girl.” We both feel sure it’s going to be a boy this time.’

Myra was diverted.

‘I didn’t know. When is it?’

‘June.’

‘How is Carrie?’

‘Suffering a bit with her legs—swelled, you know. But she manages to get about a fair amount. Why, hallo, here’s that young shaver. How long have you been here, my boy?’