THE SPECIAL TYPE
"Why not? They must certainly have had the most beautiful time. Operas, theatres, suppers, dinners, diamonds, carriages, journeys hither and yon with him, poor dear, telegrams sent by each from everywhere to everywhere and always lying about, elaborate arrivals and departures at stations for everyone to see, and, in fact, quite a crowd usually collected—as many witnesses as you like. "Then," she wound up, "his brougham standing always—half the day and half the night—at their doors. He has had to keep a brougham, and the proper sort of man, just for that alone. In other words unlimited publicity."
"I see. What more can they have wanted? Yes," I pondered, "they like, for the most part, we suppose, a studied, outrageous affichage, and they must have thoroughly enjoyed it."
"Ah, but it was only that."
I wondered. "Only what?"
"Only affiché. Only outrageous. Only the form of—well, of what would definitely serve. He never saw them alone."
I wondered—or at least appeared to—still more. "Never?"
"Never. Never once." She had a wonderful air of answering for it. "I know."
I saw that, after all, she really believed she knew, and I had indeed, for that matter, to recognise that I myself believed her knowledge to be sound. Only there went with it a complacency, an enjoyment of having really made me see what could be done for her, so little to my taste that for a minute or two I could scarce trust myself to speak: she looked somehow, as she sat there, so lovely, and yet, in spite of her loveliness—or perhaps even just because of it—sc smugly selfish; she put it to me with so small a consciousness of anything but her personal triumph that, while she had kept her skirts clear, her name unuttered and her reputation
109
