The Magician by W. Somerset Maugham (ebook reader macos TXT) 📕

only she could do. Her gown pleased her exceedingly, not only because it was admirably made, but because it had cost far more than she could afford. To dress well was her only extravagance. It was of taffeta silk, in that exquisite green which the learned in such matters call Eau de Nil; and its beauty was enhanced by the old lace which had formed not the least treasured part of her inheritance. In her hair she wore an ornament of Spanish paste, of exquisite workmanship, and round her neck a chain which had once adorned that of a madonna in an Andalusian church. Her individuality made even her plainness attractive. She smiled at herself in the glass ruefully, because Arthur would never notice that she was perfectly dressed.

When she tripped down the stairs and across the pavement to the cab with which he fetched her, Susie held up her skirt with a grace she flattered herself was quite Parisian. As they drove along, she flirted a little with her Spanish fan and stole a glance at herself in the glass. Her gloves were so long and so new and so expensive that she was really indifferent to Arthur’s inattention.

Her joyous temperament expanded like a spring flower when she found herself in the Opera House. She put up her glasses and examined the women as they came into the boxes of the Grand Tier. Arthur pointed out a number of persons whose names were familiar to her, but she felt the effort he was making to be amiable. The weariness of his mouth that evening was more noticeable because of the careless throng. But when the music began he seemed to forget that any eye was upon him; he relaxed the constant tension in which he held himself; and Susie, watching him surreptitiously, saw the emotions chase one another across his face. It was now very mobile. The passionate sounds ate into his soul, mingling with his own love and his own sorrow, till he was taken out of himself; and sometimes he panted strangely. Through the interval he remained absorbed in his emotion. He sat as quietly as before and did not speak a word. Susie understood why Arthur, notwithstanding his old indifference, now showed such eager appreciation of music; it eased the pain he suffered by transferring it to an ideal world, and his own grievous sorrow made the music so real that it gave him an enjoyment of extraordinary vehemence. When it was all over and Isolde had given her last wail of sorrow, Arthur was so exhausted that he could hardly stir.

But they went out with the crowd, and while they were waiting in the vestibule for space to move in, a common friend came up to them. This was Arbuthnot, an eye-specialist, whom Susie had met on the Riviera and who, she presently discovered, was a colleague of Arthur’s at St. Luke’s. He was a prosperous bachelor with grey hair and a red, contented face, well-to-do, for his practice was large, and lavish with his money. He had taken Susie out to luncheon once or twice in Monte Carlo; for he liked women, pretty or plain, and she attracted him by her good-humour. He rushed up to them now and wrung their hands. He spoke in a jovial voice.

“The very people I wanted to see! Why haven’t you been to see me, you wicked woman? I’m sure your eyes are in a deplorable condition.”

“Do you think I would let a bold, bad man like you stare into them with an ophthalmoscope?” laughed Susie.

“Now look here, I want you both to do me a great favour. I’m giving a supper party at the Savoy, and two of my people have suddenly failed me. The table is ordered for eight, and you must come and take their places.”

“I’m afraid I must get home,” said Arthur. “I have a deuce of a lot of work to do.”

“Nonsense,” answered Arbuthnot. “You work much too hard, and a little relaxation will do you good.” He turned to Susie: “I know you like curiosities in human nature; I’m having a man and his wife who will positively thrill you, they’re so queer, and a lovely actress, and an awfully jolly American girl.”

“I should love to come,” said Susie, with an appealing look at Arthur, “if only to show you how much more amusing I am than lovely actresses.”

Arthur, forcing himself to smile, accepted the invitation. The specialist patted him cheerily on the back, and they agreed to meet at the Savoy.

“It’s awfully good of you to come,” said Susie, as they drove along. “Do you know, I’ve never been there in my life, and I’m palpitating with excitement.”

“What a selfish brute I was to refuse!” he answered.

When Susie came out of the dressing-room, she found Arthur waiting for her. She was in the best of spirits.

“Now you must say you like my frock. I’ve seen six women turn green with envy at the sight of it. They think I must be French, and they’re sure I’m not respectable.”

“That is evidently a great compliment,” he smiled.

At that moment Arbuthnot came up to them in his eager way and seized their arms.

“Come along. We’re waiting for you. I’ll just introduce you all round, and then we’ll go in to supper.”

They walked down the steps into the foyer, and he led them to a group of people. They found themselves face to face with Oliver Haddo and Margaret.

“Mr. Arthur Burdon⁠—Mrs. Haddo. Mr. Burdon is a colleague of mine at St. Luke’s; and he will cut out your appendix in a shorter time than any man alive.”

Arbuthnot rattled on. He did not notice that Arthur had grown ghastly pale and that Margaret was blank with consternation. Haddo, his heavy face wreathed with smiles, stepped forward heartily. He seemed thoroughly to enjoy the situation.

“Mr. Burdon is an old friend of ours,” he said. “In fact, it was he who introduced me to my wife. And Miss Boyd and I have