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

discussed Art and the Immortality of the Soul with the gravity due to such topics.”

He held out his hand, and Susie took it. She had a horror of scenes, and, though this encounter was as unexpected as it was disagreeable, she felt it needful to behave naturally. She shook hands with Margaret.

“How disappointing!” cried their host. “I was hoping to give Miss Boyd something quite new in the way of magicians, and behold! she knows all about him.”

“If she did, I’m quite sure she wouldn’t speak to me,” said Oliver, with a bantering smile.

They went into the supper-room.

“Now, how shall we sit?” said Arbuthnot, glancing round the table.

Oliver looked at Arthur, and his eyes twinkled.

“You must really let my wife and Mr. Burdon be together. They haven’t seen one another for so long that I’m sure they have no end of things to talk about.” He chuckled to himself. “And pray give me Miss Boyd, so that she can abuse me to her heart’s content.”

This arrangement thoroughly suited the gay specialist, for he was able to put the beautiful actress on one side of him and the charming American on the other. He rubbed his hands.

“I feel that we’re going to have a delightful supper.”

Oliver laughed boisterously. He took, as was his habit, the whole conversation upon himself, and Susie was obliged to confess that he was at his best. There was a grotesque drollery about him that was very diverting, and it was almost impossible to resist him. He ate and drank with tremendous appetite. Susie thanked her stars at that moment that she was a woman who knew by long practice how to conceal her feelings, for Arthur, overcome with dismay at the meeting, sat in stony silence. But she talked gaily. She chaffed Oliver as though he were an old friend, and laughed vivaciously. She noticed meanwhile that Haddo, more extravagantly dressed than usual, had managed to get an odd fantasy into his evening clothes; he wore knee-breeches, which in itself was enough to excite attention; but his frilled shirt, his velvet collar, and oddly-cut satin waistcoat gave him the appearance of a comic Frenchman. Now that she was able to examine him more closely, she saw that in the last six months he was grown much balder; and the shiny whiteness of his naked crown contrasted oddly with the redness of his face. He was stouter, too, and the fat hung in heavy folds under his chin; his paunch was preposterous. The vivacity of his movements made his huge corpulence subtly alarming. He was growing indeed strangely terrible in appearance. His eyes had still that fixed, parallel look, but there was in them now at times a ferocious gleam. Margaret was as beautiful as ever, but Susie noticed that his influence was apparent in her dress; for there could be no doubt that it had crossed the line of individuality and had degenerated into the eccentric. Her gown was much too gorgeous. It told against the classical character of her beauty. Susie shuddered a little, for it reminded her of a courtesan’s.

Margaret talked and laughed as much as her husband, but Susie could not tell whether this animation was affected or due to an utter callousness. Her voice seemed natural enough, yet it was inconceivable that she should be so lighthearted. Perhaps she was trying to show that she was happy. The supper proceeded, and the lights, the surrounding gaiety, the champagne, made everyone more lively. Their host was in uproarious spirits. He told a story or two at which everyone laughed. Oliver Haddo had an amusing anecdote handy. It was a little risky, but it was so funnily narrated that everyone roared but Arthur, who remained in perfect silence. Margaret had been drinking glass after glass of wine, and no sooner had her husband finished than she capped his story with another. But whereas his was wittily immoral, hers was simply gross. At first the other women could not understand to what she was tending, but when they saw, they looked down awkwardly at their plates. Arbuthnot, Haddo, and the other man who was there laughed very heartily; but Arthur flushed to the roots of his hair. He felt horribly uncomfortable. He was ashamed. He dared not look at Margaret. It was inconceivable that from her exquisite mouth such indecency should issue. Margaret, apparently quite unconscious of the effect she had produced, went on talking and laughing.

Soon the lights were put out, and Arthur’s agony was ended. He wanted to rush away, to hide his face, to forget the sight of her and her gaiety, above all to forget that story. It was horrible, horrible.

She shook hands with him quite lightly.

“You must come and see us one day. We’ve got rooms at the Carlton.”

He bowed and did not answer. Susie had gone to the dressing-room to get her cloak. She stood at the door when Margaret came out.

“Can we drop you anywhere?” said Margaret. “You must come and see us when you have nothing better to do.”

Susie threw back her head. Arthur was standing just in front of them looking down at the ground in complete abstraction.

“Do you see him?” she said, in a low voice quivering with indignation. “That is what you have made him.”

He looked up at that moment and turned upon them his sunken, tormented eyes. They saw his wan, pallid face with its look of hopeless woe.

“Do you know that he’s killing himself on your account? He can’t sleep at night. He’s suffered the tortures of the damned. Oh, I hope you’ll suffer as he’s suffered!”

“I wonder that you blame me,” said Margaret. “You ought to be rather grateful.”

“Why?”

“You’re not going to deny that you’ve loved him passionately from the first day you saw him? Do you think I didn’t see that you cared for him in Paris? You care for him now more than ever.”

Susie felt suddenly sick at heart. She had never dreamt that her secret was discovered. Margaret gave