Mr. Gurney and Mr. Slade by Warwick Deeping

Author:Warwick Deeping
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: fiction, World War I
Publisher: Distributed Proofreaders Canada
Published: 1944-07-15T05:00:00+00:00

XVII

Gurney, greatly daring, walked on the pier that afternoon with his wife. It was not a tactful act on the part of one who had been persuaded to institute proceedings for divorce, but sentiment held Gurney by the arm, and chattered and bored him. What a world it would be if everything was Florence, high-bosomed and perfumed and pornographic, full of shy artifice that, like a silk skirt, concealed an exhausting abundance of the flesh. But Gurney was feeling that he was saying good-bye to a creature for whom he had been somewhat responsible. As for old Rawlins, when he had seen Gurney pass through the turnstile with that wealth of femininity, old Rawlins had smacked his knee, and exulted.

“Gosh, well if—he—ain’t got a goer! Shouldn’t have thought it of ‘im. That’s the sort of bit I’d like to cuddle on a quiet seat after sunset.”

Which goes to prove that old Rawlins’s taste in women was not elevated, and that his opinion of Gurney as man had risen.

Gurney attended at St. Jude’s Church that evening. He had had a few words in private with his vicar.

“If you would rather I was absent, sir——”

“My dear Gurney, I wish nothing of the kind.”

“Thank you. That is—if I may say so—true charity and breadth of mind. My wife came here to ask me to divorce her.”

“And shall you?”

“What would you advise?”

Mr. Jones had looked blandly benignant. He was going to rub in his victory over Emily.

“Well, Gurney, yes. I presume it will be a straight case. Not pleasant for you, I know. I should take what the Law will give you.”

“I am glad you feel that way, sir. This tie has been an incubus upon me—for years.”

Mr. Jones marched in to evening service feeling a magnanimous and fine fellow, and liking Gurney all the better, for Gurney was a figure in a triumphal procession. Mr. Jones kept an eye upon Emily. She did not walk out as did Miss Godbold, Mr. Sawkins and one or two others. Mrs. Jones was feeling an injured woman, but she remained shut up in the vicarage pew.

Gurney had said good-bye to his wife, and he found Mr. Slade waiting for him outside the porch. Gurney was glad of Mr. Slade, for here was a man to whom you could open your soul, and he was feeling lonely. Noisy exhibitionists like Florence drove your shy spirit to hide like a bird in a bush.

“We are expecting you to supper, John.”

Gurney looked frightened. “Don’t you think, sir, I——?”

“No, I don’t, John, whatever you mean by that. You must have had a—tiring—day.”

Mr. Slade took Gurney’s arm as though to make sure of him, and to link up with him.

“Well, it’s finished, and so am I.”

“You—finished, John?”

Gurney smiled whimsically at nothing. “I’m either a sad sinner or a figure of fun. It is not seemly that I should stay on here.”

Mr. Slade did not say “Fudge” or “Nonsense”. He pressed his friend’s arm.

“Some of us want you to stay.”

“That’s very kind of you.

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