“We are married,” declared Medora. “Already I feel as properly married to you as I can be.”
But he soared to no such imaginative heights.
“Marriage is marriage,” he answered. “We must possess our souls in patience.”
He spoke as though he were not going to find this difficult. Indeed he was nervous and anxious to have certain preliminaries completed. At the “Edgeware Arms” Kellock asked for two bedrooms with a firm voice and registered their names as “Mr. and Mrs. Jordan Kellock, from Totnes, Devonshire.”
They went upstairs together, led by a boy who carried Medora’s travelling basket and the man’s leather portmanteau. The bedrooms adjoined and Kellock invited Medora to choose her room. He then left her luggage there and went into the other himself.
She unpacked with some emotion and wondered when he would come in to see her; but he did not come. She put on a pair of shoes and a white blouse. She washed and did her hair again, for it was untidy. Then she sat down to wait. Presently he knocked at the outer door.
“Are you coming to supper?” he asked, and she rose and joined him.
“Are you rested? I’m afraid you must be sinking.”
“I’m quite all right. Is your room nice?”
“Very comfortable. You don’t mind them adjoining?”
“There’s certainly no reason,” he admitted.
They supped together cheerfully and he made her drink hot soup. He was a teetotaller but Medora asked for some beer.
“I dare say I’ll get used to giving it up soon,” she said. “In fact I mean to. Where I can be like you, Jordan, I shall be. But I’m used to a glass for supper and I’m extra tired to-day.”
He ordered a small bottle of Bass and under the stimulant she grew happy and confidential. She talked a great deal.
“I didn’t think I should have been able to eat a bit,” she said, “but I never enjoyed a meal more.”
“Nor me,” he answered. “When you’ve done, we’ll go and sit in the writing room. That’ll be empty, and we can chat. But I know you’re dog-tired, so I shan’t let you stop up long.”
The smoking room looked more attractive to Medora. There was a haze in the air and a tang of cigar about the portal. A chink of glass and sound of laughter might be heard there. She would have liked to be seen sitting by Mr. Kellock in some comfortable corner, while he too smoked a cigar and drank some whiskey and soda perhaps, or one of the bright drinks in very little glasses. But she blamed herself for the wish. There must be no small fancies of this sort. Her triumph would never be displayed in public smoking rooms. She must realise that from the first. As though to mark the austere heights on which henceforth she would move, Jordan led the way to an empty writing room silent and dark. A decayed fire was perishing in the grate. He fumbled for an electric light and turned it on. Then he shut the door and drew an arm chair to the remains of the fire for her. He took a light chair and placed it opposite her.