A Misalliance Read Online Free PDF Page A

of smile that betokens an impeccable conscience. Blanche would wave her hand until Miss Elphinstone disappeared in the direction of the bus stop.
    In the new social uncertainty of her divorced state, in which, she had observed, she was to be left relatively alone so that she might ‘find her feet’, and presumably be returned to her friends as a person who would not give the lie to her former sophistication, rather than one who might rehearse her grievances at inconvenient moments and in civilized gatherings, Blanche was interested, but not surprised, to see that sympathy was on the side of the guilty party. The hubbub of speculation that surrounded her husband’s new liaison had made itself felt even in Blanche’s silent rooms. She was well aware that this speculation contained an element of the desire to see Bertie make a fool of himself or come a cropper, in which case the call would go out to her once more and she would be invited to give her opinion. It was even hoped, vaguely, that she might effect her re-entry into society by marrying again; but until then, she was, like certain Hollywood actresses in the bad old days, on suspension.
    She gave so few signs of madness or rage that it was difficult to sympathize with her. Indeed, it was Mousie’s contention, vividly expressed to her sympathetic friends, that Blanche had brought Bertie to the verge of complete emotional sterility by virtue of her ‘intellectual snobbery’. This view had reached Blanche, as such views always will, and had met only honest bewilderment. She perceived the difference between Mousie and herself as a very simple one: Mousie was used to being loved. Metaphorically, Mousie had been holding out her arms, in the certainty of meeting a welcoming embrace, since she was a little girl. Even her nickname, Mousie, bestowed on her at that same early age, betokened spoiling, cherishing, a father’s, if not a mother’s,indulgence. By holding out her baby arms Mousie had emitted the correct signals: people knew what their response should be. And because she was so delightfully forthcoming, because she was so easy to understand, because she was so artlessly pleased with the response she invariably elicited, she was allowed to be equally artless when the response was perhaps a little lacking in fervour. Tears of rage would start up in her eyes, accusations would pour from her hotly, presents would be spurned. In this way she cemented attachment through guilt, and any discomfort that this might cause would be swept away by one of Mousie’s lightning changes of mood, her gaiety, her demands for affection, of which she could apparently never have enough. Mousie needed to function from a position of emotional dominance; as this was an art which she had learnt in her cradle, and as it had worked so well at that time, she had seen no need to modify it throughout her adult life.
    Bertie, used to the calm unemotional woman whom Blanche had become, had been enchanted by the petulance, the self-assurance, and the shamelessness of Mousie. He took all these qualities as evidence of passion, in which he was mistaken, although it was an easy mistake to make, and he was not alone in making it. Bertie himself, a rich man, of reserved and powerful personality, represented to Mousie the father to whom she could stretch out her infant arms once more, a delightful prolongation of her habitual and instinctive state. Bertie, whose desire for control was easily titillated by a token opposition, and who had begun to see in Blanche a strength of character that seemed to challenge his own, had succumbed easily to Mousie’s appeal. Not for Mousie the discretion of a woman technically in the wrong; her very indecency had thrilled Bertie to the core. Mousie would telephone him at home, sometimes tearfully, if she had not seen him that day, and was not put out if Blanche happened to be at hand. Once Blanche had answered, andhad said, ‘Do you wish to speak to my husband or are