Source:http://lang.nagoya-u.ac.jp/~matsuoka/index.html
Every one laughed at Mrs. Jephson, but only the ill-conditioned laughed unkindly. For
all her vanity, it was impossible to dislike her: for all her astonishing naïveté,
one could not help thinking of her as a clever woman. She did a great many
foolish things -- perhaps her life in London was one supreme folly yet who
could deny her social gifts, or fail to understand the temptation which brought
her into such strange prominence? She was no adventuress; any one who took the
trouble could ascertain all about her large income, and how she had inherited
it. Plainly, her one desire was to enjoy life, and to see other people sharing
in her pleasures. Of scandal, not a word, not a breath.
Her husband seldom showed himself, but his absences were most satisfactorily
explained; and people who had seen the two together agreed that there could be
no shadow of doubt as to the harmony of their life.
Of course,
even Mrs. Jephson did not tell everything. Probably
her husband had begun life at the very bottom of the ladder; in appearance and
talk he still resembled the average Lancashire mill-hand. Of herself she
gossiped freely; joked about her barefoot childhood in the little moorland town, and mimicked her early modes of speech. No
one needed to ask whence she came; however skilfully she had picked up the
language of education, her tongue at once bewrayed
her. But she was never heard to make fun of Mr. Jephson.
His name was often on her lips, and always with a phrase of affection,
admiration, eulogy. 'My husband' -- as soon as the words were uttered, one knew
what would come. For her, Mr. Jephson's opinion was
the final authority; his wish was law. One could only suppose that the man
himself conscious of deficiencies, chose to keep in
the background, satisfied so long as his brilliant wife had all she wanted. It
did not seem at all wonderful that he should look on at her social triumphs
with the calmness of perfect trust. Mrs. Jephson was
childless, by no means ill-favoured, and not yet thirty-five; but if ever a
wife could take card of herself and if ever one was resolute to walk straight,
it was she.
She did not flash
of a sudden upon the world that amuses itself. In her first London season she
knew very few people, and lived quietly at a first-rate boarding-house. At the
close of that year, after foreign travel, she took a large house, and began to
entertain. But only the third year of her prosperity established her as a
recognised leader in certain circles of wealth and fashion; then it was that
one began to read so much about her, and to hear her name both above and below
the sphere in which she shone. Mrs. Jephson frankly
declared that she had now attained the summit of her wishes. She could not
aspire to a place among the aristocracy; enough to be received among 'nice and
jolly people' -- that was her phrase -- and to feel that she was getting
'really good value for her money.' The hearty candour of her egoism forbade one
to remember that she had no intellectual aim, and that she seemed not so much
indifferent to as utterly oblivious of social problems and miseries. Intensely
conservative in her instincts, she lived as though it were her duty to support
and enjoy the existing order of things. Reminiscences of her
own poverty appeared to inspire her with no sympathy for that of others.
One gathered now and then that she felt gratitude to Providence for the care it
had taken of her; but, at the same time, she evidently saw in her promotion a
striking example of the fitness of things.
Early in
August, Mrs. Jephson left town. It was understood
that she had a great round of visits to make. For a month or two, the Society
journals chronicled her movements; then she disappeared, and no one heard
anything of her till after Christmas. One day, in a London drawing-room, a lady
startled her friends by declaring that Mr. Jephson
had filed a petition of divorce. She had it on the very best authority.
'Impossible!'
exclaimed another lady present. 'I called yesterday. A lot of people were
there. She was just the same as ever.'
Incredulity
was general. No less than three of the company went straight to call upon Mrs. Jephson, whom they found in excellent health and spirits.
About a dozen persons were in the drawing-room, and presently they began to
form little groups, at a distance from the hostess, talking earnestly in a low
voice. Mrs. Jephson, observant, but
unconcerned, beckoned a certain young matron to her side.
'What is it?
What were you talking about?'
'I? Oh --
trifles -- really I forget.'
'Oh, no, you
don't. What made you turn red? Tell me at once.'
There was no
resisting this Northern bluntness. The lady whispered, 'Some
malicious person has been saying that you -- that Mr. Jephson
----'
Having heard
the rumour, Mrs. Jephson reflected for a moment.
Then, glancing round, she saw that many eyes were fixed upon her. Suddenly, she
let a teacup fall; it shattered on the floor.
'A way of
getting your attention,' she exclaimed with a laugh, as the guests turned to
look. 'You're all talking about the same thing, but you're all wrong. I may as
well let you know the truth. It's I who am the petitioner in a certain
case, not my husband. There, now we won't talk any more about it; you'll all
know whatever there is to be known before long.'
And not
another word was said. Nor, until the public were invited to the feast of
scandal, did any one of Mrs. Jephson's fashionable
acquaintances learn a single detail of the affair. An acute observer, much
interested in the little Lancashire woman, would have it that she had made up
her mind not to spoil the effect of Divorce Court revelations; an artist in her
way, she understood the advantage of stimulating curiosity by reticence. This,
to be sure, was rather a new reading of Mrs. Jephson's
character; but, judging by subsequent events, there seems to have been
something in it. Most likely she enjoyed the universal astonishment. Seeing
people as usual (except the few more scrupulous who preferred to hold aloof),
she was unlike herself only in the one respect, that she never mentioned her
husband.
The case came
on; the story was told. In its main features, so simple a story, that ordinary
people were disappointed. Last autumn, while staying at a country house, Mrs. Jephson learnt that her husband was unfaithful to her: he
had a working-class mistress somewhere in the North. At once she went to see
him; they quarrelled violently, and Jephson refused
to make any change, save on the condition that his wife should relinquish her
fashionable career, and live with him away from London. He brought no charge
against her; merely said that her way of living was distasteful to him -- an
oft-repeated protest on his part. In the end Mrs. Jephson
yielded, and for two or three weeks they dwelt together in retirement. But it
was not a success. Discord soon broke out again, and rose to such a point that
one night Jephson beat his wife savagely. He then
kept her a prisoner in the little country house for several days, until,
alarmed by her condition, he was obliged to call in a doctor. This medical man
now testified that Mrs. Jephson had suffered gravely;
indeed, it was a wonder she had not been lamed for life. A reconciliation being
impossible, the husband abruptly took himself off, and rejoined his mistress,
with whom he was still living. He did not defend the case.
Well, that
was all, and people felt disappointed. Not so the acute observer. 'Think what a
wonderful little woman!' he remarked. 'For years she has evidently subdued to
her will a man of violent passions, of tremendous character. Plainly she was
fond of him: But there came the inevitable moment; she had to choose between
him and social success. A year ago she would have yielded in the contest, had
it become acute; in the end, ambition carried it. Say, if you like, that the
little woman has been spoilt; perhaps so. At all events, the thrashing was too
much. She welcomed the opportunity of making a new start in life. Not an
ungenerous little woman, you can't say that she took advantage of her position;
all along, it was fair subjugation of will by will. She would never have spoken
disloyally of the man, or have tried to get rid of him. But after the
thrashing, she would naturally feel "Now we are quits." Probably, she
won't be quite what she was; we shall see.'
Six months
later, the Times contained this advertisement:
MRS. JEPHSON begs
sincerely to thank her friends for sympathy, written and verbal, pending
proceedings for dissolution of marriage, in which she, the petitioner, obtained
the final decree on the 14th inst.
The acute observer laughed.
(Provided by Mitsuharu Matsuoka, Nagoya University, Japan,
on 8 January 1998.)