The Moon and Sixpence

Chapter XXVIII
T
HE
EXPLANATION
came a week later. It was about
ten o’ clock at night; I had been dining by my-
self at a restaurant, and having returned to my
small apartment, was sitting in my parlour, read-
ing I heard the cracked tinkling of the bell, and,
going into the corridor, opened the door. Stroeve
stood before me.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
In the dimness of the landing I could not see
him very well, but there was something in his
voice that surprised me. I knew he was of abste-
mious habit or I should have thought he had been
drinking. I led the way into my sitting room and
asked him to sit down.
“Thank God I’ve found you,” he said.
“What’s the matter?” I asked in astonishment
at his vehemence.
I was able now to see him well. As a rule he
was neat in his person, but now his clothes were
in disorder. He looked suddenly bedraggled. I was
convinced he had been drinking, and I smiled. I
was on the point of chaffing him on his state.
“I didn’t know where to go,” he burst out. “I
came here earlier, but you weren’t in.”
“I dined late,” I said.
I changed my mind: it was not liquor that had
driven him to this obvious desperation. His face,
usually so rosy, was now strangely mottled. His
hands trembled.
“Has anything happened?” I asked.
“My wife has left me.”
He could hardly get the words out. He gave a
little gasp, and the tears began to trickle down
his round cheeks. I did not know what to say. My
first thought was that she had come to the end
of her forbearance with his infatuation for
Strickland, and, goaded by the latter’s cynical
behaviour, had insisted that he should be turned
out. I knew her capable of temper, for all the calm-
ness of her manner; and if Stroeve still refused,

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she might easily have flung out of the studio with
vows never to return. But the little man was so
distressed that I could not smile.
“My dear fellow, don’t be unhappy. She’ll
come back. You mustn’t take very seriously what
women say when they’re in a passion.”
“ You don’t understand. She’s in love with
Strickland.”
“What!” I was startled at this, but the idea had
no sooner taken possession of me than I saw it
was absurd. “How can you be so silly? You don’t
mean to say you’re jealous of Strickland?” I al-
most laughed. “You know very well that she
can’t bear the sight of him.”
“ You don’t understand,” he moaned.
“ You’re an hysterical ass,” I said a little impa-
tiently. “Let me give you a whisky-and-soda, and
you’ll feel better. ”
I supposed that for some reason or other — and
Heaven knows what ingenuity men exercise to
torment themselves — Dirk had got it into his
head that his wife cared for Strickland, and with
his genius for blundering he might quite well
have offended her so that, to anger him, perhaps,
she had taken pains to foster his suspicion.
“Look here,” I said, “let’s go back to your stu-
dio. If you’ve made a fool of yourself you must
eat humble pie. Your wife doesn’t strike me as
the sort of woman to bear malice.”
“How can I go back to the studio?” he said
wearily. “They’re there. I’ve left it to them.”
“Then it’s not your wife who’s left you; it’s
you who’ve left your wife.”
“For God’s sake don’t talk to me like that.”
Still I could not take him seriously. I did not for
a moment believe what he had told me. But he
was in very real distress.
“ Well, you’ve come here to talk to me about
it. You’d better tell me the whole story. ”
“This afternoon I couldn’t stand it any more. I
went to Strickland and told him I thought he was
quite well enough to go back to his own place. I

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The Moon and Sixpence
wanted the studio myself.”
“No one but Strickland would have needed tell-
ing,” I said. “What did he say?”
“He laughed a little; you know how he laughs,
not as though he were amused, but as though
you were a damned fool, and said he’d go at once.
He began to put his things together. You remem-
ber I fetched from his room what I thought he
needed, and he asked Blanche for a piece of pa-
per and some string to make a parcel.”
Stroeve stopped, gasping, and I thought he was
going to faint. This was not at all the story I had
expected him to tell me.
“She was very pale, but she brought the paper
and the string. He didn’t say anything. He made
the parcel and he whistled a tune. He took no
notice of either of us. His eyes had an ironic smile
in them. My heart was like lead. I was afraid
something was going to happen, and I wished I
hadn’t spoken. He looked round for his hat. Then
she spoke:
“`I’m going with Strickland, Dirk,’ she said.
`I can’t live with you any more.’
“I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
Strickland didn’t say anything. He went on whis-
tling as though it had nothing to do with him.”
Stroeve stopped again and mopped his face. I
kept quite still. I believed him now, and I was
astounded. But all the same I could not under-
stand.
Then he told me, in a trembling voice, with
the tears pouring down his cheeks, how he had
gone up to her, trying to take her in his arms,
but she had drawn away and begged him not to
touch her. He implored her not to leave him. He
told her how passionately he loved her, and re-
minded her of all the devotion he had lavished
upon her. He spoke to her of the happiness of
their life. He was not angry with her. He did not
reproach her.
“Please let me go quietly, Dirk,” she said at
last. “Don’t you understand that I love

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Strickland? Where he goes I shall go.”
“But you must know that he’ll never make you
happy. For your own sake don’t go. You don’t
know what you’ve got to look forward to.”
“It’s your fault. You insisted on his coming
here.”
He turned to Strickland.
“Have mercy on her,” he implored him. “You
can’t let her do anything so mad.”
“She can do as she chooses,” said Strickland.
“She’s not forced to come.”
“My choice is made,” she said, in a dull voice.
Strickland’s injurious calm robbed Stroeve of
the rest of his self-control. Blind rage seized him,
and without knowing what he was doing he flung
himself on Strickland. Strickland was taken by
surprise and he staggered, but he was very
strong, even after his illness, and in a moment,
he did not exactly know how, Stroeve found him-
self on the floor.
“ You funny little man,” said Strickland.
Stroeve picked himself up. He noticed that his
wife had remained perfectly still, and to be made
ridiculous before her increased his humiliation.
His spectacles had tumbled off in the struggle,
and he could not immediately see them. She
picked them up and silently handed them to him.
He seemed suddenly to realise his unhappiness,
and though he knew he was making himself still
more absurd, he began to cry. He hid his face in
his hands. The others watched him without a
word. They did not move from where they stood.
“Oh, my dear,” he groaned at last, “how can
you be so cruel?”
“I can’t help myself, Dirk,” she answered.
“I’ve worshipped you as no woman was ever
worshipped before. If in anything I did I displeased
you, why didn’t you tell me, and I’d have
changed. I’ve done everything I could for you.”
She did not answer. Her face was set, and he
saw that he was only boring her. She put on a
coat and her hat. She moved towards the door,

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The Moon and Sixpence
and he saw that in a moment she would be gone.
He went up to her quickly and fell on his knees
before her, seizing her hands: he abandoned all
self-respect.
“Oh, don’t go, my darling. I can’t live with-
out you; I shall kill myself. If I’ve done anything
to offend you I beg you to forgive me. Give me
another chance. I’ll try harder still to make you
happy. ”
“Get up, Dirk. You’re making yourself a per-
fect fool.”
He staggered to his feet, but still he would not
let her go.
“Where are you going?” he said hastily. “You
don’t know what Strickland’s place is like. You
can’t live there. It would be awful.”
“If I don’t care, I don’t see why you should.”
“Stay a minute longer. I must speak. After all,
you can’t grudge me that.”
“What is the good? I’ve made up my mind.
Nothing that you can say will make me alter it.”
He gulped, and put his hand to his heart to
ease its painful beating.
“I’m not going to ask you to change your mind,
but I want you to listen to me for a minute. It’s
the last thing I shall ever ask you. Don’t refuse
me that.”
She paused, looking at him with those reflec-
tive eyes of hers, which now were so different to
him. She came back into the studio and leaned
against the table.
“ Well?”
Stroeve made a great effort to collect himself.
“ You must be a little reasonable. You can’t live
on air, you know. Strickland hasn’t got a penny. ”
“I know. ”
“ You’ll suffer the most awful privations. You
know why he took so long to get well. He was
half starved.”
“I can earn money for him.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. I shall find a way. ”

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A horrible thought passed through the
Dutchman’s mind, and he shuddered.
“I think you must be mad. I don’t know what
has come over you.”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Now may I go?”
“ Wait one second longer. ”
He looked round his studio wearily; he had
loved it because her presence had made it gay
and homelike; he shut his eyes for an instant;
then he gave her a long look as though to im-
press on his mind the picture of her. He got up
and took his hat.
“No; I’ll go.”
“ You?”
She was startled. She did not know what he
meant.
“I can’t bear to think of you living in that hor-
rible, filthy attic. After all, this is your home just
as much as mine. You’ll be comfortable here.
You’ll be spared at least the worst privations.”
He went to the drawer in which he kept his
money and took out several bank-notes.
“I would like to give you half what I’ve got
here.”
He put them on the table. Neither Strickland
nor his wife spoke.
Then he recollected something else.
“Will you pack up my clothes and leave them
with the concierge? I’ll come and fetch them to-
morrow.” He tried to smile.” Good-bye, my dear.
I’m grateful for all the happiness you gave me
in the past.”
He walked out and closed the door behind him.
With my mind’s eye I saw Strickland throw his
hat on a table, and, sitting down, begin to smoke
a cigarette.

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