The Moon and Sixpence

Chapter XXXII
I 
DID
NOT
SEE
Strickland for several weeks. I was
disgusted with him, and if I had had an opportu-
nity should have been glad to tell him so, but I
saw no object in seeking him out for the purpose.
I am a little shy of any assumption of moral in-
dignation; there is always in it an element of self-
satisfaction which makes it awkward to anyone
who has a sense of humour. It requires a very
lively passion to steel me to my own ridicule.
There was a sardonic sincerity in Strickland
which made me sensitive to anything that might
suggest a pose.
But one evening when I was passing along the
Avenue de Clichy in front of the cafe which
Strickland frequented and which I now avoided,
I ran straight into him. He was accompanied by
Blanche Stroeve, and they were just going to
Strickland’s favourite corner.
“Where the devil have you been all this time?”
said he. “I thought you must be away. ”
His cordiality was proof that he knew I had no
wish to speak to him. He was not a man with
whom it was worth while wasting politeness.
“No,” I said; “I haven’t been away. ”
“Why haven’t you been here?”
“There are more cafes in Paris than one, at
which to trifle away an idle hour. ”
Blanche then held out her hand and bade me
good-evening. I do not know why I had expected
her to be somehow changed; she wore the same
gray dress that she wore so often, neat and be-
coming, and her brow was as candid, her eyes as
untroubled, as when I had been used to see her
occupied with her household duties in the studio.
“Come and have a game of chess,” said
Strickland.
I do not know why at the moment I could think
of no excuse. I followed them rather sulkily to
the table at which Strickland always sat, and he
called for the board and the chessmen. They both

---

127
Somerset Maugham
took the situation so much as a matter of course
that I felt it absurd to do otherwise. Mrs. Stroeve
watched the game with inscrutable face. She was
silent, but she had always been silent. I looked
at her mouth for an expression that could give
me a clue to what she felt; I watched her eyes
for some tell-tale flash, some hint of dismay or
bitterness; I scanned her brow for any passing
line that might indicate a settling emotion. Her
face was a mask that told nothing. Her hands
lay on her lap motionless, one in the other loosely
clasped. I knew from what I had heard that she
was a woman of violent passions; and that inju-
rious blow that she had given Dirk, the man who
had loved her so devotedly, betrayed a sudden
temper and a horrid cruelty. She had abandoned
the safe shelter of her husband’s protection and
the comfortable ease of a well-provided estab-
lishment for what she could not but see was an
extreme hazard. It showed an eagerness for ad-
venture, a readiness for the hand-to-mouth,
which the care she took of her home and her
love of good housewifery made not a little re-
markable. She must be a woman of complicated
character, and there was something dramatic in
the contrast of that with her demure appearance.
I was excited by the encounter, and my fancy
worked busily while I sought to concentrate
myself on the game I was playing. I always tried
my best to beat Strickland, because he was a
player who despised the opponent he van-
quished; his exultation in victory made defeat
more difficult to bear. On the other hand, if he
was beaten he took it with complete good-
humour. He was a bad winner and a good loser.
Those who think that a man betrays his charac-
ter nowhere more clearly than when he is play-
ing a game might on this draw subtle inferences.
When he had finished I called the waiter to pay
for the drinks, and left them. The meeting had
been devoid of incident. No word had been said
to give me anything to think about, and any sur-

---

128
The Moon and Sixpence
mises I might make were unwarranted. I was
intrigued. I could not tell how they were getting
on. I would have given much to be a disembod-
ied spirit so that I could see them in the privacy
of the studio and hear what they talked about. I
had not the smallest indication on which to let
my imagination work.