Free The Spiral Staircase by Ethel Lina White Page B

getting preferential treatment,” she said. As though she had some uncanny instinct, Nurse Barker seemed to know exactly how to raise up the spectre of fear.
    “In any case,” she observed, “you will have Lady Warren to keep you company. You are sleeping with her tonight.”
    Helen heard the. words with a horrible sense of finality. Lady Warren knew that Helen would have to come. Her smile was like that of a crocodile, waiting for prey which, never failed it.
    The old lady would be waiting for her.

CHAPTER VIII
    JEALOUSY
     
    While Helen grappled with the problem of how to make the doctor understand her aversion to night-duty-so that he might’ back her up with the necessary authority—the triangle was working up to a definite situation. Had she known it, she would have been indifferent to any development of marital friction. For the first time in her life, she was removed from her comfortable seat in the theatre, and pushed on to the stage.
    The more she thought of’ the prospect of sleeping in the blue room, the less she liked it. It was a case for compliance, or open rebellion, when she risked, not only dismissal, but a probable forfeiture of salary. She was positive that Miss Warren would side with the nurse, for her short spell as her deputy, had been both repugnant and inconvenient.
    Nurse Barker’s status in the household, as a trained professional woman, was far higher than the help’s. If she declared an ultimatum, Helen must inevitably go to the wall. Moreover, in spite of his apparent interest in hero self, she had an uneasy suspicion that—as a matter of etiquette-the doctor must support the nurse.
    “If he fails me, I’ll just have to grit my teeth and see it through,” she thought. “But, first, I’ll have a desperate dig at his higher nature.”
    While there seemed to be no connection between her own grim drama of fear and the teacup tempest in the drawingroom, the repercussions of the trivial theme were to be of vital importance to her safety.
    Yet the drawing room and kitchen seemed a world apart. As Helen was grating nutmegs, Simone tossed her cigarette into the fire and rose, with a yawn. Instantly her husband’s head shot up from behind the cover of his book.
    “Where are you going?” he asked.
    “To dress. Why?” “Merely an opening gambit for conversation. Your unbroken silence is uncivilized.”
    Simone’s eyes flashed under her painted brows.
    “You do nothing but ask questions,” she said. “I’m not used to cross-examination—and I resent it. And another thing. I object to being followed.”
    Newton stuck out his lower lip as he threw away his own cigarette.
    “But your way happens to be my way, my dear,” Newton told her. “I’m going up to dress, too.”
    Simone spun round and faced him.
    “Look here,” she said, “I don’t want to throw a scene here, because of the Professor. But I warn you once and for all, I’ve had enough of it.”
    “And I warn you, too,” he told her, “I’ve had enough of you and Rice.”
    “Oh, don’t be a fool, and start that Middle Ages stuff all over again. You’ve nothing on me. I’m free to do as I like. I can chuck you—and I will, too—if you persist in being impossible. I’ve my own money.” “Perhaps, that’s why I’m anxious to keep you,” said Newton. “Don’t forget, this family runs to brains.”
    The anger faded from Simone’s face and she looked at her husband with a flicker of real interest. Swayed by her senses and desires, she had deliberately stunted her own intellect. She despised cleverness in a woman, since she believed she needed only instinct, in order to explore every part of the territory—man.
    Because it was an unfamiliar dimension, she respected a masculine brain. She married Newton, in spite of his ugly face, for the sake of the uncharted region behind his bulging forehead. Intensive spoiling had made her care only for the unattainable.
    Her series of affairs with ardent undergraduates