Athalie

Incredulous still in the very menace of new and perilous relations – of a new intimacy, imminent, threatening, she withdrew her hands from the shoulders of this man who had been a boy but an instant ago. And the next moment he caught her in his arms.

"Clive! You can't do this!" she whispered, deathly white.

"What am I to do?" he retorted fiercely.

"Not this, Clive! – For my sake – please —please– "

There was colour enough in her face, now. Breathless, still a little frightened, she looked away from him, plucking nervously, instinctively, at his hands clasping her waist.

"Can't you c-care for me, Athalie?" he stammered.

"Yes … you know it. But don't touch me, Clive – "

"When I'm – in love – with you – "

She caught her breath sharply.

" – What am I to do?" he repeated between his teeth.

"Nothing! There is nothing to do about it! You know it!.. What is there to do?"

He held her closer and she strained away from him, her head still averted.

"Let me go, Clive!" she pleaded.

"Can't you care for me!"

"Let me go!"

He said under his breath: "All right." And released her. For a moment she did not move but her hands covered her burning face and sealed her lids. She stood there, breathing fast and irregularly until she heard him move. Then, lowering her hands she cast a heart-broken glance at him. And his ashen, haggard visage terrified her.

"Clive!" she faltered: he swung on his heel and caught her to him again.

She offered no resistance.

She was crying, now, – weeping perhaps for all that had been said – or remained unsaid – or maybe for all that could never be said between herself and this man in whose arms she was trembling. No need now for any further understanding, for excuses, for regrets, for any tardy wish expressed that things might have been different.

He offered no explanation; she expected none, would have suffered none, crying there silently against his shoulder. But the reaction was already invading him; the tide of self-contempt rose.

He said bitterly: "Now that I've done all the damage I could, I shall have to go – or offer – "

"There is no damage done – yet – "

"I have made you love me."

"I – don't know. Wait."

Wet cheek against his shoulder, lips a-quiver, her tragic eyes looked out into space seeing nothing yet except the spectre of this man's unhappiness.

Not for herself had the tears come, the mouth quivered. The flash of passionate emotion in him had kindled in her only a response as blameless as it was deep.

Sorrow for him, for his passion recognised but only vaguely understood, grief for a comradeship forever ended now – regret for the days that now could come no more – but no thought of self as yet, nothing of resentment, of the lesser pity, the baser pride.

If she had trembled it was for their hopeless future; if she had wept it was because she saw his boyhood passing out of her life like a ghost, leaving her still at heart a girl, alone beside the ashes of their friendship.

As for marriage she knew it would never be – that neither he nor she dared subscribe to it, dared face its penalties and its punishments; that her fear of his unknown world was as spontaneous and abiding as his was logical and instinctive.

There was nothing to do about it. She knew that instantly; knew it from the first; – no balm for him, no outlook, no hope. For her – had she thought about herself, – she could have entertained none.

She turned her head on his shoulder and looked up at him out of pitiful, curious eyes.

"Clive, must this be?"

"I love you, Athalie."

Her gaze remained fixed on him as though she were trying to comprehend him, – sad, candid, searching in his eyes for an understanding denied her.

"Yes," she said vaguely, "my thoughts are full of you, too. They have always been since I first saw you. I suppose it has been love. I didn't know it."

"Is it love, Athalie?"

"I – think so, Clive. What else could it be – when a girl is always thinking about a man, always happy with her memories of him… It is love, I suppose … only I never thought of it that way."

"Can you think of it that way now?"

"I haven't changed, Clive. If it was love in the beginning, it is now."

"In the beginning it was only a boy and girl affair."

"It was all my heart had room for."

"And now?"

"You fill my heart and mind as always. But you know that."

"I thought – perhaps – not seeing you – "

"Clive!"

" – Other men – other interests – " he muttered obstinately, and so like a stubborn boy that, for a moment, a pale flash from the past seemed to light them both, and she found herself smiling:

"A girl must go on living until she is dead, Clive. Even if you went away I'd continue to exist until something ended me. Other men are merely other men. You are you."

"You darling!"

But she turned shy instantly, conscious now of his embrace, confused by it and the whispered endearment.

"Please let me go, Clive."