Man and Maid

“I do mean it. And, besides – ”

“What?”

“I don’t love you any more.” The bright head drooped and turned away.

“I have killed your love. I don’t wonder. Forgive me for bothering you. Good-bye!”

“What are you going to do?” she asked suddenly.

“Oh, don’t be afraid, nothing desperate. Only work hard and try to forgive you.”

“Forgive me? You have nothing to forgive.”

“No, nothing – if you had left off loving me? Have you? Is it true?”

“Good-bye!” she said. “You are staying at the ‘Ship’?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t let’s part in anger. I shall be on the sea-wall in the morning. Let’s part friends, then.”

In the morning Andrew went into the fresh air. The trees, still gold in calmer homes, stood almost leafless in wild, windy Lymchurch. He stood in the sunlight, and in spite of himself some sort of gladness came to him through the crisp October air. Then the ping of a bicycle bell sounded close behind him, and there was Stephen.

They shook hands, and Stephen’s eyebrows went up.

“Is it all right?” he asked. “I knew you’d come here when I came home last night and found you’d had my letter.”

“No; it’s not all right. She won’t have me.”

“Why?”

“Pride or revenge, or something. Don’t let’s talk about it.”

“All right. I want some breakfast; we left town by the 7.20. I’m starving.”

“Who are ‘we’?”

“Miss Grant and I. I thought Rosamund would be wanting a chaperon or a bridesmaid, or something, so I brought her and her bicycle.”

“Always thoughtful,” said Andrew, with something like a laugh.

Presently, strolling along the sea-wall they met the two girls. Rosamund looked radiant. Where was the pale, hollow-eyed darling of last night? The wind that ruffled her brown hair had blown roses into her cheeks.

“Do you forgive me?” whispered Stephen when they met.

“That depends,” she answered.

They all walked on together, and presently Stephen and Constance fell behind.

Then Rosamund spoke.

“You really think I ought to crush my pride, and – and – ”

Hope laughed in Andrew’s face – laughed and fled – for he looked in the face of Miss Rainham, and there was no sign of yielding in it.

“Yes,” he said almost sullenly.

“That is as much as to say that you were wrong.”

“I – perhaps I was wrong. What does it matter?”

“It matters greatly. Suppose I had my money now would you run away from me?”

“I – I suppose I should act as I did before.”

“Then you don’t care for me any more than you did?”

“I love you a thousand times more,” he cried, turning angry, haggard eyes to her. “Yes, I believe I was wrong. Nothing would send me from you now but yourself – ”

She clapped her hands.

“Then stay,” she said, “for it’s a farce, and my money is as safe as houses.”

He scowled at her.

“It’s all a trick? You’ve played with me? Good-bye, and God forgive you!”

He turned to go, but Constance, coming up from behind them, caught his arm.

“Don’t be such an idiot,” she said. “She had nothing to do with it. She thought her money was gone. You don’t suppose she would have played such a trick even to win your valuable affections. You don’t deserve your luck, Mr Dornington.”

Rosamund was looking at him with wet eyes, and her lips trembled.

“Constance only told me this morning,” she said. “She and Stephen planned it, to get you – to make me – to – to – ”

“And then she nearly spoilt it all by being as silly as you were. Whatever does it matter which of you has the money?”

“Nothing,” said Rosamund valiantly; “I see that plainly. Don’t you, Andrew?”

“I see nothing but you, Rosamund,” he said, and they turned and walked along the sea-wall, hand in hand, like two children.

“That’s all right,” said Stephen; “but, by Jove, I’ve had enough of playing Providence and managing other people’s affairs.”

“She was very sweet about it,” said Constance, walking on.

“Well she may be; she has her heart’s desire. But it was not easy. What a blessing she is so unbusiness-like! I couldn’t have done it but for you.”

“I am very glad to have been of some service,” said Constance demurely.