Mr. Witt's Widow: A Frivolous Tale

“London is uninhabitable to me, if I do as you ask,” he said.

She looked up, the tears escaping from her eyes.

“Ah, and the world to me, if you don’t!”

George sat down in an arm-chair; he abandoned the hope of running away. Neaera rose, pushed back her hair from her face, and fixed her eyes eagerly on him. He looked down for an instant, and she shot a hasty glance at the mirror, and then concentrated her gaze on him again, a little anxious smile coming to her lips.

“You will?” she asked in a whisper.

George petulantly threw his gloves on a table near him. Neaera advanced, and knelt down beside him, laying her hand on his shoulder.

“You have made me cry so much,” she said. “See, my eyes are dim. You won’t make me cry any more?”

George looked at the bright eyes, half veiled in tears, and the mouth trembling on the brink of fresh weeping. And the eyes and mouth were very good.

“It is Gerald,” she said; “he is so strict. And the shame, the shame!”

“You don’t know what it means to me.”

“I do indeed: I know it is hard. But you are generous. No, no, don’t turn your face away!”

George still sat silent. Neaera took his hand in hers.

“Ah, do!” she said.

George smiled, – at himself, not at Neaera.

“Well, don’t cry any more,” said he, “or the eyes will be red as well as dim.”

“You will, you will?” she whispered eagerly.

He nodded.

“Ah, you are good! God bless you, George: you are good!”

“No. I am only weak.”

Neaera swiftly bent and kissed his hand. “The hand that gives me life,” she said.

“Nonsense,” said George, rather roughly.

“Will you clear me altogether?”

“Oh yes; everything or nothing,”

“Will you give me that – that character?”

“Yes.”

She seized his reluctant hand, and kissed it again.

“I have your word?”

“You have.”

She leapt up, suddenly radiant.

“Ah, George, Cousin George, how I love you! Where is it?”

George took the document out of his pocket.

Neaera seized it. “Light a candle,” she cried.

George with an amused smile obeyed her.

“You hold the candle, and I will burn it!” And she watched the paper consumed with the look of a gleeful child. Then she suddenly stretched her arms. “Oh, I am tired!”

“Poor child!” said George. “You can leave it to me now.”

“However shall I repay you? I never can.” Then she suddenly saw the cat, ran to him, and picked him up. “We are forgiven, Bob! we are forgiven!” she cried, dancing about the room.

George watched her with amusement.

She put the cat down and came to him. “See, you have made me happy. Is that enough?”

“It is something,” said he.

“And here is something more!” And she threw her arms round his neck, and kissed him.

“That’s better,” said George. “Any more?”

“Not till we are cousins.”

“Be gentle in your triumph.”

“No, no; don’t talk like that. Are you going?”

“Yes. I must go and put things straight.”

“Good-bye. I – I hope you won’t find it very hard.”

“I have been paid in advance.”

Neaera blushed a little.

“You shall be better paid, if ever I can,” she said.

George paused outside, to light a cigarette; then he struck into the park, and walked slowly along, meditating as he went. When he arrived at Hyde Park Corner, he roused himself from his reverie.