A Plucky Girl

"No, I would not," said the Duchess, "but I would do one thing, I would up and tell that man the truth. I would put the thing before him and let him decide. Upon my word, that's a very good idea. That's what I would do, Westenra."

"I will not tell him," I replied. "I have promised to marry him on the 1st of June next year. He knows well that I do not love him, but I will keep my bond."

"That is all very fine," said the Duchess. "You may have told him that you do not love him, but you have not told him that you love another man."

"I have certainly not told him that."

"Then you are unfair to him, and also unfair to James Randolph. You think nothing at all of breaking his heart."

"He was away when he might have helped me," I replied. "That was, I know, through no fault of his, but I cannot say any more except that I will not break my bond."

The Duchess went away, and in the evening Jim arrived. He came in with that very quiet manner which he always wore, that absolute self-possession which I do not think under any circumstances would desert him, but I read the anxiety in his grey eyes, the quizzical, half-laughing glance was gone altogether, the eyes were very grave and almost stern.

"Now," he said, "I have come to say very plain words. I want to know why you will not marry me."

"Have you not heard?" I asked.

"I have heard nothing," he answered. "I have been given no reason; you just told me you could not marry me the other night, and you were so upset and shaken that I did not press the matter any further. You know, of course, that I can give you everything now that the heart of girl could desire."

"Do not talk of those things," I said. "I would marry you if you had only a hundred a year; I would marry you if you had nothing a year, provided we could earn our living together. O Jim! I love you so much, I love you so much, so much."

I covered my face with my hands, a deep, dry sob came from my throat.

"Then if that is so," he answered, half bending towards me and yet restraining himself, "why will you not marry me?"

"I cannot, because – because – "

"Take your own time," he said then; "don't speak in a hurry. If you love me as you say you love me, and if you know that I love you, and if you know also, which I think you do, that your mother wished it, and all your friends wish it, why should not we two spend our lives together, shoulder to shoulder, dear, in the thick of the fight, all our lives close together until death does us part? And even death does not really part those who love, Westenra, so we shall in reality never be parted if we do so sincerely love. Why should not these things be?"

"Because I am bound to another man," I said then.

He started away, a stern look came into his face.

"Say that again," was his answer, after a full minute of dead silence.

"I am engaged to another," I said faintly.

"And yet you have dared to say that you love me?"

"It is true."

"In that case you do not love the man to whom you have given your promise?"

"I do not."

"But what does this mean? This puzzles me."

He put up his hand to his forehead as if to push away a weight. He was standing up, and the pallor of his face frightened me.

"I do not understand," he said. "I had put you on a pedestal – are you going to prove yourself common clay after all? but it is impossible. Who is the other man?"

Then I told him.

He uttered a sharp exclamation, then turned on his heel and walked away to the window. He stood there looking out, and I looked at him as his figure was silhouetted against the sky.

After a time he turned sharply round and came back to me and sat down. He did not sit close to me as he had done before, but he spoke quietly, as if he were trying to keep himself in control.

"This is very sudden and terrible," he said; "very inexplicable too. I suppose you will explain?"

"I will," I said. "I knew you were coming to-night; I was cowardly enough to wish that you would not come, but I will explain."

"You are engaged to the man I used to see you talking to at 17 Graham Square?"

"Yes," I said; "do not speak against him."

"I would not be so cruel," he answered. "If you have promised yourself to him, he must merit some respect; tell me the story."

So I told Jim just the same story I had told Jasmine that morning. I did not use quite the same words, for he did not take it so calmly. I had never seen his self-possession shaken before. As my story drew to an end he had quite a bowed look, almost like an old man; then he said slowly —

"It was my fault; I should not have gone away. To think that you were subjected to this, and that there was no escape."

"There was no escape," I said. "Could I have done otherwise?"

"God knows, child, I cannot say."

"I could not," I replied slowly. "If you had been me you would have acted as I have done; there are times when one must forget one's self."

"There are, truly," he said.

"Then you are not dreadfully angry with me, Jim?"

"Angry?" he said slowly; "angry? You have not given me the worst pain of all, you have not stepped down from your pedestal, you are still the one woman for me. But oh! Westenra, have I lost you? Have I lost you?"

He bowed his head in his hands.

CHAPTER XXX

THE DUCHESS HAS HER SAY

I shall never forget as long as I live that sultry 1st of August; there seemed to be scarcely a breath of air anywhere, all the air of London had that used-up feeling which those who live in it all the year round know so well. It was hot weather, hot in the house, hot in the outside streets, hot in the burnt-up parks, hot everywhere. The sky seemed to radiate heat, and the earth seemed to embrace it; and we poor human beings who were subjected to it scarcely knew what to do with ourselves.

Even in Jasmine's luxurious house, where all the appliances of comfort were abundantly in evidence, even there we gasped and thought of the country with a longing equal to that of thirsty people for water.

Jasmine and her husband were going away the next day, and the Duchess was going away too, and I was to join the Fannings on the 4th. I was to have three more days in Jasmine's house, and then I was to go, I knew well never to return. I had not seen Jim after that night, nearly a fortnight ago, when I had told him everything, and from that hour to now nothing at all had occurred to deliver me from my bondage and misery. Mrs. Fanning had come twice to see me; she was very bustling and self-important, and told me honestly that she had a downright hatred for that airified madam her ladyship. She said that we'd have an excellent time in Switzerland, going to the very best hotels, enjoying ourselves everywhere.

"And you two young engaged creatures will have no end of opportunities for flirtation," she said; "I won't be much in the way. You may be quite sure that the old mother will efface herself in order to give her son and her dear new daughter every possible opportunity for enjoying life. Ah! my dear, there is no time like the engaged period – the man makes such a fuss about you then. He don't afterwards, dear; I may as well be frank, but he don't – the best of 'em even take you as if you were common clay; but beforehand you're something of an angel, and they treat you according. It's the way of all men, dear, it is the way of every single one of 'em. Now Albert, for instance, I declare at times I scarcely know him. He used to be a matter-of-fact sort of body, but he is changed in all sorts of ways; and as to the way he speaks of you, you'd think you weren't common clay at all, that your feet had never yet touched the earth. He drives me past patience almost at times; but I say to myself, 'Thank goodness, it won't last.' That's my one consolation, for I cannot bear those high-falutin' ideas, although there's nothing Albert does that seems really wrong to me. He said to me only yesterday, 'Mother, I have a kind of awe over me when I am with her; she is not like any one else, she is so dainty, and so – ' I declare I almost laughed in his face; but there, I didn't, and doubtless he has told you those sort of things himself. I don't want to see you blush. Not that you do blush, Westenra; I must say you take things pretty cool. I suppose it is breeding. They say it takes a power of good breeding to get that calm which it strikes me you have to perfection. I never saw any one else with it except that Mr. Randolph, who, I hear, wasn't drowned at all, but came back as safe as ever a few days ago. Well, well, I'm off now. You wouldn't like to come back to the Métropole to me and Albert the day her ladyship goes, would you, child? Say out frankly if you have a wish that way."

"No," I answered, "I have not a wish that way. I will meet you at Victoria Station. I would rather stay here until then."