Part 115 (1/2)

”I shan't.”

”If I were other than I am, I should compel you.”

”How could you?”

”With my lips. As it is---”

”Yes--tell me.”

”My infirmity stops me from saying and doing what I would.”

”Why let it?” asked Mavis in a low voice, while her eyes sought the ground.

”You--you mean that?” he asked, in the manner of one who scarcely believed the evidence of his ears.

”I mean it.”

He did not speak for such a long time that Mavis began to wonder if he regretted his words. When she stole a look at him, she saw that his eyes were staring straight before him, as if his mind were all but overwhelmed by the subject matter of its concern.

Mavis touched his arm. He s.h.i.+vered slightly and glanced at her as if surprised, before he realised that she was beside him.

”Listen!” he said. ”You asked--you shall know; whether you like or hate me for it. I love you. Women have never come into my life; they've always looked on me with pitying eyes. I would rather it were so. But you--you--you are beautiful, with a heart like your face, both rare and wonderful. Perhaps I love you so much because you are young and healthy. It hurts me.”

His eyes held such a piteously fearful look that Mavis was moved in spite of herself. He went on:

”If my disposition were like my twisted body, it wouldn't matter. But I love life, movement, struggling. Were I as I used to be, I should love to have a beautiful, responsive woman for my own. I should love to have you.”

Before Mavis knew what she had done, she had put her hand on his. Then he said, as if speaking to himself:

”What have I to offer besides a helpless, envious love? My wife would be a nurse, not a mistress, as she should be.”

”Stop! stop!” she pleaded.

”No, I will not stop,” he cried, as he bent over to hold her head so that her eyes looked into his. ”You shall listen and then decide. I love you. If it's good enough, I'm yours. You know what I have to offer, and I ask you to be my wife because I can't help myself.

Because--”

Mavis had closed her eyes for fear that he should read her heart. He pa.s.sionately kissed the closed lids before sinking back exhausted in his chair.

”Listen to me,” said Mavis after a while. ”It's I who am to blame. Let me go away so that you can forget me.”

”Forget you! forget you!” he cried. ”No, you shall not go away; not till you've said 'yes' or 'no' to what I ask.”

”When shall I answer?”

”Give yourself time--only--”

”Only?”

”Don't keep me waiting longer than you can help.”