Part 128 (1/2)
”I don't know. I think I'll stay a little. And you?”
”I'll stay too, if you've no objection.”
”I should like it.”
Windebank saw to the luggage and drove Mavis to the barrack-like South-Western Hotel; then, after seeing she had all she wanted, he went to his own hotel to dress for his solitary dinner. He had scarcely finished this meal when he was told that a lady wished to speak to him on the telephone. She proved to be Mavis, who said:
”If you've nothing better to do, come and take me out for some air.”
The next few days, they were continually together, when they would mostly ramble by the old-world fortifications of the town. During all this time, neither of them made any mention of events in the past in which they were both concerned.
One evening, an unexpected shower of rain disappointed Windebank's expectation of seeing Mavis after dinner. He telephoned to her, saying that, after coming from a hot climate, she must not trust herself out in the wet.
He was cursing the weather and wondering how he would get through the evening without her, when a servant announced that a lady wished to see him. The next moment, Mavis entered his sitting-room. He noticed that she had changed her black frock for one of brighter hue.
”Why have you come?” he asked, when the servant had gone.
”To see you. Don't you want me?”
”Yes, but--”
”Then sit down and talk; or rather don't. I want to think.”
”You could have done that better alone.”
”I want to think,” she repeated.
They sat for some time in silence, during which Windebank longed to take her in his arms and shower kisses on her lips.
Presently, when she got up to leave, she found so much to say that she continually put off going. At last, when they were standing near the door, Mavis put her face provokingly near his. He bent, meaning to kiss her hair, but instead his lips fell on hers.
To his surprise, Mavis covered his mouth with kisses. Windebank's eyes expressed astonishment, while his arm gripped her form.
”Forgive me; forgive me,” she murmured.
”What for?” he gasped.
”I've been a brute, a beast, and you've never once complained.”
”Dearest!”
”It's true enough; too true. All your life you've given me love, and all I've given you are doubts and misunderstandings. But I'll atone, I'll atone now. I'm yours to do what you will with, whenever you please, now, here, if you wish it. You needn't marry me; I won't bind you down; I only ask you to be kind to me for a little, I've suffered so much.”
”You mean--you mean--”
”That you've loved me so long and so much that I can only reward you by giving you myself.”
She opened her arms. He looked at her steadily for a while, till, with a great effort, he tore himself from her presence and left the room.
The next morning, Mavis received a letter from Windebank.