Part 64 (1/2)
Rylton is white now with rage.
”You are wrong there; I have the worst opinion of you; I think you a tyrant--a perfect _Nero!”_
Suddenly she lifts her pretty hands and covers her face with them.
She bursts into tears.
”And you _promised_ you would never be unkind to me!” sobs she.
”Unkind! Good heavens!” says Rylton, distractedly. _Who_ is unkind?
Is it he or she? Who is in fault?
”At all events you pretended to be fond of me.”
”I never pretend anything,” says Rylton, whose soul seems torn in twain.
”You did,” cries t.i.ta wildly. ”You _did.”_ She brushes her tears aside, and looks up at him--her small, delicate face flushed--her eyes on fire! ”You promised you would be kind to me.”
”I promised nothing,” in a dull sort of way. He feels crushed, unable to move. ”It was you who arranged everything; I was to go my way, and you yours.”
”It was liberal, at all events.”
”And useless!” There is a prophetic note in his voice. ”As you would have gone your way, whether or no.”
”And you, yours!”
”I don't know about that. But your way--where does that lead? Now, look here, t.i.ta,”--he takes a step towards her--”you are bent on following that way. But mark my words, bad will come of it.”
”Nothing bad will come of _my_ way!” says t.i.ta distinctly.
Her eyes are fixed on his. For a full minute they regard each other silently. How much does she know? Rylton's very soul seems hara.s.sed with this question. That old story! A shock runs through him as he says those last words to himself. _Is_ it old? That story? _Marian!_ What is she to him now?
”As for Tom,” says t.i.ta suddenly, ”I tell you distinctly I shall not give him up.”
”Give him up!” The phrase grates upon his ear. ”What do you mean?”
demands he, his anger all aflame again.
”That I shall not insult him, or be cold to him, to please you or anybody.”
”Is that your decision? Then I think it will be wise of your cousin to shorten his visit.”
”Do you mean by that that you are going to be uncivil to him?”
”Yes!” shortly, and with decision.
”You will be cold to him? To Tom? To my own cousin? Maurice, Maurice! Think what you are doing!”
She has come close up to him. Her charming face is uplifted to his.
”Think what _you_ are doing,” returns he hoa.r.s.ely. He catches her hands. ”If you will swear to me that he is nothing to you--nothing----”