Part 68 (2/2)
”Ah, explained!” says she. Her lips curl slightly, and her eyes (always fastened upon his) seem to grow darker. ”If you are coming to explanations----” says she softly, but with some intensity.
_”Have_ you explained things? And when? Was it _before_ our marriage? It _should _have been, I think!”
Rylton changes colour. It is such a sudden change that the girl goes over to him and lays her hand upon his chest.
”Did you think--all this time--that I did not know?” says she, raising her eyes to his--such solemn young eyes. ”I have known it a long, long time. _Always,_ I think! Your mother told me when we went to the Hall after our--trip abroad.”
”She told you what?”
It is a last effort to spare---- To spare whom? Marian or himself--or---- All at once he knows it is t.i.ta whom he would spare.
”Ah, that is useless,” says t.i.ta, with a slight gesture. ”She told me a great deal then; she has told me more to-day.”
”To-day?”
”A few last items,” says the girl, her eyes burning into his as she stands before him, her hand upon his breast. ”Shall I tell them to you? You married me for my money! You ruined your life”--she seems to be looking back and repeating things that had been said to her--”by doing _that_. Your mother” slowly, ”seemed sorry that your life was ruined!”
_”t.i.ta!”_
”No, listen; there is a little more. You only consented to make me your wife when you found Mrs. Bethune would not have you.”
”You shall hear me,” says he.
His face is as white as death now, but she silences him. She lifts her small, cold hand from his breast, and lays it on his lips that are nearly as cold.
”You proposed to her four times! All your love was hers! And it was only when hope was _dead_--when life seemed worthless--that you--married me.”
”She told you that--all that?” asks Rylton; he has caught her hand.
”All that--and more.” t.i.ta is smiling now, but very pitifully. ”But that was enough. Why take it to heart? It is nothing, really. It does not concern us. Of course, I always knew. You _told_ me--that you did not love me.”
”I shall not forgive her,” says Rylton fiercely.
There is anguish as well as rage in his tone. He is holding her hand tightly clenched between both his own.
”I don't care whether you do or not,” says t.i.ta suddenly, almost violently. ”You can forgive her or not, as you choose. The whole thing,” dragging her hand forcibly from his, ”is a matter of no consequence whatever to _me!”_
”You mean that you don't care?” says Rylton, in a suffocating voice.
”Care!” contemptuously. ”No! Why should I care, or wonder, or waste one thought upon your love affairs?”
This insolent answer rouses Rylton from his remorse.
”Why, indeed!” says he, stung by her scorn. ”You have _your own to think of!”_
And now a terrible thing happens--swift as lightning she lifts her hand, and gives him a little stinging blow across his face.
A second afterwards she has her hands upon her breast, and is crying affrightedly.
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