Part 74 (1/2)

t.i.ta turns upon him.

”It is you who are mad,” says she. She goes quite close to him. ”He was going. He was bidding me good-bye.” She pauses; her breath comes heavily, but she goes on: ”He was bidding me good-bye, and--he told me he loved me----”

Rylton flings her from him.

”Do you pretend that was the first time?”

”The first--the _first?”_ cries t.i.ta pa.s.sionately. ”Do you think--do you _dare_ to think that----”

”I refuse to tell you what I think. There is one thing more, however, to be said; you shall give up all further intercourse with your cousin.”

Now, t.i.ta had decided, during her late interview with Tom, that she would never willingly see him again; but here and thus to be _ordered_ to do her own desire is more than she can bear.

”No, I shall not do that,” says she.

”You _shall,”_ says Rylton, whose temper is now beyond his control.

”I shall _not.”_ t.i.ta is standing back from him, her small flower-like head uplifted, her eyes on fire. ”Oh, coward!” cries she. ”You do right to speak to me like this--to me, who have no one to help me.”

”You--you!” interrupts he. ”Where is Hescott, then?”

His voice, his tone, his whole air, is one great insult.

t.i.ta stands for one moment like a marble thing transfixed; then:

”Tom is not _here,”_ says she slowly, contemptuously, and with great meaning. ”If he were---- In the meantime, I am in your power, so far that I must listen to you. There is no one to help me. I haven't a living soul in the wide world to stand by me, and you know it.”

Here the door is thrown open, and Margaret comes in, pale, uneasy.

By a mere chance she had left her room to place a letter for the early post in the box in the corridor outside, and had then seen Hescott going down the corridor (unconscious of Rylton coming up behind him)--had seen the latter's rather rough impelling of t.i.ta into her bedroom, and---- And afraid of consequences, she had at last smothered her dreadful repugnance to interfering with other people's business, and had gone swiftly to t.i.ta's door. Even then she was on the point of giving up--of being false to her principles--when t.i.ta's voice, a little high, a little strained, had frightened her. It had been followed by an angry answer from Rylton.

Margaret opened the door and went in.

t.i.ta is standing with her back to a small table, her hands behind her, resting upon it, steadying her. She is facing Rylton, and every one of her small beautiful features breathes defiance--a defiance which seems to madden Rylton. His face is terribly white, and he has caught his under lip with his teeth--a bad sign with him.

”Maurice, it is not her fault. t.i.ta, forgive me! I heard--I saw--I feared something.” The gentle Margaret seems all broken up, and very agitated. After a pause, as if to draw her breath--a pause not interrupted, so great is the amazement of the two belligerents before her et her so sudden appearance--she addresses herself solely to Sir Maurice. ”She had been with me,” she begins. ”It was the merest chance her leaving me just then; she was going to her own room.”

But t.i.ta cuts he short.

”I forbid you, Margaret!” cries she violently. ”Be silent! I tell you I will not have myself either excused or explained. Do not arrange a defence for me. I will not be defended.”

”Let me explain, my dearest--_do_ let me explain,” entreats Margaret earnestly. ”It is for your good.”

”It is not; and even if it were, I should not allow it. Besides, there is nothing to explain. I was only bidding good-bye to Tom!”

She pauses, and tears spring to her eyes--tears half angry, half remorseful. ”Oh, _poor_ Tom!” cries she. _”He_ loves me!” Her breast rises and falls rapidly, and, after a struggle with herself, she bursts out crying. ”He was my _one_ friend, I think! And I was so unkind to him! I told him I should never ask him here again! I was abominable to him! And all for nothing--nothing at all. Only because he said he--_loved_ _me!”_

She is sobbing pa.s.sionately now.

”t.i.ta,” says Rylton; he takes a step towards her.

”As for you,” cries she wildly, putting up her hands as if to keep him far from her, ”I wish I had been born a _beggar._ Then,” slowly, and in a voice vibrating with scorn--”then I should not have been chosen by _you!”_