Part 77 (2/2)
”By my mother?”
”Yes. That was unfortunate. She--Tessie--your mother,” hastily, ”should not have told her.”
”After all, I'm glad she did,” says Rylton warmly. ”What does it matter? And, at all events, it makes the thing clear to t.i.ta. It is quite as well that she should know that I was a cur of the worst description when I asked her to marry me.”
”You were never that,” says his cousin, tears rising in her eyes.
”You have been wrong in many ways, but I still believe in you, and I think that when you married t.i.ta you meant to be true to her.”
”I did, G.o.d knows!” says he. ”It was the least I could do, considering how I had taken advantage of her. But she----”
”Well?” says Margaret.
”Hescott----”
”Oh, Maurice, don't! _Don't_ be unjust over that. I tell you there was nothing in that. The poor child has been foolish, faulty, absurd, in many ways, but daylight is not sweeter or more pure. I tell you this as my last word. And, Maurice, in time--in a month or so--come and see us----”
”Us? _Her?_ No!”
”Come and see me, then. I shall be, as you know, in town. _Do_ come.”
”Well, let me know first that she won't be there.”
”I shall arrange for you not to see her, if you wish that,” says Margaret, deeply grieved in her kind spirit. ”But I hope that in time----”
”If you are hoping that t.i.ta and I shall ever make it up again, you are the most hopeful person alive,” says he. ”No--I tell you plainly--I shall go to see you when she is away, never when she is with you.”
”But why? You certainly can't believe she has any _tendresse_ for Mr. Hescott.”
”Why should I not believe it?” gloomily.
”Why should you? Dear Maurice, be sensible. I _know_ that t.i.ta cares nothing for him.”
”How? Has she told you?”
”Not told me. But one can see.”
”So can another one.” He throws up his head suddenly, as if tired and altogether done. ”There! I give it up,” says he. ”I have married an enigma, apparently, and my blood must be on my own head.”
”You have married one of the sweetest girls on earth,” says Margaret indignantly, stung by his nonchalant demeanour. ”You are unworthy of her--you are not capable of understanding her.” Rylton shrugs his shoulders. ”In time--in _time,”_ says the gentle Margaret, now all aglow with anger, ”you will learn her worth; but as it is----”
She moves towards the door. Rylton hurries to open it for her.
”I may come and see you?” asks he.
”If you will, but I shall certainly not send t.i.ta out of the way to oblige you.”
”Well, I shall take my chance.”
”It is in your own hands.”
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