Part 79 (2/2)

”I hate him!” said t.i.ta rebelliously, and now with increased venom, as she saw that Margaret only had come to the a.s.sault. ”Go down and tell him that.”

”This is dreadful,” said poor Margaret, going to the door.

But even now the little miscreant wedged in between the furniture was not satisfied.

”Tell him I hope I'll never see him again!” said she, calling it out loudly as though afraid Margaret might not hear and deliver her words.

”I shall certainly deliver no such message,” said the latter, pausing on the threshold and waxing wroth. Even the worm will turn, they say, though I confess I never saw one that did. ”You can tell him that yourself, some day, when you see him!”

But this parting shaft had only made t.i.ta laugh. _”See him!_ She would die first!”

Margaret had gone down with a modified edition of this _rencontre_ to Rylton, and Rylton had shrugged his shoulders. He could not disguise from Margaret the fact, however, that he was chagrined. He had seen through the modifying, of course, and had laughed--not very merrily--and told Margaret not to ruin her conscience on _his _account. He had lived with t.i.ta long enough to know the sort of message she would be sure to send.

Margaret mumbled something after that, never very clear to either of them, and Rylton had gone on to say that he was going down to the country for a month. He was starting on Monday next. He had said all that on Thursday, and this is Tuesday. There is a sense of relief, yet of regret, in Margaret's heart as she tells herself that he is well out of town. But _now,_ certainly, is the time to work on t.i.ta's sense of right and wrong. Rylton will come back at the end of the month, and when he does, surely--surely his wife should be willing to, at all events, receive him as a friend. The gossip surrounding these two people, so dear to her, is distressing to Margaret, and she would gladly have put an end to it. The whole thing, too, is so useless, so senseless. And as for that affair of Marian's Bethune's--she has no belief in that. It has blown over--is dead. Killed--by time.

”See him?” says t.i.ta at last, stammering.

”Yes, when he comes back. You have a month to think about it. He has gone to the country.”

”A very good thing too,” says t.i.ta, with a shrug of her shoulders.

”I hope he will stay there.”

”But he won't,” says Margaret in despair. ”He returns to town in June. t.i.ta, I hope--I do hope you will be sensible, and consent to see him then.”

”Does he want to see me?” asks t.i.ta.

Here Margaret is posed. Rylton had certainly _known,_ that day she had gone up to t.i.ta's room to bring her down, what her errand was, but he had not asked her to go upon it. He had expressed no desire, had shown no wish for a meeting with his wife.

”My dear--I----”

”Ah, you make a bad liar, Meg!” says t.i.ta; ”you ought to throw up the appointment. You aren't earning your salary honestly. And, besides, it doesn't matter. Even if he were _dying _to see me, I should still rather die than see him.”

”That is not a right spirit, to----”

”I expect my spirit is as right as his,” says t.i.ta rebelliously, ”and,” with a sudden burst of indignation that does away with all sense of her duty to her language, ”a thousand times righter for the matter of that. No, Margaret! No--no--no! I will _not_ see him. Do you think I ever forget----”

”I had hoped, dearest, that----”

”It is useless to hope. _What_ woman would forgive it? I knew he married me without loving me. That was all fair! He told me that.

What he did not tell me was the vital thing--that he loved someone else.”

”You should never have married him when he told you he did not love you.”

”Why not?” warmly. ”I knew nothing of love; I thought he knew nothing of it either. Love seemed to me a stupid sort of thing (it seems so still). I said to myself that a nice strong friends.h.i.+p would be sufficient for me----”

”Well?”

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