Part 23 (1/2)
They paid to see _me._ Now I can dance no more. Yes, you are right, I am awake at last; and I tell you I am some one else. I have been in a dream, it seems to me, for years. But now I can see.”
”Well, let the dancing go,” said Decherd, rising and coming toward her. ”Never mind about that.”
”Let everything go!” cried Miss Lady, fiercely. ”Let everything go!
Marry you? Why, sir, if indeed you understood a girl, you would not want me to come to you feeling as I do now. Can't you see that a girl must _depend_ on the man she loves? I have tried to feel sure. I have tried to see you clearly. Now, to-night, it is just as it was that time years ago when you spoke to me; something comes between us.
I can not see you clearly. I can not understand. And so long as that is true, I can never, never marry you. I can not talk about it. Go! I do not want to see you!”
A sudden alarm seized upon Henry Decherd. ”Listen,” he said; ”listen to me. I can not have you talk this way. Why, you know this sort of thing is absolutely wrong.”
”Everything's wrong!” cried Miss Lady, burying her face in her hands as she sank on a couch. ”Everything is wrong! I am ashamed, I can not tell you why. I don't know why, but I have changed, all at once. I'm not myself any more. I'm some one else. I don't know _who_ I am!
I never knew. Oh, shall I never know--shall I never understand why I am not myself!”
Decherd caught her hands. ”We shall not wait,” said he, ”we'll be married to-morrow.” His voice trembled in a real emotion, although on his face there sat an uneasiness not easily read. ”Dearest, forget all this,” he repeated. ”Go home and sleep, and to-morrow--”
Her eyes flashed in the swift, imperious anger wherewith upon the instant s.e.x may dominate s.e.x, leaving no argument or answer. Yet in the next breath the girl turned away, her anger faded into anxiety.
She wavered, softened in her att.i.tude.
”Oh, he told me, he told me!” murmured she to herself. ”I can not--I can not!” She seemed unconscious of Decherd's presence. But soon she forgot her own soliloquy. Once more she looked Decherd squarely in the face.
”I can not marry you,” she said. ”I _will_ not!”
”I'll not allow you to make a fool of yourself, or of me,” said Decherd. ”What do you mean--who is 'he'?”
He had his answer on the moment, not from her lips, but by one of those strange freaks of fate which often set us wondering in our commonplace lives.
There came a tap at the door, and a call boy offered a card. ”It's against orders, I know, ma'am,” he began, ”but then--”
Decherd, full of suspicion, sprang at the messenger and caught the card before Miss Lady saw it. His swift glance gave him small comfort.
”Eddring!” he cried. ”By G.o.d! John Eddring! So--”
”Yes,” she flashed again at him. ”You are rude; and there is your answer; and here is mine to you, and him.” She turned to the call boy.
”Tell the gentleman that Miss Loisson can not be seen,” said she.
A ghastly look had come upon Henry Decherd's face at these words. His features were livid in his rage. ”So Eddring is here, is he!” said he, ”and he has been talking to you! By G.o.d, I'd kill him if I thought--”
”Carry my wrap, sir!” said Miss Lady, rising like a queen. ”You may do so much for the last time. At the gate I shall bid you good-by.
Open the door!”
CHAPTER VII
THE SUMMONS
As though in a dream, Miss Lady followed Decherd to the entrance, near which stood a carriage in the narrow little street. She scarcely looked at his face, and did not note his hurried words to the driver.
Silent and distraught, she took no note of their direction as the wheels rattled over the rude flags of the medieval pa.s.sageway. The carriage turned corner after corner in its jolting progress, and finally trundled smoothly for a time, but Miss Lady, hoping only that this journey might soon end, scarce noticed where it had ended. She saw only that it was not at the gate of Madame Delcha.s.se's house, and, startled at this, expostulated with Decherd, who reasoned, argued, pleaded.