Part 21 (1/2)

”I am rather unhappy, sometimes, about things I don't want to talk about,” she said; ”but I'm sorry if I've been disagreeable. I won't be any more. Shall we play bezique?”

”No, we won't play bezique. We'll talk. Look here, you know quite well what I want of you. I've been----”

”I don't want to talk about that.”

”Well, I do, and you've got to listen this time. I've been playing the game exactly as you wanted it so far, and you can't refuse to give me my innings.”

This also was fair; and as love-making was apparently not to be introduced into the game, Joan sat silent, looking into the fire, her chin on her hand, and a flush on her cheeks.

”It's pretty plain,” he went on, ”that I haven't got much farther with you in the way I should like to have done. You've always shown you didn't want me to make love to you, and I haven't bothered you much in that way; now have I?”

”No,” said Joan. ”And I shan't listen to you if you do.”

”All right. I'm not going to. But there's another way of looking at things. We do get on well together, and you do like me a bit better than you used to, don't you? Now answer straight.”

”I don't like you any better in the way I suppose you want me to, if that's what you mean.”

”No, it isn't what I mean. I've said that. I mean, we _are_ friends, aren't we? If I were to go away to-morrow, and you were never to see anything more of me, you would remember me as a friend, wouldn't you?”

”Yes, I think so.”

”Well, then, look here! Can't we fix it up together? No, don't say anything yet; I want to put it to you. You're having a pretty dull time here, and you'll have a jolly sight duller time when your sister gets married and goes away. But we'll give you the time of your life.

My old governor is almost as much in love with you as I am, and that's saying a good deal, though you won't let me say it. He's longing to have you, and there's nothing he won't do for us in the way of setting us up. Look here, Joan, I'll do every mortal thing I can to make you happy; and so will all of us. You'll be the chief performer in _our_ little circus; and it won't be such a little one, either. We can give you anything, pretty well, that anybody could want, and will lay ourselves out to do it. You won't find me such a bad fellow to live with, Joan. We _are_ pals, you know, already; you've said so. Can't you give it a chance?”

Dispossessed of its emotional const.i.tuents, the proposal was not without its allure; and, so dispossessed, could be faced, or at least glanced at, without undue confusion of face.

Joan glanced at it, and said, ”Lord Sedbergh is very sweet to me.”

”Well, he's sweet _on_ you, you know,” said Bobby with a grin. ”Do say yes, Joan. It'll make him the happiest man in the world--except me. I _know_ you won't regret it. I shan't let you. I shall lay myself out to do exactly what you want; and there's such a lot I can do, if you'll only let me. For one thing, you'd be taken out of everything that's bothering you now, at a stroke. You'll have such a lot of attention paid to you that you'll be likely to get your head turned; but I shan't mind that, if it's turned the right way. Joan, let my old Governor and me show what we can do to look after you and give you a good time.”

She twisted her handkerchief in her hands. ”Oh, it's awfully good of you both to want me so much,” she said; and his eyes brightened, because hitherto she had shown that she thought it anything but good of him to want her so much. ”But how can I? I don't love you, Bobby.”

She said it almost as if she wished she did; and the childish plaintiveness in her voice moved him deeply. His voice shook a little as he replied, still in the same dispa.s.sionate tone, ”I know you don't, my dear, but I'll put up with that. _I_ love _you_; and that will have to do for both of us.”

She looked at him with a smile. ”That would be rather a one-sided bargain, wouldn't it?”

”_I_ don't think so. It's as a pal I should want you chiefly, and you would be that. You are already.”

She looked into the fire again, with a slight frown on her face. But it was only a frown of indecision. How should she have known enough about men to detect the unreality in _that_ plea?

He waited for her to speak, putting strong constraint on himself.

”Oh, I can't,” she said at last.

He took her hand. ”Joan, my dear,” he said, ”will you marry me? I'll wait for what you can't give me now, and never worry you for it.

Honour bright, I won't.”

She let her hand remain in his for a moment, and then sprang up. ”Oh, they're coming in,” she cried.