Part 64 (2/2)

Surprised and hurt by the tone, the girl hesitated, looking from the newcomer to Stephen.

At first glance and at a little distance, she had thought the young woman perfectly beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful creature she had ever seen--even more glorious than Saidee. But when Miss Lorenzi came nearer, undisguisedly angry and excited, the best part of her beauty was gone, wiped away, as a face in a picture may be smeared before the paint is dry. Her features were faultless, her hair and eyes magnificent. Her dress was pretty, and exquisitely made, if too elaborate for desert travelling; her figure charming, though some day it would be too stout; yet in spite of all she looked common and cruel. The thought that Stephen Knight had doomed himself to marry this woman made Victoria s.h.i.+ver, as if she had heard him condemned to imprisonment for life.

She had thought before seeing Miss Lorenzi that she understood the situation, and how it had come about. She had said to Stephen, ”I understand.” Now, it seemed to her that she had boasted in a silly, childish way. She had not understood. She had not begun to understand.

Suddenly the girl felt very old and experienced, and miserably wise in the ways of the world. It was as if in some other incarnation she had known women like this, and their influence over men: how, if they tried, they could beguile chivalrous men into being sorry for them, and doing almost anything which they wished to be done.

A little while ago Victoria had been thinking and speaking of Margot Lorenzi as ”poor girl,” and urging Stephen to be true to her for his own sake as well as hers. But now, in a moment, everything had changed. A strange flash of soul-lightning had shown her the real Margot, unworthy of Stephen at her best, crus.h.i.+ng to his individuality and aspirations at her worst. Victoria did not know what to think, what to do. In place of the sad and lonely girl she had pictured, here stood a woman already selfish and heartless, who might become cruel and terrible. No one had ever looked at Victoria Ray as Miss Lorenzi was looking now, not even Miluda, the Ouled Nal, who had stared her out of countenance, curiously and maliciously at the same time.

”I have heard a great deal about Miss Ray in Algiers,” Margot went on.

”And I think--you will _both_ understand why I made this long, tiresome journey to Touggourt.”

”There is no reason why Miss Ray should understand,” said Stephen quickly. ”It can't concern her in the least. On your own account it would have been better if you had waited for me in London. But it's too late to think of that now. I will go with you into the house.”

”No,” Margot answered. ”Not yet. And you're not to put on such a tone with me--as if I'd done something wrong. I haven't! We're engaged, and I have a perfect right to come here, and find out what you've been doing while I was at the other side of the world. You promised to meet me at Liverpool--and instead, you were here--with _her_. You never even sent me word. Yet you're surprised that I came on to Algiers. Of course, when I was _there_, I heard everything--or what I didn't hear, I guessed. You hadn't bothered to hide your tracks. I don't suppose you so much as thought of me--poor me, who went to Canada for your sake really. Yes!

I'll tell you why I went now. I was afraid if I didn't go, a man who was in love with me there--he's in love with me now and always will be, for that matter!--would come and kill you. He used to threaten that he'd shoot any one I might marry, if I dared throw him over; and he's the kind who keeps his word. So I didn't want to throw him over. I went myself, and stayed in his mother's house, and argued and pleaded with him, till he'd promised to be good and let me be happy. So you see--the journey was for you--to save you. I didn't want to see him again for myself, though _his_ is real love. You're cold as ice. I don't believe you know what love is. But all the same I can't be jilted by you--for another woman. I won't have it, Stephen--after all I've gone through. If you try to break your solemn word to me, I'll sue you. There'll be another case that will drag your name before the public again, and not only yours----”

”Be still, Margot,” said Stephen.

She grew deadly pale. ”I will not be still,” she panted. ”I _will_ have justice. No one shall take you away from me.”

”No one wishes to take me away,” Stephen flung at her hotly. ”Miss Ray has just refused me. You've spared me the trouble of taking her advice----”

”What was it?” Margot looked suddenly anxious, and at the same time self-a.s.sertive.

”That I should go at once to England--and to you.”

Victoria took a step forward, then paused, pale and trembling. ”Oh, Stephen!” she cried. ”I take back that advice. I--I've changed my mind.

You can't--you can't do it. You would be so miserable that she'd be wretched, too. I see now, it's not right to urge people to do things, especially when--one only _thinks_ one understands. She doesn't love you really. I feel almost sure she cares more for some one else, if--if it were not for things you have, which she wants. If you're rich, as I suppose you must be, don't make this sacrifice, which would crush your soul, but give her half of all you have in the world, so that she can be happy in her own way, and set you free gladly.”

As Victoria said these things, she remembered M'Barka, and the prophecy of the sand; a sudden decision to be made in an instant, which would change her whole life.

”I'll gladly give Miss Lorenzi more than half my money,” said Stephen.

”I should be happy to think she had it. But even if you begged me to marry her, Victoria, I would not now. It's gone beyond that. Her ways and mine must be separate forever.”

Margot's face grew eager, and her eyes flamed.

”What I want and insist on,” she said, ”is that I must have my rights.

After all I've hoped for and expected, I _won't_ be thrown over, and go back to the old, dull life of turning and twisting every s.h.i.+lling. If you'll settle thirty thousand pounds on me, you are free, so far as I care. I wouldn't marry a man who hated me, when there's one who adores me as if I were a saint--and I like him better than ever I did you--a lot better. I realize that more than I did before.”

The suggestion of Margot Lorenzi as a saint might have made a looker-on smile, but Victoria and Stephen pa.s.sed it by, scarcely hearing.

”If I give you thirty thousand pounds, it will leave me a poor man,” he said.

”Oh, _do_ give her the money and be a poor man,” Victoria implored. ”I shall be so happy if we are poor--a thousand times happier than she could be with millions.”

<script>