Part 6 (1/2)

”There, Roland. I know him best.” She closed her eyes, and as he gazed at her it seemed to him she had done so to shut some memory out. ”It is money with him always; you do not know--” And between her parted lips she drew a breath he heard. ”Last night he told me I must never see you again. Hitherto his will has ruled: it is my turn to-day.”

With this there came a splendor to her he had never marked before; she looked defiant, and resolute as well. There was strength in her face, and beauty too.

”He is unjust,” she added. ”It was my duty to tell him, and there my duty ends. I am not a school-girl. I know my mind; better, perhaps, than he knows his own. I have obeyed him always. It is easy to obey, but now I will act for myself.”

”He will never give his consent,” Roland repeated.

”He may keep it, then.”

Within her something seemed to rankle; and as Roland, mindful of the slightest change in her expression, detected this, he wondered what it could portend.

”Sweetheart,” he ventured, ”I have these two arms; they are all in all for you.”

At this Justine awoke at once. ”If I did not know it--feel it; if I were not sure of it, do you think I would speak to you as I do? No, Roland. I have something of my own; when we are married, believe me, his consent will come at once.”

”It is not his consent I want--you know that; it is yours.”

”You have it, Roland; I gave it you among the pines.”

”Where is your hat, then? Let us go.”

He caught her to him again, then suffered her to leave the room. And as the portiere which he had drawn that she might pa.s.s fell back into its former folds, for a moment he stood perplexed. Somewhere a screw was loose, he could have sworn. But where? Could it be that Honest Paul was supporting a separate establishment? or did Justine think he wished to mate her to some plutocrat of his choice? The first supposition was manifestly absurd; the second troubled him so little that he turned and occupied himself with the naked girl swooning in the arms of Death.

”I am ready, Roland.” It was Justine, bonneted and veiled, b.u.t.toning her glove.

”I have a cab,” he answered, and followed her to the door.

VII.

When Roland and Justine re-entered the drawing-room that afternoon they found Mr. Dunellen there. With him was Guy Thorold.

During the infant days of photography family groups were so much in vogue that anyone with an old alb.u.m in reach can find them there in plenty. They are faded, no doubt; the cut of the garments is absurd; even the faces seem to have that antique look which is peculiar to the miniatures of people dead and departed: yet the impression they convey is admirably exalting. That gentleman in the wonderful coat must have been magnificent in every sphere of life: his mere pose, his att.i.tude, is convincing as a memoir. And that lady in the camel's-hair shawl--how bewitchingly lovable she surely was! There is her daughter, who might be her niece, so prettily does she seem inclined to behave; and there is the son, a trifle effaced perhaps, yet with the makings of a man manifest even in that effacement. Oh, good people! let us hope you were really as amiable as you look: the picture is all we have of you; even your names are forgot; and truly it were discomforting to have the impression you convey disturbed in its slightest suggestion. We love you best as you are; we prefer you so. I, for one, will have none of that cynicism which hints that had a snap camera caught you unprepared the charm would disappear.

Yet now, in the present instance, as Mr. Dunellen and his nephew stood facing Roland and Justine, a photographer who had happened there could have taken a family group which would in no manner have resembled those which our alb.u.ms hold.

”I told you last night,” Mr. Dunellen was shrieking, ”that I forbade you to see that man.”

And Justine, raising her veil, answered, ”He was not my husband then.”

”Husband!” The old man stared at his daughter, his face distorted and livid with rage. ”If you--”

But whatever threat he may have intended to make, Thorold interrupted.

”He is married already,” he cried; ”he is no more your husband than I.”

At this announcement Mr. Dunellen let an arm he had outstretched fall to his side; he turned to Thorold, and Justine looked wonderingly in Roland's face.