Part 49 (1/2)

She went back a step, shaking her head. ”I am not so sure,” she said. ”Why do you say these horrible things to me?”

He held out his hand to her. ”I'm awfully sorry, dear,” he said.

”But it is for your good. I want you to see life as it is, not as your dear little imagination is pleased to paint it. You are so dreadfully serious always. Life isn't, you know. It really isn't.

It's nothing but a stupid and rather vulgar farce.”

She gave him her hand, for she could not deny him; but she gave no sign of yielding with it. ”Oh, how I wish you would take it more seriously!” she said.

”Do you?” he said. ”But what's the good? Who Is it going to benefit if I do? Not myself. I should hate it. And not you. You are much too virtuous to have any use for me.”

”Oh, Guy,” she said, ”Is it never worth while to play the game?”

His hand tightened upon hers. ”Look here!” he said suddenly.

”Suppose I did as you wish--suppose I did pull up--play the game, as you call it? Suppose I clawed and grabbed for success Like the rest of the world--and got it. Would you care?”

”I wasn't talking of success,” she said. ”That's no answer.” He swung her hand to and fro with vehement impatience. ”Suppose you were free--yes, you've got to suppose it just for a moment--suppose you were free--and suppose I came to you with both hands full, and offered you myself and all I possessed--would you send me empty away? Would you? Would you?”

He spoke with a fevered insistence. His eyes were alight and eager. Just so had he spoken in the long ago when she had given him her girlish heart in full and happy surrender.

There was no surrender in her att.i.tude now, but yet she could not, she could not, relentlessly send him from her. He appealed so strongly, with so intense an earnestness.

”I can't imagine these things, Guy,” she said at last. ”I only ask you--implore you--to do your best to keep straight. It is worth while, believe me. You will find that it is worth while.”

”It might be--with you to make it so,” he said. ”Without you----”

She shook her head. ”No--no! For other, better reasons. We have our duty to do. We must do it. It is the only way to be happy. I am sure of that.”

”Have you found it so?” he said. ”Are you happy?”

She hesitated.

He pressed his advantage instantly. ”You are not. You know you are not. Do you think you can deceive me even though you may deceive yourself? We have known each other too long for that. You are not happy, Sylvia. You are afraid of life as it is--of life as it might be. You haven't pluck to take your fate into your own hands and hew out a way for yourself. You're the slave of circ.u.mstances and you're afraid to break free.” He made as if he would release her, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, caught her hand up to his face. ”All the same, you are mine--you are mine!” he told her hotly. ”You belonged to me from the beginning, and nothing else counts or ever can count against that. I would have died to get out of your way. I tried to die. But you brought me back. And now, say what you like--say what you like--you are mine!

I saw it in your eyes last night, and I defy every law that man ever made to take you from me. I defy the thing you call duty.

You love me! You have always loved me! Deny it if you can!”

It was swift, it was almost overwhelming. At another moment it might have swept her off her feet. But a greater force was at work within her, and she stood her ground.

She drew her hand away. ”Not like that, Guy,” she said. ”I love you. Yes, I love you. But only as a friend. You--you don't understand me. How should you? I have grown beyond all your knowledge of me. I was a girl in the old days--when we played at love together.” A sharp sob rose in her throat, but she stifled it. ”All that is over. I am a woman now. My eyes are open,--and--the romance is all gone.”

He stiffened as if he had been struck, but only for a second. The next recklessly he laughed. ”That is just your way of putting it,”

he said. ”Love doesn't change--like that. It either goes out, or it remains--for good. It is you who don't understand yourself.

You may turn your back on the truth, but you can't alter it. Those who have once been lovers--and lovers such as you and I--can never again be only friends. That, if you like, is the impossible.

But--” He paused for a moment, with lifted shoulders, then abruptly turned to go. ”Good-bye!” he said.

”You are going?” she questioned.

He swung on his heel as if irresolute. ”Yes, I am going. I am going back to my cabin, back to my wallowing in the mire. Why not?

Is there anyone who cares the toss of a halfpenny what I do?”