Part 14 (1/2)
”What you have said takes me so completely by surprise that I hardly know whether or not you are in earnest.”
”I am in earnest, I a.s.sure you. That I am mad in saying it, I am quite aware; how mad, even you can have no notion. But I had to say it, and it's said. If you would only be my wife, you would do a good deed, of the magnitude of which you have no conception. There is nothing in return which I would not do for you. On this occasion in saying so I do not think that I am using an empty form of words.”
”As you yourself pointed out, you are a stranger to me; nor have I any desire that you should be anything but a stranger.”
”Thank you, Miss Strong.”
”You brought it upon yourself.”
”I own that it is not your fault that I love you; nor can I admit that it is my misfortune.”
”There is one chief reason why your flattering proposals are unwelcome to me. I happen already to be a promised wife. I am engaged to Mr.
Paxton.”
”Is that so? Then I am sorry for you.”
”Why are you sorry?”
”Ere long, unless I am mistaken, you will learn that I have cause for sorrow, and that you have cause for sorrow too.”
Without another word the lady, the gentleman making no effort to detain her, walked away. She went straight home.
She found Miss Wentworth in her favourite att.i.tude--feet stretched on a chair in front of her--engaged, as Miss Strong chose to phrase it, in ”her everlasting reading.” When Miss Wentworth was not writing she was wont to be reading. Miss Strong occasionally wished that she would employ herself in more varying occupations.
Momentarily oblivious of the coolness which had sprung up between her friend and herself, Miss Strong plumped herself down on to a chair, forgetful also of the fact that she had brought her umbrella with her into the room, and that the rain was trickling down it.
”Charlie, whatever do you think has happened?”
Miss Wentworth had contented herself with nodding as her friend had entered. Now, lowering her book, she glanced at her over the top of it.
”I don't know what has happened, my dear, but I do know what is happening--your umbrella is making a fish-pond on the carpet.”
Miss Strong got up with something of a jump. She deposited her mackintosh and umbrella in the hall. When she returned her friend greeted her with laughter in her eyes.
”Well, what has happened? But perhaps before you tell me you might give an eye to those elegant boots of yours. They never struck me as being altogether waterproof.”
With tightened lips Miss Strong removed her boots. It was true that they badly wanted changing. But that was nothing. In her present mood she resented having her attention diverted to unimportant details. She expressed herself to that effect as she undid the b.u.t.tons.
”I do believe that you are the hardest-natured girl I ever knew.
You've no sense of feeling. If I were dying for want of it, I should never dream of coming to you for sympathy.”
Miss Wentworth received this tirade with complete placidity.
”Quite so, my dear. Well, what has happened?”
Miss Strong snuggled her feet into her slippers. She began to fidget about the room. Suddenly she burst out in what could only be described as a tone of angry petulance.
”You will laugh at me--I know you will. But you had better not. I can tell you that I am in no mood to be laughed at. I feel as if I must tell it to some one, and I have no one in the world to tell things to but you--Mr. Lawrence has dared to make me a proposal of marriage.”
The complete, and one might almost say, the humorous repose of Miss Wentworth's manner was in striking contrast to her friend's excitability.