Part 14 (1/2)
The subst.i.tution of the word was so quiet as to appear unconscious.
Martin shot a piercing look, but the eyes which met his were as expressionless as the voice. He leaped to his feet, and restlessly paced the floor.
”But you, Grizel?” he cried. ”No one could expect it of you! You are born to the position; have been trained to it all your life. You will be one of the great hostesses of the day. You are young, brilliant, beautiful. The ordinary woman looks to love to provide the interest of life, but you have so much. The world is at your feet--”
”Yes,” sighed Grizel softly. ”Yes.” She sat staring before her with rapt, smiling eyes. ”And I love it, Martin. Pomp and show, and jewels, and beautiful clothes, and--power! All women do at the bottom of their hearts. If they pretend they don't, it is a humbug and a sham. I can see myself living alone in that great house, very rich, very gorgeous; not a bit lonely! Friends would flock around, more friends than I need.
Lovers too! for the unattainable is always tempting. I could amuse myself very well.”
”For heaven's sake, Grizel!” Martin came to a standstill in front of her chair, his face flushed with protest. ”For heaven's sake speak the truth, and drop pretence! You are going to keep the money,--very well!
but it is not for such reasons as those... There are precious few illusions left in life,--don't kill one of the few that remain! You will keep the money, not out of self-indulgence, but because it was Lady Griselda's wish, and because there is no stronger claim upon you, until--until the time arrives, as it _will_ arrive, when you meet a man--”
”Whom I love,” concluded Grizel calmly. She was silent for a moment, then in the deepest, most bell-like notes of her beautiful voice, she added a few soft words. ”More than the world! More than riches--more than my life. And then--”
”Then?” queried Martin breathlessly. To the end of his life he would hear the echo of Grizel's voice intoning those thrilling words:
”It will depend upon him, and how brave he can be,” she returned quietly. She rose in her turn, and bending over the desk, drew together the scattered sheets. ”How is the novel going, Martin? What is happening to them all? I was going to help, but fate intervened, and turned me into a heroine myself. Is she happy, your little girl with the hill-tarn eyes?”
”Yes--no. I couldn't get on. The novel is shelved _pro tem_. My head was too full of other things. Your position, and the problem of the whole situation were so constantly in my mind, that it was a relief to work it out on paper... Those sheets are the draft of a short story, dealing with such a position--but not for publication.”
”I'm glad of that! I should not like it to be published,” said Grizel quickly. Her cheeks were flushed, she glanced at the sheets with an air at once timid and eager. ”It would be interesting to hear what you make of it! May I read?”
”There's so little done. Just the situation roughed in. A girl beautiful, alluring, left with a choice like yours, a man, loving her--”
”What kind of a man?”
”Ordinary--quite ordinary. A dull dog, but with a capacity, a hideous capacity for suffering--”
Grizel subsided on to the swivel chair, and lifted a quill pen from the rack. The seriousness, the quiet, almost timid manner of the last few minutes had disappeared as by a flash. Now she was composed again, mischievous, audacious; the dimples dipping in her soft, round cheek.
She rested her elbows on the desk and nibbled at the pen with a delicious a.s.sumption of the professional manner.
”Make him a _little_ bit interesting, Martin! He must be interesting.
Is he tall? Is he handsome? I insist that he is thin and clean shaven.
And charming, too--he must certainly be charming, or she wouldn't have qualms, and at the least she must feel qualms! ... No girl could even imagine giving up a fortune for a dull man with a beard. Suppose you made him an author like yourself, so that he had _something_ to offer on his own accord, such as a reputation which she would be proud to share!
Then on _his_ side would be love, fame, home, and on hers, ambition, wealth--”
”Opportunity--?”
”Humph!” Grizel stroked her chin. ”In a sense! It's a fact though, Martin,--humiliating as it is to acknowledge,--that man is the medium through which a woman discovers every possibility worth having. The opportunities which come apart from him are only makes.h.i.+fts. I think we'll rule out opportunity... Won't he, at least, give her the _choice_?”
”I think not. He is not such an a.s.s as to consider himself worth the sacrifice. The only decent thing he can do is to efface himself, and stand by ready to help her whenever he can be of use.”
”Humph!” commented Grizel again. ”Admirable--but dull. _How_ mad she'll be! ... It's just as I said, Martin--you don't understand your own s.e.x. You need me to write the man-ey bits. What he should really do, is to take her in his arms, and say, 'Thirty-thousand-a-year!
Thirty thousand _pounds_'--her light voice suddenly swelled into earnestness. 'Ah! but I've more than that,--a better offer to make you!' And he should hold her tight, tight, and laugh,--a strong man's laugh, and look in her eyes, and cry: '_You are mine_! All the fortunes in the world could not buy you. All the fortunes in the world could not keep you. You belong to _me_! ... Leave your empty palace, and come _Home_, and as you are a true woman, and worth loving, I'll give you more, far, far more than you ever dreamt,--ever imagined--'”
The soft voice broke: she wheeled suddenly round, hiding her face, but Martin leaped after her, seized her by the arms:
”Grizel--_Grizel_!”
Her face quivered into tears.