Part 25 (1/2)
”I was cut by two men I know to-day. I wonder how many women there are in London who would do what you've done for me to-night?”
”What have I done? I walked into your room without an invitation--I don't suppose many women in London would have done that. But is there any woman in London who has known you as long as I have?”
He winced perceptibly, and she remembered that there was one.
”Ah, if you really knew me, Kathy, you'd cut me dead!”
”My dear Vincent, don't talk rubbish. I do know--a good deal--and I'm very sorry; that's all. I should be sorrier if I thought it was going to last for ever; but I don't.”
”You are too good to me; but--if you only knew!”
He sat silent, watching as she sewed. Something in his att.i.tude reminded her of that other evening, three months ago, when he had lain back in that chair boasting gloriously, full of hope and the pride of life. He appealed to her more now in his illness and degradation than he had ever done in his splendid sanity. For he had seemed so strong; there was no outward sign of weakness then about that long-limbed athlete.
”Vincent,” she said presently, ”what's become of the Pioneer-book? You promised to read me some of it--don't you remember?”
”Yes. I shall never do anything with it now.”
”Oh, Vincent, what a pity! But if it's not to be printed, do you mind my seeing the ma.n.u.script?”
”No; I'll let you have it some day, Sis, and you shall do what you like with it.” He sank into silence again.
”Where's Ted?” he asked suddenly.
”He'll be in soon; he wants to see you.”
”Does he? How do you know that?” There was a look of suspicion in Hardy's eyes as they glanced up. It was a symptom of his miserable condition that he was apt to imagine slights.
”I've only his word for it, of course.”
”Kathy----” he hesitated.
”Well?”
”There's something I wanted to tell him; but the fact is, I don't think I've the pluck to do it.”
”Never mind, then. Tell me if you can; though I think I know, and it's all right.”
”No, it isn't all right. I suppose you know he was pretty well off his head about--that cousin of mine? I rather think he owed me one for being before him, as he thought. At any rate, he cut me ever since--before I took to the flowing bowl, too. You might tell him, if you think it would be any satisfaction to him to know it, that she cared rather less for me than she did for him; in fact, I believe there was some unhappy devil that she preferred to either of us. At least a third man came into it somewhere. There may be a fourth now, for anything I know.”
There was a brutality about his calmness which surprised Katherine; she could not realise the effect of the means he used for blunting his sensibilities.
”You're quite mistaken. Ted hasn't any feeling of the sort. He simply kept out of your way because he was afraid you'd think he had behaved dishonourably; and of course he couldn't explain because of--Audrey. But it wasn't his fault. He knew nothing.”
”I never thought he did know. Do you suppose I blamed _him_, poor beggar?”
All the same, Hardy slunk away soon after Ted came in. When Mrs. Rogers came up with supper, she informed them that it was fine now--if you could but trust it. And ”Mr. 'Ardy 'ad gorn orf like a mad thing.
Temptin' Providence, I call it, without an umbrella.”
Ted remarked, as they sat down to supper, that he thought ”Providence would have sufficient strength of mind to resist temptation; but he was not so sure about Hardy.”