Part 14 (2/2)
He turned blindly on the obstacle that had risen in his path, and the secret he had not yet decided how to handle began to run away with him.
He bent forward, with a slightly heightened colour.
”Lady Merton--we might not have another opportunity--will you allow me a few frank words with you--the privilege of an old friend?”
Elizabeth turned her face to him, and a pair of startled eyes that tried not to waver.
”Of course, Mr. Arthur,” she said smiling. ”Have I been doing anything dreadful?”
”May I ask what you personally know of this Mr. Anderson?”
He saw--or thought he saw--her brace herself under the sudden surprise of the name, and her momentary discomfiture pleased him.
”What I know of Mr. Anderson?” she repeated wondering. ”Why, no more than we all know. What do you mean, Mr. Arthur? Ah, yes, I remember, you first met him in Winnipeg; _we_ made acquaintance with him the day before.”
”For the first time? But you are now seeing a great deal of him. Are you quite sure--forgive me if I seem impertinent--that he is--quite the person to be admitted to your daily companions.h.i.+p?”
He spoke slowly and harshly. The effort required before a naturally amiable and nervous man could bring himself to put such an uncomfortable question made it appear particularly offensive.
”Our daily companions.h.i.+p?” repeated Elizabeth in bewilderment. ”What can you mean, Mr. Arthur? What is wrong with Mr. Anderson? You saw that everybody at Winnipeg seemed to know him and respect him; people like the Chief Justice, and the Senator--what was his name?--and Monsieur Mariette. I don't understand why you ask me such a thing. Why should we suppose there are any mysteries about Mr. Anderson?”
Unconsciously her slight figure had stiffened, her voice had changed.
Delaine felt an admonitory qualm. He would have drawn back; but it was too late. He went on doggedly--
”Were not all these persons you named acquainted with Mr. Anderson in his public capacity? His success in the strike of last year brought him a great notoriety. But his private history--his family and antecedents--have you gathered anything at all about them?”
Something that he could not decipher flashed through Elizabeth's expression. It was a strange and thrilling sense that what she had gathered she would not reveal for--a kingdom!
”Monsieur Mariette told me all that anyone need want to know!” she cried, breathing quick. ”Ask him what he thinks--what he feels! But if you ask _me_, I think Mr. Anderson carries his history in his face.”
Delaine pondered a moment, while Elizabeth waited, challenging, expectant, her brown eyes all vivacity.
”Well--some facts have come to my knowledge,” he said, at last, ”which have made me ask you these questions. My only object--you must, you will admit that!--is to save you possible pain--a possible shock.”
”Mr. Arthur!” the voice was peremptory--”If you have learned anything about Mr. Anderson's private history--by chance--without his knowledge--that perhaps he would rather we did not know--I beg you will not tell me--indeed--please--I forbid you to tell me. We owe him much kindness these last few weeks. I cannot gossip about him behind his back.”
All her fine slenderness of form, her small delicacy of feature, seemed to him tense and vibrating, like some precise and perfect instrument strained to express a human feeling or intention. But what feeling?
While he divined it, was she herself unconscious of it? His bitterness grew.
”Dear Lady Merton--can you not trust an old friend?”
She did not soften.
”I do trust him. But”--her smile flashed--”even new acquaintances have their rights.”
”You will not understand,” he said, earnestly. ”What is in my mind came to me, through no wish or will of mine. You cannot suppose that I have been prying into Mr. Anderson's affairs! But now that the information is mine, I feel a great responsibility towards you.”
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