Part 104 (2/2)
”You said that he had money, that he was not obliged to work. Now you know why he has money and what his work is.”
”Adela! But--but why didn't you--”
Her voice faded away.
”I couldn't. My hands were tied.”
”How?”
”He caught me in a trap. He laid a bait for my vanity, Beryl, and I took the bait.
”But what was it?”
”He made me believe that he had fallen in love with me. I was a woman of fifty and he made me believe that! That is how vanity leads us!”
And then she told the girl all the truth about Arabian and herself, all the truth of ten years ago. Having made up her mind, having begun to do what Seymour would have called ”the right thing,” she did not hesitate, did not spare herself. She went on to the bitter end. But the strange, the wonderful thing was that it was less bitter than she had thought it must be. While she was speaking, while she was exposing her own folly, her own shame even, she began to feel a sense of relief. She gave the secret which she had kept for ten years to this girl who had treated her cruelly, and in the giving, instead of abject humiliation, she was conscious of liberation. Her mind seemed to be released from a long bondage. Her soul seemed to breathe more freely, like a live thing let out from a close prison into the air. A strange feeling of being at peace with herself came to her and comforted her.
”And that is all, Beryl!” she said at last. ”Now, do you forgive me?”
Beryl had been standing quite still, with her eyes fixed on Lady Sellingworth. She had listened without moving. Even her hands had been still, folded together in front of her. But the colour had come and gone in her face as she had listened, as it can only come and go in a face that is young. She was very pale now. Even her lips looked much paler than usual. She stood there and did not say anything. But her eyes were no longer fastened on Lady Sellingworth's face. She was looking down now. Lady Sellingworth could not see her eyes, but only her white eyelids fringed with long lashes which curled up at the ends.
”I had to tell you, Beryl.”
Still the girl said nothing and did not move. But Lady Sellingworth saw two tears come from under her eyelids and fall down her face. Other tears followed. She did not take out her handkerchief to wipe them away.
She did not seem to be aware of them, or of any necessity for trying to stop them from coming. And then she began to shake. She shook from head to foot, still keeping her hands folded. And that--the folded hands--made her look like a tall doll shaking. There was something so peculiar and horrible in the contrast between her att.i.tude and the evident agony which was convulsing her that for a moment Lady Sellingworth felt helpless, did not dare to speak to her or to touch her. It was impossible to tell whether she was shaken by anger, by self-pity, or by the despair of youth deceived and outraged. But as she continued to weep, and as her body went on trembling, Lady Sellingworth at last could not bear it any longer. She felt that she must do something, must try to help her, and she put a hand on the girl's shoulder gently.
”Beryl!” she said. ”Beryl! I didn't want to hurt you, but I had to tell you.”
The girl suddenly turned and caught her by the arms.
”Oh, Adela!” she said, in a faltering voice. ”No other woman would have--how could you? Oh, how could you?”
Her face was distorted. She looked at Lady Sellingworth with eyes that were bloodshot behind their tears.
”Both of us! Both of us!” she exclaimed. ”It's too horrible!”
She still held Lady Sellingworth's arms.
”_I_ couldn't have done it! I should have let you go on. I shouldn't have written--I shouldn't have spoken! And I have been alone with him. I have let him--I have let him--”
”Beryl!”
”No, no! It isn't too late! Don't be afraid!”
”Thank G.o.d!” said Lady Sellingworth.
She had no feeling of self-pity now. All her compa.s.sion for herself was obscured for the moment in compa.s.sion for the girl. The years at last were helping her, those years which so often had brought her misery.
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