Part 44 (1/2)
”No; I thank you for giving me this charge. It means that a man must raise his own standard of living before he can accept such responsibility... . You endow me with all that a man ought to be; and my task is doubled; for it is not only Gerald but I myself who require surveillance.”
He looked up, smilingly serious: ”Such women as you alone can fit your brother and me for an endless guard duty over the white standard you have planted on the outer walls of the world.”
”You say things to me--sometimes--” she faltered, ”that almost hurt with the pleasure they give.”
”Did that give you pleasure?”
”Y-yes; the surprise of it was almost too--too keen. I wish you would not--but I am glad you did... . You see”--dropping into a great velvet chair--”having been of no serious consequence to anybody for so many years--to be told, suddenly, that I--that I count so vitally with men--a man like you--”
She sank back, drew one small hand across her eyes, and rested a moment; then leaning forward, she set her elbow on one knee and bracketed her chin between forefinger and thumb.
”_You_ don't know,” she said, smiling faintly, ”but, oh, the exalted dreams young girls indulge in! And one and all centre around some power-inspired att.i.tude of our own when a great crisis comes. And most of all we dream of counting heavily; and more than all we clothe ourselves in the celestial authority which dares to forgive... . Is it not pathetically amusing--the mental process of a young girl?--and the paramount theme of her dream is power!--such power as will permit the renunciation of vengeance; such power as will justify the happiness of forgiving? ... And every dream of hers is a dream of power; and, often, the happiness of forbearing to wield it. All dreams lead to it, all mean it; for instance, half-awake, then faintly conscious in slumber, I lie dreaming of power--always power; the triumph of attainment, of desire for wisdom and knowledge satisfied. I dream of friends.h.i.+ps--wonderful intimacies exquisitely satisfying; I dream of troubles, and my moral power to sweep them out of existence; I dream of self-sacrifice, and of the spiritual power to endure it; I dream--I dream--sometimes--of more material power--of splendours and imposing estates, of a paradise all my own. And when I have been selfishly happy long enough, I dream of a vast material power fitting me to wipe poverty from the world; I plan it out in splendid generalities, sometimes in minute detail... . Of men, we naturally dream; but vaguely, in a curious and confused way... . Once, when I was fourteen, I saw a volunteer regiment pa.s.sing; and it halted for a while in front of our house; and a brilliant being on a black horse turned lazily in his saddle and glanced up at our window... . Captain Selwyn, it is quite useless for you to imagine what fairy scenes, what wondrous perils, what happy adventures that gilt-corded adjutant and I went through in my dreams. Marry him? Indeed I did, scores of times. Rescue him? Regularly.
He was wounded, he was attacked by fevers unnumbered, he fled in peril of his life, he vegetated in countless prisons, he was misunderstood, he was a martyr to suspicion, he was falsely accused, falsely condemned.
And then, just before the worst occurred, _I_ appear!--the inevitable I.”
She dropped back into the chair, laughing. Her colour was high, her eyes brilliant; she laid her arms along the velvet arms of the chair and looked at him.
”I've not had you to talk to for a whole week,” she said; ”and you'll let me; won't you? I can't help it, anyway, because as soon as I see you--crack! a million thoughts wake up in me and clipper-clapper goes my tongue... . You are very good for me. You are so thoroughly satisfactory--except when your eyes narrow in that dreadful far-away gaze--which I've forbidden, you understand... . _What_ have you done to your moustache?”
”Clipped it.”
”Oh, I don't like it too short. Can you get hold of it to pull it? It's the only thing that helps you in perplexity to solve problems. You'd be utterly helpless, mentally, without your moustache... . When are we to take up our Etruscan symbols again?--or was it Evans's monograph we were laboriously dissecting? Certainly it was; don't you remember the Hitt.i.te hieroglyph of Jerabis?--and how you and I fought over those wretched floral symbols? You don't? And it was only a week ago? ... And listen!
Down at Silverside I've been reading the most delicious thing--the Mimes of Herodas!--oh, so charmingly quaint, so perfectly human, that it seems impossible that they were written two thousand years ago. There's a maid, in one scene, Threissa, who is precisely like anybody's maid--and an old lady, Gyllis--perfectly human, and not Greek, but Yankee of to-day! Shall we reread it together?--when you come down to stay with us at Silverside?”
”Indeed we shall,” he said, smiling; ”which also reminds me--”
He drew from his breast-pocket a thin, flat box, turned it round and round, glanced at her, balancing it teasingly in the palm of his hand.
”Is it for me? Really? Oh, please don't be provoking! Is it _really_ for me? Then give it to me this instant!”
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”Turning, looked straight at Selwyn.”]
He dropped the box into the pink hollow of her supplicating palms. For a moment she was very busy with the tissue-paper; then:
”Oh! it is perfectly sweet of you!” turning the small book bound in heavy Etruscan gold; ”whatever can it be?” and, rising, she opened it, stepping to the window so that she could see.
Within, the pages were closely covered with the minute, careful handwriting of her father; it was the first note-book he ever kept; and Selwyn had had it bound for her in gold.
For an instant she gazed, breathless, lips parted; then slowly she placed the yellowed pages against her lips and, turning, looked straight at Selwyn, the splendour of her young eyes starred with tears.
CHAPTER VII
ERRANDS AND LETTERS
Alixe Ruthven had not yet dared tell Selwyn that her visit to his rooms was known to her husband. Sooner or later she meant to tell him; it was only fair to him that he should be prepared for anything that might happen; but as yet, though her first instinct, born of sheer fright, urged her to seek instant council with Selwyn, fear of him was greater than the alarm caused her by her husband's knowledge.
She was now afraid of her husband's malice, afraid of Selwyn's opinion, afraid of herself most of all, for she understood herself well enough to realise that, if conditions became intolerable, the first and easiest course out of it would be the course she'd take--wherever it led, whatever it cost, or whoever was involved.