Part 4 (2/2)

”It may not be,” said Chetwynd wearily; ”but there are women nevertheless to whom home and husband are all-sufficient and who ask for nothing beyond.”

”You made a great mistake, Mr. Chetwynd, when you--”

”I did,” he interrupted quickly; ”you are perfectly right; I did when I believed my wife and your daughter to be one of these. Well,” and he rose wearily, ”she has put a barrier between us to-night that can never be broken down.”

”Tut, tut, man; you have got your duty to do by her, and I'll take good care you do it. She is doing no wrong to join her profession again.”

”Our ideas as to right and wrong probably differ. I am certainly not going to argue the point, nor do I wish to s.h.i.+rk what responsibility I took on my shoulders when I married. But if it is upon your advice she has acted in this matter, ask G.o.d to forgive you for the cruel wrong you have done us both!”

Then he picked up his hat and went out of the house. It was long past midnight when Bella returned; but late though it was, she knew by the lights in the drawing room that her husband was waiting up for her, and with an impatient sigh, determined to get her lecture over, she ran lightly up-stairs.

He was there, sitting in her own cosy armchair, and he looked round expectantly as the door opened.

”Well,” she said nervously, stripping off her gloves, and avoiding meeting his stern, sad gaze. ”I daresay you wonder where I have been and what has kept me so late; but, my dear old Jack, you will have to give up the bad habit of sitting up to all hours for me, for I'm likely to be late most nights now.”

She paused for a reply, but none came. Her easy a.s.surance staggered him; he could hardly believe that this self-composed, glib-spoken young woman had been at one time his diffident, shy little love. The unhappy man found it very hard to reconcile the two. ”Why don't you speak?” she asked impatiently, facing him in a defiant manner; and as he looked up at her he noticed for the first time that she had grown older and had lost all at once--at least, so it seemed to him--the rounded, childish look from her sweet face and involuntarily a sigh broke from him.

”One would think I had committed a crime,” cried she in disdain, and then, catching her skirts up, she broke into a step dance, humming a popular music-hall air.

”Stop--do you hear me?--this instant stop!” the devil in him burst out; he could restrain himself no longer.

”Woman! What are you made of?” he cried in a voice of thunder, and she, shrinking back a little, fell half frightened into a chair. He never could quite remember afterwards what he did say. He tried with rough eloquence, that might have moved a heart of stone, to show her what it was she was doing, to appeal to her better, n.o.bler self, to her love for him; he implored and entreated her to give up this new life--for his sake.

He had nothing better to urge than that, poor fool! It weighed with her as just so much chaff. The time had gone by when his words would have touched her; they glided lightly over what she called her ”heart” now and left no impression there.

And then he went on his knees beside her and prayed her to grant him this one boon; he poured out a flood of feverish words, hardly pausing to think; he tried to paint an alluring picture of their life in the future: they would leave Camberwell, he said; she should go where she liked if she would but listen to reason; it would ruin him in his profession, he pleaded, if she persisted in returning to the stage. As he talked the pretty face grew harder and older. Bella had made up her mind, and the man beside her had not the faintest power to sway her by his reproaches or entreaties.

And then he stumbled to his feet and stood waiting for his answer.

It came at last, clear and cold, falling like pellets of ice upon his impatient fervour.

”The thing is done now, and all the talking in the world will not alter it.”

”And that is your last word to me--your husband?”

Finding she did not speak, he walked across the floor, turning at the door, hoping against hope, but she lay back as still as if she were dead.

When he had gone, Bella opened her eyes and held up her hand curiously. It was wet with--what?--tears.

Her eyes were bright and dry.

For a moment something of the old feeling swept over her.

Poor Jack! She half rose, then sank back again.

It was too late, she was thinking; as if it were ever too late to make amends, to atone, while we have still breath and life!

”It is all for the best, anyhow,” she murmured after awhile, and when philosophy is well to the fore, love hides its diminished head.

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