Part 65 (1/2)
”It's nothing to laugh at. Do you know what I'm thinking of?”
”Don't tell, if it's dreadful.”
”Oh, I dare say you wouldn't think it's dreadful,” he said, with bitterness. ”It's simply the case of a man who has made a fool of himself and sees no help of retrieval in himself.”
”Can any one else help a man unmake a fool of himself?” she asked, with a smile.
”Yes. In a case like this.”
”Dear me! This is very interesting.”
She did not ask him what the case was, but he was launched now, and he pressed on. ”I am the man who has made a fool of himself--”
”Oh!”
”And you can help me out if you will. Alma, I wish you could see me as I really am.”
”Do you, Mr. Beacon? Perhaps I do.”
”No; you don't. You formulated me in a certain way, and you won't allow for the change that takes place in every one. You have changed; why shouldn't I?”
”Has this to do with your having made a fool of yourself?”
”Yes.”
”Oh! Then I don't see how you have changed.”
She laughed, and he too, ruefully. ”You're cruel. Not but what I deserve your mockery. But the change was not from the capacity of making a fool of myself. I suppose I shall always do that more or less--unless you help me. Alma! Why can't you have a little compa.s.sion? You know that I must always love you.”
”Nothing makes me doubt that like your saying it, Mr. Beaton. But now you've broken your word--”
”You are to blame for that. You knew I couldn't keep it!”
”Yes, I'm to blame. I was wrong to let you come--after that. And so I forgive you for speaking to me in that way again. But it's perfectly impossible and perfectly useless for me to hear you any more on that subject; and so-good-bye!”
She rose, and he perforce with her. ”And do you mean it?” he asked.
”Forever?”
”Forever. This is truly the last time I will ever see you if I can help it. Oh, I feel sorry enough for you!” she said, with a glance at his face. ”I do believe you are in earnest. But it's too late now. Don't let us talk about it any more! But we shall, if we meet, and so,--”
”And so good-bye! Well, I've nothing more to say, and I might as well say that. I think you've been very good to me. It seems to me as if you had been--shall I say it?--trying to give me a chance. Is that so?” She dropped her eyes and did not answer.
”You found it was no use! Well, I thank you for trying. It's curious to think that I once had your trust, your regard, and now I haven't it. You don't mind my remembering that I had? It'll be some little consolation, and I believe it will be some help. I know I can't retrieve the past now.
It is too late. It seems too preposterous--perfectly lurid--that I could have been going to tell you what a tangle I'd got myself in, and to ask you to help untangle me. I must choke in the infernal coil, but I'd like to have the sweetness of your pity in it--whatever it is.”
She put out her hand. ”Whatever it is, I do pity you; I said that.”
”Thank you.” He kissed the band she gave him and went.