Part 11 (1/2)
”Simmy, you've been drinking.”
He scowled, and at that she laughed aloud. ”'Pon my soul, not more than three, Anne. I rarely drink in the middle of the day. Almost never, I swear to you. Confound it, why should you say I've been drinking? Can't I be serious without being accused of drunkenness? What the devil do you mean, Anne, by intimating that I-”
”Don't explode, Simmy,” she cried. ”I wasn't intimating a thing. I was positively a.s.serting it. But go on, please. You interest me. Don't try to look injured, Simmy. You can't manage it at all.”
”I didn't come here to be insulted,” he growled.
”Did you come here to insult me?” she inquired, the smile suddenly leaving her eyes.
”Good Lord, no!” he gasped. ”Only I don't like what you said a minute ago.
I never was more serious or more sober in my life. You've been proposed to a hundred times, I suppose, and I'll bet I'm the only one you've ever accused of drinking at the time. It's just my luck. I-”
”What in the world are you trying to get at, Simmy Dodge?” she cried. ”Are you really asking me to marry you?”
”Certainly,” he said, far from mollified.
She leaned back in the chair and regarded him in silence for a moment. ”Is it possible that you have not heard that I am to be married this month?”
she asked, and there was something like pity in her manner.
”Heard it? Of course, I've heard it. Everybody's heard it. That's just what I've come to see you about. To talk the whole thing over. To see if we can't do something. Now, there is a way out of it, dear girl. It may not be the best way in the world but it's infinitely-”
”Are you crazy?” she cried, staring at him in alarm.
”See here, Anne,” he said gently, ”I am your friend. It will not make any difference to you if I tell you that I love you, that I've loved you for years. It's true nevertheless. I'm glad that I've at last had the courage to tell you. Still I suppose it's immaterial. I've come up here this afternoon to ask you to be my wife. I don't ask you to _say_ that you love me. I don't want to put you in such a position as that. I know you don't love me, but-”
”Simmy! Oh, Simmy!” she cried out, a hysterical laugh in her throat that died suddenly in a strange, choking way. She was looking at him now with wide, comprehending eyes.
”I can't bear to see you married to that old man, Anne,” he went on. ”It is too awful for words. You are one of the most perfect of G.o.d's creations. You shall not be sacrificed on this d.a.m.ned altar of-I beg your pardon, I did not mean to begin by accusing any one of deliberately forcing you into-into-” He broke off and pulled fiercely at his little moustache.
”I see now,” she said presently. ”You are willing to sacrifice yourself in order that I may be spared. Is that it?”
”It isn't precisely a sacrifice. At least, it isn't quite the same sort of sacrifice that goes with your case as it now stands. In this instance, one of us at least is moved by a feeling of love;-in the other, there is no love at all. If you will take me, Anne, you will get a man who adores you for yourself. Isn't there something in that? I can give you everything that old man Thorpe can give, with love thrown in. I understand the situation. You are not marrying that old man because you love him. There's something back of it all that you can't tell me, and I shall not ask you to do so. But listen, dear; I'm decent, I'm honest, I'm young and I'm rich. I can give you everything that money will buy. Good Lord, I wish I could remember just what I've got to offer you in the way of-But, never mind now. If you'd like it, I'll have my secretary make out a complete list of-”
”So you think I am marrying Mr. Thorpe for his money,-is that it, Simmy dear?” she asked.
”I know it,” said he promptly. ”That is, you are marrying him because some one else-ahem! You can't expect me to believe that you love the old codger.”
”No, I can't expect that of any one. Thank you, Simmy. I think I understand. You really want to-to save me. Isn't that so?”
”I do, Anne, G.o.d knows I do,” he said fervently. ”It's the most beastly, diabolical-”
”You have been fair with me, Simmy,” she broke in seriously, ”so I'll be fair with you. I am marrying Mr. Thorpe for his money. I ought to be ashamed to confess it openly in this way, but I'm not. Every one knows just why I am going into this thing, and every one is putting the blame upon my mother. She is not wholly to blame. I am not being driven into it.
It's in the blood of us. We are that kind. We are a bad lot, Simmy, we women of the breed. It goes a long way back, and we're all alike. Don't ask me to say anything more, dear old boy. I'm just a rotter, so let it go at that.”
”You're nothing of the sort,” he exclaimed, seizing her hand. ”You're nothing of the sort!”
”Oh, yes, I am,” she said wearily.