Part 25 (2/2)

”Oh but--!” said Laura, startled. She was responsible to Val for Isabel, and she was not sure that either Val or Isabel would welcome this arrangement.

”Thank you,” said Isabel, obediently getting into the second cab.

”Better come, dear,” said Selincourt with a shrug, and Laura yielded, for it would have been tiresome to make Isabel get out again, and after all what signified a twenty minutes' run? Yet after the Cleve incident she did not quite like it. Nor did Selincourt; Hyde's overbearing manner set his teeth on edge; but the gentle Lucian would sooner have faced a loaded rifle than a dispute. He agreed with Laura, however, that her fair Arcadian was a trifle too innocent for her years.

Alone with Isabel, Lawrence took off his hat and ran his fingers through his thick fair hair, so thick that it might have been grey, while the deep lines round his mouth began to soften as though fatigue and irritation were being wiped away. ”Thank heaven that's over.”

”I've enjoyed every minute of it,” said Isabel smiling. ”Thank you, Captain Hyde, for giving me such a delightful treat! If I weren't sleepy I should like to begin again.”

”Oh, don't get sleepy yet,” said Lawrence. He pulled up the fur collar of her coat and b.u.t.toned it under her chin. ”I can't have you catching cold, or what will Val say? You aren't used to driving about in evening dress and we've a long run before us.

And how I have been longing for it all the evening, haven't you?

I didn't know how to sit through that confounded play. Yes, you can take in Selincourt and Laura but you can't take me in. I know you must have hated it as much as I did. But it's all right now.”

Sitting sideways with one knee crossed over the other, his face turned towards Isabel, without warning he put his arm round her waist. He had determined not to ask her to marry him till he was sure of her answer, but he was sure of it now, intuitively sure of it . . . the truth being that under his impa.s.sive manner impulse was driving him along like a leaf in the wind. ”I love you, Isabel, and you love me. Don't deny it.”

”Don't do that,” said Isabel: ”don't hold me.”

”Why not? no one can see us.”

”Take your arm away. I won't have you hold me. No, Captain Hyde, I will not. I am not Mrs. Cleve.”

”Isabel!” said Lawrence, turning grey under his bronze.

”O! I oughtn't to have said that,” Isabel murmured. She hid her face in her hands. ”Oh Val-- I wish Val were here!”

”My darling,” they were among the dark streets now that border the river, and he leant forward making no effort to conceal his tenderness, ”what is there you can't say to me or I to you?

You're so strange, my Isabel, a child one minute and a woman the next, I never know where to have you, but I love the woman more than the child, and there's nothing on earth you need be ashamed to ask me. Naturally you want to be sure. . . . But there was nothing in it except that I hated leaving you, there never has been; I can't discuss it, but there's no tie, no--do you understand?”

”Yes.”

”Then, dearest darling of the world, what are you crying for?”

”I'm not crying.” She tried to face him, but he was too old for her, and mingling in his love she discerned indulgence, the seasoned judgment and the fixed view. Struggling in imperfect apprehensions of life, she was not yet master of her forces-- they came near to mastering her. In his eyes it was natural for her to be jealous. But she was not jealous. That pa.s.sion can hardly coexist with such sincere and cool contempt as she had felt for Mrs. Cleve. What had pierced her heart and killed her childhood in her was terror lest Lawrence should turn out to have lowered himself to the same level. She knew now that she loved him, and too much to care whether he was Saxon or Jew or rich or poor, but he must--he must be what in her child's vocabulary she called ”good,” or if not that he must at least see good and bad with clear eyes: sins one can pardon, but the idea of any essential inferiority of taste was torture to her. And meanwhile Lawrence wide of the mark began to coax her. . ”My own,” his arm stole inside her coat again, ”there's nothing to get so red about! Come, you do like me--confess now--you like me better than Val?”

”No, no,” Isabel murmured, and slowly, though she had not strength to free herself, she turned her head away. ”If you kiss me now I never shall forgive you.”

”I won't, but why are you so shy? My Isabel, what is there to be afraid of?”

”You,” Isabel sighed out. He was gratified, and betrayed it. ”No, Lawrence, you misunderstand. I am not--not shy of you . . .” Under his mocking eyes she gave it up and tried again. ”Well, I am, but if that were all I shouldn't refuse . . . I should like you to be happy. Oh! yes, I love you, and I'd so far rather not fight, I'd rather--” she waited a moment like a swimmer on the sand's edge, but his deep need of her carried her away and with a little sigh she flung herself into the open sea--”let you kiss me, because I don't want anything so much as to make you happy, and I believe you would be, and besides I--I should like it myself. But I must know more.

I must know the truth. She--Mrs. Cleve--”

”I've already given you my word: do you think I would lie to you?”

”No, I don't; they say men do, but I'm sure you wouldn't. I don't believe you ever would deceive me. But there have been other women, haven't there, since your wife left you?” Lawrence a.s.sented briefly. At that moment he would have liked to see Mrs.

Cleve hanged and drawn and quartered. ”Other women who were-- who--with whom--”

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