Part 17 (2/2)
The king was her father.
”Clarice, Clarice, isn't it wonderful?”
”Wonderful! I thought so when you told me. But already I begin to doubt if it is.”
”To doubt, Clarice?”
”To doubt whether anything a man does is wonderful.”
That was all Clarice said. Then she kissed Betty, and went on playing Chopin feverishly, while Betty told, to the accompaniment of the music, all that was in her heart.
”And,” she said at last, ”I love him, Clarice; I love him intensely. I shall always love him.”
Clarice played a final chord and got up.
Bellairs lunched on the dahabeeyah that day and Clarice met him as usual. Her manner gave no sign of any mental disturbance. Perhaps it was curiously calm. He wondered a little, but was too happy to wonder much.
Joy made him cruel, for nothing is so cruel as joy. Only he was glad that Clarice had so much pride, for he thought now that in her pride lay his safety. He no longer feared that she would condescend to a scene, and he even thought that perhaps she did not feel so deeply as he had supposed.
”After all,” he said to himself exultantly, ”there's no harm done. I need not have been so conscience-stricken. What is a pretty speech and a kiss to a woman who has lived, travelled over the world, read widely, thought many things? Now, if I had treated Betty in such a way I should be a blackguard. She could not have understood. She could only have suffered. I will never hurt her--Betty!”
His nature was so full of her that it could no longer hold any thought of Clarice. And for a little while, as Bellairs dived into Betty's heart, he was astonished at the pa.s.sion he found there, and congratulated himself on having released her from bondage. Now, at least, he was teaching her to be herself. He was killing the echo and creating a voice, a beautiful, clear, radiant voice that would sing to him, to him alone.
”Betty has a great deal in her,” he said to Clarice once.
”Yes--a great deal. Who put it there, do you think?”
”Who? Why, n.o.body. Surely you would not say that all you yourself have of--of strength, originality, courage, was put into you by some other man or woman.”
”No. I would not say that. But then--I am not Betty.”
Bellairs felt irritated.
”Please don't run Betty down,” he exclaimed hastily.
”I! I run down Betty! I don't think you understand what I feel about Betty. She is the one perfect being I know. I wors.h.i.+p her.”
”I am sure you do,” he said, mollified. ”And you have done much for her, perhaps too much.”
”I cannot tell that--yet,” Clarice answered. ”Some day I may know whether I have done very much, or very little.”
”Some day--when?”
”Perhaps very soon.”
Bellairs wondered what she meant, and wondered, too, why he had a sudden sense of uneasiness.
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