Part 46 (1/2)
She spoke almost in a whisper, but, nevertheless, he heard her very clearly, and at once turned towards her room.
”Come in, John,” she said, opening the door wider. ”I wish to speak to you. I have been waiting till you should come up.”
She had taken off her dress, and had put on in place of it a white dressing-gown; but of this she had not thought till he was already within the room. ”I hope you won't mind finding me like this, but I did so want to speak to you to-night.”
He, as he looked at her, felt that he had no objection to make to her appearance. If that had been his only trouble concerning her he would have been well satisfied. When he was within the room, she closed the lock of the door very softly, and then began to question him.
”Tell me,” she said, ”what my aunt has been saying to you about that man that came here to-day.”
He did not answer her at once, but stood leaning against the bed.
”I know she has been telling you,” continued Margaret. ”I know she would not let you go to bed without accusing me. Tell me, John, what she has told you.”
He was very slow to speak. As he had sat listening to his mother's energetic accusation against the woman he had promised to marry, hearing her bring up argument after argument to prove that Margaret had, in fact, been engaged to that clergyman,--that she had intended to marry that man while she had money, and had not, up to that day, made him fully understand that she would not do so,--he had himself said little or nothing, claiming to himself the use of that night for consideration. The circ.u.mstances against Margaret he owned to be very strong. He felt angry with her for having had any lover at Littlebath. It was but the other day, during her winter visit to the Cedars, that he had himself proposed to her, and that she had rejected him. He had now renewed his proposal, and he did not like to think that there had been any one else between his overtures. And he could not deny the strength of his mother's argument when she averred that Mr Maguire would not have come down there unless he had had, as she said, every encouragement. Indeed, throughout the whole affair, Lady Ball believed Mr Maguire, and disbelieved her niece; and something of her belief, and something also of her disbelief, communicated itself to her son. But, still, he reserved to himself the right of postponing his own opinion till the morrow; and as he was coming upstairs, when Margaret saw him through the c.h.i.n.k of the door, he was thinking of her smiles, of her graciousness, and her goodness. He was remembering the touch of her hand when they were together in the square, and the feminine sweetness with which she had yielded to him every point regarding her fortune. When he did not speak to her at once, she questioned him again.
”I know she has told you that Mr Maguire has been here, and that she has accused me of deceiving you.”
”Yes, Margaret, she has.”
”And what have you said in return; or rather, what have you thought?”
He had been leaning, or half sitting, on the bed, and she had placed herself beside him. How was it that she had again taken him by the coat, and again looked up into his face with those soft, trusting eyes? Was it a trick with her? Had she ever taken that other man by the coat in the same way, and smitten him also with the battery of her eyes? The loose sleeve of her dressing-gown had fallen back, and he could see that her arm was round and white, and very fair. Was she conversant with such tricks as these? His mother had called her clever and cunning as a serpent. Was it so? Had his mother seen with eyes clearer than his own, and was he now being surrounded by the meshes of a false woman's web? He moved away from her quickly, and stood upon the hearth-rug with his back to the empty fire grate.
Then she stood up also.
”John,” she said, ”if you have condemned me, say so. I shall defend myself for the sake of my character, but I shall not ask you to come back to me.”
But he had not condemned her. He had not condemned her altogether, neither had he acquitted her. He was willing enough to hear her defence, as he had heard his mother's accusation; but he was desirous of hearing it without committing himself to any opinion.
”I have been much surprised,” he said, ”by what my mother has now told me,--very much surprised indeed. If Mr Maguire had any claim upon your hand, should you not have told me?”
”He had no claim; but no doubt it was right that I should tell you. I was bound by my duty to tell you everything that had occurred.”
”Of course you were--and yet you did not do it.”
”But I was not so bound before what you said to me in the shrubbery last night? Remember, John, it was but last night. Have I had a moment to speak to you?”
”If there was any question of engagement between you and him, you should have told it me then, on the instant.”
”But there was no question. He came to me one day and made me an offer. I will tell you everything, and I think you will believe me.
I found him holding a position of respect, at Littlebath, and I was all alone in the world. Why should I not listen to him? I gave him no answer, but told him to speak to me again after a while. Then came my poor brother's illness and death; and after that came, as you know, the loss of all my money. In the meantime Mr Maguire had written, but as I knew that my brother's family must trust to me for their support--that, at least, John was my hope then--I answered him that my means were not the same as before, and that everything must be over. Then he wrote to me again after I had lost my money, and once I answered him. I wrote to him so that he should know that nothing could come of it. Here are all his letters, and I have a copy of the last I wrote to him.” So saying, she pulled the papers out of her desk,--the desk in which still lay the torn shreds of her poetry,--and handed them to him. ”After that, what right had he to come here and make such a statement as he did to my aunt? How can he be a gentleman, and say what was so false?”
”No one says that he is a gentleman,” replied John Ball, as he took the proffered papers.
”I have told you all now,” said she; and as she spoke, a gleam of anger flashed from her eyes, for she was not in all respects a Griselda such as she of old. ”I have told you all now, and if further excuse be wanting, I have none further to make.”
Slowly he read the letters, still standing up on the hearth-rug, and then he folded them again into their shapes, and slowly gave them back to her.
”There is no doubt,” said he, ”as to his being a blackguard. He was hunting for your money, and now that he knows you have got none, he will trouble you no further.” Then he made a move from the place on which he stood, as if he were going.