Part 45 (1/2)

”Conquest must know that we love each other, too,” he declared, with some bitterness.

”Perhaps he does; but, you see, every one has a different way of looking at life, and I don't think that with him it's a thing that counts greatly.

I'm not sure that I understand him in that respect. I only know that you and I, who owe him so much, can repay him by giving him what he asks for.

Will you promise me to do it?”

He continued to look downward, as though finding it hard to give his word; but when he raised his eyes again, he flung back his head with his old air of resolution.

”I'll promise to do anything you ask me throughout our lives. I don't admit that Conquest should demand this thing or that he had any right to let you offer it. But since you want to give it--and I can show you no other token of my love--and shall never again be able to tell you that I adore you--that I _adore_ you--I promise--to obey.”

XXV

The inspection of the house was over, and they had come back to the drawing-room for tea. Conquest had lavished pains on the occasion, putting flowers in the rooms, and strewing handsome objects carelessly about, so as to impart to the great sh.e.l.l as much as possible the air of being lived in. To the tea-table he had given particular attention, ordering out the most ornamental silver and the costliest porcelain, and placing the table itself just where she would probably have it in days to come, so as to get the effect she produced in sitting there, as he liked to do with a new picture or piece of furniture.

On her part, Miriam had made the rounds of the rooms with conscientious care, observing, admiring, suggesting, with just that mingling of shyness and interest with which a woman in her situation would view her future home. Having got, by intuition, the idea that he was watching for some flaw in her manner, she was determined that he should find none. It was the beginning of that lifelong schooling to his service to which she had vowed herself, though the effort would have been easier had he not rendered her self-conscious by scanning her so keenly out of his little gray-green eyes. Nevertheless, she was pleased with the manner in which she was acquitting herself, giving him his tea and taking her own with no sign of embarra.s.sment. As on the preceding day, it was this perfection of acting, as he chose to call it, that exasperated his restless suspicion more than any display of weakness.

The thought that she was keeping her true self locked against him had, during the last twenty-four hours, become an obsession, making it impossible for him to eat or to sleep. In her serene, impeccable bearing he saw nothing but the bars up and the blinds drawn down. An instant of faltering or self-betrayal would have admitted him to at least a glimpse of what was pa.s.sing within; but through this well-balanced graciousness it was as difficult to get at her soul as to read the mind of the Venus of Milo in the marble n.o.bility of her face. He had led her from room to room, describing one, explaining another, and apologizing for a third, but all the while trying to break down her guard, only to find, as they returned to the point at which they started, that he had failed. It was with nerves all unstrung, and with a lack of self-command he would have been, in his saner senses, the first to condemn, that he strode up at last and rapped sharply at the door of her barricaded citadel.

”Why did you never tell me that you knew Norrie Ford--years ago?”

He was putting his empty cup on the table as he spoke, so that he could avoid looking at her. She was glad of this respite from his gaze, for she found the question startling. Before the scrutiny of his eyes was turned on her again she had herself in hand.

”I should probably have told you some time.”

”Very likely. The odd thing is that you didn't tell me at once.”

”It wasn't so odd--given all the circ.u.mstances.”

”It wasn't so odd, given some of the circ.u.mstances; but given them all--_all_--I should say, I ought to have known.”

She allowed a few seconds to pa.s.s.

”I suppose,” she said, slowly, then, ”that may fairly be considered a matter of opinion. I don't see, however, that it makes much difference--since you know now.”

”My knowing or not knowing now isn't quite the point. The fact of importance is that you never told me.”

”I'm sorry you should take it in that way; but since I didn't--and the matter is beyond remedy--I suppose we shouldn't gain anything by discussing it.”

”I don't know about that. It seems to me a subject that ought to be--aired.”

She tried to smile down his aggressiveness, succeeding partially, in that he subdued the quarrelsomeness of his voice and manner to that affectation of banter behind which he concealed habitually his real self, and by which he most easily deceived her.

”Very well,” she laughed; ”I'm quite ready to air it; only I don't know just how it's to be done.”

”Suppose you were to tell me what happened, in your own language?”

”If Mr. Ford has told you already, as I imagine he has, I don't see that my language can be very different from his. All the same, I'll try, since you want me to.”