Part 8 (2/2)
Thought Hermia to herself, ”He is a little jealous after all.”
The other went on: ”He's lonely in camp, and you're lonely here. That's about the British of it; eh, Hermia?”
”Well, can you wonder? Here I am, left all by myself to get through time as best I can. How long have you been away this time? Four weeks?”
”Just under. And this was a short trip. It is hard lines, rather; but then, you always knew what life up here was going to mean. You did it with your eyes open.”
”It is mean of you to throw it at me. I never thought you would have done it,” she flashed.
”Throw what? Oh, I see. I wasn't referring to--that. You might as well give me the benefit of the doubt, Hermia. You ought to know that I was referring to our coming out here at all. We might have gone anywhere else, so it wasn't England.”
She looked down at him as he sat there, for she was standing, or restlessly moving about. How cool and pa.s.sionless he was now, she thought. He had not always been so. Decidedly he was tired of her.
She could not help drawing a mental contrast between him and the other.
The countenance of this one, with its well-cut features, but lined and weather-worn, dark and bronzed by sun and exposure, was indeed a contrast to that of the other, in its smooth, clear-skinned blue-eyed comeliness of youth. Yet, this one, sitting there, strong, reposeful-looking in his cool white raiment was, and would always be, _the_ one when she came to pa.s.s in review her polyandrous experiences.
Now his very tranquillity, indifference she called it, nettled her. At any other time, indeed, it would have served as a powerful draw in keeping her to him; now however, the entirely fresh excitement she had struck formed an effective counterblast. If he was tired of her, she would let him see that she was even more tired of him, whether she was so or not.
”To revert to Spence,” he said. ”What pleasure can it give you to make a bigger fool of the young idiot than his parents and Nature have already made him?”
”He isn't at all a fool,” snapped Hermia, shortly.
”Not eh? Well, everything is relative, even in terminology. We'll call him not so wise as some other people, if you prefer it. If he was as wise, he might be over head and ears in love with you without giving it away at every turn--in fact, thrusting it into the very face of the ordinary observer.”
”Why, Hilary, you really are jealous!” she cried with a ringing laugh.
For a moment, however, she had looked perturbed.
”Ha, ha! That's good--distinctly good. Jealous! There is, or ought to be, no such thing, once past the callowness of youth. The self-respect of any man should be above whining to any one woman because she prefers somebody else. The mere fact of her doing so renders her utterly valueless in his sight there and then.”
”You don't really mean that, Hilary?” she said. ”You're only just talking, you know.”
”Try it and see.”
His eyes were full on hers. For the life of her, she could not as straightly meet that straight, firm glance. This was the only man she had never been able to deceive. Others she could hoodwink and fool at will, this one never. So, with a light laugh, with a shade of nervousness in it that would have been patent to an even less acute faculty of perception than his, she rejoined--
”Well, you're out of it this time, Hilary. Justin isn't in love with me at all. Why, it's ridiculous!”
She turned away uneasily. For he knew that she was lying, and she knew that he did.
”One moment, Hermia,” he called out to her. She paused. ”While we are on the subject: are you not getting a little tired of--our partners.h.i.+p?”
”Why?”
”I've seen symptoms of it lately, and I don't think I'm mistaken.
Because, if you are, say so squarely and openly. It'll be much better in the long run.”
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