Part 20 (2/2)
And he told her, speaking very gently so that his voice might not tire her, that Ulick had called at Berkeley Square.
”He told me you weren't going away with him.”
A slight shudder pa.s.sed through Evelyn's face, and she asked, ”Where is Ulick?”
”He has gone away. If he had stayed he would have lost his post as secretary to the opera company.”
Evelyn did not appear to hear the explanation, and it was some time before she said:
”He has gone away. I don't think we shall see much of him again, either you or I, Owen.”
Owen did not resist asking if she regretted this, and she answered that she did not regret it at all. ”And now you understand, Owen, what kind of woman I am; how hopeless everything is.” In spite of herself, a little trace of her old wit returning to her, she added, ”You see what an unfortunate man you are in your choice of a mistress.”
Owen could not answer; and a moment after he remembered that it is only those who feel as deeply as Evelyn who can speak as lightly, otherwise they would not be able to resist the strain; and the strain was a very terrible one, he could see that, for she turned over in bed, and a little later he perceived that she had been crying. Turning suddenly, she exclaimed:
”Owen, Owen, I am very frightened!”
”Frightened of what, dear one?”
”I don't know, Owen, I can't tell you; but I am very frightened, for he seems not to be very far away and may come again.”
”And who is 'he'?”
”It is impossible to tell you--a darkness, a shadow that seems always by me, and who was very near me last night. A little more chloral and I should not be here talking to you!”
”It is terrible, Evelyn, terrible! And how should I have lived?”
”You lived before me and you will live after me. Suicide is a mortal sin, so Monsignor would tell me. We are forbidden to kill ourselves even to escape sin, and that seems strange; for how shall I ever believe that G.o.d would not have forgiven me, that he would not have preferred me to kill myself than to have--?” And her voice died away, Owen wondered whether for lack of strength or unwillingness to express herself in words.
”My dear Evelyn! my dear Evelyn!”
”You don't understand, Owen; I am so different from what I was once.
I know it, I feel it, the difference, and it can't be helped.”
”But it can be helped, Evelyn. You've been living by yourself, spending whole days and nights alone, and you've been suffering from want of sleep--something had to happen; but now that it has happened you will get quite well, and if you had only done what I asked you before--if we had been married--I”
”Don't let us talk about it, Owen; you don't understand how different I am, how impossible--I--don't want to be unkind, you have been very good to me always; and, understanding you as I seem to understand you now, I am sorry you should have made such a bad choice, and that I was not more satisfactory.”
”But you are perfectly satisfactory, Evelyn. If I am satisfied, who should have the right to grumble? The pain of losing you is better than the pleasure of winning anybody else.... So you think, Evelyn, you will never return to the stage?”
She did not answer, and, with dilated eyes, she looked through the room till Owen turned, wondering if he should see anything; and he was about to ask her if she saw the shadow again which she had spoken of a while ago, but refrained from speaking, seeing that the time was not one for questions.
”Evelyn,” he said, ”I will come to see you to-morrow. You are tired to-night.”
XV
<script>