Part 29 (1/2)
”Then take me there.”
”It will be five s.h.i.+llings more.”
”Here is a sovereign. Give me a good location and keep the change.”
He got all he desired, and for two hours fed the fire in his heart through the sad, tearless avenues of his eyes. Only the Duke was with her. He was in full dress, with all his ribboned orders on his breast; she was robed in pale amber satin and glittering with diamonds. The house was very full, the entertainment mirth-provoking, and there was a great deal of sweet, sensuous music. He did not hear anything either sung or spoken, for all his life was in his eyes, and what they saw burned the word _unattainable_ on all his hopes. He left the theater before the performance was finished; he did not wish to meet his false mistress until he was quite sure of his decision. When he thought he was so he lifted his valise and packed it. He had resolved to see her once more and then return to Glasgow. His manner was then haughty and quiet, and his face looked as if carven out of steel, so cold and clear-cut were its features, so hard and implacable the resolve written on them.
In the morning he went to Lady Cramer's house, and was readily admitted.
She was rather glad of his visit, for she by no means realized her offense nor her lover's indignation at it. Indeed, when he entered the parlor she rose with a little cry of pleasure, and, with both hands extended, hurried to meet him.
”O Ian! Ian! How glad I am to see you!” she cried. ”I have just written to you--why did you not come again yesterday?”
He had advanced to about the middle of the room, and he stood there, stern and inflexible, until she was near to him. Then he raised his hands, palms outward, and said: ”Stand where you are, Ada. I do not wish you to touch me. You are the most false of all women. I have come to give you back your worthless promise. I do not value it any longer.”
”Ian! Ian! What do you mean?”
”I mean that I know you are going to marry that old Duke--going to sell yourself once more.”
”Oh, indeed,” she answered, ”if my marriage is a sale, I prefer to be sold for a dukedom than a Free Kirk pulpit. And, if you have come here to be insolent, understand that I do not care for anything you say.”
”Care a little for my farewell. I will never trouble you again. I give you back your promise.”
”Thank you! If you had been brave enough to insist on my keeping it, I might have done so. You are a very indifferent lover. Twice over Duke Rotherham drove you away, just because he was a duke.”
”You are mistaken. I set you free because you are utterly deceitful. I hate deceit. I love you no longer.”
”You are deceiving yourself. You can never cease to love me.”
”I love you not. I have ceased already.”
”Indeed, sir, in the matter of love you leave off loving when you can, not when you wish.”
”A burnt-out fire cannot be rekindled; you are dead to me.”
”I shall live in your memory.”
”I have buried you below memory, and, for the graves of the heart, there is no resurrection.”
”Do not quarrel with me, Ian. I did love you! I did intend to marry you!”
”You are a beautiful woman, but you are only a face without a heart. It would have been a good thing for you to have become my wife. I should have taught you how to love.”
With a little mocking laugh she answered: ”It might have been a good thing to be your wife, but oh, what happiness it is not to be your wife!
You have much learning, sir, but you do not know the way to a woman's heart.” Then she slipped from her finger the ring he had given her and let it fall to her feet.
”I take back my promise, Ian. Take back your ring. Farewell!” and, with head proudly lifted, she pa.s.sed him. At the door she turned, and he was just lifting the ring. ”Ah!” she cried, ”the diamonds are pure enough for you to touch, I see,” and with a contemptuous laugh she closed the door behind her.
Her eyes were tearless, and there was a dubious smile around her mouth, but her heart grew so still she thought something must have died there.
”Farewell, Ian!” she whispered, as she sank wearily on her bed.