Part 83 (1/2)
”I was so happy,” she said piteously, ”and, in the street, I saw you with that girl. You held her arm, and I had to come to you. I had, Zebedee.”
”Had you, dear?” he said. He was pulling off her gloves, gently and quickly, holding each wrist in turn, and together they looked at the broad band of gold. Their eyes met in a pain beyond the reach of words.
She bowed her head, but not in shame.
”My hat, too,” she said, and he found the pins and took it from her.
”Your ring is here,” she said, and touched herself. Her lips trembled.
”I can't go back.”
”You need not, dearest one. Sit down. I must go and speak to Mary.”
”She is better than Eliza,” Helen said when he returned.
”Yes, better than Eliza.” He spoke soothingly. ”Are you comfortable there? Tell me about it, dear.” He folded his arms and leaned against his desk, and as he watched her he saw the look of strain pa.s.s from her face.
She smiled at him. ”Your cheeks are twitching.”
”Are they?”
”They always do when you think hard.”
”You are sitting where you sat when you first came here.”
”And there were no cakes.”
”Only buns.”
”And they were stale.”
”You said you liked them.”
”I liked--everything--that day.”
”I think,” he said, jerking his chin upwards, ”we won't have any reminiscences.”
”Why not?” she asked softly. She went to him and put her arms round his neck. ”It's no good, Zebedee. I've tried. I really loved him--but it's you--I belong to you.” He could hardly hear what she said. ”Can you love me any longer? I've been--his. I've liked it. I was ready to do anything--like that--for him.”
”Speak a little louder, dear.”
”You see, one could forget. And I did think about children, Zebedee, I couldn't help it.”
”Precious, of course you couldn't.”
”But you were always mine. And when I saw you this afternoon, there was no one else. And no one else can have you. You don't love any one but me. How could you? She can't have you. I want you. And you're mine. Your hands--and eyes--and face--this cheek--You--you--I can't--I don't know what I'm saying. I can't go back! He'll--he put this ring on me today. I let him. I was glad--somehow. Glad!” She broke away from him and burst into a fit of weeping.
He knew the properties of her tears, and he had no hope of any gain but what could come to him by way of her renewed serenity; he made s.h.i.+ft to be content with that, and though the sound of her crying hurt him violently, he smiled at her insistence on possessing him. She had married another man, but she would not resign her rights to the one she had deserted, though he, poor soul, must claim none. It was one of the inconsistencies he loved in her, and he was still smiling when she raised her head from the arm of the chair where she had laid it.
”I'm sorry, Zebedee. I'm better now. I'm--all right.”