Part 19 (1/2)
”She'll tell absolutely no one.”
”Because she's perfect, I suppose?”
”Because she didn't for one moment believe me.”
”Didn't believe we were engaged?”
”Didn't believe that any one could be engaged to so beautiful and charming a person as you are and not be in love with her.”
Christine's manner softened slightly. ”She thinks me charming?”
”She thinks you irresistible, almost as irresistible as Laura thinks you; and she is trying to find out why I am so eager to deceive her in the matter.”
Christine clapped her hands, and executed a few steps. ”She's jealous, too,” she cried. ”The perfect woman is jealous. I never thought of her suffering, too.”
”She is not jealous, but I suppose it may hurt her feelings a little that I shouldn't--”
”Oh, nonsense, Max, she loves you. Do you think I could be deceived on such a subject? She watches you all the time. She loves you. And I think it would be very impertinent of her not to. I should think very poorly of her if she didn't. Imagine what she must be undergoing at this moment, by our prolonged absence.”
”Perhaps, we'd better be going back,” said Riatt calmly.
Christine barred the door, spreading out both her arms.
”She thinks you're making love to me, Max.”
”And yet, Christine, I'm not.”
”But she doesn't know that; she doesn't know what an immovable iceberg you are.”
”No, indeed she doesn't.”
Christine's manner again changed utterly. All the playfulness disappeared. ”You mean,” she said, ”that you're not cold and immovable with her?”
”What's the use of my telling you anything, if you don't believe me?” The idea of teasing Christine had never occurred to him before, but he thought highly of it. She came toward him at once.
”Oh, Max, my dear,” she said, ”don't be horrid, when I'm having such a wretched time anyhow. Don't you think you might _pretend_ to care for me just a little?”
Riatt rose. ”Yes, I do,” he said, ”and so I shall, in public.”
Christine was all the gentle, wistful child immediately.
”Never when we're alone?” she asked.
Max lit a cigarette briskly. ”I don't suppose we shall very often be alone,” he returned. ”After all, why should we?”
She looked at him like a wounded bird: ”No reason if you don't want to.”
At this moment the door opened and her father came in.
”Come, come, my dear, this is no way to treat your guests,” he said. ”I must really insist that you go back to the drawing-room. Upon my word, Riatt, you ought not to keep her like this.”