Part 45 (1/2)
”Must you go to Brighton?”
She nodded.
”Where can I write to?”
”It will depend,” she said. ”But I shall send you the address to-morrow. I shall write you before I go to bed whether it's to-night or to-morrow morning.”
”I wonder what people will say!”
”Please tell no one, yet,” she pleaded. ”Really, I should prefer not!
Later on, it won't seem so sudden; people are so silly.”
”But shan't you tell Janet?”
She hesitated. ”No! Let's keep it to ourselves till I come back.”
”When shall you come back?”
”Oh! Very soon. I hope in a few days, now. But I must go to this friend at Brighton. She's relying on me.”
It was enough for him, and indeed he liked the idea of a secret. ”Yes, yes,” he agreed eagerly.
There was the sound of another uproar in Duck Square. It appeared to roll to and fro thunderously.
She s.h.i.+vered. The fire was dead out in the stove, and the chill of night crept in from the street.
”It's nearly dark,” she said. ”I must go! I have to pack... Oh dear, dear--those poor men! Somebody will be hurt!”
”I'll walk up with you,” he whispered, holding her, in owner s.h.i.+p.
”No. It will be better not. Let me out.”
”Really?”
”Really!”
”But who'll take you to Knype Station?”
”Janet will go with me.”
She rose reluctantly. In the darkness they were now only dim forms to each other. He struck a match, that blinded them and expired as they reached the pa.s.sage...
When she had gone, he stood hatless at the open side door. Right at the top of Duck Bank, he could discern, under the big lamp there, a knot of gesticulating and shouting strikers, menacing two policemen; and farther off, in the direction of Moorthorne Road, other strikers were running.
The yellow-lit blinds of the Duck Inn across the Square seemed to screen a house of impenetrable conspiracies and debaucheries. And all that grim, perilous background only gave to his emotions a further intensity, troubling them to still stranger ecstasy. He thought: ”It has happened to me, too, now--this thing that is at the bottom of everybody's mind!
I've kissed her! I've got her! She's marvellous, marvellous! I couldn't have believed it. But is it true? Has it happened?” It pa.s.sed his credence... ”By Jove! I absolutely forgot about the ring!
That's a nice how d'ye do!” ... He saw himself married. He thought of Clara's grotesque antics with her tedious babe. And he thought of his father and of vexatious. But that night he was a man. She, Hilda, with her independence and her mystery, had inspired him with a full pride of manhood. And he discovered that one of the chief attributes of a man is an immense tenderness.
VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
THE MARRIAGE.