Part 29 (2/2)
”No! no! no!” he cried vehemently. ”You wrong me, you do not understand.
No one can respect a woman more than I respect you. It's of some of your friends that I disapprove.”
”A man is known by the company he keeps--how much more a woman. I'm like my friends--and you--you”--and for the moment she forgot to be meek and suffering, and her eyes blazed with pa.s.sion--”you are the Pharisee of the nineteenth century, the hem of whose robe we outcasts are unworthy to touch!”
”How can you!” he cried, springing to his feet. ”How can you do me so much wrong? It's not that you're like your friends. It is the fear that you may become so that moves me to speak as I do. But since you've seen fit to suspect me, you must allow me to justify myself. I know the affairs of this Colonel Darcy; know them as few others could, by virtue of my diplomatic position, and I a.s.sure you he has wronged and brutally treated one of the most beautiful and sweet-natured women I have ever seen. Treated her so badly that she was forced to flee to our Legation for a.s.sistance and protection. Imagine my feelings when you tell me that this man is your friend--when I hear your name coupled with his in the idle gossip of the smoking-room.”
”I only know that Colonel Darcy was kind to me once upon a time,” she replied, interrupting the flow of his eloquence.
”But what's that to do with this?”
”A man who can be kind to a woman in distress cannot be wholly bad.”
”Why do you defend him?”
”Never mind why. Don't let us talk any more about it,” she said wearily.
”You cannot deny that you think worse of me for defending him; you can't take back your words of last night. I've been thinking it over carefully, and I've make up my mind. I'm of no use to anyone. I make my friends ashamed of me-- I'm misunderstood and misjudged. It's the way of the world, but it's hard. My spirit's broken. I no longer have the wish to continue the battle. I'm going away.”
”Going away! When?” he cried, in amazement.
”At once.”
”And where?'
”I don't know; somewhere where I'm not known, where I've no friends to be annoyed at having to claim me as an acquaintance. Somewhere where people will take me for what I am, not for what I have been, for whom I know, for what I have done or left undone. Oh, I'm so tired, so sick of it all,” and she bowed her head and wept.
The effect of all this on Stanley can hardly be over-stated. He supported her, he soothed her, he told her all that was in his heart, or all he thought was there. She should not go away alone; he would go with her; he had shockingly misjudged her; it should be his life task to make her forget that, to proclaim to all the world how great a heritage he had received in her love. They would triumph over all obstacles. He would show the world what a true, n.o.ble woman she really was; he would prove it in the best way possible by marrying her, if she would have him, if she would so far honour him. His heart was at her feet. She would be quite right in spurning it, but he besought her to be merciful, to give him his answer, and let that answer be consent.
And the lady, who, under these ministrations and protestations, had gradually recovered her self-control, ceased her pa.s.sionate sobbing, rested her head contentedly on his shoulder, and allowed him, with but feeble resistance, to encircle her waist with a protecting arm--in short, everything seemed prepared for her success, when the curtain was pushed aside and there stood before them the figure of a man, which caused them both to spring to their feet, in time, as they fondly hoped, to escape detection; the Secretary with a smothered exclamation of rage; the lady, as she recognised the intruder, with a startled cry of:
”Colonel Darcy!”
CHAPTER XVII
HER HUSBAND
Even an un.o.bserving man--and Colonel Robert Darcy was not that--could hardly have helped seeing that his presence was unwelcome, and that he had interrupted an important interview.
”I beg your pardon,” he said, ”I fear I've intruded.”
The Secretary said nothing, and Miss Fitzgerald came to the rescue by declaring that she was very glad to see him, and that she had no idea he would be in Suss.e.x so soon.
”The fact is, I particularly wanted to see you,” he replied bluntly.
Thereupon Mr. Stanley did that most unpardonable thing in good society--lost his temper and gave evidence of the fact; a piece of egotism often noticeable in young men during their first years of social life, before a severe course of snubbing has taught them of how little relative importance they really are.
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