Part 92 (2/2)

”It surprises me to hear you talk in that way,” he exclaimed, ”you who have suffered so much yourself!”

”I make no pretence of having suffered,” she answered. ”I have no patience with people who do. We have our destiny in our own hands to make or mar, most of us. If we fail in one thing we shall succeed in another. Life is a fertile garden, full of plants that bud and blossom and bear fruit not once but every season while it lasts. If the crop of happiness fails one year, we should set to work bravely, and cultivate it all the more diligently for the next.”

”All this is beside the mark,” he responded peevishly. ”You are offering me the generalisations that only apply to ordinary people.

Allowance _must_ be made for exceptional natures. Look at me! I tell you if I had met the right woman, I should have been at the top of the tree by this time. I have the greatest respect for woman. I believe that her part in life is to fertilise the mind of man; and if the able man does not find the right woman for this purpose, he must remain sterile, and the world will be the loser. I never knew such a woman till I met you; but in you I have discovered one rich in all womanly attributes, mental, moral, and physical; and, beyond these, dowered also with genius, the divine gift--the very woman to help a man to do his best.”

”And what is the man going to do for me?” Beth inquired with a twinkle in her eyes.

”He would surround you with every comfort, every luxury--jewels----”

”Like a ballet-girl!” she interjected. ”I am really afraid you are old-fas.h.i.+oned. You begin by offering me gewgaws--the paltry price women set on themselves in the days of their intellectual infancy. We know our value better now.”

”You should have all that an ideal woman ought to have,” he put in.

”What more can a woman require?”

”She would like to know what all she ought to have consists of,” Beth replied. ”As a rule, a man's ideal woman is some one who will make him comfortable; and he thinks he has done all that is necessary for her when he allows her to contribute to his happiness.”

”Ah, be serious!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. ”You should be above playing in that cruel way with a man who is in earnest. Hear what I have to say.

Remember _we_ are the people who make history. You talk about knowing your own value! You do not know it. Without me you never will know it.

You do not know what is being said already about your unpublished work. Those who have read it tell me you promise to be to England what Georges Sand was to France when she appeared, a new light on the literary horizon. But where would Georges Sand have been without De Musset? They owe half their prestige to each other. While they were alive every one talked of them, and now that they are dead reams are written about them. Let us also go down to posterity together. All I want is you; what you want is me. Will you--will you let me be to you--De Musset?”

”What you really do want,” said Beth, ”is a sense of humour.”

”For G.o.d's sake, do not be trivial!” he exclaimed. ”You cannot think what this means to me--how I have set my heart on it--how I already seem to hear the men at the clubs mention my name and yours when I pa.s.s. Night after night I have paced up and down outside this house, looking up at your window, thinking it all out.”

Beth flushed angrily. ”I consider that a most improper proceeding,”

she said, ”and I do not know how you can excuse it to yourself.”

”I--much may be excused when a man feels as strongly as I do,” he protested.

”And how about your wife?” said Beth, ”where do you place her in your plans? Has she no feelings to be considered?”

”I shall not hurt her feelings, I a.s.sure you, I never do,” he answered. ”I keep her in a quiet country place so that she may hear no gossip, and I excuse my long absences from home on the plea of work.

She understands that my interests would suffer if I were not on the spot.”

”In other words, you lie to your wife,” said Beth, aghast at the shabby deceit.

”That is scarcely polite language,” he rejoined in an offended tone.

”It is correct language,” she retorted. ”We shall understand what we are talking about much better if we call things by their right names.

But are you never afraid of what your wife may be driven to in the dulness of the country, while you are here in town, dancing attendance on other men's wives?”

”Never in the least,” he answered complacently. ”She is entirely devoted to me and to her duty. Her faith in me is absolute.”

”And so you deceive her.”

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