Part 43 (1/2)
”Why didn't you fall over?”
”I suppose it was because you married Jack Dysart,” he said simply.
”Was _that_ all?”
”All?” He thought he perceived the jest, and managed to laugh again.
”Really, I am perfectly serious,” repeated Rosalie. ”Was that all that prevented you from falling in love with me--because I was married?”
”I think so,” he said. ”Wasn't it reason enough?”
”I didn't know it was enough for a man. I don't believe I know exactly how men consider such matters.... You've managed to hook that fly into my gown again! And now you've torn the skirt hopelessly! What a devastating sort of creature you are, Delancy! You used to step on my slippers at dancing school, and, oh, Heaven! how I hated you.... Where are you going?” for he had begun to walk away, reeling in his wet line as he moved, his grave, highly coloured face lowered, troubled eyes intent on what he was doing.
When she spoke, he halted and raised his head, and she saw the muscles flexed under the bronze skin of the jaw--saw the lines of pain appear where his mouth tightened. All of the clumsy boy in him had vanished; she had never troubled herself to look at him very closely, and it surprised her to see how worn his face really was under the eyes and cheek-bones--really surprised her that there was much of dignity, even of a certain n.o.bility, in his quiet gaze.
”I asked you where you are going?” she repeated with a faint smile.
”Nowhere in particular.”
”But you are going _somewhere_, I suppose.”
”I suppose so.”
”In my direction?”
”I think not.”
”That is very rude of you, Delancy--when you don't even know where my direction lies. Do you think,” she demanded, amused, ”that it is particularly civil of a man to terminate an interview with a woman before she offers him his conge?”
He finished reeling in his line, hooked the drop-fly into the reel-guide, s.h.i.+fted his creel, b.u.t.toned on the landing-net, and quietly turned around and inspected Mrs. Dysart.
”I want to tell you something,” he said. ”I have never, even as a boy, had from you a single word which did not in some vague manner convey a hint of your contempt for me. Do you realise that?”
”W-what!” she faltered, bewildered.
”I don't suppose you do realise it. People generally feel toward me as you feel; it has always been the fas.h.i.+on to tolerate me. It is a legend that I am thick-skinned and stupidly slow to take offence. I am not offended now.... Because I could not be with you.... But I am tired of it, and I thought it better that you should know it--after all these years.”
Utterly confounded, she leaned back, both hands tightening on the hand-rail behind her, and as she comprehended the pa.s.sionless reproof, a stinging flush deepened over her pretty face.
”Had you anything else to say to me?” he asked, without embarra.s.sment.
”N-no.”
”Then may I take my departure?”
She lifted her startled blue eyes and regarded him with a new and intense curiosity.
”Have I, by my manner or speech, ever really hurt you?” she asked.