Part 27 (1/2)

”No, but it only shows you that I'm much the most wicked, doesn't it?”

asked Claire, with some pride.

”The points against Winn,” Miss Marley said gravely, ”are his age, his experience, and his wife. I feel bound to tell you that there are points against him.”

Claire frowned.

”Winn isn't really old,” she explained, ”because he's only done things all his life--games or his work; it hasn't been people. People make you old, especially when you are looking after them. He's never really grown up; and as for experience, I don't think you experience anything unless you care about it. It hurts me sometimes to hear him talk about his wife. He's never _had_ her; he's only had me. I don't explain very well, but I know it's true, because he told me things about loving which showed me he'd never had anything before except dogs--and Peter; and Peter's awfully young, and dogs can't answer back. You can't grow up on dogs.”

Miss Marley tacitly admitted the limitations of canine influence; but she said:

”Still, you know, he's not kept to his own code; that's what one must judge people by. I'm sure he'd tell you himself that a married man should leave girls alone.”

Claire thought for a moment, then she said:

”Yes, but he's gone deeper than his code now. Don't you think that perhaps a smash, even of something you value, makes you grow? I don't know how to put it quite, but if you never did what you thought wrong, would you ever know how big right is? Besides, he hasn't gone on doing it. Perhaps he _did_ start wrong in getting to care, but that only makes it harder and finer, his stopping himself. Very few people, I think, but Winn could stop themselves, and n.o.body but Winn could ever care--so much.” Her voice broke, and she turned away her head.

”What,” said Miss Marley, rolling another cigarette, ”are your plans?”

Miss Marley felt that she must give up first principles but she hoped that she might still be able to do something about plans.

”We are going to drive over the Maloja to Chiavenna,” said Claire; ”Maurice has a party to go with. We shall start by the earlier post, and have lunch together at Vico-Soprano before he comes. And then when Maurice comes we shall say good-by; and then--and then, Miss Marley, I've been thinking--we mustn't meet again! I haven't told Winn yet, because he likes to talk as if we could, in places awfully far away and odd, with you to chaperon us. I think it helps him to talk like that but I don't think now that we must ever meet again. You won't blame him if I tell you something, will you?”

”No,” said Miss Marley; ”after what you've said to me to-night I am not inclined to blame him.”

”Well,” said Claire, ”I don't think, if we were to meet again, he would let me go. We may manage this time, but not twice.”

”Are you sure,” asked Miss Marley, gently, ”that you will manage this time?”

Claire raised her head and looked at Miss Marley.

”Aren't you?” she said gravely. ”I _did_ feel very sure.”

”I'd feel a great deal surer,” said Miss Marley, ”if you didn't drive down the pa.s.s. If you once set off with Winn, do you suppose he'll stop?

I am sure he means to now; in fact, his sending you up here to talk to me proves it. He knows I sha'n't be much of a help to him in carrying you off. But, my dear, I never knew any Staines stop, once he'd started.

As long as he is looking at the consequences for you, he'll steer clear of them, he's looking at them now, but a moment will come when he'll cease to look, and then everything will depend on you. I think your one chance is to say good-by here, and to drive down the pa.s.s with Maurice.

He can dispose of his party for once.”

The color left Claire's face, but her eyes never flinched from Miss Marley's. After a time Miss Marley turned her head away; she could no longer bear the look in Claire's eyes. It was like watching the face of some one drowning.

”I don't want a chance!” whispered Claire.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”I don't want a chance,” whispered Claire]

Miss Marley found her voice difficult to control, but she did control it; she said:

”I was thinking of his chance. If he does you any harm, he won't forgive himself. You can stop it; he can't possibly stop himself.”

”No,” said Claire. She didn't cry; she sat very straight and still on her footstool in front of the fire. After a while she said in a curious dragging voice: ”Very well, then; I must tell him about the pa.s.s. Oh, what shall I do if he minds! It's his minding--” She stopped, as if the words broke something in her.