Part 3 (1/2)
If Helen Barnet thought this settled the matter, she ill-judged the nature of the man with whom she had to deal. Unlimited frosted cakes and shotguns had not taught Burke Denby to accept no for an answer--especially for an answer to something he had so set his heart upon as he had this winning of Helen Barnet for his wife.
Burke Denby did not know anything about love. He had never sung odes to the moon, or read Tennyson to pretty girls on secluded verandas. He had not been looking for love to meet him around the bend of the next street. Love had come now as an Event, capitalized. Love was Life, and Life was Heaven--if it might be pa.s.sed with Helen Barnet at his side.
Without her it would be-- But Burke ignored the alternative. It was not worth considering, anyway, for of course she would be at his side.
She loved him; he was sure of that. This fancied obstacle in the way that loomed so large in her eyes, he did not fear in the least. He really rather liked it. It added zest and excitement, and would make his final triumph all the more heart-warming and satisfying. He had only to convince Helen, of course, and the mere convincing would not be without its joy and compensation.
It was with really pleasurable excitement, therefore, that Burke Denby laid his plans and carried them to the triumphant finish of a carefully arranged tete-a-tete in the library, when he knew that they would have at least half an hour to themselves.
”There, I've got you now, you little wild thing!” he cried, closing the library door, and standing determinedly with his back to it, as she made a frightened move to go, at finding herself alone with him.
”But, Mr. Denby, I can't. I really must go,” she palpitated.
”No, you can't go. I've had altogether too much trouble getting you here, and getting those blessed youngsters safely away with their mamma for a bit of a drive with my dad.”
”Then you _planned_ this?”
”I did.” He was regarding her with half-quizzical, wholly fond eyes.
”And I had you summoned to the library--but I was careful not to say who wanted you. Oh, Helen, Helen, how can you seek to avoid me like this, when you know how I love you!” There was only tenderness now in his voice and manner. He had taken both her hands in his.
”But you mustn't love me.”
”Not love--my wife?”
”I'm not your wife.”
”You're going to be, dear.”
”I can't. I told you I couldn't, Mr. Denby.”
”My name is 'Burke,' my love.”
His voice was whimsically light again. Very plainly Mr. Burke Denby was not appreciating the seriousness of the occasion.
She flushed and bit her lip.
”I think it's real mean of you to--to make it so hard for me!” she half sobbed.
With sudden pa.s.sion he caught her in his arms.
”Hard? _Hard?_ Then if it's hard, it means you _do_ love me. As if I'd give you up now! Helen, why do you torture me like this? Dearest, _when_ will you marry me?”
She struggled feebly in his arms.
”I told you; never.”
”Why not?”
No answer.