Part 36 (2/2)
”This should be nothing to me; it _can_ be nothing,” she said. But she knew they were empty words, even as she whispered them to herself.
Where these two people were concerned, she had pa.s.sed far beyond the range of indifference.
CHAPTER XII
With the new year the damp, wet weather set in again, and it was generally conceded that it was much better that the children should be kept in the country.
”That is such a little poky house in town,” Agnes Brenton declared.
Nevertheless, Camilla clung to the poky little house, although Haverford urged her all the time to fix a definite date for their marriage.
”Why should we wait?” he asked, very reasonably; ”we have really no one to consult or consider. I am just longing for you to come into my great empty house and turn it into a home.”
Camilla chose to treat the matter flippantly.
”Oh, is that all you want me for? Well, my dear Rupert, if you want a nice, comfortable, domesticated, housekeepery sort of a woman, I know the very person for you. I am ornamental, you know--exceedingly ornamental, but I am not the least bit of good to look after the linen, or to mend your socks, and I couldn't boil an egg to save my life.”
Another time he said to her--
”I want to get you away from this house. I want to take you out of all that belonged to old times and sorrows. Have you forgotten that we are to go to Italy? To all the places where you were so happy with your father? Let us be married and start at once.”
But Camilla always pleaded for time.
”I tell you why,” she said to him once. ”I want you--us--to get thoroughly well used to one another. Of course, you have known me a long time--it is nearly two years since we met--but there are such heaps of things we ought to realize before we make our great start together. I have made a little promise to myself,” Camilla said weightily, ”that I will not marry you till I have taught myself to be a little worthy of you.”
”I wish you would not talk such rubbish,” the man answered, with a very natural touch of bad temper.
”Now, you see,” said Camilla, and she laughed--”you see I have done something to annoy you, and I am sure I don't know what it is. I shall be perpetually making these mistakes if we marry in haste.” Then she changed her tone. ”Surely, dear Rupert, we should be much wiser to wait another month or two. I--I am not really well enough to go abroad just yet. After Easter it will be delightful. We will do Paris first, and then go on to the south of Italy. Naples is enchanting in May.” She gave a quick sigh. ”And then I am making up my mind to be separated from the children,” she said, ”and, as Sammy Broxbourne would put it, 'it takes a little doing!' Oh, by the way, did I tell you that I had quite a charming letter from Sir Samuel, congratulating me on my engagement to you? Poor fellow! he has had an accident at Monte Carlo, and has injured his leg. He tells me he will not be able to walk for another month or so, and cannot get back to England just yet.”
”The longer he stays away the better for England,” said Haverford; ”he is a very objectionable man.”
”Oh, I see,” answered Camilla, almost impatiently. ”Agnes has been prejudicing you.”
But Haverford made no reply to this, and the subject was dropped.
This was but a specimen of the conversation which pa.s.sed between them whenever they met. But, as a matter of fact, they saw very little of one another.
Camilla got into the habit of running away from town to stay with one friend or another; the greater part of her time, however, was spent at Yelverton.
When she said she was not well in these days she stated the actual truth.
Mrs. Brenton was a little anxious about her, and tried to coddle her, and make her take care of herself--a difficult operation. It was strange to see Camilla listless and bored. She could not be roused to take an interest in anything except what concerned the children.
”I know I am deadly dull,” she said on one occasion, ”but you must put it all down to money. I don't owe a penny in the world, and you can't _think_ how lonely I feel! I am simply rusticating for the want of excitement. When I am in town, and the door-bell rings at breakfast-time, I am perfectly unmoved; the postman's knock doesn't give me a single thrill. I can walk into Veronique's without troubling to invent a harrowing story about delayed remittances or unfortunate speculations. I can buy what I like and pay for it ... consequently I don't want to buy anything. And I was becoming such an excellent diplomatist. That is the polite word, is it not, for one who fights by subtlety and fabricates untruths? Also I am growing mean, Agnes. Do you know, now that I have got a fat banking account, and all the world is bowing down to me, I hesitate before I give away a s.h.i.+lling. I even went in an omnibus the other day.”
She laughed as she said this; she would have loved to have explained to Mrs. Brenton that she had sought refuge in this useful conveyance to escape from meeting Haverford whom she had caught sight of in the distance. But she curbed the desire.
<script>