Part 19 (2/2)
There had been a time when he would have been exasperated by her pretense of not seeing him, but a deep weariness of spirit now dulled him to these surface p.r.i.c.ks.
”I was afraid you were not well when I saw the light burning,” he began.
”Thank you--I am quite well,” she answered in a colourless voice, without turning her head.
”Shall I put it out, then? You can't sleep with such a glare in your eyes.”
”I should not sleep at any rate; and I hate to lie awake in the dark.”
”Why shouldn't you sleep?” He moved nearer, looking down compa.s.sionately on her perturbed face and struggling lips.
She lay silent a moment; then she faltered out: ”B--because I'm so unhappy!”
The pretense of indifference was swept away by a gush of childish sobs as she flung over on her side and buried her face in the embroidered pillows.
Amherst, bending down, laid a quieting hand on her shoulder. ”Bessy----”
She sobbed on.
He seated himself silently in the arm-chair beside the bed, and kept his soothing hold on her shoulder. The time had come when he went through all these accustomed acts of pacification as mechanically as a nurse soothing a fretful child. And once he had thought her weeping eloquent!
He looked about him at the s.p.a.cious room, with its heavy hangings of damask and the thick velvet carpet which stifled his steps. Everywhere were the graceful tokens of her presence--the vast lace-draped toilet-table strewn with silver and crystal, the embroidered muslin cus.h.i.+ons heaped on the lounge, the little rose-lined slippers she had just put off, the lace wrapper, with a scent of violets in its folds, which he had pushed aside when he sat down beside her; and he remembered how full of a mysterious and intimate charm these things had once appeared to him. It was characteristic that the remembrance made him more patient with her now. Perhaps, after all, it was his failure that she was crying over....
”Don't be unhappy. You decided as seemed best to you,” he said.
She pressed her handkerchief against her lips, still keeping her head averted. ”But I hate all these arguments and disputes. Why should you unsettle everything?” she murmured.
His mother's words! Involuntarily he removed his hand from her shoulder, though he still remained seated by the bed.
”You are right. I see the uselessness of it,” he a.s.sented, with an uncontrollable note of irony.
She turned her head at the tone, and fixed her plaintive br.i.m.m.i.n.g eyes on him. ”You _are_ angry with me!”
”Was that troubling you?” He leaned forward again, with compa.s.sion in his face. _Sancta simplicitas!_ was the thought within him.
”I am not angry,” he went on; ”be reasonable and try to sleep.”
She started upright, the light ma.s.ses of her hair floating about her like silken sea-weed lifted on an invisible tide. ”Don't talk like that!
I can't endure to be humoured like a baby. I am unhappy because I can't see why all these wretched questions should be dragged into our life. I hate to have you always disagreeing with Mr. Tredegar, who is so clever and has so much experience; and yet I hate to see you give way to him, because that makes it appear as if...as if....”
”He didn't care a straw for my ideas?” Amherst smiled. ”Well, he doesn't--and I never dreamed of making him. So don't worry about that either.”
”You never dreamed of making him care for your ideas? But then why do you----”
”Why do I go on setting them forth at such great length?” Amherst smiled again. ”To convince you--that's my only ambition.”
She stared at him, shaking her head back to toss a loose lock from her puzzled eyes. A tear still shone on her lashes, but with the motion it fell and trembled down her cheek.
”To convince _me_? But you know I am so ignorant of such things.”
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