Part 25 (1/2)
”I've not decided.”
”Then drop it till you have.”
”You're savage now.”
”I'm never savage--you know that very well. Or, if I am, it's only with men who are unsporting.”
”Let's generalise, then. I suppose you'd say a man was a fool to marry out of his own cla.s.s.”
”As a rule, yes. Because marriage is difficult enough at best without complicating it like that. But there are exceptions. You can't find any rule without exceptions.”
”I'll tell you the truth then, Arthur. I meant to marry Sabina. I believed that she was the only being in the world worth living for. But things have happened and now I'm doubtful whether it would be the best possible.”
”And what about her? Is she doubtful too?”
”I don't know. Anyway I've just been down to see her and she wouldn't see me.”
”See her to-morrow then and clear it up. If there's a doubt, give yourselves the benefit of the doubt. She's tremendously clever, Estelle says, and she may be clever enough to believe it wouldn't do. And if she feels like that, you'll be a fool to press it.”
They talked on and Waldron, despite his caution, was too ingenuous to hide his real opinions. He made it very clear to Raymond that any such match, in his judgment, would be attended by failure. But he spoke in ignorance of the truth.
The younger went to bed sick of himself. His instincts of right and honour fought with his desires to be free. His heart sank now at the prospect of matrimony. He a.s.sured himself that he loved Sabina as steadfastly as ever he had loved her; but that there might yet be a shared life of happiness for them without the matrimonial chains. He considered whether it would be possible to influence Sabina in that direction; he even went so far as to speculate on what would be his future feelings for her if she insisted upon the sanct.i.ty of his promises.
CHAPTER XVII
CONFUSION
Mr. Churchouse was standing in his porch, when a postman brought him a parcel. It was a book, and Ernest displayed mild interest.
”What should that be, I wonder?” he said. Then he asked a question.
”Have you seen Bert, the newspaper boy? For the second morning he disappoints me.”
But Bert himself appeared at the same moment and the postman went his way.
”No newspaper on Sat.u.r.day--how was that?” asked Mr. Churchouse.
”I was dreadful ill and my mother wouldn't let me go outdoors,”
explained the boy. ”I asked Neddy Prichard to go down to the baker's and get it for you; but he wouldn't.”
”Then I say no more, except to hope you're better.”
”It's my froat,” explained Bert, a st.u.r.dy, flaxen youngster of ten.
”One more point I should like to raise while you are here. Have you noticed that garden chair in the porch?”
”Yes, I have, and wondered why 'twas left there.”
”Wonder no more, Bert. It is there that you may put the paper upon it, rather than fling the news on a dirty door-mat.”