Part 16 (1/2)

The nonchalance was only apparent, however. Lorimer had sought Beatrix, that day, much in the mood in which the naughty boy turns his back to receive his allotted caning. The bad half-hour was bound to come; it was best to have it over as soon as possible. Lorimer had gone to bed, the night before, in a state of maudlin cheeriness. He had wakened, that morning, feeling a heavy weight in his head and a heavier one on his conscience. He had an unnecessarily clear recollection of Beatrix's face as it had looked to him, the one sharply-outlined fact across a misty distance peopled with vague shadows. The eyes had been hurt and angry; but the lips showed only loving disappointment. All the morning long, he had pondered upon the matter; but by noon he had made his decision. The meeting was inevitable, so what was the use of trying to put it off?

”Well, Sidney?” Beatrix said steadily, as soon as the last guest had made her nervous, chattering exit.

With some degree of care, he had prepared his defensive argument; but it had lost all its force and fervor by reason of the half-hour spent in the roomful of women. Now he made a hasty effort to reconstruct it, and failed.

”I am sorry,” he said, with simple humility.

Unconsciously, each had taken the best method to disarm the other.

Before scornful, angry denunciation, he could have burst out into voluble explanation and defence which, in its turn, would have antagonized Beatrix beyond any possibility of relenting. For the unpardonable sin, forgiveness must be a free gift. Confronted by excuses, Beatrix would have been unyielding. In the face of his humility, she hesitated to speak the final condemnation, and instinct taught her that feminine reproaches were worse than futile in the face of a real crisis.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”'Can't you make any sort of an excuse for yourself, Sidney?' she demanded”]

”How did you happen to do it, Sidney?” she asked quietly, as she seated herself again beside the deserted tea table and began absently setting the disordered cups into straight rows.

He raised his eyes from the carpet.

”Because I was a brute,” he said briefly.

Methodically she sorted out the spoons in two little piles. Then, pus.h.i.+ng them together into a disorderly heap, she started to her feet and faced him.

”Can't you make any sort of an excuse for yourself, Sidney?” she demanded, and there was a desperate ring to her words.

He shook his head.

”I can't see any,” he replied, after an interval. Suddenly he laughed harshly. ”Unless you count total depravity,” he added.

She ignored the laugh.

”I suppose you know, then, what this means,” she said slowly, so slowly that it seemed as if each word caught in her throat.

His face whitened and he started to speak; but his voice failed him. He bowed in silence.

”I am sorry,” she went on, while the cords in her clasped hands stood out like bits of rattan; ”perhaps I am more sorry than you are; but there seems to be nothing else that I can do. Last night was the tragedy of my life; to-day is the hardest, the longest day I have ever spent. But--”

Bending forward, he took up one of the spoons from the table and looked at it intently for a moment. Under his mustache his lips worked nervously, and Beatrix saw the moisture gather in great drops upon his forehead. Fortunately she could not see his eyes, for their long lashes veiled them. It was better so; she could hold herself more steady. There was a certain mercilessness in the way she waited for him to break the silence.

”Is it final?” he asked at length. ”I wish you would give me another chance, Beatrix.”

”I have given you too many, as it is,” she replied sadly.

He looked up at her, too much startled now to care whether or not she saw the tell-tale tears.

”How do you mean?”

”That last night only confirmed what I have been suspecting and dreading.” This time, there came the scornful note he had so feared.

He dropped his eyes again, and accepted the condemnation in silence. If she knew the whole truth, there was no need of arguing with her over the details. The spoon snapped in two in his hands. He rose and tossed the fragments into the fire.

”Where are you going?” Beatrix asked.