Part 14 (1/2)
”Wouldn't stop to pick his language,” Lenox answered with a twisted smile. ”But his testimony counts for nothing. He has found the one woman among a thousand, that even Solomon failed to find; and the Lord knows he didn't judge them from hearsay!”
The sincerity underlying his bluntness brought the blood to Honor's cheeks. ”Theo has simply found--a woman who loves him,” she answered softly. ”A discovery most men can make if they choose; even rank heretics like you! Will you forgive me, I wonder, if I say that I believe the thing you really need, though you may not guess it, is . . . a woman in your life?”
Lenox did not answer: and they walked on for a time in silence.
”Have I vexed you?” Honor asked at length.
”No. You touched an exposed nerve. That was all. And I should like you to know the truth now; or at least part of it.--Five years ago I did take . . . a woman into my life, as you put it; and I have never known real peace or comfort since.”
Honor started, and turned upon him a face of incredulity.
”Captain Lenox! Do you mean--have you actually--been married?”
”I actually am married, in the eyes of the law, at least. What's more, my wife is here, in Dalhousie, in that cursed ballroom,--with neither my name nor my ring to protect her--playing the fool for the amus.e.m.e.nt or perdition of another chap. You spoke of her a minute ago. I need hardly say more, need I?”
”No, no. I understand it all now,” she murmured, deeply moved. ”Then that was why you wanted to go away last month?”
”Yes.”
”And I stupidly made things harder, in my blind zeal to help you?”
”No, indeed. You simply convinced me, without suspecting it, that it would be cowardly to bolt at sight. Besides, it would have amounted to an open confession that--one cared.”
”And don't you--care?”
Lenox clenched his teeth upon an inarticulate sound; and his amber mouthpiece snapped like a stick of sealing-wax. He took the pipe from his mouth; eyed it ruefully, and slipped it into his breast-pocket.
”A good friend gone,” he muttered. ”And all on account of a woman who doesn't care a snap of the fingers whether one is alive or dead.”
”In my opinion that remains to be proved.”
”Does it? Isn't her conduct with that confounded ladykiller proof enough to convince you?”
”No.”
”Well, then, look here. Ten minutes ago I went so far as to ask her for a dance. She gave me the snub direct: and she'll not get a chance to refuse another request of mine--that's certain.”
Honor's lips lifted at the corners.
”I wonder what tone of voice you asked her in?” was all she said.
”Quite the wrong one, no doubt. I was in no humour for going on my knees. But she knew right enough that I wouldn't have risked refusal, unless I was very keen on the dance.”
”All the same, you _will_ give her another chance. You must. No act of folly on her part can make it right for you to leave her in such a false position.”
”The position was her own choice,--not mine.”
”One could guess as much. Yet the fact remains that she is--yours, to make or mar: and it seems to me no less than your duty to pocket your pride, and save her from her own foolishness in spite of herself.”
Lenox drew an audible breath, like a man in pain.