Part 30 (1/2)
”Yes, I live alone, because I can't help myself. What is a man to do, Mr. Bingham, when the woman he loves will not marry him, won't look at him, treats him like dirt?”
”Marry somebody else,” suggested Geoffrey.
”Oh, it is easy for you to say that--you have never loved anybody, and you don't understand. I cannot marry anybody else, I want her only.”
”Her? Whom?”
”Who! why, Beatrice--whom else could a man want to marry, if once he had seen her. But she will not have me; she hates me.”
”Really,” said Geoffrey.
”Yes, really, and do you know why? Shall I tell you why? I will tell you,” and he grasped him by the arm and whispered hoa.r.s.ely in his ear: ”Because she loves _you_, Mr. Bingham.”
”I tell you what it is, Mr. Davies,” said Geoffrey shaking his arm free, ”I am not going to stand this kind of thing. You must be off your head.”
”Don't be angry with me,” he answered. ”It is true. I have watched her and I know that it is true. Why does she write to you every week, why does she always start and listen when anybody mentions your name? Oh, Mr. Bingham,” Owen went on piteously, ”be merciful--you have your wife and lots of women to make love to if you wish--leave me Beatrice. If you don't I think that I shall go crazed. I have always loved her, ever since she was a child, and now my love travels faster and grows stronger every day, and carries me away with it like a rock rolling down a hill.
You can only bring Beatrice to shame, but I can give her everything, as much money as she wants, all that she wants, and I will make her a good husband; I will never leave her side.”
”I have no doubt that would be delightful for her,” answered Geoffrey; ”but does it not strike you that all this is just a little undignified?
These remarks, interesting as they are, should be made to Miss Granger, not to me, Mr. Davies.”
”I know,” he said, ”but I don't care; it is my only chance, and what do I mind about being undignified? Oh, Mr. Bingham, I have never loved any other woman, I have been lonely all my days. Do not stand in my path now. If you only knew what I have suffered, how I have prayed G.o.d night after night to give me Beatrice, you would help me. Say that you will help me! You are one of those men who can do anything; she will listen to you. If you tell her to marry me she will do so, and I shall bless you my whole life.”
Geoffrey looked upon this abject suppliant with the most unmitigated scorn. There is always something contemptible in the sight of one man pleading to another for a.s.sistance in his love affairs--that is a business which he should do for himself. How much greater, then, is the humiliation involved when the amorous person asks the aid of one whom he believes to be his rival--his successful rival--in the lady's affection?
”Do you know, Mr. Davies,” Geoffrey said, ”I think that I have had enough of this. I am not in a position to force Miss Granger to accept advances which appear to be unwelcome according to your account. But if I get an opportunity I will do this: I will tell her what you say.
You really must manage the rest for yourself. Good morning to you, Mr.
Davies.”
He turned sharply and went while Owen watched him go.
”I don't believe him,” he groaned to himself. ”He will try to make her his lover. Oh, G.o.d help me--I cannot bear to think of it. But if he does, and I find him out, let him be careful. I will ruin him, yes, I will ruin him! I have the money and I can do it. Ah, he thinks me a fool, they all think me a fool, but I haven't been quiet all these years for nothing. I can make a noise if necessary. And if he is a villain, G.o.d will help me to destroy him. I have prayed to G.o.d, and G.o.d will help me.”
Then he went back to the Castle. Owen Davies was a type of the cla.s.s of religious men who believe that they can enlist the Almighty on the side of their desires, provided only that those desires receive the sanction of human law or custom.
Thus within twenty-four hours Geoffrey received no less than three appeals to help the woman whom he loved to the arms of a distasteful husband. No wonder then that he grew almost superst.i.tious about the matter.
CHAPTER XXII
A NIGHT OF STORM
That afternoon the whole Vicarage party walked up to the farm to inspect another litter of young pigs. It struck Geoffrey, remembering former editions, that the reproductive powers of Mr. Granger's old sow were something little short of marvellous, and he dreamily worked out a calculation of how long it would take her and her progeny to produce a pig to every square yard of the area of plucky little Wales. It seemed that the thing could be done in six years, which was absurd, so he gave up calculating.
He had no words alone with Beatrice that afternoon. Indeed, a certain coldness seemed to have sprung up between them. With the almost supernatural quickness of a loving woman's intuition, she had divined that something was pa.s.sing in his mind, inimical to her most vital interests, so she shunned his company, and received his conventional advances with a politeness which was as cold as it was crus.h.i.+ng. This did not please Geoffrey; it is one thing (in her own interests, of course) to make up your mind heroically to abandon a lady whom you do not wish to compromise, and quite another to be snubbed by that lady before the moment of final separation. Though he never put the idea into words or even defined it in his mind--for Geoffrey was far too anxious and unhappy to be flippant, at any rate in thought--he would at heart have wished her to remain the same, indeed to wax ever tenderer, till the fatal time of parting arrived, and even to show appreciation of his virtuous conduct.