Part 34 (1/2)

”Is this a proposal of marriage, Bob?” she asked.

He flushed. ”Well--er--you can't marry, can you, Winnie?”

”Not at the moment. But I can in a little more than six months. Would you and Monte Carlo wait for me?”

”In a little more than----? What, is Maxon----?”

”Yes, he is--very soon now.”

”You never told me!”

”Up to now, I had no reason to suppose you were interested.”

Bob Purnett was obviously upset, very much upset indeed. He stared at her for a moment, his eyes seeming prominent in their aghast surprise.

”Good Lord!” he muttered, and started striding across the room, then back again--like Mr. Ledstone in the back room at Woburn Square or G.o.dfrey in his new studio. He went on with this for three or four minutes. Winnie sat with her head resting on the high back of her arm-chair, her eyes following him in scornful amus.e.m.e.nt and gratified malice. Bob was suffering for his presumption, his inability to appreciate plain differences, his gross misjudgment of her. His wrigglings under the chastis.e.m.e.nt were entertaining to watch. In his unfortunate person she seemed to be punis.h.i.+ng all the great world which had refused to understand her; she was getting a little bit of her own back at last.

Once, as he walked, he looked at her. His face was red, and he was frowning. Winnie's steady smile seemed to give him no comfort. With a queer jerk of his head he resumed his restless pacing.

Indeed, Bob felt himself fairly caught. What a fool he had been not to reconnoitre the ground before an advance which had proved so ras.h.!.+ But he was not a scoundrel; he prided himself on 'playing the game.' Some men he knew would lightly give a promise if it were likely to serve their purpose and make no bones about breaking it six months hence. That was not his way, even where it would serve his purpose. What he was asking, as he paced, was whether he were bound to make the promise; if he made it, it should be kept. Of course it was the last thing he had ever meant; it was entirely outside his scheme of life, and his feeling for Winnie was not nearly strong enough to oust his scheme from the first place in his affections. But could he get out of the hole he was in without brutality, without insulting her? He did not see that he could. She had not married G.o.dfrey Ledstone--it had been impossible. In his heart Bob had never believed in there being any other really operative reason. Her theories had been just a making the best of it.

Now it would be possible, shortly, for her to marry him. It was, he conceded, entirely natural that she should jump at the chance. Could he decline, after his first proposal? That would to put the case--both his and her cases, in fact--in disagreeably plain terms. But he felt that it was terribly bad luck, and he, too, had his resentment--an angry protest against inconsistency. Why did Maxon first refuse, and then take back his refusal? Why did Winnie cross the line, and then want to cross back again? They 'let a man in' by behaviour like that--let him in very badly.

Still, he was in his way very fond of her; and he was sorry for her. It did not lie in him to hurt her wilfully, even though not hurting her were to his own damage. And, then, it would be rather heroic--so very much the right thing to do. In common with most of mankind, he was susceptible to the attractions of the heroic; the glamour of it would, or, at all events, might, help him to bear the situation.

He came and stood in front of her, his hands in his pockets; he looked rather sheepish.

”All right, Winnie. Just as soon as it's possible. There's my word on it.” He mustered a smile. ”Don't be too down on me, though. I never pictured myself as a husband, you know.”

”You certainly needn't picture yourself as mine,” said Winnie.

”You mean--you won't do it?”

”Of course I won't--any more than I'll go with you to Monte Carlo.” She broke into a laugh at the perplexity of his red face. ”Oh, you old goose, to think that I should do either!”

Bob knew that his first proposal was irregular, and might have been taken as insulting--at least by a woman so inconsistent as Winnie; his second was undoubtedly handsome and heroic. He could not see that either was ridiculous. He flushed redder still under the friendly contempt of Winnie's words.

”I don't see anything so particularly absurd about it. When I thought you couldn't marry, I didn't ask you to. When you told me you could, I did. What's the matter with that?”

”Why, you are--and I am--very much the matter with it! But don't fly out at me, Bob. I might have flown out at you, but I didn't.”

”Oh, you got home all right in your own way. You've made me look an a.s.s.” His tone expressed a grudging resentful admiration; his glance was of the same order. He was furious, and Winnie, in her animation and triumph, was very pretty.

”I don't see that it's altogether my doing. I think you helped. Come, don't be cross. You know that you're most awfully relieved. Your face, as you considered the question, was a study in consternation.”

He was certainly relieved about the marriage; but he was disappointed and hurt about the trip to Monte Carlo. If she had 'flown out' at him in moral indignation, that would have been intelligible, though, again, in his opinion hardly consistent, conduct on her part; as it was, she had called him, not a scoundrel, but a goose, and had played her trick on him with a smiling face, looking the while most attractive and hopelessly unapproachable.

”Well, I mean what I say. My offer stands. Perhaps you'll think better of your answer.” His voice was doggedly angry now. He plainly suggested that she--in her position--might go farther and fare worse.

Winnie did not miss the hint, but let it pa.s.s with a gay contempt.

”I won't quarrel; I don't mean to. If I had, I should have quarrelled at the beginning.” She jumped up from her chair, and laid a hand on his arm. ”Let's forgive each other, Bob!”

Under a sudden impulse he caught her round the waist. Winnie's figure stiffened into a sudden rigidity, but she made no other movement. Bob's arm fell away again; he walked off towards a chair behind the door, on which he had left his hat and gloves. ”I expect I'd better go,” he said, in an unsteady voice, without turning his head towards her.