Part 36 (1/2)
”Lady Rosaline,” said Cyril Maxon, as he put down his empty teacup, ”last week saw the end of an episode in my life.” (Mr. Attlebury would hardly have referred to it as an episode.) ”The future is my concern now. I took the action I did take on the fullest consideration, and I'm glad to think, from what you said in Paris, that it had your approval.”
He paused a moment. ”I hope I'm not wrong in thinking that you understood why I took it, when once I had made up my mind that it was permissible?”
”Oh, you mustn't make too much of what I said in Paris. I'm no authority. I left it to you.”
He smiled. ”The question of permissibility--naturally. But the other altogether? Well, never mind that.” He rose from his chair and stood by her. ”You must know that it was for your sake that I took the step I did?”
She moved restlessly, neither affirming nor denying. She knew it very well.
”Before the world we must remain as we are for the present. But it would make a vast difference to me, during this time of waiting, to know that I--that I could rely on you, Rosaline. You can have no doubt of my feelings, though I have exercised self-restraint. I love you, and I want you to be my wife as soon as possible.”
”Well, it's not possible at present, is it?”
”No. But there's no reason why we shouldn't have a perfect understanding between ourselves.”
”Wouldn't it make gossip, and perhaps raise awkward questions, if we--well, if we arranged anything definitely now--before the time's up?”
”It would be quite between ourselves. There could be no questions. There would be no difference in our present relations--we should neither of us wish that. But the future would be secure.”
”I can't see the good of being engaged now, if it's to make no difference,” she murmured fretfully.
”It'll make an enormous difference in my feelings. I think you know that.”
”It seems to me to set up rather a--rather a difficult state of things.
You know how much I like you--but why shouldn't we both be free till the time comes?” She took courage to raise her eyes to his on this suggestion.
”I have no desire to be free.” His voice grew rather harsh. ”I didn't know that you had. In Paris----”
She flared out suddenly; for her conscience was, in fact, not quite easy. ”Well, what did I say in Paris after all? You never said in Paris what you're saying now! If you had--well, I should have told you that I wasn't at all ready to give a decision. And I'm not ready now. I want this time of waiting to make up my mind. You're trying to drive me into saying 'Yes' before I'm ready. What's the good of that, even to you?
Because what prevents me from changing my mind in the next six months--even if you make me say 'Yes' to you now?”
”I took an important--and to me a difficult--step in reliance on your feelings towards me. I seem to have been mistaken about them.” His voice was sombre, even rather rancorous.
”Don't say that, Cyril. But why must I give up my liberty long before--well, long before I can get anything instead of it?” She smiled again, propitiating him. ”Let me go abroad, anyhow. I'll try to tell you when I come back. There!”
”I confess to thinking that you had practically told me long ago. On the faith of that, I acted.”
”You've not the smallest right to say that. I liked you and let you see it. I never pledged myself.”
”Not in words, I allow.”
”Cyril, your insinuation isn't justifiable. I resent it. Whatever I may have felt, I have said and done nothing that I mightn't have with anybody.”
He had held his temper hard; it gave a kick now. ”With Thrapston, for instance?” he sneered.
”Oh, how absurd! I've never so much as thought of Sir Axel in that way!”
As she spoke, she glanced at the clock. No, there was plenty of time.
She did not desire an encounter between the two this afternoon. She rose and stood by Maxon. ”You're being rather exacting and--and tyrannical, my lord,” she said. ”I don't think I like you so much to-day. You almost bully me--indeed you do!”
He bent his eyes on hers, frowning heavily. ”I did it for you.”