Part 14 (1/2)
”Why are you glad?”
”Because you,--you _care_!” said Teresa, trembling.
For a breath Dane hesitated, and in that pause something ominous gripped at his heart, and like a man who has made a false step on the edge of a precipice he saw a glimpse of an abyss; but the next moment youth and blood rose to the appeal, and he kissed the soft lips once and again, murmuring appropriate protestations.
”Of course I care--who wouldn't? I've cared a long time... And you care too? You do care for me, Teresa?”
”Oh, _yes_!”
The answer came with a fervour which could not fail to be infectious.
”Enough--some day--to be my wife? I wish I had more to offer you, little girl!”
”Oh, I want nothing, I want nothing. I would marry you if you were a workman in a cottage. Sooner--than a _king_!”
It was true. The girl's voice rang with a sincerity of pa.s.sion, which was startling in its contrast to the man's light tones, and Peignton, realising the contrast, was at once touched and abashed.
”You dear girl!” he said softly. ”Thank you, dear. I'm not worth it, but--I'll be good to you, Teresa! You shall never regret it.”
Teresa laughed at the absurdity of the thought. It seemed impossible that anything in the nature of regret, or grief, or anxiety, or even boredom could ever again cloud her heart. She had reached the pinnacle of her desires. To know that Dane loved her meant absolute, unclouded happiness. He would go on loving her. Therefore she would go on being blissful and content. As in the fairy tales, they would be happy ever after. ”I never knew that it was possible to be so happy!” sighed Teresa in her heart.
CHAPTER NINE.
THE GIFT OF CREATION.
Teresa entered the quiet house, cast a look at the drawing-room door, and realised with relief that her mother had retired to bed. Probably she would be awake, and would expect the returning daughter to enter her room in pa.s.sing, and give a history of the evening's adventures, but Teresa had no intention of doing anything of the sort. Pausing for a moment in the hall, she took off her slippers and crept noiselessly past the dreaded portals up to the third floor. To-morrow morning there would be reprisals, but she had news to tell which would speedily turn the tide. The flood of questions and curiosities which were bound to flow from the maternal lips would be intolerable to-night, nevertheless Teresa felt the need of speech. The relief, the joy, the triumph of the moment seemed more than she could endure alone. She needed someone to listen, not to talk, and Mary had been trained by long years of self-abnegation to fill that post.
Teresa entered her sister's room and turned on the electric switch.
Mary lay asleep, her face showing yellow against the whiteness of the pillow, her hair screwed together in a walnut-like k.n.o.b at the top of her head. She stirred, opened listless eyes to stare at her sister, and automatically struggled to a sitting position.
”Got back?--Do you--is there anything you want?”
Teresa sat down on the side of the bed and threw back her cloak. In the plainly furnished bedroom her blue dress became at once a rich and gorgeous garment, the trifling ornament on her neck gleamed with a new splendour; to Mary's dazzled eyes she appeared a vision of beauty and happiness.
”What should I want? Cocoa? Coffee? You funny old Martha! your thoughts never get away from housekeeping. I don't want anything; not one single thing in the whole wide world. I've got so much already that I can hardly bear it... Mary! I'm engaged. He _does_ care. He asked me to-night.”
”Who?” asked Mary blankly, and Teresa, staring at her in indignation, realised that, incredible as it appeared, this ignorance was real, not feigned. A p.r.i.c.king of curiosity made itself felt; since this most obtuse of sisters had noticed nothing between herself and Dane, it would be interesting to see whom she would select as a possible _fiance_. She smiled, and said, ”Guess!”
”Mr Hunter,” said Mary promptly.
”Gerald Hunter!” Teresa was transfixed with surprise at the unexpectedness of the reply, for Gerald Hunter, the young partner of the local doctor, had come to the neighbourhood some months later than Dane himself, by which time she had no attention to bestow upon another man.
Hunter was a member of the tennis club, he made a welcome addition to local dances and bridge teas; occasionally on Sunday afternoons he had called and stayed to tea. Teresa was aware that he had a dark complexion, a strong, overhand serve, and a dancing step which went well with her own, but beyond these preliminaries her mind had not troubled to go.
”What on earth made you think it was Gerald Hunter?”
”He admires you.”
”Oh, well!” Teresa glanced complacently into the tilted mirror which showed a reflection of flaxen hair, pink cheeks, and rounded shoulders, sufficiently attractive to merit any man's admiration. The same law of contrast which made the dress appear rich and elaborate came into operation as regards its wearer. The mirror reflected the faces of both sisters, and it was not unnatural that Teresa should feel a thrill of pleasure at her own fair looks. ”Oh, well! But that's different. Lots of people may _admire_. Guess again, Mary! Somebody far, far more exciting than Mr Hunter.”
But Mary shook her head.