Part 42 (2/2)

But Mary shook her head.

”You don't know Mother. I do. There would be no peace. I'll leave it to her to do as she likes. I've had my fling, Mrs Evans, a whole year of being alone, and free to do as I liked. I--I was very lonely. I shan't be altogether sorry...”

Mrs Evans was silent, her keen eyes fixed upon Mary's face searching for some sign of change or growth, but there was none to be seen. The vagrant year had come and gone, and had left no mark. Its end found her prepared to settle down into her old att.i.tude of dumb submission, ”not altogether sorry!” Mrs Evans kissed her silently, and said no more.

In the drawing-room Dane and Teresa faced each other across the tea table. At last they were alone, safe from interruption. As the door shut behind the departing guests Dane held out his arm with a gesture of invitation, but Teresa shook her head, holding him off with a lifted hand.

”Not now. ... Wait! There is so much to be said.--Sit down, Dane. I hope you didn't think me unkind not seeing you yesterday. I couldn't!

It has been such a shock. I had to think things out. The money question alters everything. There has not been time to go into business matters, but from all we have heard, from what the letter said, it seems that this loss was the last of a series. Poor Father! he must have suffered horribly, but he said nothing; only speculated more wildly than ever, hoping to put things straight. It's a mercy Mary has her money.

She will look after Mother. It's her duty, but I am different. I could never live on Mary.” She raised her voice, silencing the words on Danes' tongue. ”I have told them that I shall look after myself.”

”I shan't let you do that! Dear, I have only been waiting till you gave me a chance of speaking. As soon as it can possibly be arranged we must--”

But again Teresa's voice interrupted, hastily drowning his own.

”Wait, please! You must wait. I'll tell you my plans, but first, there's something I must give you back.” To his dismay he saw her draw the diamond circlet from her finger; she held it towards him on an open palm. Her lips twisted in a painful effort at a smile. ”You wanted to have it a year ago, and I refused. I must have seemed very bold. I have often wondered since how I could have brought myself to do it. I was thinking of myself, of course. I don't deny it. I could not bear to give you up, and I hated the thought of the gossip, and the sympathy, and the staring eyes. It hurt my pride to think of being jilted, when I'd been so proud... But most of all--_most_ of all, I thought of you!

Dane! tell me one thing! It would help me to know... Has it been any help having my letters this year? Did being engaged to me--as much as we were engaged--make things better or worse? Were you one little sc.r.a.p less lonely because I cared?”

Dane had refused to take the ring. It was still lying on Teresa's palm.

He stood over her, very pale, very drawn, his eyes gazing unfalteringly into her own.

”Teresa, you have saved me! If it had not been for you I should have taken my life. You have been an angel of patience. It has been your sweetness which saved me from despair. I have taken everything from you in my own trouble, and now, when I am cured, when you have cured me, you want me no more! What about those reasons that influenced you last year? Don't they still exist? Have you grown tired of me, Teresa?”

She shook her head, refusing to reply.

”G.o.d knows it would be no wonder if you had; not one girl in a thousand would have had your forbearance. And--those other reasons? Have you outgrown your fear of what people may say?”

”No, I haven't. I'm afraid I never shall. But,--it's over, you see,”

Teresa said quickly. ”It _has_ happened. A whole year has pa.s.sed, Dane, and you have never once been to see me. Chumley has been sorry for me for months; it _expects_ me to be jilted. You need not worry about my sufferings in that respect. The worst is over... Besides, I have no intention of staying in Chumley.”

Dane muttered a furious word, controlled himself, and put another question.

”What exactly is your intention, Teresa?”

”I shall take up some work. Girls always say that, and people laugh. I don't mind if they do. They won't laugh long. I shall succeed. I am the sort of person who does succeed. I like work, and I like to do it well... For two or three years I shall work hard,--so hard that I shall have no time to think...”

She stopped, leaving the effect of an unfinished sentence, but Dane had no difficulty in divining her thoughts. The sting of jealousy added force to the impulses which swept him forward to her side. This time he ignored her protests, seizing her hands and drawing her close, until her face touched his own.

”We're talking nonsense, we're talking nonsense, little girl! What do we care what people say? What does it matter what the whole world chooses to believe? You belong to me, and I'm not going to give you up!

You've had your own way; now it's my turn. You are not going to have a chance of succeeding at anything, except at being my wife! Marry me, dear girl, marry me quickly! I need you badly.”

Teresa did not stir. Seen close at hand, her face looked fair, and sweet, and young, but pitifully sad. In the blue eyes there was the same sadness, and the sound of his eager words seemed but to deepen the pain. She had an air of waiting with all her being for the sound of something that had not come. Dane looked into her eyes, and understood.

Still with his arms around her he pressed her into a chair, and knelt on the floor at her feet.

”Teresa, answer! Have I always told you the truth?”

She gave a startled look, but answered unhesitatingly ”Yes!”

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