Part 20 (1/2)

By degrees she told me much of what had pa.s.sed at that interview. She seemed to have had no thought of anything but her desire to see him, and have her mind set at rest, until she found herself face to face with him, and then she was a.s.sailed by all kinds of doubts and fears; but he had put her at her ease in five minutes--and in five minutes more she had forgotten everything in the rapid change of ideas, the delightful intellectual contest and communion, which had made his companions.h.i.+p everything to her. She did just remember to ask him why he had not answered her first letter.

He searched about amongst a pile of newly-arrived doc.u.ments on his writing table. ”There it is,” he said, showing her the letter covered with stamps and postmarks. ”It only arrived this morning--just in time, though, to speak for itself. I was abroad when you wrote, and it was sent after me, and has followed me from place to place as you see, so that I got your second letter first. You might have known there was some mistake.”

”Pardon me,” Ideala answered. ”I ought to have known.”

And then she had looked up at him and smiled, and never another doubt had occurred to her.

”But, Ideala,” I said to her, ”you used the word 'immoral' just now.

You were talking at random, surely? You are nervous. For heaven's sake collect yourself, and tell me what all this means.”

”No, I am not nervous,” she answered. ”See! my hand is quite steady. It is you who are trembling. I am calm now, and relieved, because I have told you. But, oh! I am so sorry to give you pain.”

”I do not yet understand,” I answered, hoa.r.s.ely.

”He wants me to give up everything, and go to him,” she said; ”but he would not accept my consent until he had explained, and made me understand exactly what I was doing. 'The world will consider it an immoral thing,' he said, 'and so it would be if the arrangement were not to be permanent. But any contract which men and women hold to be binding on themselves should be sufficient now, and will be sufficient again, as it used to be in the old days, provided we can show good cause why any previous contract should be broken. You must believe that. You must be thoroughly satisfied now. For if your conscience were to trouble you afterwards--your troublesome conscience which keeps you busy regretting nearly everything you do, but never warns you in time to stop you--if you were to have any scruples, then there would be no peace for either of us, and you had better give me up at once.'”

”And what did you say, Ideala?”

”I said, perhaps I had. I was beginning to be frightened again.”

”And how did it end?”

”He made me go home and consider.”

”Yes. And what then?” I demanded impatiently.

”And next day he came to me--to know my decision--and--and--I was satisfied. I cannot live without him.” I groaned aloud. What was I to say? What could I do? An arrangement of this sort is carefully concealed, as a rule, by the people concerned, and denied if discovered; but here were a lady and gentleman prepared, not only to take the step, but to justify it--under somewhat peculiar circ.u.mstances, certainly--and carefully making their friends acquainted with their intention beforehand, as if it were an ordinary engagement.

I knew Ideala, and could understand her being over-persuaded. Something of the kind was what I had always feared for her. But, Lorrimer--what sort of a man was he? I own that I was strongly prejudiced against him from the moment she p.r.o.nounced his name, and all she had told me of him subsequently only confirmed the prejudice.

”Why was he not there that day to receive you?” I asked at last.

”I don't know,” she said. ”I quite forgot about that. And I suppose he forgot too,” she added, ”since he never told me.”

”Oh, Ideala!” I exclaimed, ”how like you that is! It is most important that you should know whether he intended to slight you on that occasion or not. It is the key to his whole action in this matter.”

”But supposing he did mean to be rude? I should have to forgive him, you know, because I have been rude to him--often. He does not approve of my conduct always, by any means,” she placidly a.s.sured me.

”And does he, of all people in the world, presume to sit in judgment on you?” I answered, indignantly. ”I always thought _you_ the most extraordinary person in the world, Ideala, until I heard of this-- _gentleman_.”

”Hus.h.!.+” she protested, as if I had blasphemed. ”You must not speak of him like that. He _is_ a gentleman--as true and loyal as you are yourself. And he is everything to me.”

But these a.s.surances were only what I had expected from Ideala, and in no way altered my opinion of Mr. Lorrimer. I knew Ideala's peculiar conscience well. She might do what all the world would consider wrong on occasion; but she would never do so until she had persuaded herself that wrong was right--for _her_ at all events.

”He may be everything to you, but he has lowered you, Ideala,” I resumed, thinking it best not to spare her.

”I was degraded when I met him.”

”Circ.u.mstances cannot degrade us until they make us act unworthily,” I rejoined.

”Oh, no, he has not lowered me,” she persisted; ”quite the contrary. I have only begun to know the difference between right and wrong since I met him, and to understand how absolutely necessary for our happiness is right-doing, even in the veriest trifle. And there is one thing that I must always be grateful to him for--I can pray now. But I belied myself to him nevertheless. He asked me if I ever prayed, and I was shy; I could not tell him, because I only prayed for him. It was easier to say that sometimes I reviled. Ah! why can we not be true to ourselves?”