The Wicked Marquis Part 24

"I wish, my dear, that I could believe it," he told her fervently.

CHAPTER XVII

"I feel like the German lady," Marcia observed, as she stood before her little sideboard and mixed a whisky and soda, "who went on cutting bread and b.u.t.ter. The world falls to pieces before my eyes--and I press the handle of a syphon. There!"

She carried the tumbler to Borden, who was seated by her fireside, and threw herself into an easy-chair opposite to him.

"I know it's all wrong," she declared. "My instincts are so obstinate even about the simplest things. You see, I have even wheeled away his easy-chair so that you shan't sit in it."

"Women always confuse instincts with prejudices," Borden rejoined, calmly sipping his whisky and soda. "May I smoke a pipe?"

Marcia gave a little gesture of despair.

"I never knew a man," she exclaimed, "who exhibited such a propensity for making himself at home! Tell me," she went on, "did you notice a very aristocratic looking, almost beautiful girl, with large brown eyes and a pale skin, seated in the stalls just below our box?"

"The girl with Charles Grantham?"

Marcia nodded.

"That was Lady Let.i.tia Thursford," she told him.

"Is she engaged to Grantham?"

"She wasn't last week," Marcia replied. "I think the Marquis would like it, but Lady Let.i.tia is by way of being difficult. I saw her looking at me thoughtfully, once or twice. I was dying to send down word to her that I had permission."

Borden moved in his chair a little uneasily.

"You are bound to no one," he reminded her. "There is no one of whom you need to ask permission."

"Don't be silly," Marcia replied. "I asked permission, and without it I wouldn't have dined with you alone to-night or lunched with Morris Hyde on Tuesday."

"I trust that both entertainments," he ventured, "have been a success."

Marcia shook her head.

"Morris Hyde was very disappointing," she confessed. "I was looking forward to being tremendously entertained, but instead of telling me all about these unknown tribes in Central America, his only anxiety seemed to be to know if I was going to let him kiss me in the taxi afterwards. Explorers, I am afraid, are far too promiscuous."

"Publishers," Borden said firmly, "are renowned throughout the world for their fidelity."

"Fidelity to their cash boxes," Marcia scoffed.

Borden, who had lit his pipe, blinked at her through a little cloud of smoke. They had come straight from the theatre, and he was in the evening clothes of a man who cares nothing about his appearance,--the black waistcoat, the none-too-well fitting s.h.i.+rt, the plainest of studs, and the indifferently arranged white tie. Nevertheless, Marcia liked the look of him, seated at ease in her low chair, and it was very obvious that he, too, approved of his hostess. She was curled up now at the end of the sofa, a cigarette in her mouth, an expression of curious perplexity upon her face. She was dressed very plainly in black, having alternately tried on and discarded all her more elaborate evening gowns. She had had a queer, almost desperate fancy to make herself look as unattractive as possible, but the very simplicity of her dress enhanced the gleaming perfection of her throat and arms.

Even her posture, which should have been ungraceful, suited her. Her disturbed and doubtful frame of mind had softened her firm mouth, and lit with a sort of sweet plaintiveness her beautiful eyes.

"Do you think," he asked, "that I look upon you as a promising investment?"

"Well, I am," Marcia replied. "You admit having made money out of me this spring."

"At any rate, I am willing to divide it," he suggested.

"Upon conditions!"

"No one in the world gives something for nothing," he reminded her.

"We seem to be mixing up business and the other things most shockingly," Marcia declared. "Do you really mean that you are willing to share the profits of my next novel with me?"

"I couldn't do that," he objected, "it would be too unbusinesslike. I am quite willing, however, to share my life and all I have with you."

"Mere rhetoric!" Marcia exclaimed uneasily.

"Solemn earnest," he insisted. "Will you marry me, Marcia?"

She looked across at him. Her eyebrows were a little raised, her eyes inclined to be misty, her mouth tremulous.

"James," she replied, "I believe I'd like to. I'm not quite sure--I believe I would. But just tell me--how can I?"

"He has kept you to himself for pretty well twenty years," Borden said gruffly.

She sighed.

"When I was a child of seventeen," she confided, "a young farmer down at Mandeleys kissed me. If I had been one year younger," she went on, "I should have spat at him. As it was, I never spoke to him again.

Then, a few months after that, the schoolmaster at the school where I was teaching made an awkward attempt at the same thing. He missed me, but his lips just touched my cheek. Then Reginald came. Let me see, that was nineteen years ago, and since then no one else has kissed me."

"A record of fidelity," Borden observed, "at which, even in your own stories, you would scoff."

"But then, you see," she reminded him, "I never write about a person with queer ideas like mine, because they wouldn't be interesting.

People like a little more resilience about their heroines."

"Couldn't we talk brutal common sense for once?" he asked impatiently.

"I have never abused your Marquis. From your own showing, he has played the game, as you have. All I want to say is that the natural time has come for your separation. I have waited for you a good many years, and I am a domestic man. I want a home--and children. It's quite time you wanted the same."

Perhaps for a moment the light in her eyes was a shade softer. She moved uneasily in her place.

"Quite primitive, aren't you, James?" she murmured.

"Life's a primitive thing when we get down to the bone," he answered.

"You and I have wasted many an hour discussing the ologies, trying to thrust ourselves into the peculiar point of view of these neurotic Norwegians or mad Russians. When you come down to bedrock, though, for sober, decent people there is only one outlet to pa.s.sion, only one elementary satisfaction for man and woman."

"You make things sound very simple."

"It isn't that," he persisted. "It's you who make them complex by being maudlin about this man. He has had what many would call the best part of your life. He has given up nothing for your sake, done nothing for your sake. He has kept you in the same seclusion that his grandfather would have done. He has treated you, so far as regards the outside world, as a man does--"

He stopped abruptly. Something in her eyes warned him.

"There are limits," she told him drily, "to my appreciation of unbridled speech. According to his lights, Reginald has been wonderful. To me there has been more romance than ignominy in many of his ideas. My trouble is something different. I can't quite make up my mind what it would mean for him if I were to strike out for myself now."