The Whirligig of Time Part 42

"You ought not to have to ask that," she replied. "You, of all people.--Why are you going away to-night?" she added, turning toward him with sudden pa.s.sion.

James' first impulse was to make a sharp reply, his second was to get up and walk away, and then his glance fell upon her face.... Oh, was there no end to mortal misery?

"I'm sorry, Beatrice," he said wretchedly; "I'm sorry--I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Oh, it's all right," she answered in his own tone of voice. Then for a long time neither of them moved nor spoke.

The situation was on them now in full force, and it was a sufficiently terrific one, for actual life; one which under other circ.u.mstances they would both have made every effort to break up. Yet neither of them thought of struggling against it now--there was so much else to struggle against. Great misfortunes inoculate people to small embarra.s.sments; no one in the throes of angina pectoris has much time to bother about a cold in the head. Then, as their silence wore on, they began to be conscious of a certain sense of companions.h.i.+p.

"I suppose it's pretty bad?" ventured James at last, on a note of tentative understanding.

"I suppose it is...."

An idea occurred to James. "At least you're better off than I am, though. You can try to do something about it. You see how my hands are tied. You can fight against it, if you want. That's something."

Beatrice gazed immovably out over the sea. "You can't fight against destiny," she said at last.

James p.r.i.c.ked up his ears; his whole being became suddenly alert.

Couldn't one? Had he not dedicated his whole future to that very thing?

"I'm not so sure of that," he answered slowly. "Have you ever tried?"

"I've tried for seven years."

Well, that was something. He became curious; seven years' experience in the art of destiny-fighting would surely contain knowledge that would be valuable to a novice like himself. And in the manner of getting this he became almost diabolically clever. Guessing that all direct inquiries in the matter would merely flatten themselves against the stone wall of her reticence he determined to approach her through the avenue of her pride.

"I find it hard to believe that," he remarked; "I haven't seen the slightest indication of such a thing."

"No, of course not. How should you? I haven't advertised it, like a prize fight!"

"I don't mean that; I mean that I haven't ever discovered anything in your character to make me believe you were--that sort of person. That sort of thing takes more than strength of character and intellect; it takes pa.s.sion, capacity for feeling. And I shouldn't have said there was much of that in you. You have always seemed to me--well, rather aloof from such things. Cold, almost--I don't mean in the sense of being ill-natured, but...."

James was perfectly right; it is a curious trait of human character, that sensitiveness on the point of capacity for feeling. People who will sincerely disclaim any pretensions to strength of mind, body or character will flare into indignant protest when their strength of heart is a.s.sailed. It was so with Beatrice now.

"Cold?" she interrupted with a slight laugh. "Me--cold?... Yes, I suppose I might seem so. I daresay I appear to be a perfect human icicle...." She laughed again, and then turned directly toward James.

"See here, James, it's more than likely that we shall never see each other again after to-day, isn't it?"

"I suppose not, if you intend to go--"

"The first moment I can. Consequently it doesn't matter particularly what I say to you now or what you think of me afterward. I should just like to give you an idea of what these years have been to me. It may amuse you to know that the pursuit of your brother has been the one guiding pa.s.sion of my life since I was eighteen. I was in love with him before he left England and I've wanted him from that time on--wanted him with all the strength of my soul and body! Wanted him every living moment of the day and night!... Can you conceive of what that means for a woman? A woman, who can't speak, can't act, can't make the slightest advance, can't give the least glimmering of her feeling?--not only because the world doesn't approve but because her game's all up if the man gets a suspicion that she's after him.... I suppose I knew it was hopeless from the start, though I couldn't bring myself to admit it. At any rate, as soon as the chance came I made up my mind to come over here and just sit around in his way and wait--the only thing a woman can do under the circ.u.mstances...."

"I never--I didn't realize quite all that," stammered James. "Though I knew--I guessed about the other.... You mean you deliberately came to America--"

"With that sole purpose."

"And you--you...." He fairly gasped.

"I wormed my way into a place in your family with that one end in view, if that's what you mean. And I've remained here with that one end in view ever since."

"And all your work--the League--"

"I had to do something, in the meanwhile--No, that's not true either; that was another means to the same end. Intended to be." She smiled with the same quiet intensity of bitterness that had struck James before.

"But what about you and Aunt Selina? I always thought--"

The smile faded. "Aunt Selina might lie dead at my feet, for all I should care," she answered with another sudden burst of pa.s.sion. "Oh, no, not quite that. I suppose I like her as well as I can _like_ any one. But that's the way it is, comparatively."

"Yes. I know that feeling," said James meditatively.

"So you see how it is with me. I'm glad, in a way, that it's all up now.

Any end--even the worst--is better than waiting--that hopeless, desperate waiting. Yet I never could bring myself to give up till I heard--what I heard yesterday. I've expected it, really, for some time; I've watched, I've seen. Oh, that horrible watching--waiting--listening!

That's all over, at least...."

She had sunk into a chair near the edge of the verandah and sat with her elbows on the broad rail, gazing with sightless eyes over the variegated expanse of the sea. The midday sun fell full upon her unprotected face and even James at that moment could not help thinking how few complexions could bear that fierce light as hers did. She was, indeed, perhaps more beautiful at that moment than he had ever seen her before.

Her expression of quiet hopeless grief was admirably suited to the high-bred cast of her features; she would have made a beautiful model for a Zen.o.bia or a cla.s.sisized type of _pieta_. Beauty is never more willing to come to us than when we want it least.

It had its effect on James, though he did not realize it. He came over and sat down on the rail, where he could look directly down at her.

"Beatrice," he said, "I don't mind saying I think it was rather magnificent of you."

She looked up at him a moment and then out to sea again. "Well, I must say I don't. I'm not proud of it. If I had been man enough to go my own way and not let it interfere with my life in the very least, that might have been magnificent. But this.... It was simply weak. I always knew there was no hope, you know."

"No, that's not the way to look at it. You devoted your whole life to that single purpose.... After all, you did as much as it was possible to do, you know. You went about it in the very best way--you were right when you said the worst thing you could do was to let him see."

"I'm not so sure. No, I don't know about that. Sometimes I think that if I had been brave enough simply to go to him and say, 'I love you; here I am, take me; I'll devote my life to making a good wife for you,' it would have been much better. But I wasn't brave enough for that."

"No," insisted James; "that wasn't why you didn't do it. You knew Harry.

It might have worked with some men, but not with him. Can't you see him s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g himself to be polite and saying, 'Thank you very much, Beatrice, but I don't think I could make you a good enough husband, so I'm afraid it won't do'?... No, you picked out the best way to get at him and made that your one purpose in life, and I admire you for it. It wasn't your fault it didn't succeed; it was just--just the d.a.m.ned, relentless way of things...."

"What are you going to do now?" he asked after a pause. "After you get home, I mean?"

"I don't know. Work, I suppose, at something."

"What--slums?"

"Oh, I suppose so.--No, I'd rather do something harder, like stenography--something with a lot of dull, grinding routine. That's the best way."

"A stenographer!"

"Or a matron in a home.--Why not? I must do something. I won't live with Mama, that's flat."

"You think you must go home, do you?"

"You wouldn't expect me to stay here and--?"

"No, but couldn't you find something to do here as well as there?"

"Yes, but why? I suppose I want to go home, things being as they are. If I've got to live somewhere, I'd rather live among my own people. I didn't come here because I liked America best...."