The Yellow House Part 34

He stood there looking down at me in absolute silence. I raised my eyes and met his steadfast gaze. I knew then that what this girl had said was true. Then all of a sudden an unaccountable thing happened. The composure on which I prided myself deserted me. My eyes fell. I could not look at him, my cheeks were flushed; my heart commenced to beat fast; I was taken completely at a disadvantage. He seized the opportunity and commenced to speak.

"Perhaps," he said, slowly, "you have wondered what has made me so anxious to see you these last few days. I am glad to have an opportunity of telling you. I have been wanting to for some time."

I would have given a good deal to have been able to stop him, but I could not. I was powerless. I was as much embarra.s.sed as the veriest schoolgirl. He went on--

"I want to ask you to be my wife. Miss Ffolliot. As you know," he added, with a sudden faint flash of humor, "I am not apt with my tongue. I am afraid that I have allowed myself to rust in many ways. But if you will make the best of me you will make me very happy; for I think you know that I love you very much."

"No, no," I cried softly, "you must not say that. I did not wish any one to say that to me. I am not going to marry any one."

"Why not?" he asked, calmly.

"You ought not to ask me," I answered. "You know my story."

He laughed outright in kindly contempt. Then I knew I had made a great mistake. I should have given him some other reason. This one he would laugh to scorn. And because I had given it first he would deem it the chief one in my thoughts. Before I could stop him he had taken one of my hands and was smoothing it in his great brown palm. Somehow I forgot to draw it away.

"Did you ever seriously imagine that any such circ.u.mstance could make one iota of difference to any man who loved you?" he asked, in a mild wonder. "It is preposterous."

"It is not preposterous," I declared. "How can you say so? I am--n.o.body. I have not even a name."

"Will you please not talk nonsense?" he interrupted, firmly. "We both know quite well in our hearts that such a circ.u.mstance as you allude to could not make the slightest difference--if you cared for me as I care for you. All I want to know is--do you care--a little? If you will give me--if you can--just a little share of your love, the rest will come. I should not be afraid to wait. I would take my chance. I have cared for you from the moment you first came here."

I looked up at him with wet eyes, but with a faint smile.

"You managed to conceal your sentiments admirably on our first meeting," I remarked.

He laughed. He was getting absolutely confident; and all this time I was drifting with a full knowledge of the s.h.i.+pwreck ahead.

"I was brutal," he said. "Somehow, do you know, you irritated me that morning? You looked so calm and self-possessed, and your very daintiness made me feel rough and coa.r.s.e. It was like an awakening for me. Yet I loved you all the time."

"I am very sorry," I said, slowly.

He flashed a keen glance upon me. His eyes tried to force mine to meet them. I kept them away.

"You must not be sorry," he said, impetuously; "you must be glad."

But I shook my head.

"There is nothing to be glad about," I cried, with a sob in my throat. "I do--I do--not--"

"Go on!" he pressed, relentlessly. "I do not care for you in that way," he repeated slowly. "Is that true? An hour ago I should have doubted you. But now--look at me and tell me so."

I nerved myself to a desperate effort. I looked up and met his stern, compelling gaze. My cheeks were pale. The words came slowly and with difficulty. But I told my lie well.

"I do not care for you. I could never think of marrying you."

He rose at once. The tears came to my eyes with a rush. He was very pale, and there was a look in his face which hurt me.

"Thank you," he said; "you are very explicit, and I have been a clumsy fool. But you might have stopped me before. Goodbye!"

I looked up, and the words were on my lips to call him back. For the moment I had forgotten Olive Berdenstein and my bargain with her. If he had been looking then it would have been all over. But already his back was vanis.h.i.+ng through the door. I moved slowly to the window and watched him walk down the drive with head bent and footsteps less firm than usual. He crossed the road and took the footpath across the park which led up to the Court. In the distance, a weird little figure in her waving cloak gleaming through the faint mist, I could see Olive Berdenstein crossing the common diagonally with the evident intention of intercepting him. I turned away from the window and laughed bitterly.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE EVIDENCE OF CIRc.u.mSTANCES

Two very weary days dragged themselves by. We had no news whatever from my father. We did not even know where he was. Alice and I were hard at work packing, and already the house began to look bare and comfortless. All the rooms, except two were dismantled. We began to count the days before we might be able to move into Eastminster. No one came to call upon us. I saw nothing whatever either of Olive Berdenstein or of Bruce Deville.

But on the afternoon of the third day I saw them both from the window of my room. They came from the plantation leading down to the Yellow House and turned slowly upwards from the Court. The girl was much more fittingly dressed than usual. She was wearing a dark green tailor-made gown, and even from the distance at which I stood I could see that she was walking briskly, and that there was a new vivacity in her manner and carriage. Her usually sallow cheeks were touched with a faint and very becoming tinge of pink. Bruce Deville too was leaning down towards her with a little more than his usual consideration. I watched them from the window, and there was a pain at my heart like the pain of death. Had she won already, I wondered? Was a man so easily to be deceived?

They had come from the Yellow House; he had been taking her to see Mrs. Fortress. An irresistible desire seized me. I hurried on my jacket and hat and walked down there.

The little maid-servant admitted me without hesitation. Mrs. Fortress was at home, she told me, and would no doubt see me, although she was very busy. Hearing my voice, she came out into the hall to meet me, and led me into her study.

"I am hard at work, you see," she remarked, pointing to a pile of papers littered all over her desk. "When do you think that you will be able to come into residence with me? I have had my little flat put in order, and I want to get there soon."

"I can come in about three weeks, I suppose," I said. "I shall be very glad to. We hope to move to Eastminster on Monday or Tuesday.

I want to see my father again and to help them to settle down there. Afterwards I shall be quite free."

She nodded, and looked at me keenly for a moment or two.

"You are looking tired and worried," she said, sympathetically. "Has anything fresh happened?"

"Nothing."

She waited for a moment, but she did not pursue the subject. Still, I fancied that she was disappointed that I did not offer her my confidence.

"Mr. Bruce Deville has just been here, and Miss Berdenstein," she remarked.

I nodded.

"I saw them come through the plantation," I remarked. "I have not seen Miss Berdenstein for several days. Is she quite well?"

She looked at me, and commenced to sort some papers.

"Oh, yes, she is well enough. Bruce Deville rather puzzles me. He is in a very odd mood. I have never seen him more attentive to any one than he is to that girl, and yet all the time there was a sort of brutal cynicism about his behavior, and when I asked him to stay and talk to me he would not. I wonder have you----"

She looked up into my face and stopped short. There was a little pause.

"Won't you tell me about it?" she said, wistfully. "Not unless you like, of course."

"There is nothing much to tell," I answered, controlling my voice with a desperate effort. "Mr. Deville asked me something. I was obliged to say no. He is consoling himself admirably."

She sighed, and looked at me thoughtfully. That note of bitterness in my tone had betrayed me.

"I am sorry," she said. "Bruce Deville is not exactly a woman's man, and he has many faults, but he is a fine fellow. He is a world too good anyhow to throw himself away upon that miserable chit of a girl."