CHAPTER XX.
HOW TITA TAKES HIGH GROUND, AND HOW SHE BRINGS HER HUSBAND, OF ALL PEOPLE, TO HER FEET.
She looks like a little elf. All at once the pretty beauty of her breaks upon Rylton. The reaction from such extreme doubt of her to a clear certainty has made his appreciation of her kinder—has, perhaps, opened his eyes to the perfections she possesses. However this may be, there is, beyond question, a great deal of remorse in his soul as he walks towards the tree in which she sits enshrined.
How will she receive him? Not a word, save those much-begrudged ones at breakfast, has passed between them since last night; and this hurrying away from the others, does it not mean a dislike to meet him?
"You have mounted very high in the world!" says he, stopping beneath the tree and addressing her.
He has come towards her very softly on the grass—so softly that she has not heard his coming. And now, as he speaks, she starts violently, and looks down at him as if surprised out of all measure. In a second, however, she recovers herself.
"True!" says she; "I have married you!"
It is to be still war, then! Rylton bites his lips, but controls himself. It is plain he is not forgiven. But, after all, she has had something to forgive, and more—far more than she even knows. That last suspicion of her was base.
"That is an unkind little speech!" says he gently. "It reminds me that it was you who set me up in the world."
This shaft tells.
Tita colours warmly; her generous soul shrinks from such an accusation.
"I didn't mean that," says she; "you know very well I didn't. I wish," petulantly, "you would go away; I want to read."
"Well, I'm going," says Rylton. As a means of carrying out this promise, he props himself up with a branch of the tree on which she is sitting—a branch on a level with her dainty little silk-clad feet. He has leant both his arms on it, and now involuntarily his eyes rest upon her shoes. "What beautiful feet you have!" says he slowly.
It is a perfectly Machiavellian speech. Tita's feet are beyond argument, and there is not a woman in this world, any way, who has beautiful feet, who doesn't want everyone to tell her all about them.
"No, no; they're nothing," says she, making a pretence of tucking up the much-maligned feet in question under her frock, which basely fails to help her.
But even as she says this she smiles—reluctantly, no doubt; but, still, she does smile—and casts a glance at Rylton from under her long lashes. It is a delightful look—half pleased, half defiant, wholly sweet.
"Forgive me, Tita!" says her husband quickly.
"I don't want you to talk to me like that," says she, with a frown.
"But I must say that. Well, will you?"
"I don't know." She stops, and again casts that pretty glance at him. "At all events, you will have to promise me one thing."
"Anything."
"No; I'm in earnest."
"So am I."
He ventures now to take one of the charming feet so close to him into one of his hands, and strokes the instep softly with the other.
"Oh no! you are never in earnest with me," says the girl. "But what
I want you to say is, that you won't do it again."
"Do what?"
"Scold me."
"Never—never!" says Rylton.
"That's a promise, mind."
"I shall mind it."
"Very well—I forgive you."
"Let me bring you back to Mother Earth, then," says Rylton.
"No, thank you; I can take myself down."
"That's being unkind to yourself. Take down your friends if you like, but spare yourself."
"I should like to take you down," says she maliciously.
"Am I your friend, then?"
"No—no, indeed!"
"Well——"
He pauses and looks at her. All at once it seems to him that perhaps he is her friend—a friend—a mere friend! But could a man who loved another woman be an honest friend to his wife?
"Are you?" asks Tita.
"Yes. Didn't I want to take you down just now?"
At this she gives in and laughs a little. He laughs too.
"You are too clever for me," says she.
"And you—what are you? Too good for me, perhaps."
"I don't think you ought to say things you don't mean," says Tita. "But as you have made that promise—why, you may take me down now."
She leans towards him, holding out her arms. He takes her into his, and brings her slowly, carefully to the grass beside him. Even when safely landed here he still holds her.
"We are friends?" asks he.
His tone is a question.
"Yes, yes, of course," impatiently. "Are they playing tennis? Do you think they want me?"
It is impossible for him to misunderstand her meaning. A longing to get back to the others to play, and win at her favourite game of tennis, has been in part the cause of her ready forgiveness.
"Certainly they want you," says he, surprised at himself for the touch of chagrin he feels. "But," still holding her, "you have quite made it up with me, haven't you?"
"Quite—quite."
"But what a way to make it up!" says Rylton reproachfully.
He is smiling all through, however.
"What's the matter with it?" asks Tita.
"Don't you know? Must I tell you? Last night, Tita, you told me you would never want to kiss me again."
"Well, kissing's a bore," says Tita, with a little grimace. "I never want to kiss anyone really, except——"
She hesitates.
"Except?" asks Rylton, his grasp tighter on her arms.
"Except Margaret."
Rylton bursts out laughing; for the moment he believes her, afterwards—
"What a baby you are!" says he; "and what a cruel baby! Tita, I shan't believe you have forgiven me unless you——"
"I think it is you who are the baby," says she, with a shrug. "What on earth do you want to kiss me for? Well, there," holding up to him the coolest, freshest cheek in the world, "you can kiss me if you like."
"Is that all?" says Rylton, somewhat piqued.
"Yes—all," with decision. "I can't bear people to kiss me on my mouth."
"Perhaps you would prefer that people would not kiss you at all?"
"Well, yes, I should," says she. "But," quickly, "of course, you are not quite like other people. You may kiss my cheek if you like."
"Thank you," says Rylton. "I appreciate the difference."
He kisses her cheek discreetly, but would have liked to shake her as he does so.