III
After a time her crying ceased, she got up from the chair, moving gently out of his embrace, and then went to the looking-glass above the fireplace and stood there wiping her eyes.
Then, smiling, she looked back at him—He was standing in front of the window and behind him the reflection, from the departed sun, flooded the town with gold. He seemed a man transformed, gazing upon her with an ecstasy of triumph, exaltation, happiness.
"My dear—my dear—Oh! how glorious you are!"
But she did not move.
He stirred impatiently, and then, looking at her with adoring eyes, he whispered, "Oh! my dear! but I love you!"
"I must go," she said, her eyes, large and frightened, appealingly upon him—
He smiled at her, his eyes laughing.
"Yes, Francis—let me—let me. Now while I can still see what I ought to do."
"There's only one thing that you ought to do. You belong to me now." She plucked nervously with her hands one against the other.
"Francis, let me go—please—please——" He saw then that she was unhappy and the laughter died from his eyes. His voice, fallen from its happiness, was almost harsh, as he replied—
"You know we love one another, have loved one another ever since that day when we met in Miss Rand's rooms? You know it as well as I do. You knew it when you came to these rooms to-day."
"I oughtn't to have come." Her voice had gathered strength. "It's only because I realize now what you are to me that I want to go. I thought I was so strong, that I could be fair to Roddy and to you too ... I didn't know——"
"Then stay—stay—" he whispered urgently. "It's a thing that you've got to face anyhow—We can't stay apart, you and I, now. We can try, but you know—you know as well as I—that we can't do it."
"We must—That's what I meant before. That's why I must go now, because soon I shan't be strong enough. But we've got to part—we've got to."
"Oh, this is absurd," he cried. "We're human beings, not figures to hang a theory on—Now just as we realize what we are to one another——"
"Yes, because of that," she broke in swiftly, urgently. "You know that I love you—I know that you love me. We've got that knowledge that nothing can take away from us—and we've got the love—nothing can touch it. But my duty is with Roddy."
"You knew that," he said, "when you came here to-day."
Her face flamed—"That's not fair of you, Francis."
"No, I beg your pardon. It isn't——" He suddenly came to her, caught her and kissed her, holding her with his arm close to him, murmuring in her ear. At first she had struggled, then she lay absolutely still against him, making no response.
He felt her passive against his beating heart. He released her and watched her as she went across to the window and looked out into the darkening city.
"I don't care," he said roughly, "I love you. There's no talk about it or anything else. You belong to me."
"I belong to Roddy," she answered quietly. "It's all quite clear. My duty is to him until ... unless, life with him becomes impossible. I've got absolutely to do my best and while I'm doing that you've got to help me."
"What do you mean?" he said, his eyes upon her.
"Help me by our not meeting, by our not writing, by our doing nothing—nothing——"
"No—No," he answered her, his eyes set upon her.
"You don't get me any other way. Francis, don't you see that we're not the sort of people, either of us, to put up with the deceits, the trickeries, the lies that the other thing means? Some people might—lots of people do, I suppose—but we're not built that way. We're idealists—We aren't made to stand quietly and see all the quality of the thing vanish before our eyes—just to take the husk when we've known what the kernel was like.
"Besides, it isn't as though I hated Roddy. If I did I'd go off with you now, in a minute if you wanted me, although even then it would be a hopeless thing for us to do. But I'm very fond of Roddy. I'm not in love with him—I never have been—I told him from the first—But I'm going to do my best by him."
"Why did you come here?"
"I came here because I was driven towards you. I wanted to hear you say that you loved me—I wanted to tell you that I loved you. We've both of us said it. We know it now—and we've got to keep it, the most precious thing in the world.
"But we should soon hate one another if we destroyed one another's ideals. For many people it wouldn't matter—For us, weak as we are, it matters everything."
"All this talk," he said. "I'm a man. I'm here to love you, not to talk about it. I've got you and I'm going to keep you."
"You haven't got me," she cried. "You've got a bit of me. There'll be times when I'm away from you when I shall think that you've got all of me. But you haven't—no one's got all of me....
"And I haven't got you either—You think now for the moment that it is so—But I know what it would be if we were hiding about on the Continent or secretly meeting here in London—That's not for us, Francis."
"I've got you," he repeated. "I'm not going to wait any longer——"
"It's the only way you'll ever have me," she answered, "by letting me do my duty to Roddy—I promise you that. If ever life is impossible—if it's ever better for both of us that I should go, I'll come to you—But I shall tell him first."
"Tell him! But he won't let you go."
"He won't stop me—if it comes to that."
He pleaded with her then, telling her about his life, its loneliness, his unhappiness, how impossible it would be now without her.
But she shook her head.
"Don't you think," she cried, "that grandmother would be delighted if we went off? Both of us done for—you never able to return again ... Ah! no! For all of us, for every reason, it's not to be."
"I won't let you go—I've got you. I'll keep you."
"You can't, Francis——"
"I can and I will——"
Then looking up, catching a vision of her framed in the window with the lighted city behind her, he saw in her eyes how unattainable she might be....
He had, he had always had, his ideals. There was a long silence between them, then he bowed his head.
"You shall do as you will—anything with me that you will."
"Oh, my dear," she whispered, "I love you for that."
Then hurriedly, moving as though she feared her own weakness, she went to put on her wraps—He came to her.
"Let me write—let me."
"No—Better not."
"Just a line—Nothing that any ordinary person——"
"No, we mustn't, Francis."
He put her furs about her neck, then his hand rested on her shoulder. Her head fell back.
"Once more"—she said. He kissed her throat, then her eyes, then their lips met.
"Stay," he whispered, "stay"—Very slowly she drew away from him, smiled at him once, and was gone.