‘We cannot cut out our lives by our own pattern,’ said Gaston, with irrefragable philosophy. ‘The disappointment, God knows, was bitterly keen to both of us at the time. Looking round the world now, I am disposed to wonder sometimes if the possession of a child be an unmixed blessing.’
‘It would have been so to me.’ The wound had never so thoroughly healed that Dinah could bear a careless touch on the cicatrice. ‘But I have no right to complain,’—she said this through her tears,—‘God gave, and took away. Who am I to question His wisdom?’
During several seconds Mr. Arbuthnot seemed to grow more and more absorbed in the contemplation of his ring; then, by an alert side movement, he contrived to reach the door of his dressing-room.
‘You are going? You intend really to dine with the Thornes this evening?’
Dinah brushed her hand hastily across her eyes.
‘Certainly, I intend to keep my engagement,’ answered Gaston Arbuthnot.
‘You would not break it, if I asked you?’
‘I would do any conceivable thing you asked me—with sufficient cause. I have too much opinion of your good taste to dread your ever placing yourself, or me, in a ridiculous position.’
‘If you would, I should give up all this plan for Wednesday. We would go back’—a soft far-off look stole over Dinah’s face as though for a moment she indulged in the retrospect of some too-dear dream—‘go back—ah! fool that I am—to the early days—days when you said the best dinner-party in London could not tempt you to leave me for an evening.’
While she was speaking she had followed him. Her hand rested on his sleeve. Her eyes, with piteous, imploring earnestness, sought to read his face.