How many chances were given to Elizabeth, only to be thrown away! She answered him steadily; "I'm not deceiving you. I tell you frankly that when I first met Paul Halleck I thought I cared for him—he was the first man I had ever known; but now he is nothing to me, and I have told him so—I think I almost dislike him." There was no mistaking the accent of sincerity in her voice. It was fortunate for Elizabeth, since she was no adept in lying, that the truth and the falsehood were in this case so nearly identical.
Gerard was satisfied.
"Then what," he urged, eagerly—"if there is no one else—what stands between us?"
She hesitated. There were voices in the hall, some visitors requesting admission, the butler parleying a little—the discreet, intelligent butler, who had so considerately refrained, for the last quarter of an hour, from coming in to light the gas.
Gerard was too absorbed to notice anything outside of the cause he was pleading. "Tell me," he repeated, his eyes fixed intently upon her face, "what stands between us?"
She put out her hand with a deprecating gesture. That threatening interruption seemed to give her courage. She was quite herself again. "Can't a woman hesitate for no definite reason?" she asked. "You, yourself—didn't you hesitate—for reasons that I must confess seem to me rather vague and—not very complimentary."
The argument struck home. He changed color. "Don't cast that up against me, Elizabeth," he pleaded. "It's not worthy of you. I told you the plain truth, badly as it sounds, because it seemed due to you—I wanted you to know the worst. And you must remember that I had no reason to suppose that you cared, or would ever care, anything about me. It was only I who suffered when I kept away from you. But you—now that you know how—how madly I love you—don't trifle with me—be generous—give me a definite answer?"
"But I—I can't," she returned, in her old wilful way, "just on the spur of the moment, like this. I don't want to marry any one—not just now, at least. I—I like my freedom"——
The words died away on her lips. She broke off suddenly, turning very pale, as the importunate visitor, whom the butler had vainly endeavored to show into another room, drew aside the portière and entered brusquely. It was Paul Halleck. He had a strangely excited look, which increased as he surveyed the two people on the hearth-rug, whom he had evidently interrupted at a critical moment.
To one of them, at least, his entrance was most unwelcome. Not all of Gerard's carefully cultivated self-control could avail to hide his annoyance; he uttered under his breath an angry exclamation, and going over to the piano, stood moodily turning over sheets of music. Elizabeth, to whom Paul's appearance was for some reasons still more disconcerting, showed greater self-possession. She held out her hand coldly, but composedly, with a few mechanical words, to which he barely responded. There was an embarrassing pause, broken by the butler, who made his belated, majestic entry, lighted the chandeliers and drew the curtains. The effect of the illumination was startling, as it threw into strong relief the look of agitation on each of their faces.