‘I know,’ she answered, tapping her foot upon the floor. ‘I know. The truth is, you never really cared for me, and now you have grown tired. You want to be rid of me.’
‘Now, that,’ said Paul, ‘is not only nonsense, it is very wicked nonsense, and I will not permit it The whole matter lies with yourself. If you continue to nurse those wrong and foolish thoughts, you will make it necessary for me to insist upon your obedience. If you will behave like a sensible creature, I may feel justified in yielding to your wish, and leaving you behind. But if I have any more of these absurd suspicions I shall not venture to leave you here.’
He spoke with a purposed sternness, but with something of a heartache, too. There was no escape in his own mind from the belief that the whole change which had of late revealed itself in Annette was due to the fact of approaching maternity, and he had a man’s natural pity for her sufferings. He bore her fancies with patience, but he thought it best for her that he should feign some anger at them.
The plan seemed to act for the time being at least, for after a moment’s incertitude, in which she seemed to battle with herself, she turned her humid brown eyes upon him, and said softly:
‘I am very foolishly suspicious sometimes, Paul. I know—oh, I know that I am not the girl I used to be. Bear with me, dear. I shall be different by-and-by.’
‘I am sure of that,’ he answered, and she approaching him with an appealing languor in her eyes, and in the carriage of her whole figure, he took her into his arms, and for a minute or two she cried quietly upon his shoulder. He patted and caressed her, and she looked up with a quivering face.
‘I will never think or say those things again. I know how wrong they are, but, Paul, they come into my mind, and I cannot resist them sometimes. But I will—I will in future. You shall never hear them any more. But I want you to believe me, dearest, in just this one little thing. It will be the best and kindest thing that you can do for me to leave me here alone whilst you are away in London. I am not without friends here, when I can find the courage and the strength to see them. M. Laurent will look after me. You will write to me every day, won’t you? I shall not be lonely. But the idea of having a stranger about me, fussing and inquiring, is horrible. I can’t bear it.’
‘Very well, dear,’ said Paul, greatly relieved at the turn things had taken, ‘you shall have your way. But you must remember, dear ‘—he spoke as soothingly as he could—’ it is my duty to see that you are cared for properly, and I must not leave you to yourself unless I am quite assured beforehand that you are certain to be bright and brave when I am gone.‘He placed his hand beneath her chin, and coaxed her eyes to meet his own. ‘You won’t nourish these distressing fancies any more, will you?’
‘No,’ she answered, clinging to him; ‘they are all gone. They are all done with. You will be kind and good to me, Paul—I know you will. It isn’t a very great favour for a grown-up woman to ask to be allowed to take care of herself, is it, Paul, darling?’
‘That must depend,’ he answered gaily, ‘whether the grown-up woman is well enough and strong enough for the task.’