“Oh, my soul, my soul,” he whispered, “to think that you have borne it alone. Thank God, that is over. But you cut me to the heart in not telling me. I didn’t deserve that from you.”
His lip quivered, his eyes were brimming with tears that soon ran over, and it was she who kissed them away. Just for that moment she could not help it. “Be sensible, not kiss anybody”—the words of the doctor sounded like gibberish. Hugh was crying, the doctor did not allow for that contingency. Nothing in the world mattered at this moment but that she should comfort him. He had never cried before, as far as she knew, and the sobs came from so deep within him.
“Oh, if it was selfish, forgive me,” she said; “but it was not thus that I meant it. I did want one week more so much, my darling, one week to crown all the others.”
She had told Peggy that she meant quite distinctly to lie to Hugh, to tell him that Sir Thomas had recommended her to go to Munich. But quite suddenly she found she could not lie to him. No question arose in her mind as to the morality of telling the truth or the immorality of falsehood. It was not a moral choice that was now flashed before her, it was a mere question of what was possible and what was not.
“It has crowned the others,” she said, “and I am exultant that we have got it. Oh, Hughie, we have captured this week, snatched it from all the foolish physicians who forbade it. Yes, dear, my selfishness went as far as that. He told me not to come. So I came, and I am more glad than I can say. He told me also to be sensible, not to kiss anybody. I have disobeyed him there too. So forgive me for both.”
Hugh had drawn his chair close to hers.
“Oh, forgive, forgive,” he said. “What word is that between us?”
“No; it is a foolish word from me to you,” she said; “but understand then. Can’t you understand? Just now you wondered at me for not understanding what you said I had done. I wonder at you now for not understanding what joy your joy has been to me. Why, it is mine, and more mine because it is yours. Hughie, though I asked you just now to forgive, I tell you that I am delighted with what I have done. It is like—a dog that has stolen a bone, and looks deprecating. All the time he licks his lips. He has had it; it tasted so good, and though he may be beaten subsequently, his mouth still waters at the remembrance. Mine does. There would have been a shadow over this week if you had known.”
“There would never have been this week at all,” he broke in.
“Oh, don’t be too sure—I am very obstinate when I want a thing.”