“But, my dear Mr. Crowdie, how—”
“My dear Miss Lauderdale, I’m positively repulsive to you. You can’t deny it really, though you’ll put it much more gently. To-day, when I wanted to help you to take off your hat, you started and changed colour—just as though you had touched a snake. I know that those things are instinctive, of course. I only want you to tell me if you have any reason—beyond a mere uncontrollable physical repulsion. There’s no other way of putting it, I’m afraid. I mean, whether I’ve ever done anything to make you hate the sight of me—”
“You? Never. On the contrary, you’re always very kind, and nice in every way. I wish you would put it out of your head—the whole idea—and talk about something else. No, honestly, I’ve nothing against you, and I never heard anything against you. And I’m really very much distressed that I should have given you any such impression. Isn’t that the answer to your question?”
“Yes—in a way. It reduces itself to this—if you never looked at me, and never heard my voice, you wouldn’t hate me.”
“Oh—your voice—no!” The words escaped her involuntarily, and conveyed a wrong impression; for though she meant that his voice was beautiful, she knew that its mere beauty sometimes repelled her as much as his appearance did.
“Then it’s only my looks,” he said with a laugh. “Thanks! I’m quite satisfied now, and I quite agree with you in that. You noticed to-day that there were no mirrors in the studio.” He laughed again quite naturally.
“Really!” exclaimed Katharine, as a sort of final protest, and taking the earliest opportunity of escaping from the difficult situation he had created. “I wish you would tell me something about Mr. Griggs, since you know him. I’ve been watching him—he has such a curious face!”
“Paul Griggs? Oh, yes—he’s a curious creature altogether.” And Crowdie began to talk about the man.
Katharine was in reality perfectly indifferent, and followed her own train of thought while Crowdie made himself as agreeable as he could, considering that he was conscious of her inattention. He would have been surprised had he known that she was thinking about him.
Since Hester had told her the story of his strange illness, Katharine could not be near him without remembering her cousin’s vivid description of his appearance and condition during the attack. It was but a step from such a picture to the question of the morphia and Crowdie’s story, and one step further brought the comparison between slavery to one form of excitement and slavery to another; in other words, between John Ralston and the painter, and then between Hester’s love for Crowdie and Katharine’s for her cousin. But at this point the divergence began. Crowdie, who looked weak, effeminate and anything but manly, had found courage and strength to overcome a habit which was said to be almost unconquerable. Katharine would certainly never have guessed that he had such a strong will, but Hester had told her all about it, and there seemed to be no other explanation of the facts. And Ralston, with his determined expression and all his apparently hardy manliness, had distinctly told her that he did not feel sure of keeping a promise, even for the sake of her love. It seemed incredible. She would have given anything to be able to ask Crowdie questions about his life, but that was impossible, under the circumstances. He might never forgive his wife for having told his secret.