She went back to his arms, but even while she learned the lesson that some women learn once only, and then possessingly and finally, she realized that she had not the courage to speak of Mary Gordon. She had intended, the moment she was sure of him, to command him to break his engagement at once; but her arrogant will found itself supple before the strong fibre of the man, and shrank from the encounter. They walked on after a time, until they came to a stone, where they sat down. She put her hands about his face. The motion was a little awkward, but she was a woman who would grow very lavish with caresses.
“Why do you look so serious?” she asked. “You looked so different a moment ago.”
“The situation is serious,” he said briefly. “But don’t let us talk about it; we have twelve more days.”
She threw her head back against his shoulder and looked up into the feathery roof. A ray of light wandered in and touched her face. “I am so happy,” she said, “I don’t care what to-morrow brings. I have thought and thought of being with you like this and now I am and it is enough. I ought to be serious—I know what you are thinking of—but it doesn’t matter; nothing but this matters. I never took life seriously—except in a sort of abstract mental way occasionally—until a week ago, and I doubt if I could keep it up.”
“You could keep it up. You don’t know yourself.”
“Once I got dreadfully bored and took care of a sick poor woman who lived in a cabin near a place where I was staying. Her husband was away in the mines, and she had no one to look after her but neighbors as poor as herself. I sat up with her and worked over her as if she were my sister. I was frightfully interested, and so proud of myself. Then one morning—I think it was the fifth—I was sitting by the window about four o’clock, looking at the view, which was beautiful—a rolling country covered with closely trimmed grape-vines, and miles and miles beyond a range of blue mountains. It was so quiet. Eternity must be like that quiet of four in the morning. And gradually as I looked, the most sickening disgust crept over me for the life I had led the past four days, an utter collapse of my philanthropy. I wanted to go away and be frivolous. I was hideously bored. I hated the sick woman, her poverty and everything serious in life. I stole away and sent back a servant to stop until I could get a trained nurse. I never went near the woman again.”
He pressed her to him with passionate sympathy. “Poor child,” he said, “you have lived only in the shallows. I wish you always might.”
But she was too happy to heed anything but the strength of his embrace.
“You don’t know yourself,” he said, “not the least little bit.”
“I know a lot more than you think, and I know how I can love you.”