“Oh, please understand me, Edith. I do not in the least blame you for disliking Rupert; indeed it is a sentiment in which you have my hearty sympathy, for no one can dislike him more than I do, or, I may add, with better cause. As for the rest, I suggested the marriage to you, I did not force you into that marriage. I still suggest it for the most excellent reasons which far over-ride petty personal likes or dislikes, but still I do not force you. Make this mission of Rupert’s an excuse for postponing it if you will, after which it can quietly drop out of sight. Only then, remember, that a document which I have signed to-day goes into the fire, or rather two documents, a settlement and a will. Remember that Dick goes out of this house, and as a consequence, out of the House of Commons also and into the gutter which Nature has fitted him to adorn. And lastly, remember that henceforth you make your own way in the world and provide for your own necessities. Now you will understand that I force you to nothing, for where that precious organ which they call their hearts are concerned, high-minded women—like yourself—will not let such material trifles weigh with them.”
Edith stood still as a statue. Then drawing the rose from her bosom she began to tear it to pieces, petal by petal. Lord Devene lit a cigarette, and waited till the rose was stripped down to its calyx.
“Well,” he asked, “does the oracle declare itself? I daresay it is as likely to be correct as any other,” and he glanced at the petals on the floor and the stalk in her hand.
“Why are you so cruel to me?” Edith moaned, thereby acknowledging that she had found her master, and letting the stalk fall. “It is not manly to mock a defenceless woman who has many troubles.”
A shade of compunction passed across his steely face, of affection even.
“Forgive me,” he said, “I do not wish to hurt you, but we are people of the world, and have to deal with facts, not with sentiments and fancies. I put the facts clearly, that is all.”
“What are your facts?” went on Edith. “That I am in love with Dick Learmer. I deny it. I am not, and never have been; but this is true, that he does in some way attract me, one side of me, even when with my mind I dislike and despise him. That I detest Rupert whom I am going to marry. I deny it; but it is true that he repels me, one side of me, even when with my mind I appreciate and honour him, who is worth all of us, except perhaps Tabitha. As a father or a brother I should adore Rupert Ullershaw. Now you think that I am going to marry him for the money and the prospects, and from fear of your anger—it is not altogether so. I do not know if you will understand me, or even if I can make myself intelligible. But I tell you that although it would ruin me, for I know you keep your word, I would do what you suggest and postpone this marriage as a preliminary to breaking it off, were it not for one thing. It is this. I feel as though that personal aversion which I have is but accidental and temporary, that a time may and must come when it will break down and vanish, and that then I shall love him as I desire to do, with my heart, my body, and my soul.”
Lord Devene stared at her.
“Curious and most interesting,” he said. “No; that is not satire. I quite believe you, and I think it very likely that what you feel in yourself will come about—probably too late. Meanwhile, to deal with the evil of the present day, are you going to accompany him to Egypt or will you await the coming of this—this psychological change of the inner woman?”
Edith evidently had no spirit left to enable her to reply to this barbed shaft. She only said: