Vanna looked at him, and the impulse came to speak the unvarnished truth, unconventional though it might be.
“To avoid you! You should not be so precipitate. It is disconcerting, to put it mildly, to have a man make violent love to one at a first meeting.”
“I did not make love.”
“Not in so many words, perhaps.”
Gloucester blushed, remembering the rosebud at that moment pressed between the leaves of his pocket-book. For a few moments he was silent, gazing before him in puzzled fashion, then suddenly the shadow passed, he turned towards her with a smile, his eyes clear and untroubled.
“And so she is going to run away, a make-believe little journey of two or three hours? Does she imagine that she can hide herself so easily? There is no corner of the earth where I would not follow to find her at the end. She belongs to me. Do you imagine I shall give her up?”
Vanna was silent. In her heart of hearts she had no doubt on the point, and believed Jean’s fate already settled; but she saw Edith’s eyes fixed upon her from across the room, and felt a keen sympathy with the disappointment in store. Edith was no longer young; Edith had waited; for Edith the chances of life might be few and far between, while Jean held the open sesame of charm and beauty.
“May I give you some advice?” she said quickly. “You will probably refuse to take it, but it’s on my mind to give it all the same. Don’t be in a hurry. Let Jean go; don’t try to see her. Stay behind, and think things over. She is beautiful, and your meeting was dramatic. Even I felt carried away. But marriage!—that is terribly serious. One ought to be so sure. You have her happiness to remember, as well as your own. Jean is impetuous and romantic. If she knew what we know, she would feel that all was settled, and that she had no choice. You don’t want that. If she is to be your wife, it ought to be because she chooses you of her own deliberate will. Wait quietly for a few weeks and—drift! You may find in a few weeks’ time that the impression fades—that there are other possibilities, other attractions.”
Gloucester looked her in the face, and laughed, a full-throated, derisive laugh.
“You don’t believe one word that you are saying. You are talking because you think you ought. Don’t! What is the use of keeping up pretences—you and I? We have seen behind the scenes. Can’t we stick to the truth?”