“Oh, I want nothing, I want nothing. I would marry you if you were a workman in a cottage. Sooner—than a king!”
It was true. The girl’s voice rang with a sincerity of passion, which was startling in its contrast to the man’s light tones, and Peignton, realising the contrast, was at once touched and abashed.
“You dear girl!” he said softly. “Thank you, dear. I’m not worth it, but—I’ll be good to you, Teresa! You shall never regret it.”
Teresa laughed at the absurdity of the thought. It seemed impossible that anything in the nature of regret, or grief, or anxiety, or even boredom could ever again cloud her heart. She had reached the pinnacle of her desires. To know that Dane loved her meant absolute, unclouded happiness. He would go on loving her. Therefore she would go on being blissful and content. As in the fairy tales, they would be happy ever after. “I never knew that it was possible to be so happy!” sighed Teresa in her heart.
Chapter Nine.
The Gift of Creation.
Teresa entered the quiet house, cast a look at the drawing-room door, and realised with relief that her mother had retired to bed. Probably she would be awake, and would expect the returning daughter to enter her room in passing, and give a history of the evening’s adventures, but Teresa had no intention of doing anything of the sort. Pausing for a moment in the hall, she took off her slippers and crept noiselessly past the dreaded portals up to the third floor. To-morrow morning there would be reprisals, but she had news to tell which would speedily turn the tide. The flood of questions and curiosities which were bound to flow from the maternal lips would be intolerable to-night, nevertheless Teresa felt the need of speech. The relief, the joy, the triumph of the moment seemed more than she could endure alone. She needed someone to listen, not to talk, and Mary had been trained by long years of self-abnegation to fill that post.
Teresa entered her sister’s room and turned on the electric switch. Mary lay asleep, her face showing yellow against the whiteness of the pillow, her hair screwed together in a walnut-like knob at the top of her head. She stirred, opened listless eyes to stare at her sister, and automatically struggled to a sitting position.