He stretched out his arms as if to seize me then and there, and I shrank back, looking, I suppose, as I felt, frightened to death, for instantly his manner changed, his arms dropped to his side, and he cried in the gentlest, softest of tones:—
“Don’t be frightened of me! Don’t be frightened! Forgive me if I seem rough. Rough to you! Oh, my sweet, give me a chance to show what I could be! You have done enough caring for other people; now let me take care of you! Be my wife, Evelyn!”
It was all too painful and miserable, and—yes, too beautiful to put into words. I cried, and said, No! no! I was sorry, but I didn’t love him; I had never thought. There was no one else—oh, no; but it was hopeless all the same. I could never—never—Oh, indeed, I was not worth being miserable about. He must forget me. On Wednesday I was going away. He would find when I was not there that he would soon forget.
He looked at me with sad, stern eyes.
“That’s not true! You know it’s not true. I am not the sort to forget. And if there is no one else, why should I try? Evelyn, you don’t know me, if you think one ‘no’ will put me off. I said I would wait seven years, and I meant what I said. If you go away, I shall follow. What’s this nonsense of leaving no address? Do you imagine, if I choose to look for you, you can hide yourself from Me?”
He looked so big and masterful that for a moment I felt a qualm of doubt; then I comforted myself with the reflection that it would be impossible to discover what did not exist. For a period of time Evelyn Wastneys was about to disappear from the face of the earth. The spinster of the basement flat was about to take her place.
“I don’t love you! I don’t love you!” I repeated helplessly. “I have never once thought of you except as a—a rather cross, overbearing man who had taken a dislike to me at first sight. How can I turn round all in a moment and look upon you as a—a lover? And I have my friend and my work—and we have just taken our house. I don’t want to be married! I couldn’t be married even if I cared!”
“You are going to be married. You are going to marry me! What is this ‘work’ of which you talk? A woman’s work is to make a home, and to help a man to find his soul. Evelyn, do you imagine for one moment that I am going to let you go?”
He was himself again: self-confident, resolute, overbearing. I took refuge in silence, and argued no more.
“Have you enjoyed your drive?” Delphine asked. “Was Ralph civil? It was unfortunate that I had to leave you alone. Where did you buy your bonnet, Evelyn? I must get one like it for myself. Does your head ache, dear? You look quite pale.”