He bent over her, looking upon her downcast face, and still holding her hand; then he dropped it, and took a pace or two backwards.
‘It was a whim, nothing more,’ he said, sadly. ‘I wanted to see my little friend, to express good wishes—and to present her with this.’ He held forward a small morocco case, and showed her how to open it, disclosing a pretty locket, set with pearls. ‘It is intended as a wedding present,’ he continued. ‘To be returned to me again if you do not marry Jim this summer—it is to be this summer, I think?’
‘It was, sir,’ she said with agitation. ‘But it is so no longer. And, therefore, I cannot take this.’
‘What do you say?’
‘It was to have been to-day; but now it cannot be.’
‘The wedding to-day—Sunday?’ he cried.
‘We fixed Sunday not to hinder much time at this busy season of the year,’ replied she.
‘And have you, then, put it off—surely not?’
‘You sent for me, and I have come,’ she answered humbly, like an obedient familiar in the employ of some great enchanter. Indeed, the Baron’s power over this innocent girl was curiously like enchantment, or mesmeric influence. It was so masterful that the sexual element was almost eliminated. It was that of Prospero over the gentle Ariel. And yet it was probably only that of the cosmopolite over the recluse, of the experienced man over the simple maid.
‘You have come—on your wedding-day!—O Margery, this is a mistake. Of course, you should not have obeyed me, since, though I thought your wedding would be soon, I did not know it was to-day.’