And she told him. Her mother had not always kept a boarding-house. While her father was alive they were fairly well off; she lived a happy life in the country as a young girl. Then they came to London. She hated it, but it was necessary for her father’s business. Then her father died, and left nothing.
“So did my father,” said George under his breath.
She touched his hand in sympathy.
“I was afraid that was it.... Well, mother tried keeping a boarding-house. She couldn’t do it by herself. I had to help. That was just before I met you here.... Oh, if you could know how I hated it. The horrible people. It started with two boarders. Then there was one—because I smacked the other one’s face. Mother said that wouldn’t do. Well, of course, it wouldn’t. I tried taking no notice of them. Well, that wouldn’t do either. I had to put up with it; that was my life.... I used to pretend I was on the stage and playing the part of a landlady’s vulgar daughter. You know what I mean; you often see it on the stage. That made it easier—it was really rather fun sometimes. I suppose I overplayed the part—made it more common than it need have been—it’s easy to do that. By-and-by it began to come natural; perhaps I am like that really. We weren’t anybody particular even when father was alive. Then you came—I saw you were different from the rest. I knew you despised me—quite right too. But you really seemed to hate me, I never quite knew why. I hadn’t done you any harm. It made me hate you too.... It made me want to be specially vulgar and common when you were there, just to show you I didn’t mind what you thought about me.... You were so superior.
“I got away in the country sometimes. I just loved that. I think I was really living for it all the time.... I always called myself Rosamund in the country.... I hate men—why are they such beasts to us always?”
“They are beasts,” said George, giving his sex away cheerfully. But he was not thinking of Traill and the Fossetts; he was thinking of himself. “It’s very strange,” he went on; “all the time I thought that the others were just what they seemed to be, and that I alone had a private life of my own which I hid from everybody. And all the time you.... Perhaps Traill is really somebody else sometimes. Even Ransom has his secret—his mother.... What a horrible prig I’ve been!”
“No, no! Oh, but you were!”
“And a coward. I never even tried.... I might have made things much easier for you.”
“You’re not a coward.”
“Yes, I am. I’ve just funked life. It’s too much for me, I’ve said, and I’ve crept into my shell and let it pass over my head.... And I’m still a coward. I can’t face it by myself. Rosamund, will you marry me and help me to be braver?”