“I don’t make you go—of course not!” he said irritably. “I intend to go myself. Did I not say so?”
“Nonsense,” she answered, quite rudely, in her extreme anguish. “That would be no good at all. Besides, do you suppose I should care to be here at all—unless you were?”
She uttered the crude fact recklessly, imperiously, contemptuously almost. Surely he must see; she had nothing to conceal from him now! She hid her face in her hands a moment after, and tried to leave the room, but Rivers caught her to him as she passed.
“Then, for God’s sake, don’t go!” he said, tearing her hands down from her face. With one quick look at him as he sat across the chair holding her body, she flung her arms round his neck, and returned his embrace with all the passion and abandonment of one doomed. Married to one man and beloved of another, she felt herself to be so. A look in Rivers’ eyes had warned her that Alastor’s asceticism was only skin deep; a mysterious, material rapport was established between them. She felt as if she had known him all her life.
“It is all right, then, if you care for me,” he said, in a matter-of-fact voice. “What do you suppose it was that Mr. Popham wanted to-day? He wanted to marry us, by way of looking after the morals of his parish!”
He laughed; he was gay. Even she had never dreamed that he could be so charming! She removed herself a few paces away from him, and stood, sobbing convulsively.
“Oh, forgive me, forgive me!” she repeated.
He became grave and stern in a moment, struck by the utter conviction in her tone.
“What for? Because you don’t care for me? Why should you? I have made a mistake, that’s all!”
He turned away impatiently, possessed for the moment by the mere surface irritation of the man who has been refused.