He rose to go. “Time will show whether it is an artificial feeling or not,” he said; and after bidding good-night and hearing the door close after him, he walked away towards Westbourne Grove. He had gone from her presence with a smile on his lips, but in the street it quickly vanished from his face, and breaking into a rapid walk and clenching his fists, he exclaimed, between his set teeth, “Curse the jade!”
It was not a sufficient relief to his feelings, and yet he seemed unable to think of any other expression more suitable to the occasion, for after going a little further, he repeated, “Curse the jade!”
Then he walked on slower and slower, and finally stopped, and turning towards Dawson Place, he repeated for the third time, “Curse the jade!”
CHAPTER VII
Fan saw no more company after that evening, for which she was not sorry; but that had been a red-letter day to her—not soon, perhaps never, to be forgotten.
Great as the human adaptiveness is at the age at which Fan then was, that loving-kindness of her mistress—of one so proud and beautiful above all women, and, to the girl's humble ideas, so rich “beyond the dreams of avarice”—retained its mysterious, almost incredible, character to her mind, and was a continual cause of wonder to her, and at times of ill-defined but anxious thought. For what had she—a poor, simple, ignorant useless girl—to keep the affection of such a one as Miss Starbrow? And as the days and weeks went by, that vague anxiety did not leave her; for the more she saw of her mistress, the less did she seem like one of a steadfast mind, whose feelings would always remain the same. She was touchy, passionate, variable in temper; and if her stormy periods were short-lived, she also had cold and sullen moods, which lasted long, and turned all her sweetness sour; and at such times Fan feared to approach her, but sat apart distressed and sorrowful. And yet, whatever her mood was, she never spoke sharply to Fan, or seemed to grow weary of her. And once, during one of those precious half-hours, when they sat together at the bedroom fire before dinner, when Miss Starbrow in a tender mood again drew the girl to her side and kissed her, Fan, even while her heart was overflowing with happiness, allowed something of the fear that was mixed with it to appear in her words.
“Oh, Mary, if I could do something for you!” she murmured. “But I can do nothing—I can only love you. I wish—I wish you would tell me what to do to—to keep your love!”
Miss Starbrow's face clouded. “Perhaps your heart is a prophetic one, Fan,” she said; “but you must not have those dismal forebodings, or if they will come, then pay as little heed to them as possible. Everything changes about us, and we change too—I suppose we can't help it. Let us try to believe that we will always love each other. Our food is not less grateful to us because it is possible that at some future day we shall have to go hungry. Oh, poor Fan, why should such thoughts trouble your young heart? Take the goods the gods give you, and do not repine because we are not angels in Heaven, with an eternity to enjoy ourselves in. I love you now, and find it sweet to love you, as I have never loved anyone of my own sex before. Women, as a rule, I detest. You can do, and are doing, more than you know for me.”