"It wouldn't be allowed. She's a woman. Women's claims are not allowed in law-courts. It's heads Law wins, tails they lose.... Yes!—I should stoop to take advantage of it in this case."
"Perhaps you would be right, this once. We must hope it will pass."
"I do hope it—with most of my heart. Do you believe me? Can you believe me, in the face of what I have said to you?" For Challis knew quite well that this profession of a hope was only what he knew he would be able to say when the soul-brush stopped, and that he said it now mechanically. Wait till he was off Calypso's island!
Judith left his question unanswered; put it aside, rather. "I suppose you know it's all settled about Frank and Sibyl?" she said. Oh yes—Challis knew. When would it be? As soon after Christmas as possible, Judith supposed. An interruption—Cintilla with a letter—was not unwelcome. But she needn't light up; when Mr. Challis was gone would do. "That was a broad hint, Scroop," said Calypso, lying back in her chair with the unopened letter in that destructive hand fallen idly on her lap.
But in a few moments, when he took the hint and made a move towards departure, she rose. And if the truth must be told, she went quite as near a good stretch and a shake as such high breeding as hers could allow itself. It did not matter; her grace and beauty, perhaps her dressmaker, negatived the action. That bodice was perfect in cut. "You know, Scroop, that this is good-bye?" she said. And then in reply to his assent: "We won't be mawkish over it, please! I want you to make me a promise, and keep it.... Well, yes!—I'll tell you what it is. It would hardly be fair to make you promise in the dark. Promise not to come to Biarritz!" Challis hesitated, but promised. Judith laughed. "I was right, you see," she said. "You would have asked about trains at Cook's to-morrow."
There they stood, in the half-dark! Was Calypso saying to herself: "Now, can I trust this man to break his promise?" Was Challis asking himself, did she mean him to keep it?
In the end she spoke first, with a sudden movement that implied an end to disguise. "Oh, dear, how silly one is! Why should we not speak plain? After all, we are alive, and grown up." Yet it seemed difficult, too, and came with an effort. "Listen to me, Scroop, and don't try to say things—because it does no good. You and I have to say good-bye, and mean it. We are best apart, for both our sakes. You as good as said but now that you would forget me if Marianne would help. That is what it came to; don't deny it!" Challis felt that his attempt to lay his soul bare had failed; that he was being misinterpreted. But he had a poor case; silence was safest. She continued: "It is not as if I were prepared to quarrel with my family for your sake. I certainly would not for anyone else's, if that is any satisfaction to you. But suppose I were, have you asked yourself what course would be open to us?... Oh yes!—I am talking like a lawyer; but a woman has to be practical when her life is at stake.... Well!—what could you do? Ignore your marriage, under the false warranty of a law we both disallow, and make a sort of Gretna Green business of it next spring?..."
"Why next spring? I don't see how the time comes in."
"Foolish man! You haven't thought the matter out. Just think of it now. Suppose that Bill were to pass next session—or next whatever it is—while we are arranging this escapade? ... what would you do then, please?"