"Of course I know it"s all my fault!"
Hilda glanced up at his back; he was still not more than three feet away from her.
"How is it your fault?" she asked, after a pause.
He made another pause.
"The way I look at you," he said.
These apparently simple words made Hilda tremble, and deprived her of speech. They shifted the conversation to another plane. "The way I look at you! The way I look at you!" What did he mean? How did he look at her? She could not imagine what he was driving at! Yes, she could! She knew quite well. All the time, while pretending to herself not to understand, she understood. It was staggering, but she perfectly understood. He had looked at her "like that" on the very first day of their acquaintance, in his office at Turnhill, and again at the house in Lessways Street, and again in the newspaper office, and on other occasions, and again on the night of their arrival at Brighton. But surely not lately! Or did he look at her "like that" behind her back?
Was it possible that people noticed it?... Absurd! His explanation of the origin of the gossip did not convince her. She had, however, suddenly lost interest in the origin of the gossip. She was entirely occupied with George Cannon"s tone, and his calm, audacious reference to a phenomenon which had hitherto seemed to her to be far beyond the region of words.
She was frightened. She was like some one walking secure in the night, who is stopped by the sound of rushing water and stands with all his senses astrain, afraid to move a step farther, too absorbed and intimidated to be aware of astonishment. The point was not whether or not she had known or guessed the existence of this unseen and formidable river; the point was that she was thrillingly on its brink, in the dark.
Every instant she heard its swelling current plainer and plainer. She thought: "Am I lost? How strange that this awful and exquisite thing should happen to just me!" She was quite fatalistic.
He turned his head suddenly and caught her guilty eyes for an instant before she could lower them.
"You don"t mean to say you don"t know what I mean?" he said.
She still could not speak. Her trouble was acute, her self-consciousness far keener than it had ever been before. She thought: "But it"s impossible that this awful and exquisite thing should happen in this fashion!" George Cannon moved a step towards her. She could not see his face, but she knew that he was looking at her with his expression at once tyrannic and benevolent. She could feel, beating upon her, the emanating waves of his personality. And she was as confused as though she had been sitting naked in front of him.... And he had brought all this about by simply putting something into words--by saying: "It"s the way I look at you!"
He went on:
"I can"t help it, you know.... The very first minute I ever set eyes on you.... Of course I"m thirty-six. But there it is!... I"ve never seen any one like you; and I"ve seen a few! The fact is, Hilda, I do believe you don"t know how fine you are." He spoke more quickly and with boyish enthusiasm; his voice became wonderfully persuasive. "You are fine, you know! And you"re beautiful! I didn"t think so at first, but you are!
You"re being wasted. Why, a woman like you...! You"ve no idea. You"re so proud and stiff, when you want to be... I"d trust you with anything.
You"re absolutely the only woman I ever met that I"d trust like a man!
And that"s a fact.... Now, n.o.body could ever think as much of you as I do. I"m quite certain of it. It couldn"t be done. I _know_ you, you see!
I understand everything you do, and whatever you do, it"s just fine for me. You couldn"t be as happy with any one else! You couldn"t! I feel that in my bones.... Now--now, I must tell you something--"
The praise, the sympathy, the pa.s.sion were astounding, marvellous, and delicious to her. Was it conceivable that this experienced and worldly man had been captivated by such a mere girl as herself? She had never guessed it! Or had she always guessed it? An intense pride warmed her blood like a powerful cordial. Life was even grander than she had thought!... She drooped into an intoxication. Among all that he had said, he had not said that he was not stronger than she. He had not relinquished his authority. She felt it, sitting almost beneath him in the slippery chair. She knew that she would yield to him. She desired to yield to him. Her mind was full of sensuous images based on the abdication of her will in favour of his.
"Now, look here, Hilda. I want to tell you--"
He perhaps did not intend that she should look up; but she looked up.
And she was surprised to see that his face was full of troubled hesitations, showing almost dismay. He made the motion of swallowing.
She smiled; and set her shoulders back--the very gesture that she had learned from him.
"What?" she questioned, in a whisper.
Her brief mood of courage was over. She sank before him again, and waited with bowed head.
Profoundly disturbed, he stood quite still for a few seconds, with shut lips, and then he made another step to approach.
"Your name"s got to be Cannon," she heard him say.
She thought, still waiting: "If this goes on a moment longer I shall die of antic.i.p.ation, in bliss." And when she felt his hand on her shoulder, and the great shadow of him on part of her face, her body seemed to sigh, acquiescent and for the moment a.s.suaged: "This is a miracle, and life is miraculous!" She acknowledged that she had lacked faith in life.
She was now on the river, whirling. But at the same time she was in the small, hot room, and both George Cannon"s hands were on her unresisting shoulders; and then they were round her, and she felt his physical nearness, the texture of his coat and of his skin; she could see in a mist the separate hairs of his tremendous moustache and the colours swimming in his eyes; her nostrils expanded in transient alarm to a faint, exciting masculine odour. She was disconcerted, if not panic-struck, by the violence of his first kiss; but her consternation was delectable to her.
And amid her fright and her joy, and the wonder of her extreme surprise, and the preoccupation of being whirled down the river, she calmly reflected, somewhere in her brain: "The door is not locked. Supposing some one were to come in and see us!" And she reflected also, in an ecstasy of relief: "My life will be quite simple, now. I shall have nothing to worry about. And I can help him." For during a year past she had never ceased to ask herself what she must do to arrange her life; her conscience had never ceased to tell her that she ought not to be content to remain in the narrow ideas of her mother, and that though she preferred marriage she ought to act independently of the hope of it.
Throughout her long stay in Preston Street she had continually said: "After this--what? This cannot last for ever. When it comes to an end what am I to do to satisfy my conscience?" And she had thought vaguely of magnificent activities and purposes--she knew not what.... The problem existed no more. Her life was arranged. And now, far more sincerely than in the King"s Road twenty minutes earlier, she regarded the career of a spinster with horror and with scorn. At best, she suddenly perceived with blinding clearness, it would have been pitiful--pitiful! Twenty minutes earlier, in the King"s Road, she had dreamt of belonging absolutely to some man, of being at his disposal, of being under his might, of being helpless before him. And now!... Miracle thrice miraculous! Miracle unconceived, inconceivable!... No more "talk"
now!...
She told herself how admirable was the man. She a.s.sured herself that he was entirely admirable. She reminded herself that she had always deemed him admirable, that only twenty minutes earlier, in the King"s Road, when there was in her mind no dimmest, wildest notion of the real future, she had genuinely admired him. How clever, how tactful, how indomitable, how conquering, how generous, how kind he was! How kind to his half-sister! How forbearing with her! Indeed, she could not recall his faults. And he was inevitably destined to brilliant success. She would be the wife of a great and a wealthy man. And in her own secret ways she could influence him, and thus be greater than the great.
Love? It is an absolute fact that the name of "love" did not in the first eternal moments even occur to her. And when it did she gave it but little importance. She had to admit that she had not consciously thought of George Cannon with love--at any rate with love as she had imagined love to be. Indeed, her immediate experience would not fit any theory that she could formulate. But with the inexorable realism of her s.e.x she easily dismissed inconvenient names and theories, and accommodated herself to the fact. And the fact was that she overwhelmingly wanted George Cannon, and, as she now recognized, had wanted him ever since she first saw him. The recognition afforded her intense pleasure. She abandoned herself candidly to this luxury of an unknown desire. It was incomparably the most splendid and dangerous experience that she had ever had. She did not reason and she had no wish to reason. She was set above reason. Happy to the point of delicious pain, she yet yearned forward to a happiness far more excruciating. She was perfectly aware that her bliss would be torment until George Cannon had married her, until she had wholly surrendered to him.
Yet at intervals a voice said very clearly within her: "All this is wrong. This is base and shameful. This is something to blush for, really!" She did blush. But her blushes were a part of the delight. And the voice was not persistent. She could silence it with scarcely an effort, despite its clarity.
"Kiss me!" George Cannon demanded of her, with eager masterfulness.
The request shocked her for an instant, and the young girl in her was about to revolt. But she kissed him--an act which combined the sweetness of submission with the glory of triumph! She looked at him steadily, confident in herself and in him. She felt that he knew how to love. His emotion filled her with superb pride. She seemed to be saying to him in a doomed rapture: "Do you think I don"t know what I am doing? I know! I know!"
The current of the river was tremendous. She foresaw the probability of disaster. She was aware that she had definitely challenged the hazard of fate. But she was not terrified in the dark, swirling night of her destiny. She straightened her shoulders. With all her innocence and ignorance and impulsiveness and weakness, she had behind her the unique and priceless force of her youth. She was young, and she put her trust in life.
CHAPTER III FLORRIE AGAIN
I
As they were walking home along the King"s Road, Hilda suddenly stopped in front of a chemist"s shop. "I"ve got something to buy here," she said diffidently, and then added: "I"ll follow you."
"And what have you got to buy?" he asked, facing her, with his benevolent, ironical expression.
"Never mind!" she gently laughed. "I shan"t be many minutes after you."
She pretended to make a mystery. But her sole purpose was to avoid re-entering the house in his company; and she knew that he had divined this. Nevertheless, she found pleasure in the perfectly futile pretence of a mysterious purchase.
She was very self-conscious as they stood there on the dusty footpath amid the promenaders gay and gloomy, chattering and silent, who were taking the sun and the salt breeze. Despite her reason, she had a fear that numbers of people would perceive her to be newly affianced and remark upon the contrast between her girlishness and his maturity. But George Cannon was not in the slightest degree self-conscious. He played the lover with ease and said quite simply and convincingly just the things which she would have expected a lover to say. Indeed, the conversation, as carried on by him, between the moment of betrothal and the arrival at the chemist"s shop, was the one phenomenon of the engagement which corresponded with her preconceived ideas concerning such an affair. It convinced her that she really was affianced.
"Well?" he murmured fondly and yet quizzically, as they remained wordless, deliciously hesitating to part. "What are you thinking about?"
She replied with brave candour, appealing to him by a soft glance:
"I was only thinking how queer it is I should be engaged in a room I"d never seen before in my life--going into it like that!"
He looked at her uncomprehending; for an instant his features were blank; then he smiled kindly.
"It"s so strange!" she encouraged him.
"Yes. Isn"t it?" he agreed, with charming, tranquil politeness.
"He doesn"t see it!" she thought, as she watched the play of his face.
"He doesn"t see how wonderful it is that I should go into a room that was absolutely unknown to me and then this should happen at once. Why! I never knew there was such a room!" She could not define how she was affected by this fact, but she regarded the fact as tremendously romantic, and its effect on her was profound. And George saw in it no significance! She was disconcerted. She felt a tremor; it was as though the entire King"s Road had quivered for a fraction of a second and then, feigning nonchalance, resumed its moveless solidity.
Inside the chemist"s she demanded the first thing she set eyes on--a tooth-brush. All the while she was examining various shapes of toothbrushes, she had a vision of George raising his hat to take leave of her, and she could see not only the curve of his hand and the whiteness of his cuff, but also the millions of tiny marks and creases on the coa.r.s.e skin of his face, extraordinarily different from her own smooth, pure, delicate, silky complexion. And she remembered that less than three years ago she had regarded him as of another generation, as indefinitely older and infinitely more experienced than her childish and simple self. This reflection produced in her a consternation which was curiously blissful.