[_She seats herself in the chair by the fauteuil-stool and motions him to sit by her. He does so._
OTTOLINE.
Yes, they were true; but they are true of me no longer. I am greatly changed, Philip.
PHILIP.
[_Eyeing her._] You are more beautiful than ever.
OTTOLINE.
H"sh!--changed in my character, disposition, view of things. Life has gone sadly with me since we parted.
PHILIP.
Indeed? I--I"m grieved.
OTTOLINE.
My marriage was an utter failure. You heard?
PHILIP.
[_Shaking his head._] No.
OTTOLINE.
No? [_Smiling faintly._] I thought _everybody_ hears when a marriage is a failure. [_Mournfully._] The fact remains; it was a terrible mistake.
Poor Lucien! I don"t blame him for my nine years of unhappiness. I engaged myself to him in a hurry--out of pique----
PHILIP.
Pique?
OTTOLINE.
Within a few hours of that fatal visit of mine to your lodgings.
[_Looking at him significantly._] It was _that_ that drove me to it.
PHILIP.
[_Staring at her._] _That----!_
OTTOLINE.
[_Simply._] Yes, Phil.
PHILIP.
Otto!
OTTOLINE.
[_Plucking at the arm of her chair._] You see--you see, notwithstanding the vulgarity of my mind, I had a deep respect for you. Even then there were wholesome signs in me! [_Shrugging her shoulders plaintively._]
Whether I should have ended by obeying my better instincts, and accepting you, I can"t say. I believe I should. I--I believe I should.
At any rate, I had already begun to chafe under the consciousness that, while you loved me, you had no esteem for me.
PHILIP.
[_Remorsefully._] My dear!
OTTOLINE.
[_Raising her head._] That scene between us in the Rue Soufflot set my blood on fire. To have a request refused me was sufficiently mortifying; but to be whipped, scourged, scarified, into the bargain--! I flew down your stairs after I left you, and drove home, scorching with indignation; and next morning I sent for Lucien--a blind adorer!--and promised to be his wife. [_Leaning back._] _Comprenez-vous, maintenant?_ Solely to hurt _you_; to hurt you, the one man among my acquaintances whom I--admired!
[_She searches for her handkerchief. He rises and goes to the mantelpiece and stares at the flowers in the grate._
PHILIP.
[_Almost inaudibly._] Oh, Otto!
OTTOLINE.
[_Wiping a tear from her cheek._] Heigh, dear me! Whenever I go over the past, and that"s not seldom, I can"t help thinking you might have been a little gentler with me--a girl of three-and-twenty--and have made allowances. [_Blowing her nose._] What was Dad before he went out to Buenos Aires with his wife and children; only a junior partner in a small concern in the City! Wasn"t it natural that, when he came back to Europe, prosperous but a n.o.body, he should be eager to elbow himself into a respectable social position, and that his belongings should have caught the fever?
PHILIP.
[_Wretchedly._] Yes--yes----
OTTOLINE.
[_Rising and wandering to the writing-table._] First we descended upon Paris--you know; but Paris didn"t respond very satisfactorily. Plenty of smart men flocked round us--_la belle Mademoiselle Filson_ drew _them_ to the Avenue Montaigne!----
PHILIP.
[_Under his breath, turning._] T"scht!
OTTOLINE.
But the women were either hopelessly _bourgeoises_ or slightly _decla.s.see_. [_Inspecting some of the pieces of bric-a-brac upon the table._] Which decided us to attack London--and induced me to pay my call on you in the Rue Soufflot----
PHILIP.
I understand.
OTTOLINE.
To coax you to herald us in your weekly _causeries_. [_Wincing._]
Horrible of me, _that_ was; horrible, horrible, horrible! [_Replacing an object upon the table and moving to the other side of the room._]