The girl bent her proud head. "I did not know that you were a friend of General Bartholomew"s?"
"Nor I till to-day, Miss Meredyth."
"I don"t understand."
Hugh explained that he had not seen the General since he was a child, till the General had unearthed him at the Northborough Hotel that afternoon.
Joan frowned. Why had the General done that? Why had he, not three minutes ago, patted her on the shoulder, smiled on her, and told her to run down and wait for him in the drawing-room? Suddenly her face burned with a glowing colour. It seemed as if all the world were in league together against her. But this time this man was surely innocent. She had seen the look of astonishment on his face, and knew it for no acting.
"I came here yesterday," she said quietly, "in response to a warm invitation from the General, who was my father"s friend."
"My father"s too!"
"I--I wanted a home, a friend, and I accepted his invitation eagerly, but since you have come--"
"My presence makes this house impossible for you, of course," Hugh said, and his voice was bitter. "Listen to me, I may never have an opportunity of speaking to you again, Joan." He used her Christian name, scarcely realising that he did so.
"You feel bitterly towards me, and with reason. You have made up your mind that I have deliberately annoyed and insulted you. If you ask me to explain what I did and why I did it, I cannot do so. I have a reason.
One day, if I am permitted, I shall be glad to tell you everything. I came here to London like a fool, a senseless, egotistical fool, thinking I should be doing a fine thing, and could put everything right by asking you to become my wife in reality. I can see now what sort of a figure I made of myself, and how I must have appeared to you when I was bragging of my possessions. I suppose I lack a sense of humour, Joan, or there"s something wrong with me somewhere. Believe me, senseless and crude as it all was, my intentions were good. I only succeeded in sinking a little lower, if possible, in your estimation, and now I wish to ask your pardon for it."
"I am glad," she said quietly, "that you understand now--"
"I do, and I have felt shame for it. I shall feel better now that I have asked you to forgive. Joan," he went on pa.s.sionately, "listen! A fool is always hard to separate from his folly. But listen! That day when I saw you in the City, when I made my egregious proposal to you--just for a moment you were touched, something appealed to you. I do not know what it was--my folly, my immense conceit--for which perhaps you pitied me.
But it was something, for that one moment I saw you change. The hard look went from your face, a colour came into your cheeks, your eyes grew soft and tender--just for one moment--"
"What does all this--"
"Listen, listen! Let me speak! It may be my last chance. I tell you I saw you as I know you must be--the real woman, not the hard, the condemning judge that you have been to me. And as I saw you for that one moment, I have remembered you and pictured you in my thoughts; and seeing you in memory I have grown to love that woman I saw, to love her with all my heart and soul."
Love! It dawned on her, this man, who had made a sport of her name, was offering her love now! Love! she sickened at the very thought of it--the word had been profaned by Philip Slotman"s lips.
"I believe," she thought, "I believe that there is no such thing as love--as holy love, as true, good, sweet love! It is all selfish pa.s.sion and ugliness!"
"Just now, Mr. Alston"--her voice was cold and scornful, and it chilled him, as one is chilled by a drenching with cold water--"just now you said perhaps you lacked humour. I do not think it is that, I think you have a sense of humour somewhat perverted. Of course, you are only carrying this--this joke one step further--"
"Joan!"
"And as you drove me from Cornbridge Manor, I suppose you will now drive me from this house. Am I to find peace and refuge nowhere, nowhere?"
"If--if you could be generous!" he cried.
She flushed with anger. "You have called me ungenerous before! Am I always to be called ungenerous by you?"
"Forgive me!" His eyes were filled with pleading. He did not know himself, did not recognise the old, happy-go-lucky Hugh Alston, who had accepted many a hard knock from Fate with a smile and a jest.
"And so I am to be driven from this home, this refuge--by you?" she said bitterly. "Oh, have you no sense of manhood in you?"
"I think I have. You shall not be driven away. I, of course, am the one to go. Through me you left Cornbridge, you shall not have to leave this house. I promise you, swear to you, that I shall not darken these doors again. Is that enough? Does that content you?"
"Then I shall have at least something at last to thank you for," she said coldly. And yet, though she spoke coldly, she looked at him and saw something in his face that made her lip tremble. Yet in no other way did she betray her feelings, and he, like the man he was, was of course blind.
It was strange how long they had been left alone, uninterrupted. The strangeness of it did not occur to him, yet it did to her. She turned to the door.
"Joan, wait," he pleaded--"wait! One last word! One day I shall hope to explain to you, then perhaps you will find it in your heart to forgive.
For the blunder that I made in Slotman"s office, for the further insult, if you look on it as such, I ask you to forgive me now. It was the act of a senseless fool, a mad fool, who had done wrong and tried to do right, and through his folly made matters worse. To-night perhaps I have sinned more than ever before in telling you that I love you. But if that is a sin and past all forgiveness, I glory in it. I take not one word of it back. I shall trouble you no more, and so"--he paused--"so I say good-bye."
"Good-bye!" He held out his hand to her, but she looked him full in the face.
"Good-bye!" she said, and then turned quickly, and in a moment the door was closed between them.
He did not see her hurry away, her hands pressed against her breast. He did not see the face, all womanly and sweet, and soft and tender now. He had only the memory of her brief farewell, the memory of her cold, steady eyes--nothing else beside.
CHAPTER XIII
THE GENERAL CONFESSES
"My dear, my dear, life is short. I am an old man, and yet looking back it seems but yesterday since I was a boy beginning life. Climbing the hill, my dear, climbing the hill; and when the top was gained, when I stood there in my young manhood, I thought that the world belonged to me. And then the descent, so easy and so swift. The years seem long when one is climbing, but they are as weeks when the top is pa.s.sed and the descent into the valley begins." He paused. He pa.s.sed his hand across his forehead. "I meant to speak of something else, of you, child, of your life, of love and happiness, and of those things that should be dear to all us humans."
"I know nothing of love, and of happiness but very, very little," she said.
He took her hand and held it. "You shall know of both!" he promised.
"There is strife, there is ill-feeling between you and that lad, your husband."
She wrenched her hand free, her face flushed gloriously.
"You!" she cried. "You too !"
"Yes, I too! I sought him out yesterday, and asked him to this house on purpose that you and he should meet, praying that the meeting might bring peace to you both. I knew the lad"s father as I knew yours. Alicia Linden wrote to me and told me all about this unhappy marriage of yours.
She told me that she loved you both, that you were both good, that life might be made very happy for you two, but for this misunderstanding--"
"Don"t!--don"t. Oh, General Bartholomew, how can I make you understand?
It is untrue--I am not his wife! I have never been his wife. It was a lie! some foolish joke of his that he will not or cannot explain!"
He looked at her, blinking like one who suddenly finds himself in strong light after the twilight or darkness.
"Not--not married?"
"I never saw that man in my life before I met him at Lady Linden"s house, not two weeks ago. All that he has said about our marriage, his and mine, are foolish lies, something beyond my understanding!"
The General waved his hands helplessly.
"It is all extraordinary! Where can that foolish old woman have got hold of this story? What"s come to her? She used to be a very clear-minded--"
"It is not she, it is the man--the liar!" Joan cried bitterly. "I tell you I don"t understand the reason for it. I cannot understand, I don"t believe there is any reason. I believe that it is his idea of humour--I can"t even think that he wanted to annoy and shame and anger me as he has, because we were utter strangers."