And on each side of us was the nicest set imaginable--you know, dearest, the sort of men and women that can"t be imitated.
AUBREY.
Yes, yes. Eat some more fruit.
PAULA.
But I haven"t told you the best part of my dream.
AUBREY.
Tell me.
PAULA.
Well, although we had been married only such a few years, I seemed to know by the look on their faces that none of our guests had ever heard anything--anything--anything peculiar about the fascinating hostess.
AUBREY.
That"s just how it will be, Paula. The world moves so quickly.
That"s just how it will be.
PAULA.
[_With a little grimace._] I wonder! [_Glancing at the fire._] Ugh!
do throw another log on.
AUBREY.
[_Mending the fire._] There. But you mustn"t be here long.
PAULA.
Hospitable wretch! I"ve something important to tell you. No, stay where you are. [_Turning from him, her face averted._] Look here, that was my dream, Aubrey; but the fire went out while I was dozing, and I woke up with a regular fit of the shivers. And the result of it all was that I ran upstairs and scribbled you a letter.
AUBREY.
Dear baby!
PAULA.
Remain where you are. [_Taking a letter from her pocket._] This is it. I"ve given you an account of myself, furnished you with a list of my adventures since I--you know. [_Weighing the letter in her hand._] I wonder if it would go for a penny. Most of it you"re acquainted with; _I"ve_ told you a good deal, haven"t I?
AUBREY.
Oh, Paula!
PAULA.
What I haven"t told you I daresay you"ve heard from others. But in case they"ve omitted anything--the dears--it"s all here.
AUBREY.
In Heaven"s name, why must you talk like this to-night?
PAULA.
It may save discussion by-and-by, don"t you think? [_Holding out the letter._] There you are.
AUBREY.
No, dear, no.
PAULA.
Take it. [_He takes the letter._] Read it through after I"ve gone, and then--read it again, and turn the matter over in your mind finally. And if, even at the very last moment, you feel you--oughtn"t to go to church with me, send a messenger to Pont Street, any time before eleven to-morrow, telling me that you"re afraid, and I--I"ll take the blow.
AUBREY.
Why, what--what do you think I am?
PAULA.
That"s it. It"s because I know you"re such a dear good fellow that I want to save you the chance of ever feeling sorry you married me. I really love you so much, Aubrey, that to save you that I"d rather you treated me as--as the others have done.
AUBREY.
[_Turning from her with a cry._] Oh!
PAULA.
[_After a slight pause._] I suppose I"ve shocked you. I can"t help it if I have.
[_She sits, with a.s.sumed languor and indifference. He turns to her, advances, and kneels by her._
AUBREY.
My dearest, you don"t understand me. I--I can"t bear to hear you always talking about--what"s done with. I tell you I"ll never remember it; Paula, can"t you dismiss it? Try. Darling, if we promise each other to forget, to forget, we"re bound to be happy.
After all, it"s a mechanical matter; the moment a wretched thought enters your head, you quickly think of something bright--it depends on one"s will. Shall I burn this, dear? [_Referring to the letter he holds in his hand._] Let me, let me!
PAULA.
[_With a shrug of the shoulders._] I don"t suppose there"s much that"s new to you in it--just as you like.
[_He goes to the fire and burns the letter._
AUBREY.