“love the gift, is love the debt.”
“like bitter accusation, even to death,
caught up the whole of love, and uttered it.”
mrs. jackson-croly’s party had reached its climax of success.
“the supper’s put great heart into them,” little dr. kelly remarked confidentially to willy, as he passed us, leading a stout elderly matron forth to the dance. the chaperons, with but few exceptions, had abandoned the hard chairs and narrow sofas on which they had hitherto huddled in chilly discomfort, and were,{19} again to quote dr. kelly, “footing it with the best of them.”
mrs. croly herself was playing “sweethearts,” and by way, as i suppose, of receiving this favour with proper enthusiasm, the guests, as they danced, sang the words of the refrain—
“oh, lo—ove for a year,
a we—eek, a day,”
as often as it recurred, mrs. croly from the piano lending her powerful aid to swell the chorus. madam o’neill was sitting alone upon her sofa, and had closed her eyes during this later development of the entertainment, whether in real or simulated slumber i did not know; but an expressive glance from connie, whom, to my surprise, i saw circling in the arms of our host, told me that the latter was more probably the case. the o’neill i had lately espied sitting in an armchair on the landing of the stairs{20} with a very pretty young lady, the instructress of the younger misses jackson-croly. he, at all events, was enjoying himself, and as far as he was concerned i felt none of the qualms of conscience at the lateness of the hour which assailed me at sight of my chaperon’s tired face.
willy had not spoken since we had begun to dance, but i thought it best to behave as if nothing were the matter.
“this is the most amusing dance i ever was at in my life,” i said, in the first pause that we made.
“i don’t see much difference between it and any other.”
“i do not mean to say that i have not enjoyed myself,” i said, anxious to avoid any semblance of superiority, “but you must admit that one does not usually meet people who are able to sing and dance a waltz at the same time.{21}”
at this point there came a sudden thud on the floor, followed by a slight commotion.
“hullo! croly’s let connie down!” exclaimed willy, forgetting for an instant his offended dignity.
i was just in time to catch between the dancers a glimpse of connie struggling, hot and angry, to her feet, while her partner lay prone on his back on the floor. the catastrophe had taken place just in front of madam o’neill, whose eyes, now wide open, were bent in a gaze of petrified indignation on mr. jackson-croly. nugent had not been dancing, and, on seeing connie fall, had gone round to pick her up, and now made his way towards me.
“did you see them come down?” he said. “croly hung on to connie like a drowning man to a straw, and connie, not being exactly a straw, nearly drove his head into the floor. she won’t speak to{22} him now, which is rather hard luck, considering she all but killed him. was i not right in advising you to stay on till the end?”
exceeding laughter had deprived me of all power of speech, but, in any case, willy did not give me time to reply.
“come out of this,” he said roughly; “i’m sick of it.” he gave me his arm as he spoke, and elbowed his way past nugent out of the room. he walked without speaking through the hall towards the conservatory, but stopped short at the door. “it’s full of people in there. croly’s study’s the only place where you’ve a chance of being let alone,” he said, turning down a passage, and leading the way into a dreary little room, lighted by a smoky paraffin-lamp, and pervaded by the odour of whiskey. on the inky table, two or three tumblers with spoons in them, and a bottle{23} and decanter, were standing in shining patches of spilt whiskey and water. a few office chairs were drawn up in front of the remains of a smouldering turf fire. long files of bills hung beside an old coat on some pegs, and mr. croly’s cloth slippers showed modestly from under a small horse-hair sofa. a more untempting place to sit in could not well be imagined; but willy did not seem to notice its discomforts. he sat down on one of the chairs, and began aimlessly to poke the fire; while i, gingerly drawing my skirts together, established myself on the sofa.
“i can’t say i think this is an improvement on the conservatory,” i said at length, seeing that willy did not seem inclined to talk. “when did you discover it?”
he threw down the poker, and, standing up, began to examine a specimen of ore that lay on the chimney-piece.{24}
“if you want to know particularly,” he said, in a hard and would-be indifferent voice, “i came and sat in here by myself while those extras were going on.”
“that wasn’t a very cheerful thing to do.”
“well, i didn’t feel very cheerful,” he answered, still with his back to me, and beginning to scrape the marble mantelshelf with the piece of ore which he held in his hand.
“some one appears to have found a certain solace here,” i said, looking at the whiskey and water. “i am sure poor mr. croly has crept in from time to time, and put on his old coat and slippers, and tried to forget that there was a dance going on in his house.”
no answer from willy.
“then perhaps it was you,” i continued, with ill-assumed levity. “i am sorry to{25} think that you have taken to such evil courses.”
he went on hammering at the chimney-piece without replying.
“it’s very rude of you not to answer; and you are ruining mr. croly’s mantelpiece.”
he put down the piece of ore suddenly, and, leaving the fireplace, came and stood over me.
“theo!” he said, in a breathless sort of way, and stopped. i looked up at him with quick alarm, and saw that he was trying to get mastery enough over himself to speak. “don’t look at me like that,” he said, almost in a whisper. “i’m nearly mad as it is. i can’t bear it any longer; i must say it.”
“don’t, willy,” i said; “please don’t. it would be better for us both if you didn’t.{26}”
“i don’t care,” he said, kneeling down beside me, and taking hold of both my hands. “you’ve got to listen to me now. you needn’t think that i don’t know i haven’t a chance. i’ve seen that plain enough to-night, if i didn’t know it before. oh, i know, theo; i know very well,” he ended brokenly.
i could find nothing to say. i liked him so much that i could not bring myself to frame the bitter truth which he would have to hear. i suppose my silence encouraged him, for in the same breathless, abrupt way he went on.
“i know i’m an ignorant brute; but if you would only just try me. oh, theo, if you could only know! i’m such a fool i can’t get hold of the right words to tell you, but you might believe me all the same. indeed i do love you—i love you,” he repeated, with a sort of sob, gathering{27} both my hands into one of his and kissing them passionately.
“willy,” i said despairingly, trying to free my hands from his grasp, “you must stop; you make me miserable. i can’t bear to hear you talk like that. you know how much i like you and respect you, and everything. i am fonder of you than any one i know almost, but not in that way.”
“but if you were fond of me at all, i wouldn’t mind how little you liked me at first, if you’d let me care for you. maybe, it would come to you afterwards; and you know the governor would like it awfully,” said the poor boy, lifting his white face, and gazing at me with desperate eyes.
“it’s no use, willy; i can’t let you say any more about it. i’m not worth your caring for me like that,” i said unsteadily.
his hands relaxed their grasp, and, drawing mine away, i stood up. he got{28} up also, and stood facing me in the smoky light of the lamp. he leaned his hand on the table beside him, and a little ringing of the spoons and glasses told me how it trembled. when he next spoke, however, his voice was firmer.
“that’s no answer. you’re worth more to me than everything in the world. if it was only that”—with a shaky laugh—“but i know that’s not your reason. look here—will you tell me one thing?”—coming closer, and staring hard at me. “is it another fellow? is it—is it nugent?”
“it is nothing of the kind,” i said angrily, but at the same time flushing hotly under his scrutiny. “you have no right to say such things. if i had never seen him, i should feel just the same towards you.”
i turned to take my bouquet from the sofa with the intention of leaving the{29} room, but before i could do so, willy snatched it up, and, taking a stride forward, he flung the flowers into the fire, and crushed them with his foot into the burning embers.
“how dare you, willy!” i said, thoroughly roused. “what right had you to do that?”
“and what right have you to say you don’t care for him, when you carry his cursed flowers in your hand? i see how the land lies well enough. i’ve been made a fool of all through!”
“you have not been made a fool of,” i said, with equal energy. “it is cruel of you to say that.”
“cruel? it comes well from you to say that! i dare say you think it doesn’t matter much; but maybe some day, when i’ve gone to the devil, you’ll be sorry.”
he walked to the door, as if to go.{30}
“i am sorry, willy,” i said, the tears rushing to my eyes. “don’t go away like that. oh, why did i ever come to durrus?”
he stood irresolute for a moment, with the handle of the door in his hand, looking at me as if in a daze. then, with an inarticulate exclamation, he came back to where i was standing, and, before i had time to stop him, took me in his arms. i was too much unstrung and exhausted by what had gone before to resist, and i stood in a kind of horror of passive endurance while he kissed me over and over again. he let me go at last.
“it’s no use,” he said, in a choked voice, which sounded almost like a groan; “it’s no use. my god! i can’t bear it!” his eye fell on the bunch of violets in my dress. “give them to me,” he said.
i silently took out of my dress the bunch{31} he had given me, and handed them, all limp and faded, to him. he took them without looking at me, and, turning his back to me, walked to the chimney-piece. he leaned both his arms upon the narrow shelf, and laid his head upon them.
when i left the room, he was still standing motionless in the same position.
