her husband's note had briefly said:
"to-day at four o'clock. n.l."all day she pored over the words in an agony of longing, tryingto read into them regret, emotion, memories, some echo of thetumult in her own bosom. but she had signed "susy," and hesigned "n.l." that seemed to put an abyss between them. afterall, she was free and he was not. perhaps, in view of hissituation, she had only increased the distance between them byher unconventional request for a meeting.
she sat in the little drawing-room, and the cast-bronze clockticked out the minutes. she would not look out of the window:
it might bring bad luck to watch for him. and it seemed to herthat a thousand invisible spirits, hidden demons of good andevil, pressed about her, spying out her thoughts, counting herheart-beats, ready to pounce upon the least symptom of over-confidence and turn it deftly to derision. oh, for an altar onwhich to pour out propitiatory offerings! but what sweetercould they have than her smothered heart-beats, her choked-backtears?
the bell rang, and she stood up as if a spring had jerked her toher feet. in the mirror between the dried grasses her facelooked long pale inanimate. ah, if he should find her toochanged--! if there were but time to dash upstairs and put on atouch of red ....
the door opened; it shut on him; he was there.
he said: "you wanted to see me?"she answered: "yes." and her heart seemed to stop beating.
at first she could not make out what mysterious change had comeover him, and why it was that in looking at him she seemed to belooking at a stranger; then she perceived that his voice soundedas it used to sound when he was talking to other people; and shesaid to herself, with a sick shiver of understanding, that shehad become an "other person" to him.
there was a deathly pause; then she faltered out, not knowingwhat she said: "nick--you'll sit down?"he said: "thanks," but did not seem to have heard her, for hecontinued to stand motionless, half the room between them. andslowly the uselessness, the hopelessness of his being thereovercame her. a wall of granite seemed to have built itself upbetween them. she felt as if it hid her from him, as if withthose remote new eyes of his he were staring into the wall andnot at her. suddenly she said to herself: "he's suffering morethan i am, because he pities me, and is afraid to tell me thathe is going to be married."the thought stung her pride, and she lifted her head and met hiseyes with a smile.
"don't you think," she said, "it's more sensible-witheverything so changed in our lives--that we should meet asfriends, in this way? i wanted to tell you that you needn'tfeel--feel in the least unhappy about me."a deep flush rose to his forehead. "oh, i know--i know that--"he declared hastily; and added, with a factitious animation:
"but thank you for telling me.""there's nothing, is there," she continued, "to make our meetingin this way in the least embarrassing or painful to either ofus, when both have found ...." she broke off, and held her handout to him. "i've heard about you and coral," she ended.
he just touched her hand with cold fingers, and let it drop.
"thank you," he said for the third time.
"you won't sit down?"he sat down.
"don't you think," she continued, "that the new way of ... ofmeeting as friends ... and talking things over without ill-will ... is much pleasanter and more sensible, after all?"he smiled. "it's immensely kind of you to feel that.""oh, i do feel it!" she stopped short, and wondered what onearth she had meant to say next, and why she had so abruptlylost the thread of her discourse.
in the pause she heard him cough slightly and clear his throat.
"let me say, then," he began, "that i'm glad too--immensely gladthat your own future is so satisfactorily settled."she lifted her glance again to his walled face, in which not amuscle stirred.
"yes: it--it makes everything easier for you, doesn't it?""for you too, i hope." he paused, and then went on: "i wantalso to tell you that i perfectly understand--""oh," she interrupted, "so do i; your point of view, i mean."they were again silent.
"nick, why can't we be friends real friends? won't it beeasier?" she broke out at last with twitching lips.
"easier--?""i mean, about talking things over--arrangements. there arearrangements to be made, i suppose?""i suppose so." he hesitated. "i'm doing what i'm told-simplyfollowing out instructions. the business is easy enough,apparently. i'm taking the necessary steps--"she reddened a little, and drew a gasping breath. "thenecessary steps: what are they? everything the lawyers tellone is so confusing .... i don't yet understand--how it'sdone.""my share, you mean? oh, it's very simple." he paused, andadded in a tone of laboured ease: "i'm going down tofontainebleau to-morrow--"she stared, not understanding. "to fontainebleau--?"her bewilderment drew from him his first frank smile. "well--i chose fontainebleau--i don't know why ... except that we'venever been there together."at that she suddenly understood, and the blood rushed to herforehead. she stood up without knowing what she was doing, herheart in her throat. "how grotesque--how utterly disgusting!"he gave a slight shrug. "i didn't make the laws ....""but isn't it too stupid and degrading that such things shouldbe necessary when two people want to part--?" she broke offagain, silenced by the echo of that fatal "want to part." ...
he seemed to prefer not to dwell farther on the legalobligations involved.
"you haven't yet told me," he suggested, "how you happen to beliving here.""here--with the fulmer children?" she roused herself, trying tocatch his easier note. "oh, i've simply been governessing themfor a few weeks, while nat and grace are in sicily." she didnot say: "it's because i've parted with strefford." somehow ithelped her wounded pride a little to keep from him the secret ofher precarious independence.
he looked his wonder. "all alone with that bewildered bonne?
but how many of them are there? five? good lord!" hecontemplated the clock with unseeing eyes, and then turned themagain on her face.
"i should have thought a lot of children would rather get onyour nerves.""oh, not these children. they're so good to me.""ah, well, i suppose it won't be for long."he sent his eyes again about the room, which his absent-mindedgaze seemed to reduce to its dismal constituent elements, andadded, with an obvious effort at small talk: "i hear thefulmers are not hitting it off very well since his success. isit true that he's going to marry violet melrose?"the blood rose to susy's face. "oh, never, never! he and graceare travelling together now.""oh, i didn't know. people say things ...." he was visiblyembarrassed with the subject, and sorry that he had broached it.
"some of the things that people say are true. but grace doesn'tmind. she says she and nat belong to each other. they can'thelp it, she thinks, after having been through such a lottogether.""dear old grace!"he had risen from his chair, and this time she made no effort todetain him. he seemed to have recovered his self-composure, andit struck her painfully, humiliatingly almost, that he shouldhave spoken in that light way of the expedition to fontainebleauon the morrow .... well, men were different, she supposed; sheremembered having felt that once before about nick.
it was on the tip of her tongue to cry out: "but wait--wait!
i'm not going to marry strefford after all!"--but to do so wouldseem like an appeal to his compassion, to his indulgence; andthat was not what she wanted. she could never forget that hehad left her because he had not been able to forgive her for"managing"--and not for the world would she have him think thatthis meeting had been planned for such a purpose.
"if he doesn't see that i am different, in spite ofappearances ... and that i never was what he said i was thatday--if in all these months it hasn't come over him, what's theuse of trying to make him see it now?" she mused. and then, herthoughts hurrying on: "perhaps he's suffering too--i believe heis suffering-at any rate, he's suffering for me, if not forhimself. but if he's pledged to coral, what can he do? whatwould he think of me if i tried to make him break his word toher?"there he stood--the man who was "going to fontainebleau to-morrow"; who called it "taking the necessary steps!" who couldsmile as he made the careless statement! a world seemed todivide them already: it was as if their parting were alreadyover. all the words, cries, arguments beating loud wings in herdropped back into silence. the only thought left was: "howmuch longer does he mean to go on standing there?"he may have read the question in her face, for turning back froman absorbed contemplation of the window curtains he said:
"there's nothing else?""nothing else?""i mean: you spoke of things to be settled--"she flushed, suddenly remembering the pretext she had used tosummon him.
"oh," she faltered, "i didn't know ... i thought there mightbe .... but the lawyers, i suppose ...."she saw the relief on his contracted face. "exactly. i'vealways thought it was best to leave it to them. i assure you"--again for a moment the smile strained his lips-- "i shall donothing to interfere with a quick settlement."she stood motionless, feeling herself turn to stone. heappeared already a long way off, like a figure vanishing down aremote perspective.
"then--good-bye," she heard him say from its farther end.
"oh,--good-bye," she faltered, as if she had not had the wordready, and was relieved to have him supply it.
he stopped again on the threshold, looked back at her, began tospeak. "i've--" he said; then he repeated "good-bye," as thoughto make sure he had not forgotten to say it; and the door closedon him.
it was over; she had had her last chance and missed it. now,whatever happened, the one thing she had lived and longed forwould never be. he had come, and she had let him go again ....
how had it come about? would she ever be able to explain it toherself? how was it that she, so fertile in strategy, sopracticed in feminine arts, had stood there before him,helpless, inarticulate, like a school-girl a-choke with herfirst love-longing? if he was gone, and gone never to return,it was her own fault, and none but hers. what had she done tomove him, detain him, make his heart beat and his head swim ashers were beating and swimming? she stood aghast at her owninadequacy, her stony inexpressiveness ....
and suddenly she lifted her hands to her throbbing forehead andcried out: "but this is love! this must be love!"she had loved him before, she supposed; for what else was she tocall the impulse that had drawn her to him, taught her how toovercome his scruples, and whirled him away with her on theirmad adventure? well, if that was love, this was something somuch larger and deeper that the other feeling seemed the meredancing of her blood in tune with his ....
but, no! real love, great love, the love that poets sang, andprivileged and tortured beings lived and died of, that love hadits own superior expressiveness, and the sure command of itsmeans. the petty arts of coquetry were no farther from it thanthe numbness of the untaught girl. great love was wise, strong,powerful, like genius, like any other dominant form of humanpower. it knew itself, and what it wanted, and how to attainits ends.
not great love, then ... but just the common humble average ofhuman love was hers. and it had come to her so newly, sooverwhelmingly, with a face so grave, a touch so startling, thatshe had stood there petrified, humbled at the first look of itseyes, recognizing that what she had once taken for love wasmerely pleasure and spring-time, and the flavour of youth.
"but how was i to know? and now it's too late!" she wailed.
