The Lady of the Basement Flat Part 21

"You would like that?"

I gave him a withering glance.

"Pray what makes you think so?"

"You like your own way, don't you? I--er--I have received that impression."

"I was about to add," I said coldly, "that, since I have lived at 'Pastimes,' I have not had my own way at all. I have not wanted it.

Mrs Fane's character is stronger than mine. I have been content to abdicate in her favour. If you asked her opinion of me, she would probably tell you that I was too pliable--too easily influenced."

Silence. The blunt, roughly-hewn profile stared stolidly ahead. A granite wall would have shown as much expression. I was seized with an immense, a devastating curiosity to discover what he was thinking. I fixed my eyes steadily upon him, mentally willing him to turn round.

He knew I was doing it. I could see the red rise above his collar rim, and mount steadily to his ears.

He was determined that he would not speak. I was equally determined that he should.

"Mr Maplestone! I am waiting for a remark."

"Miss Wastneys, I--er--I have no remark to make."

"You don't recognise me in the latter _role_?"

"I--er--I can't say that I do! On the few occasions on which we have met, you have appeared to me to be abundantly--er--to be, in short, the ruling spirit."

I thought of that first interview in the inn when the brunt of the bargaining had fallen on me; I thought of the tragic evening at the "Hall," when I had arranged a hurried departure, without apparently consulting Charmion's wishes. Appearances were against me, and it was impossible to explain them away. I said, in a cross, hurt voice:--

"Oh, of course, you think me everything that is disagreeable and domineering. It is just as I said--men see only one thing, and it colours their whole view. If I lived a lifetime of meekness and self-abnegation, you would never forget that affair of the lease. And it was your own fault, too! You were the unreasonable one, not I; but all the same, you have never forgiven. Delphine told me how much you disliked me."

His eyes met mine, frankly, without a flicker of shame.

"Did she? That was wrong of her. She had no business to repeat--"

"You acknowledge it, then! You _did_ say so?"

"I did. Oh, yes. It's quite true."

It was a shock. At that moment I realised that, in my vanity, I had never really believed Delphine's statement. The Squire had made some casual remark which she had misunderstood, misquoted--such had been the subconscious explanation with which I had a.s.suaged my complacency; but now out of his own lips, openly, unhesitatingly, the verdict was confirmed! I felt as if a pail of water had been emptied over my head.

"And you--you really meant--"

"If I had not meant it, I should hardly have said--"

"I can't think why! What had I done? If it was that affair of the lease--"

"It was not. I was amazed at the time, but I got over that. It was just--"

"What?"

"It is difficult to say. It's not an easy subject to discuss. Need we go on?"

"I think so. I think it is my right. In justice to myself, I think you ought to tell me how I have made myself so disagreeable. It might be useful to me in the future!"

For all answer he steered the car to the side of the road, brought it to a standstill, and descended from his seat. There was an air of deliberation about the proceeding which sent a s.h.i.+ver down my spine.

The inference was that the enumeration of my faults was so lengthy a business that it could not be undertaken by a man who had other work in hand. I sat in nervous fascination, watching him slowly cross to my side of the car, lean forward, and place both hands on the screen. His face was quite close to mine. It looked suddenly white and tense. He opened his lips and spoke:--

"Evelyn, will you be my wife?"

If I live to be a hundred, never--no, never shall I forget the electric shock of that moment! To be prepared to listen to a lecture on one's faults and failings, and to hear in its place a proposal of marriage-- could anything be more paralysing? And to have it hurled at one with no warning, no preliminary "leading up," and from Ralph Maplestone of all people--the most reserved, the most unsusceptible, the most woman-hating of mankind! I sat petrified, unable to move or to speak, unable to do anything but stare, and stare, and stare, and listen with incredulous ears to a string of pa.s.sionate protestations. Half of what he said was lost in the dazed bewilderment of the moment, but what I _did_ hear, went something like this:--

"You are the first woman--the only woman. Before you came I was content. Since we met, I have been in torment. You woke me up. When a man is roused from a trance it gives him pain. You brought pain to me-- sleeplessness, discontent, a craving that grew and grew. I wished we had never met--you had upset my life; I believed that I hated you for it. Delphine questioned me. It was then I told her that I disliked you. I meant it--I _thought_ I meant it! I longed for you to disappear and leave me in peace, yet all the time I thought of you more and more.

Your smile! Whenever we met, you smiled, and the remembrance of it followed me home. Wherever I went your face haunted me. I planned to go away, to travel, to break myself loose; but it was no use, I could not go. I dreaded to see you, but I dreaded more to go away. I hung about the places you might pa.s.s. That dress with the flounces! I could see the blue of it coming toward me through the branches. That night you were ill! All the colour went out of your cheeks. I would have given my life--my life! I have never loved before. I did not know what love meant, but you have taught me. You have waked me from sleep. I'm not good enough--a surly brute! Couldn't expect any girl to care; but for seven years--twice seven years--I'd serve, I'd wait. Oh, my beautiful, my beautiful--if you could see yourself! How can I stay here, and let you go? Marry me! Marry me! This week, to-morrow--what are conventions to us? I'll be good to you. All the love of my life is waiting--I've never squandered it away. It has been stored up in my heart for you."

I held up my hand, imploring him to stop.

"Oh, Mr Maplestone, don't! It's all a mistake. It must be! How can you care? You know so little of me; we have met so seldom. How can you possibly know that you would like me as a wife?"

He gave a quick, excited laugh.

"It's all true what those poet fellows write about love! I used to laugh and call it nonsense; but when it comes to one's own turn, it's the truest thing in the whole world! How do I know? I can't tell you, Evelyn; but I _do_ know. It's just the one certain fact in life. I want you! I'm going to have you!"

He stretched out his arms as if to seize me then and there, and I shrank back, looking, I suppose, as I felt, frightened to death, for instantly his manner changed, his arms dropped to his side, and he cried in the gentlest, softest of tones:--

"Don't be frightened of me! Don't be frightened! Forgive me if I seem rough. Rough to _you_! Oh, my sweet, give me a chance to show what I could be! You have done enough caring for other people; now let me take care of you! Be my wife, _Evelyn_!"

It was all too painful and miserable, and--yes, too beautiful to put into words. I cried, and said, No! no! I was sorry, but I didn't love him; I had never thought. There was no one else--oh, no; but it was hopeless all the same. I could never--never--Oh, indeed, I was not worth being miserable about. He must forget me. On Wednesday I was going away. He would find when I was not there that he would soon forget.

He looked at me with sad, stern eyes.

"That's not true! You know it's not true. I am not the sort to forget.

And if there is no one else, why should I try? Evelyn, you don't know me, if you think one 'no' will put me off. I said I would wait seven years, and I meant what I said. If you go away, I shall follow. What's this nonsense of leaving no address? Do you imagine, if I choose to look for you, you can hide yourself from ME?"

He looked so big and masterful that for a moment I felt a qualm of doubt; then I comforted myself with the reflection that it would be impossible to discover what did not exist. For a period of time Evelyn Wastneys was about to disappear from the face of the earth. The spinster of the bas.e.m.e.nt flat was about to take her place.

"I don't love you! I don't love you!" I repeated helplessly. "I have never once thought of you except as a--a rather cross, overbearing man who had taken a dislike to me at first sight. How can I turn round all in a moment and look upon you as a--a lover? And I have my friend and my work--and we have just taken our house. I don't want to be married!

I couldn't be married even if I cared!"

"You are going to be married. You are going to marry me! What is this 'work' of which you talk? A woman's work is to make a home, and to help a man to find his soul. Evelyn, do you imagine for one moment that I am going to let you go?"

He was himself again: self-confident, resolute, overbearing. I took refuge in silence, and argued no more.

"Have you enjoyed your drive?" Delphine asked. "Was Ralph civil? It was unfortunate that I had to leave you alone. Where did you buy your bonnet, Evelyn? I must get one like it for myself. Does your head ache, dear? You look quite pale."

I said it did. _Something_ ached! It kept me awake all night with a dreary, heavy pain. I lay and thought, and thought, until my brain was in a whirl. Had I been to blame in the past? Honestly I could not see that I had. What was I to do in the future? Must I tell Charmion? How could I ever return to "Pastimes"? Round and round the questions whirled in a never-ending circle, but no solutions came. Then I said my prayers, with a special plea for guidance for a very lonely, very worried girl, and gradually, surely, I grew calmer. I reminded myself that there was no need to worry over the future; and that all I had to do for the moment was to decide on my duty for to-morrow. For everybody's sake it appeared best that I should excuse myself to Delphine and escape to town, since nothing could be gained by another interview with Ralph Maplestone. I would send him a letter, repeating my protestations that I could never be his wife, and begging him to forget me with all possible speed. When he called at the Vicarage to answer it, he would find that the bird had fled.

The early morning sunlight was stealing in at the window. I closed my tired eyes and fell asleep.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.