The Yellow Book Volume I Part 14

_Lucy._ I sometimes wish that it had never been published at all, that you had never written it, or, at all events, that it had never been such a success.

_Harold._ That's kind, at all events--deuced kind and considerate!

_Lucy._ It seems to have come between us as a barrier. When I think how eagerly we looked forward to its appearance, what castles in the air we built as to how happy we were going to be, and all the things we were going to do, if it were a success, and now to think that----

_Harold._ [_Jumps up._] Look here, Lucy, I'm d.a.m.ned if--I can't stand this much longer! Nag, nag, nag! I can't stand it. I am worked off my head during the day, I am out half the night, and when I come here for a little quiet, a little rest, its--[_Breaks off suddenly_].

_Lucy._ I am so sorry. If I had thought----

_Harold._ Can't you see that you are driving me mad? I have been here half an hour, and the whole of the time it has been nothing but reproaches.

_Lucy._ I don't think they would have affected you so much if you hadn't felt that you deserved them!

_Harold._ There you go again! I deserve them--[_laughs harshly_]. It is my fault, I suppose, that it is the season; it is my fault that people give dinner-parties and b.a.l.l.s; it is my fault, I suppose, that you don't go out as much as I do?

_Lucy._ Certainly not; although, as a matter of fact, I haven't been out one single evening for the last three--nearly four--months.

_Harold._ That's right; draw comparisons; say I'm a selfish brute.

You'll tell me next that I am tired of you, and----

_Lucy._ Harold! don't, don't--you--you hurt me! Of course I never thought of such a--[_she rises_]--You are not, are you? I--I couldn't bear it!

_Harold._ Of course I am not. Don't be so silly. [_He sits._]

_Lucy._ It was silly of me, I confess it. I know you better than that.

Why, it's rank high treason, I deserve to lose my head; and my only excuse is that thinking such a thing proves I must have lost it already.

Will your majesty deign to pardon?

_Harold._ [_Testily._] Yes, yes, that's all right! There, look out, you'll crumple my tie.

_Lucy._ I am so sorry! And now tell me all about your grand friends and----

_Harold._ They are not grand to me. Simply because a person is rich or has a t.i.tle, I don't consider them any "grander" than I--by jove, no!

These people are useful to me, or else I shouldn't stand it. They "patronise" me, put their hand on my shoulder and say, "My dear young friend, we predict great things for you." The fools, as though a single one of them was capable even of forming an opinion, much less of prophesying. They make remarks about me before my face; they talk of, and pet, me as though I were a poodle. I go through my tricks and they applaud; and they lean over with an idiotic simper to the dear friend next to them and say, "Isn't he clever?" as though they had taught me themselves. Bah! They invite me to their houses, I dine with them once a week; but if I were to tell them to-morrow that I wanted to marry one of their daughters, they would kick me out of the room, and consider it a greater insult than if the proposal had come from their own footman.

_Lucy._ But that doesn't matter, because you don't want to marry one of them, do you? Was that Miss Mockton with you in the Park last Sunday?

_Harold._ How do you know I was in the Park at all?

_Lucy._ Because I saw you there.

_Harold._ You were spying, I suppose.

_Lucy._ Spying? I don't know what you mean. I went there for a walk after church.

_Harold._ Alone?

_Lucy._ Of course not, I was with Mrs. Glover.

_Harold._ Your landlady?

_Lucy._ Why not?--Oh! you need not be afraid. I shouldn't have brought disgrace upon you by obliging you to acknowledge me before your grand friends. I took good care to keep in the background.

_Harold._ Do you mean to insinuate that I am a sn.o.b?

_Lucy._ Be a little kind.

_Harold._ Well, it is your own fault, you insinuate that----

_Lucy._ I was wrong. I apologise, but--but--[_begins to cry_].

_Harold._ There, don't make a scene--don't, there's a good girl. There, rest your head here. I suppose I am nasty. I didn't mean it, really. You must make allowances for me. I am worried and bothered. I can't work--at least I can't do work that satisfies me--and altogether I am not quite myself. Late hours are playing the very deuce with my nerves. There, let me kiss away the tears--now give me your promise that you will never be so foolish again.

_Lucy._ I--I promise. It is silly of me--now I am all right.

_Harold._ Giboulees d'Avril! The sun comes out once more, the shower is quite over.

_Lucy._ Yes, quite over; you always are so kind. It is my fault entirely. I--I think my nerves must be a little upset, too.

_Harold._ We shall make a nice couple, shan't we? if we are often going to behave like this! Now, are you quite calm?

_Lucy._ Yes, quite.

_Harold._ That's right, because I want you to listen patiently for a few minutes to what I am going to say; it is something I want to talk to you about very seriously. You won't interrupt me until I have quite finished, will you?

_Lucy._ What is it? not that--no, I won't.

_Harold._ You know we talked about--I mean it was arranged we should be married the beginning of July--wasn't it?

_Lucy._ Yes.

_Harold._ Well, I want to know if you would mind very much putting it off a little--quite a little--only till the autumn? I'll tell you why.

Of course if you _do_ mind very much, I sha'n't press it, but--it's like this: the scene of my new book is, as you know, laid abroad. I have been trying to write it, but can't get on with it one little bit. I want some local colour. I thought I should be able to invent it, I find I can't.

It is hampering and keeping me back terribly. And so--and so I thought if you didn't mind very much that--that if I were to go to France for--for six months or so--alone, that--in fact it would be the making of me. I have never had an opportunity before; it has always been grind, grind, grind, and if I am prevented from going now, I may never have a chance again. What do you say?

_Lucy._ But why shouldn't we be married as arranged, and spend our honeymoon over there?

_Harold._ Because I want to work.

_Lucy._ And would my being there prevent you? You used to say you always worked so much better when I was----

_Harold._ But you don't understand. This is different. I want to work _hard_, and no man could do that on his honeymoon--at least I know I couldn't.

_Lucy._ No, but--And--and till when did you want to put off our--our marriage? Until your return?

_Harold._ Well, that would depend on circ.u.mstances. You don't suppose I would postpone it for a second, if I could help it; but--Until my return? I hope sincerely that it can be managed then, but, you see, over there I shall be spending money all the time, and not earning a sou, and--and so we _might_ have to wait a little bit longer, just until I could replenish the locker, until I had published and been paid for my new book.

_Lucy._ But I have given notice to leave at midsummer.