The Protector Part 15

"The trouble is that the thing might seem to give me some claim on you, and I don't want that," he explained. "It cost me no more than a wetting; I hadn't the least difficulty in getting her out."

His companion was still puzzled. She could find no fault with him for being modest about his exploit, but that he should make it clear that he did not require her grat.i.tude seemed to her unnecessary.

"For all that, you did bring her out," she persisted.

"I don't seem to be beginning very fortunately," Vane replied. "What I mean is, that I don't want to urge my claim, if I have one. I'd sooner be taken on my merits." He paused a moment with a smile. "That's not much better, is it? But it partly expresses what I feel. Leaving Mopsy out altogether, let me try to explain--I don't wish you to be influenced by anything except your own idea of me. I'm saying this because one or two points that seem in my favour may have a contrary effect."

Evelyn made no answer, and he indicated the seat. "Won't you sit down, I have something more to say."

The girl did as he suggested, and his smile faded. "Now," he went on, "you won't be astonished if I ask if you will marry me?"

He stood looking down on her with an impressive steadiness of gaze. She could imagine him facing the city men, from whom he had extorted the full value of his mine, in the same fas.h.i.+on, and in a later instance, so surveying the eddies beneath the osiers when he had gone to Mabel's rescue. She felt that they had better understand one another.

"No," she said; "if I must be candid, I am not astonished." Then the colour crept into her cheeks, is she met his gaze. "I suppose it is an honour and it is undoubtedly a--temptation."

"A temptation?"

"Yes," said Evelyn, mustering her courage to face a crisis she had dreaded. "It is only due to you that you should hear the truth--though I think you suspect it. I have some liking for you."

"That is what I wanted you to own," Vane broke in.

She checked him with a gesture. Her manner was cold, and yet there was something in it that stirred him more than her beauty.

"After all," she answered, "It does not go very far, and you must try to understand. I want to be quite honest, and what I have to say is--difficult. In the first place, things are far from pleasant for me here; I was expected to make a good marriage, and I had my chance in London; I refused to profit by it, and now I'm a failure. I wonder if you can realise what a temptation it is to get away."

"Yes," he said; "it makes me savage to think of it. I can, at least, take you out of all this. If you hadn't had a very fine courage, you wouldn't have told me."

Evelyn smiled a curious wry smile.

"It has only prompted me to behave, as most people would consider, shamelessly; but there are times when one must get above that point of view. Besides, there's a reason for my candour. Had you been a man of different stamp, it's possible that I might have been driven into taking the risk. We should both have suffered for a time, but through open variance we might have reached an understanding--not to intrude on one another. As it is, I could not do you that injustice, and I should shrink from marrying you with only a little cold liking."

The man held himself firmly in hand. Her calmness had infected him, and he felt that this was not an occasion for romantic protestations, even had he felt capable of making them, which was not the case. As a matter of fact, such things were singularly foreign to his nature.

"Even that would go a long way with me, if I could get nothing better,"

he declared. "Besides, you might change. I could surround you with some comfort; I think I could promise not to force my company upon you; I believe I could be kind."

"Yes," a.s.sented Evelyn; "I shouldn't be afraid of harshness from you; but it seems impossible that I should change. You must see that you started handicapped from the beginning. Had I been free to choose, it might have been different; but I have lived for some time in shame and fear, hating the thought that some one would be forced on me."

He said nothing, and she went on. "Must I tell you? You are the man."

His face grew hard and for a moment he set his lips tight. It would have been a relief to express his feelings concerning his host just then.

"If you don't hate me for it now, I'm willing to take the risk," he said at length. "It will be my fault if you hate me in the future; I'll try not to deserve it."

He imagined she was yielding, but she roused herself with an effort.

"No," she said. "Love on one side may go a long way, if it is strong enough--but it must be strong to overcome the many clashes of thought and will. Yours"--she looked at him steadily--"would not stand the strain."

Vane started. "You are the only woman I ever wished to marry." He paused with a forcible gesture. "What can I say to convince you?"

She smiled softly. "I'm afraid it's impossible. If you had wanted me greatly, you would have pressed the claim you had in saving Mopsy, and I would have forgiven you that; you would have urged any and every claim.

As it is, I suppose I am pretty"--her lips curled scornfully--"and you find some of your ideas and mine agree. It isn't half enough. Shall I tell you that you are scarcely moved as yet?"

It flashed upon Vane that he was confronted with the reality. Her beauty had appealed to him, but without rousing pa.s.sion, for there was little of the sensual in this man. Her other qualities, her reserved graciousness, which had a tinge of dignity in it; her insight and comprehension, had also had their effect; but they had only awakened admiration and respect. He desired her as one desires an object for its rarity and preciousness; but this, as she had told him, was not enough.

Behind her physical and mental attributes, and half revealed by them, there was something deeper: the real personality of the girl. It was elusive, mystic, with a spark of immaterial radiance which might brighten human love with its transcendent glow; but, as he dimly realised, if he won her by force, it might recede and vanish altogether.

He could not, with strong ardour, compel its clearer manifestation.

"I think I am as moved as it is possible for me to be," he said.

Evelyn shook her head. "No; you will discover the difference some day, and then you will thank me for leaving you your liberty. Now I beg you to leave me mine and let me go."

Vane stood silent a minute or two, for the last appeal had stirred him to chivalrous pity. He was shrewd enough to realise that if he persisted he could force her to come to him. Her father and mother were with him; she had nothing--no common-place usefulness or trained abilities--to fall back upon if she defied them. But it was unthinkable that he should brutally compel her.

"Well," he said at length, "I must try to face the situation; I want to a.s.sure you that it is not a pleasant one to me. But there's another point. I'm afraid I've made things worse for you. Your people will probably blame you for sending me away."

Evelyn did not answer this, and he broke into a little grim smile.

"Now," he added, "I think I can save you any trouble on that score--though the course I'm going to take isn't flattering, if you look at it in one way. I want you to leave me to deal with your father."

He took her consent for granted, and leaning down laid a hand lightly on her shoulder. "You will try to forgive me for the anxiety I have caused you. The time I've spent here has been very pleasant, but I'm going back to Canada in a few days. Perhaps you'll think of me without bitterness now and then."

He turned away, and Evelyn sat still, glad that the strain was over, and thinking earnestly. The man was gentle and considerate as well as forceful, and she liked him. Indeed, she admitted that she had not met any man she liked as much, but that was not going very far. Then she began to wonder at her candour, and to consider if it had been necessary. It was curious that this was the only man she had ever taken into her confidence; and her next suitor would probably be a much less promising specimen. On the other hand, it was consoling to remember that eligible suitors for the daughter of an impoverished gentleman were likely to be scarce.

It had grown dark when she rose and, entering the house, went up to Mabel's room. The girl looked at her sharply as she came in.

"So you have got rid of him," she said. "I think you're very silly."

"How did you know?" Evelyn asked with a start.

"I heard him walking up and down the terrace, and I heard you go out.

You can't walk over raked gravel without making a noise. He went along to join you, and it was a good while before you came back at different times. I've been waiting for this the last day or two."

Evelyn sat down with a strained smile. "Well," she said, "I have sent him away."

Mabel regarded her indignantly. "Then you'll never get another chance like this one. If you had only taken him I could have worn decent frocks. n.o.body could call the last one that."

This was a favourite grievance and Evelyn ignored it; but Mabel had more to say. "I suppose," she went on, "you don't know that Wallace has been getting Gerald out of trouble?"

"Are you sure of that?" Evelyn asked sharply.

"Yes," said Mabel; "I'll tell you what I know. Wallace saw Gerald in London--he told us that--and we all know that Gerald couldn't pay his debts a little while since. You remember he came down to Kendal and went on and stayed the next night with the Claytons. It isn't astonis.h.i.+ng that he didn't come here after the row there was on the last occasion."

"Go on," said Evelyn. "What has his visit to the Claytons to do with it?"

"Well," said Mabel, "you don't know that I saw Gerald in the afternoon.

After all, he's the only brother I've got; and as Jim was going to the station with the trap I made him take me. The Claytons were in the garden; we were scattered about, and I heard Frank and Gerald, who had strolled off from the others, talking. Gerald was telling him about some things he'd bought; they must have been expensive, because Frank asked him where he got the money. Gerald laughed, and said he'd had an unexpected stroke of luck that had set him straight again. Now, of course, Gerald got no money from home, and if he'd won it he would have told Frank how he did so. Gerald always would tell a thing like that."

Evelyn was filled with confusion and hot indignation. She had little doubt that Mabel's surmise was correct.