Winding Paths Part 63

How the divine spark changes a man for the brief moments when it reigns! Banis.h.i.+ng utterly Stock Exchange scandals, convenient heiresses, exacting parties, the merciless claims of the G.o.d Mammon.

He might have looked just so, years and years ago, before he entered that hard service, and buried all his best under layer upon layer of harsh, deadening, world-wise grasping. Pity that the best is so frail to withstand the onslaught of the demons of power and place - so easily overcome and thrust away probably for ever.

"I was up in Holloway. I suppose you know it? And there was a strong man dying a helpless invalid, and his sister breaking her heart, and a woman from the opposite flat, who said she stood for nothing in the world but a letter of the alphabet. And all round was gloom, and murk, and shabbiness, and hard, pitiless facts. I came home in the tube, and all the pa.s.sengers seemed to look like lifeless, starved, white-faced mummies. They made me feel frightened. I wondered where joy had fled to.

"And here, was it just like this all the time? ... flowers, and sweet scents, and spring, and hopefulness? ... And scarcely any one to enjoy it all; while those white-faced, vacant mummies were journeying foolishly to and fro in that stuffy, detestable tube."

"You shouldn't go to such places. What have you to do with Holloway, and shabbiness, and starving people? If you belonged to me, I wouldn't let you go."

"Of course I have to do with them. We all have. But I don't know what. And it frightens me. I don't think I've ever felt frightened before. It was like being brought up sharp against a stone wall."

His lips were suddenly a little stern. Stone walls had to be broken down. That was the use of being strong. One was not frightened; one just got a battering-ram, and forced a pa.s.sage through. He would tell her soon, but not out here. Not just yet.

"You are forgetting our compact. I'm surprised at you, Hal. I call it a slight on the suns.h.i.+ne."

"Why, so it is! ... Avaunt, and leave my mind, Holloway! This day belongs to the spring."

And until they drew up outside the Criterion Grill, she kept her spirits high, and gave herself to the joy of the hour.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI

When they were half-way through dinner Hal asked, a trifle abruptly:

"Now, what about this piece of news? What does it mean?"

He looked away, unable to meet her candid eyes, and said:

"I will tell you presently."

"Where? Why not now? Why all this secrecy?"

"Because it is rather a big matter. You have sometimes said you would like to see the horns and trophies I brought back from my shooting-trip in Canada. Come and see them this evening."

"At your flat?" doubtfully.

"Yes. Why not?"

Hal knit her forehead and looked perplexed. She had so insistently declined to go hitherto, that she was loth now to change her mind. Yet she felt it was rather silly to have any fear of him now.

In the end she went.

It was only eight o'clock, and he promised to take her home about nine.

Besides, something in his manner was baffling her, and she wanted to understand how they stood.

Once in the sumptuous, beautifully furnished flat, however, he seemed to change. He came up to her suddenly, put his arms round her, and kissed her.

"At last," he breathed. "At last I've got you absolutely to myself."

"Don't do that."

Hal disengaged herself and held him at arm's length. For a moment she looked steadily into his eyes, and then she asked:

"How has this report of your engagement got into the papers?" Her lips curled a little. "I presume you would hardly act to me like this if it is true."

"It is true in one sense, and not another."

"Oh..." She seemed a little taken aback. "In what way is it true.

Are you engaged to Miss Bootes?"

"Yes."

"Indeed!"

She lifted her eyebrows, and moved a pace or two farther away.

"Don't move away from me," he said a little thickly. "It isn't the part that's true which matters, but the part that is not true."

"I don't understand."

"I brought you here to explain. I can do so very quickly. I am in a tight corner. The tightest corner I ever was in my life. Only one thing can save me. I must have money. Miss Bootes, or at any rate her father, wants a t.i.tle. I haven't the shadow of a choice. I have got to sell her mine."

Again Hal's lips curled, and a little spark of fire shone in her eyes.

""Oh, I can understand all that!" She tossed her head half-unconsciously. "But why" - her lips quivered a little - "did you think it necessary to insult both of us by, at the same time, becoming lover-like to me?"

"I told you why; because I love you."

He stepped up to her, and caught both her hands in an iron grip.

"Now, listen to me, Hal. Don't try to break away, for I won't let you go. I tell you it's a matter of life and death. In your heart you know quite well that I love you. You knew it when I kissed you last Sat.u.r.day, and you were glad. I don't know when you read that announcement, but whenever it was, your heart said to you 'Whether it's true or not, he loves _me_'. Probably you didn't believe it was true, because you knew nothing whatever about the devilish mess I was in.

But in any case, your heart told you right. I do love you. I love you with every bit of me that knows how to love. If I have to be hers in name, I am at any rate yours at heart, and shall be all my life. Noew, what have you to say?"

She tried to drag her hands away, but he gripped them tightly, forcing her to feel his strength, his resolve, and his masterfulness.

"I have nothing to say. What should I have? You have elected to sell yourself, to let a woman" - with swift scorn - "buy you out of a tight corner. I... I... " in a low tense voice, "am sorry we ever met."

"Why? -"

He hurled the monosyllable at her, now almost crus.h.i.+ng her hands in his grasp, as he waited, silently compelling her to reply.

"Because the friends.h.i.+p was pleasant. It has meant a good deal. And now for it to end like this!... for me to have to scorn you."

"Why need it end?... Why should you scorn me?... Wouldn't every second man you know in my place act exactly as I am acting? I have no choice. I ought not to tell you, but my political chiefs have issued an ultimatum to me, and I have got to obey it. Do you suppose I would consider it for a moment if I could find any other way out? Do you suppose I would risk losing you, would even dream of giving you up, if I were not driven to it by the very h.e.l.l-hounds of circ.u.mstance?

To have felt love at all is the most wonderful thing in my life: I, who have always mocked and jeered and disbelieved. Well, anyhow it is there now. Listen, Hal. I love you. I love you? _I love you_."