CHAPTER IX
A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE
"It's too bad of him!"
Miss Strong felt that it was much too bad! Twenty minutes after theappointed time, and still no signs of Mr. Paxton. The weather was, ifanything, worse even than the night before. The mist was morepronounced; a chillier breeze was in the air; a disagreeable drizzleshowed momentary symptoms of falling faster. The pier was nearlydeserted; it was not the kind of evening to tempt pleasure-seekersout.
Miss Strong had been at the place of meeting in front of time. AfterMr. Paxton's departure on the previous evening, between Miss Wentworthand herself there had been certain passages. Bitter words had beensaid--particularly by Miss Strong. In consequence, for the first timeon record, the friends had parted in anger. Nor had the quarrel beenmade up afterwards. On the contrary, all day long the atmosphere hadbeen charged with electricity. Miss Strong was conscious that incertain of the things which she had said she had wronged her friend,as, she assured herself, her friend had wronged her lover. It is truetwo wrongs do not make a right; but Miss Strong had made up her mindthat she would not apologise to Miss Wentworth for what she had saidto her, until Miss Wentworth had apologised for what she had said toCyril. As Miss Wentworth showed no disposition to do anything of thekind, the position was more than a trifle strained. So strained indeedthat Miss Strong, after confining herself to the bedroom for most ofthe day, rushed out of the house a full hour before it was time formeeting Cyril, declaring to herself that anything--mist, wind, orrain--was better than remaining prisoned any longer under the sameroof which sheltered an unfriendly friend. Under such circumstances,to her, it seemed a cardinal crime on Cyril's part that he shouldactually be twenty minutes late.
"After what he said last night, about not keeping me waiting for asecond--considering the way in which he said it--I did think that hewould be punctual. How can he expect me to trust him in larger things,if he does not keep faith with me in small? If anything had happenedto detain him, he might have let me know in time."
The indignant lady did not stay to reflect that she had left homeunnecessarily early, and that an explanation of the gentleman'sabsence might, even now, be awaiting her there. Besides, twentyminutes is not long. But perhaps in the case of a lovers' rendezvous,by some magnifying process proper to such occasions, twenty minutesmay assume the dimensions of an hour.
"I'll go once more up and down the pier, and then if he hasn't comeI'll go straight home. How Charlie will laugh at me, and triumph, andsay 'I told you so!' Oh, Cyril, how unkind you are, not to come whenyou promised! I don't care, but I do know this, that if CharlieWentworth is not careful what she says, I will never speak to heragain--never--as long as I live!"
It seemed as if the young lady did not quite know whether to be themore angry with her lover or her friend. She went up the pier; thenstarted to return. As she came back a man wearing a mackintoshadvanced to her with uplifted cap and outstretched hand.
"Miss Strong!"
It was Mr. Lawrence. The last man whom, just then, she would havewished to see.
Could anything have been more unfortunate? What would Cyril think if,again, he found them there together. She decided to get rid of the manwithout delay. But the thing was easier decided on than done.Especially as Mr. Lawrence immediately said something which caused herto postpone his dismissal longer than she had intended.
"I saw Mr. Paxton this afternoon, in town."
He had fallen in quite naturally by her side. She had moderated herpace, wishing to rid herself of him before she reached the gates.
"Indeed! In the City, I suppose? He is there on business."
"He wasn't in the City when I saw him. And the business on which hewas employed was of an agreeable kind. He seemed to be making a day ofit at the Criterion bar."
"Are you not mistaken? Are you sure that it was Mr. Paxton?"
"Quite sure. May I ask if he is an intimate friend of yours?"
"He is--a very intimate friend indeed. I am expecting him here everymoment."
"Expecting him here! You really are!" Mr. Lawrence stopped, andturned, and stared, as if her words surprised him. "I beg your pardon,Miss Strong, but--he is stopping to-night in town."
"Stopping to-night in town!" It was Miss Strong's turn to stand andstare. "How do you know? Did he tell you so?"
"Not in so many words, but--I think you will find that he is. The--thefact is, Miss Strong, I heard an ugly story about Mr. Paxton, and--Iam afraid you will find that there is something wrong."
The lady grasped the handle of her umbrella with added vigour. Herimpulse was to lay it about the speaker's head. But she refrained.
"You must be too acute of hearing, Mr. Lawrence. If I were you, Ishould exchange your ears for another pair. Good evening."
But she was not to escape from him so easily. He caught her by thearm.
"Miss Strong, don't go--not for a moment. There is something which Iparticularly wish to say to you."
"What there is, Mr. Lawrence, which you can particularly wish to sayto me I am unable to conceive."
"I fear that may be so, Miss Strong. But there is something, all thesame. These are early days in which to say it; and the moment is notthe most propitious I could have chosen. But circumstances arestronger than I. I have a feeling that it must be now or never. Youknow very little of me, Miss Strong. Probably you will say you knownothing--that I am, to all intents and purposes, a stranger. But Iknow enough of you to know that I love you: that you are to me what nowoman has ever been before, or will ever be again. And what Iparticularly wish to say to you is to ask you to be my wife."
His words were so wholly unexpected, that, for the moment, they tookthe lady's breath away. He spoke quietly, even coldly; but, in hiscoldness there was a vibrant something which was suggestive of theheat of passion being hidden below, while the very quietude of hisutterance made his words more effective than if he had shouted them atthe top of his voice. It was a second or two before the startled ladyanswered.
"What you have said takes me so completely by surprise that I hardlyknow whether or not you are in earnest."
"I am in earnest, I assure you. That I am mad in saying it, I am quiteaware; how mad, even you can have no notion. But I had to say it, andit's said. If you would only be my wife, you would do a good deed, ofthe magnitude of which you have no conception. There is nothing inreturn which I would not do for you. On this occasion in saying so Ido not think that I am using an empty form of words."
"As you yourself pointed out, you are a stranger to me; nor have I anydesire that you should be anything but a stranger."
"Thank you, Miss Strong."
"You brought it upon yourself."
"I own that it is not your fault that I love you; nor can I admit thatit is my misfortune."
"There is one chief reason why your flattering proposals are unwelcometo me. I happen already to be a promised wife. I am engaged to Mr.Paxton."
"Is that so? Then I am sorry for you."
"Why are you sorry?"
"Ere long, unless I am mistaken, you will learn that I have cause forsorrow, and that you have cause for sorrow too."
Without another word the lady, the gentleman making no effort todetain her, walked away. She went straight home.
She found Miss Wentworth in her favourite attitude--feet stretched ona chair in front of her--engaged, as Miss Strong chose to phrase it,in "her everlasting reading." When Miss Wentworth was not writing shewas wont to be reading. Miss Strong occasionally wished that she wouldemploy herself in more varying occupations.
Momentarily oblivious of the coolness which had sprung up between herfriend and herself, Miss Strong plumped herself down on to a chair,forgetful also of the fact that she had brought her umbrella with herinto the room, and that the rain was trickling down it.
"Charlie, whatever do you think has happened?"
Miss Wentworth had contented herself with nodding as her friend hadenter
ed. Now, lowering her book, she glanced at her over the top ofit.
"I don't know what has happened, my dear, but I do know what ishappening--your umbrella is making a fish-pond on the carpet."
Miss Strong got up with something of a jump. She deposited hermackintosh and umbrella in the hall. When she returned her friendgreeted her with laughter in her eyes.
"Well, what has happened? But perhaps before you tell me you mightgive an eye to those elegant boots of yours. They never struck me asbeing altogether waterproof."
With tightened lips Miss Strong removed her boots. It was true thatthey badly wanted changing. But that was nothing. In her present moodshe resented having her attention diverted to unimportant details. Sheexpressed herself to that effect as she undid the buttons.
"I do believe that you are the hardest-natured girl I ever knew.You've no sense of feeling. If I were dying for want of it, I shouldnever dream of coming to you for sympathy."
Miss Wentworth received this tirade with complete placidity.
"Quite so, my dear. Well, what has happened?"
Miss Strong snuggled her feet into her slippers. She began to fidgetabout the room. Suddenly she burst out in what could only be describedas a tone of angry petulance.
"You will laugh at me--I know you will. But you had better not. I cantell you that I am in no mood to be laughed at. I feel as if I musttell it to some one, and I have no one in the world to tell things tobut you--Mr. Lawrence has dared to make me a proposal of marriage."
The complete, and one might almost say, the humorous repose of MissWentworth's manner was in striking contrast to her friend'sexcitability.
"Mr. Lawrence? Isn't that the individual whom you met on the Dyke, andwho was introduced to you by his umbrella?"
"Of course it is!"
"And he has proposed to you, has he? Very good of him, I'm sure. Thesex has scored another victory. I did not know that matters hadprogressed with you so far as that! But now and then, I suppose, onedoes move quickly. I offer you my congratulations."
"Charlie! You are maddening!"
"Not at all. But I believe that it is a popular theory that a womanought always to be congratulated on receiving a proposal from a man.The idea seems to be that it is the best gift which the gods canpossibly bestow--upon a woman. And, pray, where did this gentleman sohonour you? Right under Mr. Paxton's nose?"
"Cyril wasn't there."
"Not there?" Miss Strong turned her face away. Miss Wentworth eyed herfor a moment before she spoke again. "I thought that you had anappointment with him, and that you went out to keep it."
"He never came."
"Indeed!"
Miss Wentworth's tone was dry. But, in spite of its dryness, it seemedthat there was something in it which touched a secret spring which washidden in her listener's breast. Suddenly Miss Strong broke into aflood of tears, and, running forward, fell on her knees at herfriend's side, and pillowed her face in her lap.
"Oh, Charlie, I am so unhappy--you mustn't laugh at me--I am!Everything seems to be going wrong--everything. I feel as if I shouldlike to die!"
"There is allotted to every one of us a time for death. I wouldn'tattempt to forestall my allotment, if I were you. What is theparticular, pressing grief?"
"I am the most miserable girl in the world!"
"Hush! Be easy! There are girls--myriads of them--myriads--who wouldesteem such misery as yours happiness. Tell me, what's the trouble?"
In spite of the satirical touch which tinged her speech, a strain ofcurious melody had all at once come into her voice which--as if it hadbeen an anaesthetic--served to ease the extreme tension of the other'snerves. Miss Strong looked up, the tears still streaming down hercheeks, but exhibiting some signs of at least elementary self-control.
"Everything's the trouble! Everything seems to be going wrong; that'sjust the plain and simple truth. Cyril said he would meet me tonight,and promised he'd be punctual, and I waited for him, ever so long, onthe pier, in the rain, and after all he never came. And then thatwretched Mr. Lawrence came and made his ridiculous proposal, and--andsaid all sorts of dreadful things of Cyril!"
"Said all sorts of dreadful things of Cyril, did he? As, for instance,what?"
"He said that he was going to stop in town all night."
"Well, and why shouldn't he?"
"Why shouldn't he? After saying he would meet me! And promising to bepunctual! And keeping me waiting on the pier! Without giving me anysort of hint that he had changed his mind! Charlie!"
"Pray, how did Mr. Lawrence come to know that Mr. Paxton intended tospend the night in London?"
"He says that he saw him there."
"I did not know they were acquainted!"
"I introduced them the night before last."
"I see." Again Miss Wentworth's tone was significantly dry. "Mr.Paxton has never seemed to me to be a man whose confidence was easilygained, especially by a stranger. Mr. Lawrence must have progressedmore rapidly with him even than with you. And, pray, what else was Mr.Lawrence pleased to say of Mr. Paxton?"
"Oh, a lot of lies! Of course I knew that they were a lot of lies, butthey made me so wild that I felt that I should like to shake him."
"Shake me instead, my dear. One is given to understand that jolting isgood for the liver. Who's that?"
There was a sound of knocking at the front door. Miss Strong glancedeagerly round. A flush came into her cheeks; a light into her eyes.
"Possibly that is the recalcitrant Mr. Paxton, in his own properperson, coming with apologies in both his hands. Perhaps you wouldlike to go and see."