CHAPTER XXIV
MY DILEMMA
It seemed to me during the days that followed that I was confrontedwith a problem of more than ordinary complexity. I at any rate foundit so. To live through childhood and girlhood wholly unconscious ofthe existence of a living mother, and then to find her like this, withsuch a history, was altogether a bewildering and unrealizablething. Was I unnatural that I had not fallen into her arms? Ought Ito have heard her story with sympathy, or at least, with simulatedsympathy? At any rate I had not erred on the side of kindness towardsher! I had made her suffer, and suffer very bitterly. Yet was not thatinevitable? The seed was of her own sowing, not of mine. I was herunconscious agent. The inevitable requital of offences against thelaws of social order had risen up against her in my person. If I hadpretended an affection which I certainly had not felt, I must havefigured as a hypocrite--and she was not the woman to desire that. Iliked her. I had been attracted towards her from the first. Doubtlessthat attraction, which was in itself intuitive, was due to thepromptings of nature. In that case it would develop. It seemed to methat this offer of hers--to go to her with a definite post anddefinite duties would be the best of all opportunities for suchdevelopment. I was strongly inclined to accept it. I was both lonelyand unhappy. In a certain sense my education and long residence abroadhad unfitted me for this sedentary (in a mental sense) and uneventfullife. The events of the last few weeks had only increased myrestlessness. There was something from which I desired almostfrantically to escape, certain thoughts which I must do my utmost todrown. At all costs I desired to leave the place. Its environment hadsuddenly become stifling to me. The more I considered my mother'soffer the more I felt inclined to accept it.
And accept it I did. Early one morning I walked down to the YellowHouse, and in a very few words engaged myself as Mrs. Fortress'ssecretary. We were both of us careful, for opposite reasons, not todiscuss the matter in any but a purely businesslike spirit. Yet shecould not altogether conceal the satisfaction which my decisioncertainly gave her.
"I only hope that you will not find the life too monotonous," shesaid. "There is a good deal of hard work to be done, of course, andmine is not altogether interesting labor."
"Hard work is just what I want," I assured her. "It will be strange atfirst, of course, but I do not mind the monotony of it. I want toescape from my thoughts. I feel as though I had been living through anightmare here."
She looked at me with a soft light in her eyes.
"Poor child!" she murmured, "poor child!"
I was afraid that she was going to ask me questions which I could notwell have answered, so I rose to my feet and turned away. Yet therewas something soothing in her evident sympathy. She walked to the doorwith me.
"When shall you be ready to go to London with me?" she asked, upon thethreshold.
"Any time," I answered, promptly. "There is nothing I desire so muchas to leave here."
"I will write to have my little place put in order to-day," shesaid. "It will be ready for us in a week, I dare say. I think that Itoo shall be glad to leave here."
I walked quietly home through the shadowy plantation and across thelittle stretch of common. On my way upstairs to my room Mary, ourlittle housemaid, interrupted me.
"There is a young lady in the drawing room waiting to see you, miss,"she announced; "she came directly after you went."
I retraced my steps slowly. Of course I knew who it was. I opened thedoor, and found her sitting close to the fire.
She rose at once to her feet, and looked at me a little defiantly. Igreeted her as pleasantly as I could, but she was evidently in a badhumor. There was an awkward silence for a moment or two. I waited forher to explain her mission.
"I saw you with Mr. Deville the other day," she remarked at last.
I nodded.
"It is quite true. I did all that I could to avoid him. That was whatI promised, you know."
"Is that the first time you have seen him since we made ourarrangement?" she asked.
"The first time," I answered.
"You have not been with him this afternoon?" she asked, suspiciously.
"Certainly not," I assured her. "I have only been down to seeMrs. Fortress for a few minutes."
"He was not there?"
"No."
She sighed and looked away from me into the fire, and when she spokeher voice was thick with rising sobs.
"He does not care for me. I cannot make him! My money does not seem tomake any difference. He is too fierce and independent. I don't thinkthat I shall ever be able to make him care."
I looked steadily down upon the carpet, and set my teeth firmly. Itwas ridiculous that my heart should be beating so fiercely.
"I'm sorry for you," I said, softly.
She fixed her black eyes upon me.
"You are sorry for me," she repeated. "Very good, you do not care forhim yourself. But listen! I am afraid, I fear that he cares for you."
"You do not know that," I faltered. "You----"
"Bah!" she interrupted, scornfully. "I know. But you--there is someone else. That is our secret. Never mind, you do not care for him atany rate. You shall help me then. What do you say?"
"How can I help you?" I repeated. "Have I not already done all that Ican by refusing to see him? What more can I do?"
"It was all a mistake--a stupid mistake, that idea of mine," shecried, passionately. "Men are such fools. I ought not to have tried tokeep you apart. He has been grim and furious always because he couldnot see you. I have had to suffer for it. It has been hateful. Oh, ifyou want to escape the greatest, the most hideous torture in thisworld," she cried, passionately, her thin voice quavering with nervousagitation, "pray to God that you may never love a man who caresnothing for you. It is unbearable! It is worse than hell! One isalways humiliated, always in the dust."
I was very sorry for her, and she could not fail to see it.
"If you are so sure that he does not care for you--that he is notlikely to care for you--would it not be better to go away and try toforget him?" I said. "It can only make you more miserable to stayhere, if he is not kind to you."
She threw a curious glance at me. It was full of suspicion and full ofmalice.
"Oh, yes! of course you would advise me to go away," she exclaimed,spitefully. "You would give a good deal to be rid of me. I know. Iwish----"
She leaned over a little nearer to me, and drew in her breath with alittle hiss. Her eyes were fixed upon my face eagerly.
"You wish what?" I asked her, calmly.
"I wish that I understood you; I wish I knew what you were afraidof. What have you to do with Philip Maltabar? If he is not your lover,who is he? If he is not your lover, what of Bruce Deville? Oh! if youhave been fooling me!" she muttered, with glistening eyes.
"You are a little enigmatic," I said, coldly. "You seem to think thatyou have a right to know every detail of my private life."
"I want to know more, at any rate, than you will tell me," sheanswered; "yet there is just this for you to remember. I am one ofthose whose love is stronger than their hate. For my love's sake Ihave forgotten to hate. But it may be that my love is vain. Then Ishall put it from me if I can--crush it even though my life dies withit. But I shall not forget to hate. I came here with a purpose. It hasgrown weak, but it may grow strong again. Do you understand me?"
"You mean in plain words that if you do not succeed with Mr. Deville,you will recommence your search for the man you call Philip Maltabar."
She nodded her head slowly; her keen eyes were seeking to read mine.
"You will do as you choose, of course," I answered; "as regardsMr. Deville, I can do no more for you than I have done."
She commenced twisting her fingers nervously together, and her eyesnever left my face.
"I think that you could do more than you have done," she said,meaningly. "You could do more if you would. That is why I am here. Ihave something to say to you about it."
"What is it?" I asked. "Better be p
lain with me. We have been talkingriddles long enough."
"Oh, I will be plain enough," she declared, with a touch of bluntfierceness in her tone. "I believe that he cares for you, I believethat is why he will not think for a moment even of me. When I tell youthat you know of course that I hate you."
"Oh, yes, I have known that for some time."
"I hate you!" she repeated, sullenly. "If you were to die I should beglad. If I had the means and the strength, I believe, I am sure that Iwould kill you myself."
I rose to my feet with a little shudder. She was terribly in earnest.
"I don't think, unless you have anything more to say, that it is aparticularly pleasant interview for either of us," I remarked, with myhand upon the bell. But she stopped me.
"I have something else to propose," she declared. "You have said thatyou do not love him. Very well. Perhaps his not seeing you hasirritated him and made him impatient. See him. Let him ask you--hewill not need much encouragement--and refuse him. Answer him so thathe cannot possibly make any mistake. Be rude to him if youcan. Perhaps then, if he knows that you are not to be moved, he willcome to me. Do you understand?"
"Oh, yes, I understand," I said, slowly; "I understandperfectly. There is only one thing you seem to forget. Your idea thatMr. Deville is interested in me is only a surmise. It is more thanpossible that you are altogether mistaken. He and I are almoststrangers. We have not met a dozen times in our lives. He has nevershown any inclination to make any sort of proposal to me; I shouldthink it most unlikely that he should ever do so. Supposing that youwere right, it would probably be months before he would mention it tome, and I am going away."
She smiled at me curiously. How I hated that smile, with its almostfeline-like exhibition of glistening white teeth!
"He will propose to you if you will let him," she said,confidently. "If you are really ignorant of that fact, and of yourconquest, I can assure you of it."
Suddenly she broke off and looked intently out of the window. Acrossthe park in the distance a tall, familiar figure was coming rapidlytowards us. She turned and faced me.
"He is coming here now," she declared. "I am going away. You stay hereand see him. Perhaps he will ask you now. Can't you help him on toit? Remember, the more decidedly you refuse him the safer is PhilipMaltabar. Be rude. Laugh at him; tell him he is too rough, too coarsefor you. That is what he thinks himself. Hurt his feelings--woundhim. It will be the better for you. You are a woman, and you can doit. Listen! Do you want money? I am rich. You shall have--I will giveyou five--ten thousand pounds if--if--he ever asks me. Ten thousandpounds, and safety for Philip Maltabar. You understand!"
She glided out of the room with white, passionate face and gleamingeyes. Whither she went I did not know. I stood there waiting for myvisitor.