FullReads

It was a short epistle, and humbly worded, for she realised that this, at least, was his due.

“I want you,” she wrote, “to forgive me, if you can, for the wrong I have done you, and to set me free. I accepted you upon impulse, I am ashamed to say, for the sake of your money. But the shame would be even greater if I did not tell you so. I do not know what view you will take, but my own is that, in releasing me, you will not lose anything that is worth having.”

The answer to this appeal came the next day by hand:

“May I see you alone at your flat at five o’clock?”

She had not expected it, and she felt for an instant as if a master hand had touched her, sending the blood tingling through her veins like fire. She sent a reply in the affirmative; and then set herself to face the longest day she had ever lived through.

She sat alone during the afternoon, striving desperately to nerve herself for the ordeal. But strive as she might, the fact remained that she was horribly, painfully frightened. There was something about this man which it seemed futile to resist, something that dominated her, something against which it hurt her to fight.

She heard his ring punctually upon the stroke of five, and she went herself to answer it.

He greeted her with his usual serenity of manner.

“All alone?” he asked, as he followed her into the little drawing-room in which he had proposed to her so short a time before.

She assented nervously.

“Jerry went into the city. He won’t be back yet.”

“That’s kind of you,” said Kenyon quietly.

She did not ask him to sit down. They faced each other on the hearthrug. The strong glare of the electric light showed him that she was very pale.

Abruptly he thrust out his hand to her.

“You must forgive me for bullying your brother the other day,” he said. “Really, he deserved it.”

She glanced up quickly.

“Jerry doesn’t understand,” she said.

He kept his hand outstretched though she did not take it.

“I don’t understand, either,” he said.

“Do you really want to shake hands with me?” she murmured, her voice very low.

“I want to hold your hand in mine, if I may,” he answered simply. “I think it will help to solve the difficulty. Thank you! Yes; I thought you were trembling. Now, why, I wonder?”

She did not answer him. Her head was bent.

“Don’t!” he said gently. “There is no cause. Didn’t I tell you I would shunt if you didn’t want me?”

Still she was silent, her hand lying passive in his.

“Come!” he said. “I want to understand, don’t you know. That note of yours. You say in it that you accepted me for the sake of my money. Even so. But I reckon that is more a reason for sticking to me than for throwing me over.”

He paused, but her head only drooped a little lower.

“Doesn’t that reason still exist?” he asked her, point blank.

She shivered at the direct question, but she answered it.

“Yes; it does. And that’s why I’m ashamed to go on.”

“Why ashamed?” he asked. “How do you know my reason for wanting to marry you is as good since I never told you what it was?”

She looked up then, suddenly and swiftly, and caught a curious glint in the blue eyes that watched her.

“I do know,” she said, speaking quickly, impulsively. “And that’s why–I can’t bear–that you should despise me.”

“Ah!” he said. “Do you really care what an outsider like myself thinks of you?”

The colour flamed suddenly in her white face, but he went on in his quiet drawl as if he had not seen it:

“If I thought it was for your happiness, believe me, I would set you free. But, so far, you haven’t given me any reason that could justify such a step. Can’t you think of one? Honestly, now?”