To deceive undoubtedly requires a course of training.And, unversed in this art, Lennan was fast finding it intolerable to scheme and watch himself, and mislead one who had looked up to him ever since they were children.Yet, all the time, he had a feeling that, since he alone knew all the circumstances of his case, he alone was entitled to blame or to excuse himself.The glib judgments that moralists would pass upon his conduct could be nothing but the imbecilities of smug and pharisaic fools--of those not under this drugging spell--of such as had not blood enough, perhaps, ever to fall beneath it!
The day after the ride Nell had not come, and he had no word from her.Was she, then, hurt, after all? She had lain back very inertly in that chair! And Sylvia never asked if he knew how the girl was after her fall, nor offered to send round to inquire.Did she not wish to speak of her, or had she simply--not believed?
When there was so much he could not talk of it seemed hard that just what happened to be true should be distrusted.She had not yet, indeed, by a single word suggested that she felt he was deceiving her, but at heart he knew that she was not deceived....
Those feelers of a woman who loves--can anything check their delicate apprehension?...
Towards evening, the longing to see the girl--a sensation as if she were calling him to come to her--became almost insupportable; yet, whatever excuse he gave, he felt that Sylvia would know where he was going.He sat on one side of the fire, she on the other, and they both read books; the only strange thing about their reading was, that neither of them ever turned a leaf.It was 'Don Quixote'
he read, the page which had these words: "Let Altisidora weep or sing, still I am Dulcinea's and hers alone, dead or alive, dutiful and unchanged, in spite of all the necromantic powers in the world." And so the evening passed.When she went up to bed, he was very near to stealing out, driving up to the Dromores' door, and inquiring of the confidential man; but the thought of the confounded fellow's eyes was too much for him, and he held out.He took up Sylvia's book, De Maupassant's 'Fort comme la mort'--open at the page where the poor woman finds that her lover has passed away from her to her own daughter.And as he read, the tears rolled down his cheek.Sylvia! Sylvia! Were not his old favourite words from that old favourite book still true? "Dulcinea del Toboso is the most beautiful woman in the world, and I the most unfortunate knight upon the earth.It were unjust that such perfection should suffer through my weakness.No, pierce my body with your lance, knight, and let my life expire with my honour...."Why could he not wrench this feeling from his heart, banish this girl from his eyes? Why could he not be wholly true to her who was and always had been wholly true to him? Horrible--this will-less, nerveless feeling, this paralysis, as if he were a puppet moved by a cruel hand.And, as once before, it seemed to him that the girl was sitting there in Sylvia's chair in her dark red frock, with her eyes fixed on him.Uncannily vivid--that impression!...A man could not go on long with his head in Chancery like this, without becoming crazed!
It was growing dusk on Saturday afternoon when he gave up that intolerable waiting and opened the studio door to go to Nell.It was now just two days since he had seen or heard of her.She had spoken of a dance for that very night--of his going to it.She MUST be ill!
But he had not taken six steps when he saw her coming.She had on a grey furry scarf, hiding her mouth, ****** her look much older.
The moment the door was shut she threw it off, went to the hearth, drew up a little stool, and, holding her hands out to the fire, said:
"Have you thought about me? Have you thought enough now?"And he answered: "Yes, I've thought, but I'm no nearer.""Why? Nobody need ever know you love me.And if they did, Iwouldn't care."
Simple! How ******! Glorious, egoistic youth!
He could not speak of Sylvia to this child--speak of his married life, hitherto so dignified, so almost sacred.It was impossible.
Then he heard her say:
"It can't be wrong to love YOU! I don't care if it is wrong," and saw her lips quivering, and her eyes suddenly piteous and scared, as if for the first time she doubted of the issue.Here was fresh torment! To watch an unhappy child.And what was the use of even trying to make clear to her--on the very threshold of life--the hopeless maze that he was wandering in! What chance of ****** her understand the marsh of mud and tangled weeds he must drag through to reach her."Nobody need know." So ******! What of his heart and his wife's heart? And, pointing to his new work--the first man bewitched by the first nymph--he said:
"Look at this, Nell! That nymph is you; and this man is me." She got up, and came to look.And while she was gazing he greedily drank her in.What a strange mixture of innocence and sorcery!
What a wonderful young creature to bring to full knowledge of love within his arms! And he said: "You had better understand what you are to me--all that I shall never know again; there it is in that nymph's face.Oh, no! not YOUR face.And there am I struggling through slime to reach you--not MY face, of course."She said: "Poor face!" then covered her own.Was she going to cry, and torture him still more? But, instead, she only murmured: "But you HAVE reached me!" swayed towards him, and put her lips to his.
He gave way then.From that too stormy kiss of his she drew back for a second, then, as if afraid of her own recoil, snuggled close again.But the instinctive shrinking of innocence had been enough for Lennan--he dropped his arms and said:
"You must go, child."
Without a word she picked up her fur, put it on, and stood waiting for him to speak.Then, as he did not, she held out something white.It was the card for the dance.
"You said you were coming?"
And he nodded.Her eyes and lips smiled at him; she opened the door, and, still with that slow, happy smile, went out....
