SHOWING HOW MAJOR GRANTLY RETURNED TO GUESTWICK
Grace, when she was left alone, threw herself upon
the sofa, and hid her face in her hands. She
was weeping almost hysterically, and had been utterly
dismayed and frightened by her lover’s impetuosity.
Things had gone after a fashion which her imagination
had not painted to her as possible. Surely she
had the power to refuse the man if she pleased.
And yet she felt as she lay there weeping that she
did in truth belong to him as part of his goods, and
that her generosity had been foiled. She had
especially resolved that she would not confess any
love to him. She had made no such confession.
She had guarded herself against doing so with all
the care which she knew how to use. But he assumed
the fact, and she had been unable to deny it.
Could she have lied to him, and sworn that she did
not love him? Could she have so perjured herself,
even in support of her generosity? Yes, she would
have done so—so she told herself—if
a moment had been given to her for thought. She
ought to have done so, and she blamed herself for
being so little prepared for the occasion. The
lie would be useless now. Indeed, she would have
no opportunity for telling it; for of course she would
not answer—would not even read his letter.
Though he might know that she loved him, yet she would
not be his wife. He had forced her secret from
her, but he could not force her to marry him.
She did love him, but he should never be disgraced
by her love.
After a while she was able to think of his conduct,
and she believed that she ought to be very angry with
him. He had taken her roughly in his arms, and
had insulted her. He had forced a kiss from her.
She had felt his arms warm and close and strong about
her, and had not known whether she was in paradise
or in purgatory. She was very angry with him.
She would send back his letter to him without reading
it—without opening it, if that might be
possible. He had done that to her which nothing
could justify. But yet—yet—yet
how dearly she loved him! Was he not the prince
of men? He had behaved badly, of course; but had
any man ever behaved so badly before in so divine
a way? Was it not a thousand pities that she
should be driven to deny anything to a lover who so
richly deserved everything that could be given to him?
He had kissed her hand as he let her go, and now,
not knowing what she did, she kissed the spot on which
she had felt his lips. His arm had been round
her waist, and the old frock which she wore should
be kept by her for ever, because it had been so graced.
