And the thought was exultant. Even thus late,
then, the satisfaction of vanity had been granted
her—nay, not of vanity alone.
He must be sincere. What motive could he possibly
have for playing a part? Might it not be true
that he was a changed man in certain respects, and
that a genuine emotion at length had control of him?
If so, she had only to wait for his next speech with
her in private; she could not misjudge a lover’s
pleading.
The interest would only be that of comedy. She
did not love Everard Barfoot, and saw no likelihood
of ever doing so; on the whole, a subject for thankfulness.
Nor could he seriously anticipate an assent to his
proposal for a free union; in declaring that legal
marriage was out of the question for him, he had removed
his love-making to the region of mere ideal sentiment.
But, if he loved her, these theories would sooner
or later be swept aside; he would plead with her to
become his legal wife.
To that point she desired to bring him. Offer
what he might, she would not accept it; but the secret
chagrin that was upon her would be removed. Love
would no longer be the privilege of other women.
To reject a lover in so many respects desirable, whom
so many women might envy her, would fortify her self-esteem,
and enable her to go forward in the chosen path with
firmer tread.
It was one o’clock; the fire had died out and
she began to shiver with cold. But a trembling
of joy at the same time went through her limbs; again
she had the sense of exultation, of triumph. She
would not dismiss him peremptorily. He should
prove the quality of his love, if love it were.
Coming so late, the experience must yield her all
it had to yield of delight and contentment.
THE JOYS OF HOME
Monica and her husband, on leaving the house in Queen’s
Road, walked slowly in the eastward direction.
Though night had fallen, the air was not unpleasant;
they had no object before them, and for five minutes
they occupied themselves with their thoughts.
Then Widdowson stopped.
‘Shall we go home again?’ he asked, just
glancing at Monica, then letting his eyes stray vaguely
in the gloom.
’I should like to see Milly, but I’m afraid
I can hardly take you there to call with me.’
‘Why not?’
’It’s a very poor little sitting-room,
you know, and she might have some friend. Isn’t
there anywhere you could go, and meet me afterwards?’
Frowning, Widdowson looked at his watch.
‘Nearly six o’clock. There isn’t
much time.’
’Edmund, suppose you go home, and let me come
back by myself? You wouldn’t mind, for
once? I should like so much to have a talk with
Milly. If I got back about nine or half-past,
I could have a little supper, and that’s all
I should want.’
He answered abruptly,—
‘Oh, but I can’t have you going about
alone at night.’
