A CESSATION OF HOSTILITIES.
If, after Stratford had told his story, the party at the Mission had
been informed that the most anxious portion of their stay in
Kubbet-ul-Haj was still to come, the idea would have seemed absurd,
and yet the joyful night on which the treaty was signed proved to be
merely the prelude to a fresh period of uneasiness. Far from being
able to pack up and start at once on the return journey to the British
frontier, the members of the Mission found that their departure must
necessarily be delayed for at least a week. The camels and other
baggage-animals which had been taken from them had been sent for
safe-keeping to a town three days’ journey off, the governor of which
was a creature of Fath-ud-Din’s. It was therefore needful to send
after them, and, if the governor would consent to give them up, then
to bring them back, which in itself involved a considerable delay. But
this was not all. Jahan Beg in Fath-ud-Din’s place bore a certain
resemblance to the ass in the lion’s skin. As he said himself, he
laboured under the great disadvantage, as compared with his
predecessor, of being too scrupulous for the post.
“I should have thought I had learnt by this time to do in Ethiopia as
the Ethiopians do,” he grumbled one day to Stratford and Dick, who
were entertaining him on the verandah of the Durbar-hall with coffee
and conversation; “but I find now that I have some remnants of a
Christian conscience left somewhere about me still, old renegade
though I am. I simply haven’t got it in me to take the measures which
the situation demands. Fath-ud-Din in my place would have had no
difficulty. He would merely have had his predecessor brought before
him, and tortured until things went smoothly. But he knows that I am
not the man to do that, and it gives him a tremendous pull over me
when I want to find out something he knows, or when some of his people
have to be kept quiet. It isn’t dignified for me to be always going to
the mouth of the dungeon and shouting down questions which he refuses
to answer, and I have put it to the King that we must try another
plan.”
This meant that Fath-ud-Din was to be released from the dungeon and
kept as a kind of state-prisoner in the Palace. The new plan was
successful in so far as he was more disposed to answer questions
relating to his past stewardship; but it worked badly when it
emboldened his adherents to resist the new Vizier on the ground that
he was still afraid of his predecessor, and could not act without his
help. The mob of the city, who had always been Fath-ud-Din’s warmest
friends, resented his downfall keenly, and lost no opportunity of
testifying their hatred to Jahan Beg and the English strangers, to
whose influence that downfall was to be ascribed. Once more the
Mission was guarded on all sides by soldiers, this time in order to
prevent a murderous attack by the mob, whose attitude was extremely
threatening. A further danger arose from the fact that there was
reason to believe that the soldiers themselves were not altogether to
be depended upon, and this added enormously to the anxiety of
Stratford and of Jahan Beg. So long as the soldiers could keep down
the townspeople, and the Grand Vizier could keep down the soldiers,
things were fairly safe; but at any moment a chance spark might fire
the train, and an explosion occur, the first results of which would be
the murder of Jahan Beg and the massacre of the British Mission. No
one left the house during these days of terror, and the gates were
barely opened to admit traders and messengers. Within, every man had
his revolver ready to his hand, and heaps of sand-bags were in
readiness to barricade the entrance to the archway in Bachelors’
Buildings and the windows of the Durbar-hall. The Mission premises
were in a state of siege.
During all this anxious time, however, no change was made in the
social life of the little colony. In spite of alarms from without, and
the abiding sorrow of Sir Dugald’s speechless and unconscious
condition, the usual routine of work and meals remained unbroken, and
the gatherings on the terrace after dinner were not abandoned. To
Georgia there seemed at first something heartless, almost wicked, in
keeping up appearances in this way at such a crisis; but it was Lady
Haigh herself who pointed out to her the reasons for the insensibility
which she was inclined to reprobate.
“There is the effect on the servants to be considered, my dear,” she
said. “If we went about looking dishevelled and woe-begone, and
refused to take our meals at the proper hours, we should have them
deserting right and left. It will help the men, too, more than
anything if they see us cheerful and apparently unconscious of danger.
I believe that Mr Stratford and Major North would be almost
heartbroken if they imagined that we knew as much about the state of
things as we do.”
“But that is very foolish,” objected Georgia. “Why don’t they take us
into their councils and let us all know authoritatively the worst we
have to fear?”
“My dear, men are not made that way. They like to think that they have
succeeded in hiding their apprehensions from us, and that we are
pursuing our butterfly existence untroubled by thoughts of danger. And
if it makes them happier to think so, we won’t undeceive them. We will
dress for dinner, and talk cheerfully, and give them a little music in
the evenings, and do our best to help them in whatever way we can.”
“But I don’t like it, Lady Haigh. They are treating us like babies.”
“Well, dear child, we know we are not babies. It is hard, I know, when
you feel that you could give them valuable help--or, at any rate,
moral support--if they would pay you the compliment of taking you into
their confidence; but I believe that this is the way in which we can
help them most, and sooner than add a finger’s weight to the burden
those two dear fellows are bearing, I would take to bibs and a rattle
again!”
And Georgia, while she marvelled, perceived that thirty years of
married life teach some things about the other sex which are not
included in the curriculum of any university or medical school. It was
not without a certain degree of envy that she acknowledged to herself
that she would have been willing to exchange a small portion--perhaps
even an appreciable amount--of her medical knowledge for a share of
that acquaintance with the world and with male human nature which lay
behind Lady Haigh’s shrewd hazel eyes. For Dick was still obdurate and
unapproachable, and after the enlightening which had come to her on
the day of the signing of the treaty, she did not dare to make any of
those overtures by means of which she had occasionally succeeded in
re-establishing peace after their former quarrels. There was always
the risk that he might misunderstand--or was it not rather that he
might too well understand?--her motive.
“If it was merely an ordinary disagreement,” she said to herself,
hopelessly, “I am not too proud to hold out a hand of friendship, but
now!--I know I said some hard things to him, but he had said worse to
me--though I shouldn’t mind now what he said if only I knew that he
cared. And I thought he did care--that day when he called me
Georgie--what could it have meant but that? It can’t be, oh! it can’t
be, that he has been trying to lead me on, and make me care for him,
in revenge for my refusing him long ago? I won’t believe it of him. It
isn’t like him--he wouldn’t do it. If it was that--if he could be such
a wretch, I would--yes, I could forgive him anything but that!”
Dick’s feelings during this period were scarcely more to be envied
than Georgia’s. Having assured himself that nothing on earth could
make him more miserable than he was already, he was fiercely eager
that the crown should be given to his misery by Georgia’s engagement
to Stratford, for the announcement of which he looked daily, but which
did not take place. On the contrary, Stratford went about his work as
usual, apparently unconscious that anything of the kind was or could
be expected from him, while Georgia looked “about as wretched--well,
as I feel!” said Dick to himself. He could not reasonably believe that
Stratford cared for her, after his friend’s explicit denial of the
fact; but it became abundantly clear to him that he ought to be made
to do so, if Georgia’s happiness depended upon it. For a day or two he
thought seriously of informing him that he must--under penalties which
Dick did not specify to himself--ask her to marry him, since he had
evidently been trifling with her feelings; but, happily, a vague
impression that a marriage entered upon under such conditions was
scarcely likely to turn out well restrained him. The more immediate
certainty that Miss Keeling would bitterly resent such an interference
in her affairs did not trouble Dick; it maddened him to see her
looking as she looked now, and her happiness must be secured in spite
of herself. In the meantime, he did his best to hate Stratford, both
for his past conduct and his present callousness as to its results,
and found it very difficult. The man was his friend and good comrade,
and absolutely innocent of any wish to quarrel, and Dick would find
himself sitting on the office table and talking familiarly to him as
of old. Then he would call up the haunting remembrance of Miss
Keeling’s pale face and reproachful eyes, and divided between the
desire to avenge her wrongs and the fear of betraying her secret,
become so snappish that any one but Stratford would have taken offence
and demanded an explanation. But Stratford had a large fund of
patience to draw upon, and he was sorry for Dick. He saw that things
were not going well with him, and although he was too prudent to seek
to interfere, he was determined not to make matters worse by taking up
any of the gauntlets which his friend was perpetually flinging down.
Another person who viewed the state of things with much interest and
uneasiness was Lady Haigh. During her long and philanthropic, if
slightly autocratic, experience of English life in the East, she had
engineered to a satisfactory conclusion a good many love affairs, and
she had welcomed the first signs of this one as affording a fresh
scope for the exercise of her particular talent. But she had now for
some days been driven to the opinion that Dick and Georgia were
playing at cross-purposes, a form of recreation which she regarded
with the utmost horror, and she yearned to do something to set matters
right.
“Nothing on earth shall induce me to interfere,” she assured herself.
“Interference is a thing I abhor. But if either of them should give me
the chance of saying a word, I shall certainly step in.”
Fortune favoured Lady Haigh. Coming out on the terrace one evening at
dusk, after a long watch in Sir Dugald’s room, she saw Dick crossing
the court towards her. He had just seen that the sentries were
properly posted, and the flag hauled down for the night, and now he
mounted the steps and found the terrace apparently empty. Lady Haigh
was standing motionless in the shadow of the doorway, and she heard
him sigh, for no obvious reason, as he threw himself into one of the
chairs, and then propound despairingly for his own benefit the
well-worn conundrum, “Is life worth living?”
“I am sorry to hear you say that, Major North,” said Lady Haigh, in
her brisk tones, as she moved forward out of the darkness, and sat
down opposite to him. “You are very high in the Service for a man of
your age, you have the best possible prospects, a sufficiency of
money, and a record which would make most men’s mouths water. Don’t
you think that you are a slightly unreasonable--not to say
ungrateful--man?”
“I must beg your pardon for being so trite,” said Dick, on the
defensive at once. “If I had known you were there, I would have tried
to couch my question in more original language.”
“But you would still have asked it?”
“I’m afraid so. You think me a discontented beast, don’t you, Lady
Haigh?”
“That I can’t decide until I know what grounds you have for your
discontent.”
“It isn’t for my own sake--at least, I come into it too, of course,
but it is chiefly on another person’s account.”
“Come, this does you great credit, Major North. That the world should
become clouded for you on account of some one else’s troubles--when
everything with which you have to do is going on so well”--she could
not resist this hit at the reticence which Stratford and he had
maintained on the subject of the dangers that threatened the party,
but he did not notice it--“this shows a most unselfish spirit. Are the
misfortunes of this other person absolutely beyond remedy?”
“They ought not to be, but I can’t for the life of me see how they are
to be set right,” said Dick, moodily.
“Well, I am very sorry to hear it. If at any time you think I can be
of any help towards setting them right, be sure you let me know. The
chief, I may say the only, pleasure I have just now lies in helping
other people.”
She rose as though to go indoors, but Dick stopped her.
“If you can spare me a few minutes, please stay and let me tell you
about it now,” he entreated. “I am awfully puzzled--and
worried--and--and miserable. I want you to look at things quite apart
from me. If I could only see her happy, I might get over it in time, I
suppose, but now----”
“My dear boy----” Lady Haigh began, then, hoping that he had not
observed the slip, altered it to, “My dear Major North, you must
please explain yourself a little. Who is the lady to whom you
refer--not Miss Keeling?”
“Yes, it is Miss Keeling,” said Dick, rather guiltily.
“But is Miss Keeling unhappy?”
“How you women hang together!” he remarked, with some bitterness. “You
must have seen it, Lady Haigh, and yet you won’t say a word to help me
out. I feel as if I had no business to talk about it, even to you--and
yet you are the only other woman here--and it isn’t as though I was
betraying her confidence, for she never told me. She only let me see
unmistakably----”
“I am afraid you won’t believe me,” interrupted Lady Haigh, “but I
really don’t understand you. If I can do anything whatever to help
either you or Miss Keeling, you may count upon me, as I said just now;
but please don’t think I want to pry into your private affairs.”
“I’m a fearful bear,” said Dick, penitently, “and it’s awfully good of
you to be willing to take so much trouble about us, when Sir Dugald is
ill, and you have so much to be anxious about. I’ll make a clean
breast of the whole thing, for I am quite at the end of my tether, and
I can’t see what to do. It doesn’t signify what happens to me, you
know, but----”
“Do you know that you are frightening me, Major North? What desperate
enterprise has Miss Keeling got on hand that you should talk about her
and yourself in this strain?”
“It’s nothing of that kind. It is only that I want to see her happy.
Perhaps you don’t know that for some time lately I have been beginning
to hope that one day she might get to care for me?” Lady Haigh
smothered a smile, and nodded assent. “Well, it was on the day that
the treaty was signed that I found out all at once that it was
Stratford she cared for.”
“Mr Stratford?” cried Lady Haigh, with a start. “Are you quite
certain?”
“I had no idea of anything of the kind until she turned on me and
asked why I had let him go to the Palace to save her, and said she
would never speak to me again if anything happened to him. I couldn’t
mistake that, could I?” he asked, with a dreary smile. “It was all
clear to me at once, and I can’t tell you what an arrant and
unmitigated and contemptible brute I felt for having let him go. I’m
sure I should never have had the face to go near her again if he had
got killed.”
“Well, but wasn’t it all right when he came back?”
“No, indeed; it is all wrong. He doesn’t care for her; he told me so
himself before he went. Now, you know, no one can be astonished at her
caring for him, he is such an out-and-out good fellow; but if he
doesn’t care for her, what is to be done? That is what I am addling my
brains over, and if you can suggest anything, Lady Haigh, I shall
bless you for ever.”
“What was your own idea as to what ought to be done?”
“Well, it’s pretty clear to me that if Miss Keeling had a father or a
brother out here, it would be his business to take the matter in hand,
and bring Stratford to book--ask him his intentions, and that sort of
thing. I don’t want to say anything against him, but it’s quite plain
that he isn’t doing the proper thing; and if he has made her care for
him with those high and mighty A.D.C. airs of his”--Dick spoke with
the lively bitterness of a man who has known and suffered far from
gladly the wiseacres of a viceregal _entourage_--“he ought not to be
allowed to cry off like this without even asking her to marry him.”
“Then the propriety of your assuming the _rôle_ of Miss Keeling’s
brother, and representing the matter to him yourself, has not
suggested itself to you?” Lady Haigh waited with keen anxiety for the
answer, which came with a groan.
“Hasn’t it indeed? But how is a man to do such a thing without giving
the girl away? Don’t tell me you think I ought to do it, Lady Haigh!
I’ll do it if you say I must; but really, you know, I am absolutely
the worst fellow that ever was born for a delicate job of that kind.
Stratford told me himself on that very day that tact was not my strong
point, which is putting it mildly, and this sort of thing simply cries
aloud for tact.”
“You are quite right, it does, and I am truly thankful that you have
not felt called upon to attempt it.” Dick heaved a sigh of relief.
“But do tell me, Major North, why you are willing to put aside your
own hopes in this way, and bring Mr Stratford to book?”
“Because I want to see her happy,” growled Dick.
“You think she is not happy?”
“Look at her face. Ever since that day, she has looked quite
different. Perhaps you haven’t noticed it, for she keeps a cheerful
expression for company. But I have come upon her unexpectedly, and
seen her when she thought no one was looking, and her face--well, it
made me want to pulverise Stratford, that’s all. She put on the
cheerful expression again as soon as she caught me looking at her,
just as though I didn’t know all about it, and wouldn’t give my right
hand to help her,” he concluded, resentfully.
“Major North,” said Lady Haigh, solemnly, “if your insight into
character was only equal to your goodwill, you would be a very clever
man, but as it is----” there was an expressive pause, then Lady Haigh
bent towards him, and spoke very low and distinctly. “You are quite
right not to speak to Mr Stratford, it would only do harm; but I think
you ought to speak to Miss Keeling herself. What you have told me is
news to me, and if I am not mistaken, it will also be news to her. You
would tell her, of course, that you had discovered that she was in
love with Mr Stratford, and was pining for him, because he would not
ask her to marry him. That is the kind of fact about oneself which one
has a right to know. Tell her, by all means. I don’t guarantee that
you will escape with your life, but a storm clears the air sometimes.
On second thoughts, don’t tell her. I really think it would be
scarcely safe. Lay your own story before her--without any names, if
you like--and see what she says. That is my honest and candid advice,
without any kind of joking. If you won’t take it, I fear I can’t help
you.”
And Lady Haigh rose and went into the house, leaving Dick stupefied.
He felt utterly bewildered, and was conscious only that he must have
made some egregious mistake, which Lady Haigh had perceived, but would
not point out to him for fear of spoiling the game. In spite of her
assurance that she was not joking, he yet hesitated to accept her last
piece of advice. What possible good could it do to tell Miss Keeling
_his_ story, even supposing that he could succeed in finding her
alone, and that she would vouchsafe to listen to him? It looked like
stealing a march on Stratford, too; but, of course, that was absurd.
Stratford was in possession of the field, and if it was no good
attempting a serious attack on his position, how could it serve any
useful purpose to make a feint of an assault upon it? It could only
render Miss Keeling more unhappy still, for Dick felt sure that she
would pity even him when she learnt how the words which had escaped
her lips in her first grief and despair had gone to his heart. There
seemed to be no way out of the dilemma, and Dick decided very quickly
that he would not in any case follow Lady Haigh’s counsel, for fear of
complicating the situation further. At least he could keep his own
feelings in the background, while waiting anxiously for something to
turn up that might relieve him from the necessity of taking any step
at all. As it happened, however, the explanation he dreaded was
precipitated by an event of so much importance that it actually
obscured in his mind for the time the whole question he had discussed
with Lady Haigh.
Bad news reached the Mission on the following morning. The district
which had hitherto been ruled by Fath-ud-Din was in open revolt. The
governor of the town to which the baggage-animals had been sent
refused to surrender them except to Fath-ud-Din or the King in person,
and this necessitated the despatch of a military expedition to enforce
compliance with the royal order. Jahan Beg could not venture to leave
the capital, and although Rustam Khan was to be sent in command of the
forces, the business was likely to be a long one in the present
unsatisfactory state of the army. This meant a further period of
detention at Kubbet-ul-Haj for the Mission, and Stratford and Dick,
feeling that they could not impose upon the ladies much longer with
any hope of success, broke the news to them with elaborate care. Lady
Haigh, true to her self-effacing creed, received it with suitable
alarm; but Georgia puzzled the two men by exclaiming, “Is _that_ all?”
in a tone which showed that their considerate method of making the
announcement had prepared her to hear things much worse than the
reality. Dick thought that she was failing to realise the gravity of
the news, and anticipated a reaction when she began to perceive fully
what it meant; and when he came upon her on the terrace after dinner
that evening, he thought that the reaction had come. Lady Haigh had
been called away, and Dick, emerging from the lighted dining-room to
make his usual tour of inspection, found Georgia sitting alone and
gazing into the darkness. Something in the desolation of her attitude
went to his heart, and he approached her impulsively and laid his hand
upon her shoulder.
“For heaven’s sake, Miss Keeling, don’t give in now!” he said,
hoarsely. “You and Lady Haigh have kept our hearts up all this week by
your pluck and cheerfulness.”
“I don’t think I am afraid,” said Georgia, without looking at him.
“One could always defend oneself, you see, if the mob broke in, and
that would probably ensure death at once, and I have seen too many
deathbeds not to know that death is generally easier than most people
think. No, it is the isolation, the fearful loneliness, the feeling
that there is not one of these people, to whom we have been trying to
do good, that does not hate us heartily.”
“Oh, I hope it’s not so bad as you think----” began Dick; but his
clumsy attempt at consolation died on his lips. “How long have you
known that things were as bad as they are?” he asked her.
“As long as you have,” returned Georgia, with some scorn.
“Not really so long? We were trying to save you from the knowledge. We
hoped----”
“Yes, I know; but, unfortunately, you had to deal with an old
campaigner and a New Woman, you see. Lady Haigh and I were able to
read the signs of the times as well as you and Mr Stratford; but we
pretended that we knew nothing about things, for the sake of sparing
your feelings. Now, do you think you have treated us properly? I don’t
demand information as a right; I only ask whether it was fair--whether
it was even kind--to try and keep us in ignorance? We have at least as
much at stake as you have.”
“At least?” he repeated, bitterly. “I can tell you that I would give
my life gladly to know that you were in Khemistan and safe out of
this. Now you can’t say that I haven’t spoken plainly.”
“But why not have told us the worst before, and let us talk it over,
and get what comfort we could out of that? Facing a danger boldly
makes it seem much less terrible. It is the guessing, and the
wondering, and the putting two and two together, and the anxiety as to
whether there has been any fresh trouble, of which we know nothing, to
make you and Mr Stratford look graver and graver every day, that have
been so dreadful this week.”
“Have a little pity for me, Georgia,” he said, almost roughly; and she
realised, with a sudden tightening of the heart, that he had used the
same words that other day. “Do you think it’s an easy or a pleasant
thing for a man to tell the woman he loves--as I love you--that such
things are before her as seem to be before us now? No, don’t start and
turn your back on me--you have brought this on yourself. You laughed
at me when I told you I loved you long ago, and again and again since
we first met this year you have shown me pretty plainly that nothing I
could do would ever change your tone. When I begged your pardon after
that fuss about your doctoring the Chief, and you wouldn’t listen to
me, I couldn’t have believed a woman would have spoken in such a way
to the greatest blackguard on earth, let alone a man that had put
himself at her mercy. Your mercy, indeed!--I believe you enjoy
tormenting me. But you can go too far--even with me. Under ordinary
circumstances I should have respected your wishes, and not persecuted
you with my unwelcome attentions; but this is not an ordinary time,
and you have goaded me beyond bearing, and I tell you--and you shall
hear it--that I shall love you till I die--and beyond. You can’t alter
it.”
He paused, expecting an outburst of anger, but Georgia’s head was
turned away from him, and she made no answer.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he said at last, apprehensively, his
conscience smiting him for his roughness. “I know by what you have
said that you have enough to bear already.”
“I am not crying!” said Georgia, resenting the accusation indignantly,
and for one moment she turned her eyes upon him. They were shining,
but not with tears. Dick thought that it was with anger, and her words
served to confirm him in his belief. “I have tried to be patient with
you,” she went on quickly, and her voice seemed to him to be throbbing
with wounded pride, “but you are too unfair. You say you love me, but
how do you treat me? Since we met last March--as you said just now;
you see that I can hoard up grudges as well as you--you have done
nothing but parade your contempt for me, and for everything I care
for. What do you know about the New Woman? What do you know about me?
and yet you have persecuted me continually with the name, which you,
at any rate, meant to be one of reproach. I don’t know what your idea
of love may be, but I think that it ought to teach a little
tenderness--a little consideration for the other person’s feelings.
How dare you tell me that you love me? You might, if you could bend me
to your own pattern; but you can’t, and so you have done your best to
show that you dislike me. Not that your dislike signifies to me in the
least, of course,” with superb disdain, “but I don’t see why you
should render yourself generally unpleasant by exhibiting it.”
“Make a little allowance for me, please. I loved you, and you would
not listen to me. I daresay I have made an awful idiot of myself,
but----”
“Don’t say that you had excuse. I was always willing to be friends
with you, if you would only----”
“Friends? I don’t want your friendship. There can be no such thing
between you and me. I must have all or nothing.”
“And by way of getting all, you did everything you could to make it
impossible for me to give you anything? I am not a Griselda, and if
you will excuse my saying it, I don’t think nature intended you for a
Petruchio. Were you really under the impression that the best way of
winning a woman’s heart was to abuse all her friends and pour contempt
on all her interests? How could I learn to care for you?”
“I am very sorry, Georgie,” said Dick, humbly enough.
“It is possible to be sorry too late,” Georgia went on mercilessly;
but he interrupted her with a burst of passion.
“Don’t I know that? Hasn’t it tormented me day and night since I knew
that you cared for him? Don’t try me too far. I have done my best not
to worry you since that day, and if I could do anything to make you
happy with him, I would; but I can’t stand it if you begin to moralise
on the subject. You expect too much of a man.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Georgia, turning round quickly. Her
face had grown very pale. “Who is the person you are talking about?”
“Why, Stratford, of course,” said Dick, off his guard. Georgia’s eyes
flamed.
“Stratford? You thought I was in love with Mr Stratford? After that, I
don’t think there is anything more that need be said, Major North.
Will you kindly let me pass?”
But he would not. Despair gave him courage, and he put his arm across
the doorway. “Georgie, I’m an idiot and an ass and an utter fool, but
give me another chance. I do love you, and if you will only let me try
again, now that there’s no other fellow in the way, perhaps you might
come to care for me a little in time.”
Georgia wavered, and was lost. She had caught sight of his face in the
moonlight, and there was an expression in his eyes which completed
what his eager, halting words had begun. “Oh, Dick, don’t look at me
like that,” she entreated, laying her hands on his arm. “You may try
again.”
“Try again? Georgie, may I really? How much does that mean?”
“Take the night to think over it,” said Georgia, trying to slip past
him indoors; but he caught her hands and held her prisoner.
“You said just now ‘how could you learn to care for me?’ I thought you
meant that it was impossible. Did you mean that there might be a
chance? Just the one word, dear.”
“Yes,” said Georgia, in a voice which was somewhat muffled. “At least,
I mean no. I have cared for you a long time.”
“What a beast I have been!” was the next coherent remark uttered by
Dick.
“You were rather a trial,” was the murmured answer.
“But I am going to reform now, Georgie. You must pull me up if I let
out at anything in which you have the smallest interest. But I could
praise up the New Woman herself to-night.”
“Considering that I am the embodiment of the New Woman to your mind,”
began Georgia, “that is a very poor----”
“I say, North, is there anything wrong? Haven’t you finished your
rounds yet?” shouted Stratford, coming to the dining-room window with
a half-smoked cigar in his fingers.
“No, it’s all right,” answered Dick’s voice, unexpectedly near at
hand. “I’ll do the rounds in a minute.”