"Strange as it may be to you to hear me say it, there's a good you can
do me and a help you can render."
"Isn't it then exactly what I've been trying to make you feel?"
"Yes," she answered patiently, "but so in the wrong way. I'm perfectly
honest in what I say, and I know what I'm talking about. It isn't that
I'll pretend I could have believed a month ago in anything to call aid
or support from you. The case is changed--that's what has happened; my
difficulty's a new one. But even now it's not a question of anything I
should ask you in a way to 'do.' It's simply a question of your not
turning me away--taking yourself out of my life. It's simply a question
of your saying: 'Yes then, since you will, we'll stand together. We
won't worry in advance about how or where; we'll have a faith and find
a way.' That's all--_that_ would be the good you'd do me. I should
_have_ you, and it would be for my benefit. Do you see?"
If he didn't it was not for want of looking at her hard. "The matter
with you is that you're in love, and that your aunt knows and--for
reasons, I'm sure, perfect--hates and opposes it. Well she may! It's a
matter in which I trust her with my eyes shut. Go, please." Though he
spoke not in anger--rather in infinite sadness--he fairly turned her
out. Before she took it up he had, as the fullest expression of what he
felt, opened the door of the room. He had fairly, in his deep
disapproval, a generous compassion to spare. "I'm sorry for her,
deluded woman, if she builds on you."
Kate stood a moment in the draught. "She's not the person _I_ pity
most, for, deluded in many ways though she may be, she's not the person
who's most so. I mean," she explained, "if it's a question of what you
call building on me."
He took it as if what she meant might be other than her description of
it. "You're deceiving _two_ persons then, Mrs. Lowder and somebody
else?"
She shook her head with detachment. "I've no intention of that sort
with respect to any one now--to Mrs. Lowder least of all. If you fail
me"--she seemed to make it out for herself--"that has the merit at
least that it simplifies. I shall go my way--as I see my way."
"Your way, you mean then, will be to marry some blackguard without a
penny?"
"You ask a great deal of satisfaction," she observed, "for the little
you give."
It brought him up again before her as with a sense that she was not to
be hustled; and, though he glared at her a little, this had long been
the practical limit to his general power of objection. "If you're base
enough to incur your aunt's disgust, you're base enough for my
argument. What, if you're not thinking of an utterly improper person,
do your speeches to me signify? Who _is_ the beggarly sneak?" he
demanded as her response failed. Her response, when it came, was cold
but distinct. "He has every disposition to make the best of you. He
only wants in fact to be kind to you."
"Then he _must_ be an ass! And how in the world can you consider it to
improve him for me," her father pursued, "that he's also destitute and
impossible? There are asses and asses, even--the right and the
wrong--and you appear to have carefully picked out one of the wrong.
Your aunt knows _them,_ by good fortune; I perfectly trust, as I tell
you, her judgment for them; and you may take it from me once for all
that I won't hear of any one of whom _she_ won't." Which led up to his
last word. "If you should really defy us both----!"
"Well, papa?"
"Well, my sweet child, I think that--reduced to insignificance as you
may fondly believe me--I should still not be quite without some way of
making you regret it."
She had a pause, a grave one, but not, as appeared, that she might
measure this danger. "If I shouldn't do it, you know, it wouldn't be
because I'm afraid of you."
"Oh, if you don't do it," he retorted, "you may be as bold as you like!"
"Then you can do nothing at all for me?"
He showed her, this time unmistakably--it was before her there on the
landing, at the top of the tortuous stairs and in the midst of the
strange smell that seemed to cling to them--how vain her appeal
remained. "I've never pretended to do more than my duty; I've given you
the best and the clearest advice." And then came up the spring that
moved him. "If it only displeases you, you can go to Marian to be
consoled." What he couldn't forgive was her dividing with Marian her
scant share of the provision their mother had been able to leave them.
She should have divided it with _him._