HOW TITA, HAVING BEEN REPULSED, GROWS ANGRY; AND HOW A VERY PRETTY
BATTLE IS FOUGHT OUT; AND HOW TITA GAINS A PRESENT; AND HOW SIR
MAURICE LOSES HIS TEMPER.
Her hands drop to her sides. She grows suddenly a little pale. Her
eyes widen.
"What is it? What have I done _now?"_ asks she.
The "now" has something pathetic in it.
"Done! done!" He is trying to keep down the fury that is possessing
him. He had come to speak to her with a fixed determination in his
heart not to lose his temper, not to let her have that advantage
over him. He would be calm, judicial, but now---- What is the matter
with him now? Seeing her there, so lovely and so sweet, so full of
all graciousness--a very flower of beauty--a little thing--
"Light as the foam that flecks the seas,
Fitful as summer's sunset breeze"--
somehow a very _rage_ of anger conquers him, and he feels as if he
would like to take her and _compel_ her to his will. "You have done
one thing, at all events," says he. "You have forfeited my trust in
you for ever."
"_I_ have?"
"Yes, you! When I left home this morning, what was the last word I
said to you? I must have been a fool indeed when I said it. I told
you I left our house and our guests in your charge."
"Well?"
"Well?" He checks himself forcibly. Even now, when passion is
gathering, he holds himself back. "When I came back what did I see?"
"Our house--_not_ in flames, I hope; and our guests--enjoying
themselves!" Tita has lifted her head. She allows herself a little
smile. Then she turns upon him. "Ah, I told you!" says she. "You
want always to find fault with me."
"I want nothing but that my wife should show _some_ sort of
dignity."
"I see! You should have asked Mrs. Bethune to see after your
house--your guests!" says Tita.
She says it very lightly. Her small face has a faint smile upon it.
She moves to a large lounging chair, and flings herself into it with
charming _abandon_, crosses her lovely naked arms behind her head,
and looks up at him with naughty defiance.
"Perhaps you hardly know, Tita, what you are saying," says Rylton
slowly.
"Yes, I do. I do indeed. What I do _not_ know is, what fault you
have to find with me."
"Then learn it at once." His tone is stern. "I object to your
playing hide-and-seek with your cousin."
"With my cousin! One would think," says Tita, getting up from her
chair and staring at him as if astonished, "that Tom and I had been
playing it by _ourselves!"_
"It seemed to me very much like that," says Rylton, his eyes white
and cold.
"I know what you mean," says Tita. "And," with open contempt, "I'm
sorry for you--you think Tom is in love with me! And you therefore
refuse to let me have a single word with him at any time. And why?
What does it matter to you, when _you_ don't care? When _you_ are
not in love with me!" Rylton makes a slight movement. "It's a
regular dog in the manger business; _you_ don't like me, and
therefore nobody else must like me. That's what it comes to! And,"
with a little blaze of wrath, "it is all so absurd, too! If I can't
speak to my own cousin, I can't speak to anyone."
"I don't object to your speaking to your cousin," says Rylton; "you
can speak to him as much as ever you like. What I object to is your
making yourself particular with him--your spending whole _hours_
with him."
"Hours! We weren't five seconds behind that screen."
"I am not thinking of the screen now; I am thinking of yesterday
morning, when you went out riding with him."
"What! you have not forgotten that yet?" exclaims she, with high
scorn. "Why, I thought you had forgiven, and put all that behind
you."
"I have not forgotten it. I might have considered it wiser to say
nothing more about it, had not your conduct of this evening----"
"Nonsense!" She interrupts him with a saucy little shrug of her
shoulders. "And as for _hours_--it wasn't hours, any way."
"You went out with him at eight o'clock----"
"Who told you that?"
"Your maid."
"You asked Sarah?"
"Certainly I did. I had to do something before I asked my guests to
sit down to breakfast without their hostess!"
"Well, I don't care who you asked," says Tita mutinously.
"You went out at eight, and you came home late for breakfast at
half-past ten."
"I explained all that to you," says Tita, flinging out her hands.
"Tom and I went for a race, and of course I didn't think it would
take so long, and----"
"I don't suppose," coldly, "you thought at all."
"Certainly I never thought I was going to get a scolding on my
return!"
"A scolding! I shouldn't dream of scolding so advanced a person as
you," says Rylton--who is scolding with all his might.
"I wonder what you think you are doing now?" says Tita. She pauses
and looks at him critically. He returns her gaze. His cold eyes so
full of condemnation, his compressed lips that speak of anger hardly
kept back, all make a picture that impresses itself upon her mind.
Not, alas! in any salutary way. "Well," says she at last, with much
deliberation and open, childish vindictiveness, "if you only knew
how _ugly_ you are when you look like that, you would never do it
again!" She nods her head. _"There!"_ says she.
It is so unexpected, so utterly undignified, that it takes all the
dignity out of Rylton on the spot. It suddenly occurs to him that it
is no good to be angry with her. What is she? A mere naughty
child--or----
"You do not know who you are like!" continues she.
Rylton shakes his head; he is afraid to speak--a sudden wild desire
to laugh is oppressing him.
"You are the image of Uncle George," says she, with such wicked
spite that a smile parts his lips.
"Oh! you can laugh if you like," says she, "but you _are,_ for all
that. You're _worse_ than him," her anger growing because of that
smile. "I never----"
"Never what?"
"I never met such a _cross cat_ in my life!" says Lady Rylton,
turning her back on him.
"It's well to be unique in one's own line," says he grimly.
A short laugh breaks from him. How absurd she is! A regular little
spitfire; yet what a pretty one. His heart is full of sadness, yet
he cannot keep back that laugh. He hardly knows how he has so much
mirth left in him, but the laugh sounds through the room and drives
Tita to frenzy.
"Oh, you can laugh!" cries she, turning upon him. "You can laugh
when--when----" She makes a frantic little gesture that flings open
the loose gown she wears, and shows once again her charming neck;
words seem to fail her. "Oh! I should like to _shake_ you," says she
at last.
"Would you?" said Rylton. His laughter has come to an end. "And you.
What do you think I should like to do with you?"
He looks at her.
"Oh! I know. It is not difficult to answer," with a contemptuous
glance from under the long, soft lashes, beneath which his glance
sinks into insignificance. "You would like to _give me away!"_
There is a pause.
It is on Rylton's tongue to say she has given _herself_ away very
considerably of late, but he abstains from saying so--with
difficulty, however!
"No, I should not," says Rylton gravely.
_"No?_ Is that the truth?" She bites her lips. "After all," with
angry tearfulness, "I dare say it is. I believe you would rather
keep me here for ever--just to be able to worry the life out of me
day by day."
"You have a high opinion of me!"
Rylton is white now with rage.
"You are wrong there; I have the worst opinion of you; I think you a
tyrant--a perfect _Nero!"_
Suddenly she lifts her pretty hands and covers her face with them.
She bursts into tears.
"And you _promised_ you would never be unkind to me!" sobs she.
"Unkind! Good heavens!" says Rylton, distractedly. _Who_ is unkind?
Is it he or she? Who is in fault?
"At all events you pretended to be fond of me."
"I never pretend anything," says Rylton, whose soul seems torn in
twain.
"You did," cries Tita wildly. "You _did."_ She brushes her tears
aside, and looks up at him--her small, delicate face flushed--her
eyes on fire! "You promised you would be kind to me."
"I promised nothing," in a dull sort of way. He feels crushed,
unable to move. "It was you who arranged everything; I was to go my
way, and you yours."
"It was liberal, at all events."
"And useless!" There is a prophetic note in his voice. "As you would
have gone your way, whether or no."
"And you, yours!"
"I don't know about that. But your way--where does that lead? Now,
look here, Tita,"--he takes a step towards her--"you are bent on
following that way. But mark my words, bad will come of it."
"Nothing bad will come of _my_ way!" says Tita distinctly.
Her eyes are fixed on his. For a full minute they regard each other
silently. How much does she know? Rylton's very soul seems harassed
with this question. That old story! A shock runs through him as he
says those last words to himself. _Is_ it old? That story? _Marian!_
What is she to him now?
"As for Tom," says Tita suddenly, "I tell you distinctly I shall not
give him up."
"Give him up!" The phrase grates upon his ear. "What do you mean?"
demands he, his anger all aflame again.
"That I shall not insult him, or be cold to him, to please you or
anybody."
"Is that your decision? Then I think it will be wise of your cousin
to shorten his visit."
"Do you mean by that that you are going to be uncivil to him?"
"Yes!" shortly, and with decision.
"You will be cold to him? To Tom? To my own cousin? Maurice,
Maurice! Think what you are doing!"
She has come close up to him. Her charming face is uplifted to his.
"Think what _you_ are doing," returns he hoarsely. He catches her
hands. "If you will swear to me that he is nothing to
you--nothing----"
"He is my cousin," says Tita, who hardly understands.
"Oh!" He almost flings her from him. "There--let it be as you will,"
says he bitterly. "It is you cousin--your house."
Tita grows very pale.
"That is ungenerous," says she.
"I have all the faults, naturally." He goes towards the door, and
then suddenly comes back and flings something upon the table before
her. "You once told me you were fond of rings," says he.
The case has flown open, because of his passionate throwing of it,
and an exquisite diamond and pearl ring lies displayed. Tita springs
to her feet.
"Oh, wait! _Don't_ go! Oh, _do_ stop!" cries she, in great distress.
_"Fancy_ your thinking of me when you were in town! And what a
lovely, _lovely_ ring! Oh! Maurice--I'm sorry. I am indeed!"
She holds out her hands to him. Rylton, still standing on the
threshold of the door, looks back at her.
Is it an apology? An admission that she has been wrong in her
dealings with her cousin? An open declaration that this night's
undignified proceedings are really being repented of?
He comes slowly back to her.
"If you are sorry----" begins he.
"Oh, I am indeed. And you must let me kiss you for this darling
ring. I know you _hate_ me to kiss you--but," she flings her arms
round him, "I really _must_ do it now."
Instinctively his arms close round her. With a thoroughly astonished
air, however, she wriggles herself free, and draws back from him.
"You have done your part beautifully," says she, with a little soft
grimace. "You bore up wonderfully. I'll let you off next time as a
consideration."
"I don't want to be let off," says Rylton.
"There, that will do," lifting her hand. "And I _am_ sorry--remember
that."
"If you are," says he, "you will promise me--not to----"
He has grown quite serious again. He hardly knows how to put it into
words, and therefore hesitates; but if only she will cease from her
encouragement of her cousin----
"Oh no--never. I shall never do it again," says she earnestly. "It
was so--so--dreadful of me----"
"If you see it now, I wonder you didn't see it then," says Rylton, a
little stiffly; this sudden conversion brings all the past back to
him.
"Well, but I didn't see it then--I always talk too fast."
She hangs her pretty head.
"I don't remember what you _said,"_ says Rylton, a little at fault.
"But--if you are honestly determined, Tita, to be--er--a little more
circumspect in that direction in future----"
"I am--I am indeed!" cries Tita. "I'm sure I can't think how I ever
said it to you! It was so rude--so horrid----"
"Said? _What?"_ demands Rylton, with quick suspicion.
"Well, you know I did call you a _cross cat!"_ says his wife, with a
little slide glance at him, and a tremulous smile, and withal such
lovely penitence, that if he had not been led astray by another
thought, he would have granted her absolution for all her sins, here
and hereafter, on the spot.
As it is, his wrath grows once more hot within him; so she is _not
_sorry after all.
"Pshaw!" says he.
"Oh, and I called you ugly, too!" cries Tita. "Oh, how _could_ I?
But you will forgive me, won't you?" She runs after him, and lays
her hand upon his arm. "You do forgive me, don't you?"
_ "No!"_ says he violently.
He almost flings her from him.
"Hypocrite!" he says to himself, as he fastens the door of his own
room.
A baby's face, and the heart of a liar! She had played with him; she
had fooled him; she had, at all events, refused to say she regretted
her conduct with her cousin.
He goes down to the garden, feeling it impossible to sleep just now,
and, coming back two hours later, finds the ring he had given her
lying on his dressing-table. There is no note with it--not even a
single line.