HOW TITA WAGES WAR WITH MARGARET AND MAURICE; AND HOW MARGARET
SUFFERS IGNOMINIOUS TREATMENT ON BOTH HANDS; AND HOW MAURICE AT THE
LAST GAINS ONE SMALL VICTORY.
There is a moment's awful silence, and then Tita sweeps straight up
to Rylton, who is gazing at her as if he never saw her before. As
for Margaret, she feels as if she is going to faint.
"I--_I!_" says Tita; "to accuse me of marrying you for your title! I
never thought about your title. I don't care a fig for your title.
My greatest grief now is that people call me Lady Rylton."
"I beg of you, Tita----" begins Margaret, trembling; she lays her
hand on the girl's arm, but Tita shakes her off.
"Don't speak to me. Don't touch me. You are as bad as he is. You
took his part all through. You said you _felt_ for him! When he was
saying all sorts of dreadful things about me. You said, 'Yes, yes,
of course.' I heard you; I was listening. I heard every word."
"May I ask," says Rylton, "if you did not marry me for my title,
what _did_ you marry me for? Not," with a sneer, "for love,
certainly."
"I should think not," with a sneer on her part that sinks his into
insignificance. "I married you to escape from my uncle, who was
making me wretched! But not"--with an ireful glance at him--_"half_
as wretched as _you_ have made me!"
Rylton shrugs his shoulders. You should never shrug your shoulders
when a woman is angry.
"Yes, wretched--wretched!" says Tita, angry tears flooding her eyes.
"There was never _any_ one so miserable as I have been since I
married you."
"That makes it all the more unfortunate that you are married to me
still," says Rylton icily.
"I may be married to you--I shan't live with you," says Tita.
"We shall see to that," says Rylton, who has lost his head a little.
"Yes, _I_ shall," returns she, with open defiance.
Meantime Margaret, who had been crushed by that first onslaught on
her, has recovered herself a little. To appeal to Tita again is
useless; but to Maurice--she _must_ say a word of entreaty to
Maurice. Tita has been most unjust, but men are of nobler make.
Maurice will understand.
"I think," says she very gently, catching his eye, "that it would be
better for you to--to discuss all this--with Tita--alone. I shall
go, but I beg of you, Maurice, to----"
"Pray don't beg anything of me," says Maurice, turning upon her with
an expression that bodes no good to anyone. "I should think you
ought to be the last person in the world to ask a favour of me."
"Good gracious! what have I done now?" exclaims Margaret shrinking
back, and cut to the heart by this fresh affront.
"You knew she was there, behind that screen, and you never gave me
even a hint about it. A hint would have been sufficient, but----"
"I did!" says Margaret, driven to bay. "I told you I had a headache,
and that you were to go away--but you wouldn't!"
"You told me you had twenty diseases, but even that wouldn't
exonerate you from letting her hear what was not meant for her
ears."
"Ah! I'm glad you acknowledge even _so_ much," breaks in Tita
vindictively.
"Even though they weren't meant for your ears I'm glad you heard
them," says Rylton, turning to her with all the air of one who isn't
going to give in at _any_ price. "But as for you, Margaret, I did
not expect this from you. I believed you stanch, at all events, and
honest; yet you deliberately let me say what was in my mind,
_knowing_ there was an unseen listener who would be sure to make the
worst of all she heard."
"Tita, _you_ shall explain this!" says Margaret, turning with a
tragic gesture towards her. "Speak. Tell him."
"What is the good of telling him anything?" says Tita, regarding her
coldly. "Yet though you have forsaken me, Margaret, I will do as you
wish." She turns to Rylton. "It was against Margaret's wish that I
hid behind that screen. I heard you coming, and there was no way out
of the room except by the door through which you would enter, and
rather than meet you I felt"--with a sudden flash of her large eyes
at him--"I would willingly die. So I got behind that screen,
and--and" She pauses. "Well, that's all," says she.
"You see it was not my fault," says Margaret.
She lets a passing glance fall on Rylton, and with an increase of
dignity in her air leaves the room. The two left behind look
strangely at each other.
"So you were listening?" says Rylton. "Listening all that time?"
"You wrong me as usual. I was _not_ listening all the time. I didn't
want to listen at all. Do you think I ever wanted to hear your voice
again?"
"I didn't flatter myself so far, as to this,"--bitterly--"and
yet----"
"I only wanted to get away from you, and I wasn't listening, really.
I kept my fingers _tight_ in my ears until you had been there for
_hours;_ then my arms felt as if they were dead, and I--well, I
dropped them then."
"Hours! I like that! Why, I haven't been here for half an hour yet."
"Oh, _you_ could say anything!" says Tita contemptuously.
She walks away from him, and flings herself into a lounging chair.
She is dressed in a very pale pink gown, with knots of black velvet
here and there. And as she has seated herself a tiny, exquisitely
shaped foot, clad in a pale pink stocking and black shoe, betrays
itself to the admiring air.
Rylton, who is too angry to see anything, and has only a
half-conscious knowledge that she is looking more beautiful than
ever, goes up to the lounging chair in which she is reclining, and
looking down upon her, says sternly, and with a distinctly dramatic
air:
"At last we meet."
"At last," returns she, regarding with fixed interest the tip of her
shoe as she sways it with an air of steady indifference to and fro.
"Against my will!"
"I know that. I have had plenty of time to know that."
"Then why do you come?"
"To see you," says he plainly.
"Knowing that I didn't wish to see _you?"_
"Yes. Because I wish to see you."
"What a man's reason!" says she, with a scoffing smile. "I wonder
you aren't ashamed of yourself."
"Well, I _am_ sometimes," says Rylton, making an effort to suppress
the anger that is rising within him. "I sometimes tell myself, for
example, that I must be the meanest hound alive. I know you avoid
me--hate me--and yet I come."
"But why--why?" impatiently.
"Because," slowly, "I--do not hate _you."_
"Don't be a hypocrite," says Tita sharply. She gets up suddenly,
pushing back her chair behind her. _"Why_ do you pretend?" says she.
"What is to be gained by it? I know we are bound to each other in a
sense--bound----" She breaks off. "Ah, that horrid word!" cries she.
"Why can we not get rid of it? Why can't we separate? How ridiculous
the laws are! You would be as glad to say good-bye to me for ever as
I should be to say it to you, and yet----"
"I beg your pardon," says Rylton, interrupting her quickly. "Speak
for yourself only. For my part, I have no desire to be separated
from you now, or," steadily, "at any other time."
Tita lifts her eyes and looks at him. Their glances meet, and there
is something in his that brings the blood to her face.
"I cannot understand you," cries she, with some agitation. "You
don't want my money _now;_ you have plenty of your own, and,"
throwing up her head with a disdainful little gesture, "certainly
you don't want _me."_
"You seem wonderfully certain on many points," says Rylton, "but is
your judgment always infallible?"
"In this case, yes."
"Ah! you have decided," says he. His gaze wanders from her face and
falls upon her hands. On the right hand is a beautiful pearl ring.
He regards it without thought for a second or two, and then he
wakens to the fact that he had never seen it there before. "Who gave
you that ring?" demands he suddenly, with something of the old
masterful air. It is so like the old air that Tita for a little
while is silent, then she wakes. No! It is all over now--that
ownership. She has emancipated herself; she is free. There is
something strange and terrible, however, to her in the knowledge
that this thought gives her no joy. She stands pale, actually
frightened, for there _is_ fear in the knowledge--that she had felt
a sharp throb of delight when that commanding tone had fallen on her
ears.
She recovers almost instantly.
"You think it was Tom, perhaps," says she, speaking with a little
difficulty, but smiling contemptuously. "Well, it was not. It was
only Margaret, after all. This is a last insult, I suppose. Was it
to deliver it that you came here to-day?"
"No," he is beginning, "but----"
_ "You_ ask me questions," continues she, brushing his words aside
with a wave of her small hand. "And I--I--have _I_ no questions to
ask?" She stops, as if suffocating.
"You have, God knows," says he. "And"--he hesitates--"I don't expect
you to believe me, but--that old folly--it is dead."
"Dead?" She shakes her head. "What killed it?"
_"You!"_ says Rylton.
One burning glance she casts at him.
"Do not let us waste time," says she. "Tell me plainly why you came
here, why you want to see me."
"You give me little encouragement to speak"--bitterly. "But it is
this: I want you to come back to me, to be mistress of my house
again. I"--he pauses as if seeking words--"I have bought a new
house; I want you to come and be the head of it."
Tita has been listening to him with wide eyes. She had grown pale as
death itself during his speech, and now she recoils from him. She
makes a little movement as though to repel him for ever, and then,
suddenly she covers her eyes with her hands, and bursts into violent
weeping.
"Oh no! No!" gasps she. "Never! Never again! How _could_ you ask
me!"
He takes a step towards her, and lays his hand upon her arm.
"No, don't touch me. Don't speak to me," cries she. "I have _had_ to
see you to-day, and it has been terrible to me--so terrible that I
hope I shall _never_ see you again. I could not bear it. Go--go
away!"
"Do not send me from you like this," entreats Rylton, in a voice
that trembles. Her tears cut him to the heart. He is so close to her
that he has only to put out his hand to catch her--to take her to
him, and yet----"Think, Tita! We have got to live out our lives,
whether we like it or not. _Can_ we not live them out together?"
"We cannot," says Tita, in a low but distinct voice. She turns to
him proudly. "Have you forgotten?" says she. Her poor little face is
stained with tears, but he sees no disfigurement in it; he has but
one desire, and that is to take her into his arms and kiss those
tears away from it for ever.
"Forget! Do you think I shall ever forget? It is my curse that I
shall always remember. But that is at an end, Tita. I _swear_ it! I
hope I shall never see her again. If you wish it--I----"
"I wish nothing with regard to either her or you," interrupts Tita,
her breath coming a little quickly. "It is nothing to me. I do not
care."
"Don't say that," says Rylton hoarsely. He is fighting his battle
inch by inch. "Give me some hope! Is one sin to condemn a man for
ever? I tell you all that is done. And you--if you love no one--give
_me_ a chance!"
"Why should I trouble myself so far?" says she, with infinite
disdain.
At this Rylton turns away from her. He goes to the window, and
stands there gazing out, but seeing nothing.
"You are implacable--cold, heartless," says he, in a low tone,
fraught with hidden meaning.
"Oh, let us leave _hearts_ out of the discussion," cries Tita
scornfully. "And, indeed, why should we have any discussions? Why
need we talk to each other at all? This interview"-- clenching her
handkerchief into a ball--"what has it done for us? It has only made
us both wretched!" She takes a step nearer to him. "Do--do promise
me you will not seek another."
"I cannot promise you that."
"No?" She turns back again. "Well--go away now, at all events," says
she, sighing.
"Not until I have said what is on my mind," says Rylton, with
determination.
"Well, say it"--frowning.
"I will! You are my wife, and I am your husband, and I think it is
your _duty_ to live with me."
She looks at him for a long time, as if thinking.
"I'll tell you what you think," says she slowly, "that it will add
to your respectability in the eyes of your world to have your wife
living in _your_ house, and not in Margaret's."
"I don't expect to be generously judged by you," says he. "But even
as you put it there is sense in it. If our world----"
"Yours! yours!" interrupts she angrily--that old wound had always
rankled. "It is not my world! I have nothing to do with it. I do not
belong to it. Your mother showed me that, even so long ago as when
we were first"--there is a little perceptible hesitation--"married".
_"Hang_ my mother!" says Rylton violently. "I tell you my world is
your world, and if not--well, then I have no desire to belong to it.
The question is, Tita, will you consent to forget--and--and
forgive--and"--with a sudden plunge--"make it up with me?"
He would have taken her hand here, but she slips adroitly behind a
small table.
"Say it is for respectability's sake, if you like, that I ask you to
return to me," goes on Rylton, a little daunted, however, by her
determined entrenchment; "though it is not. Still----"
She stops him.
"It is no use," says she. "Don't go on. I cannot. I _will_ not. I,"
her lips quiver slightly--"I was _too_ unhappy with you. And I
should always think of----" Her voice dies away.
Rylton is thinking, too, of last night, and that terrible interview
with Marian. A feeling of hatred towards her grows within him. She
had played with him--killed all that was best in him, and then flung
him aside. She had let him go for the moment--only to return and
spoil whatever good the world had left him. Her face rises before
him pleading, seductive; and here is the other face--angry,
scornful. Oh, dear little angry face! How fair, how pure, and how
beloved!
"I tell you," says he, breaking out vehemently, "that all that is at
an end--if I ever loved her." He forgets everything now, and,
catching her hands, holds them tightly in his own. "Give me another
trial," entreats he.
"No, no!" She speaks as if choking, but for all that she draws her
hands out of his. "It would be madness. You would tire. We should
tire of each other in a week--where there is no love. No, no!"
"You refuse, then?"
"I refuse!"
"Tita----"
She turns upon him passionately.
"I _won't_ listen. It is useless. You"--a sob breaks from her--"why
_don't_ you go!" she cries a little wildly.
"This is not good-bye," says he desperately. "You will let me come
again? Margaret, I know, receives on Sundays. _Say_ I may come
then."
"Yes."
She gives the permission faintly, and with evident reluctance. She
lifts her eyes, and makes a gesture towards the door.
"Oh, I am going," says Rylton bitterly. He goes a step or two away
from her, and then pauses as if loath to leave her.
"You might at least shake hands with me," says he.
She hesitates--then lays a cold little hand in his. He too
hesitates, then, stooping, presses his lips warmly, lingeringly to
it.
In another moment he is gone.
Tita stands motionless, listening to his departing footsteps. For a
while she struggles with herself, as if determined to overcome the
strange emotion that is threatening to master her. Then she gives
way, and, flinging herself into an armchair, breaks into a passion
of tears.
Margaret, coming presently into the room, sees her, and going to
her, kneels down beside the chair and takes her into her arms.
"Oh, Margaret!" cries Tita. "Oh, Meg! Meg! And I was so rude to you!
But to see him--to see him again----"
"My poor darling!" says Margaret, pressing the girl to her with
infinite tenderness.