Irene brought her shady sun-hat and went out into the beautiful garden
with her lover. Mr. Revington carried his guitar, thinking that he would
beguile the hours with music.
They went to Irene's favorite seat under the orange trees, where she
could watch the river gliding past. She was very languid and quiescent
this morning, the natural result of last night's emotion. She said to
herself that she would make no struggle against her fate to-day; she
would just drift quietly with the tide and see where it would bear her.
She little dreamed what subject was agitating Mr. Revington's mind.
He was full of the new idea Mrs. Stuart had suggested, and had brought
his betrothed out expressly to ask her to name an early day for their
marriage.
Some little remorse for the treachery he meditated toward her disturbed
his mind, but it was not deep enough to cause him to repent of the
promise Mrs. Stuart had exacted from him. Once he was safely married to
beautiful Irene he intended to invent some plausible story of losing the
documents he had promised her as proving her mother's honorable
marriage. Oh, he would manage cleverly enough. Once bound to him Irene
could not help herself, doggedly reasoned the dastard.
But somehow he did not find it easy to broach the subject uppermost in
his thoughts. Irene was grave and _distrait_ this morning, with a chilly
reserve about her that did not court lover-like advances. All her bright
spirits and coquettish wiles of last night had vanished. He was dismayed
at her relapse into her old, _ennuyed_ self. She would not encourage his
advances. She was absolutely frigid.
So he was obliged to plunge into the subject with an inward shiver like
one about taking a bath in ice-cold water.
"My darling, can you guess what I am going to ask you this morning?" he
ventured.
She looked at him with a crimsoning face and flashing eyes.
"I wish you would not call me names, Mr. Revington," she said, with
petulant dignity.
"Names!" he echoed, blankly.
"Yes," she replied, loftily. "Darling, and all such names as belong to
the jargon of love, I heartily despise, and I must beg you to spare me
their infliction."
"But you have promised to marry me, Irene," he expostulated.
"I have not promised to love you, though," she retorted with spirit.
"Please remember that, Mr. Revington, and spare me your love-sick
phrases!"
He stared at her, angered and abashed. Her purple-blue eyes sparkled
with scorn, her sweet, red lips were curled disdainfully. He kept down
his bitter anger with an effort, remembering the boon he wished to
crave.
"Do not forget that our compact was a mere matter of the bargain and
sale of the secret you held," Irene continued, bitterly. "You drove me
into it by your threats of disgracing me in the eyes of the world. Let
us keep to the letter of our bargain. You will never have any terms of
endearment from me, and I expect and desire none from you. On such terms
they are simply revolting."
"As you will," he retorted, in sullen wrath. "But I cannot see what you
expect to gain by your stand-off and let-alone policy. I shall be your
husband all the same, and instead of having me for your devoted slave,
you will make me a tyrannical master."
A queer little smile curled her lips. Her heart beat with a sudden
exultant thought.
Fate had placed it out of her power to sacrifice herself for her
mother's sake. She could not but be glad, although her heart bled for
that mother's griefs and wrongs.
"Shall I tell him?" she asked herself, almost tempted to defy him then
and there.
Her weak heart failed her at the thought of the story the wretch would
pour into Mrs. Leslie's ears. How would she meet pity and contempt in
those dear eyes that had looked at her so kindly.
"I will wait. I cannot tell him yet," she concluded, weakly.
But his next words fell like a thunder-clap on her startled hearing.
"Irene, I wish you would name an early day for our marriage," he said.
"Early," she stammered, taken aback.
He smiled grimly.
"Yes, it's a mere bargain, you know, and, like all business compacts,
should be ratified early."
She quivered all over with resentment at his tone, but she held her
peace.
"Not yet," she answered to her beating heart that longed to defy him.
"It seems to me that in your peculiar situation, being a mere dependent
on Mrs. Leslie's charity, that the sooner you have a home and a husband
the better for you," he continued, coarsely. "I am most anxious to take
you back to your mother with the good tidings we have to carry her. Do
you remember, Irene, that the longer you delay our marriage the more you
prolong your mother's pain?"
"I remember," she said, in a stifled voice.
"Then will you not consent to name this day week for our wedding-day?
"So soon? No, I will not," she flashed back, in indignant surprise.
"For your mother's sake," he pleaded artfully.
"Not for an angel's sake!" declared Irene angrily.
Her lover was dumfounded at this indignant denial.
"How soon, then, can I count upon your fulfilment of your promise?" he
demanded, in a crestfallen tone.
The girl's red lips trembled with the defiant answer, "Never," but she
bit them hard to keep back the passionate word. She knew his power, and
though she felt that the threatening sword that hung over her head must
fall at last, she dreaded to utter the word that must precipitate its
downfall.
"I have not thought about that matter yet," she said, determined to
temporize with the wretch, and gain a few days' respite. "I supposed it
lay far away in the future. I hoped so at least."
"I hope you will give it your earliest attention, then," he replied,
sullenly. "I have no mind to wait long, I can assure you."
"How long will be the limit of your patience?" she inquired
sarcastically.
"I shall wait two weeks on your pleasure. If you are not ready then to
keep your promise I shall throw prudence to the winds and reveal all,"
he answered, stung by her scorn and goaded to retaliation.
Her beautiful blue eyes flashed scorn and contempt upon him.
"Wretch," she cried, "how I hate you! Leave my presence instantly, and
do not intrude upon me again to-day. I am free yet, and I will not
tolerate you until I am compelled to do so. Go this instant!"
The flash of her eye assured him that prudence was the better part of
valor. He rose angrily.
"Very well, since you choose to play the shrew!" he said, "enjoy your
liberty while you may! I assure you it will not last long once you are
legally mine!"
And with a muttered curse on his lips he stalked angrily away, his heart
full of blended love and hate for his beautiful, disdainful betrothed.