So it was over. The house was quiet again, and they were all shut in
their several rooms. Angelica went to Polly’s door and knocked.
"It’s Angelica," she said. "Anything I can do for you?"
Polly’s voice came, after a long interval, faint and mournful:
"No, thank you!"
So then where should she turn but, naturally, to Eddie? She was very
unhappy. She felt ashamed of herself now, terribly lonely, banished, and
disgraced. Of course Polly would tell Eddie--perhaps already had told
him--all that Angelica had told her, all about that disgraceful affair
with Vincent, and she would lose, or perhaps already had lost, Eddie’s
regard. Just when she needed it so, when she had been so cruelly
repudiated by Vincent!
"Well, anyway, I want to see him," she said to herself. "Anyway, he
won’t fly out at me, even if he thinks I’ve been awful!"
She couldn’t find him for a long time. She wandered about the house like
a lost soul; and then at last she came across him on the veranda,
sitting there smoking, in the chilly October evening.
"Mr. Eddie!" she said softly, from the doorway.
"Oh! Yes?" he answered pleasantly. "Is it you, Angelica? Do you want
anything?"
"I just wanted to speak to you----”
"Shall I come in?"
"I’ll come out," she suggested, glad of the chance to talk in the dark,
and groped her way to the corner where she saw the light of his cigar.
"It’s a dark night," he said.
"It’s--sad out here," said Angelica. "So--damp, and all."
"There’s a big storm coming. I wanted to speak to you, Angelica. I’m
very glad you came. I wanted--I’ve some money that’s due you. You see,
I’m going away to-morrow."
"Going where?"
"To a training-camp--before I go to France, you know."
"Oh, dear!" she cried, with quite genuine dismay. "Oh, Mr. Eddie, I _am_
sorry! I hate to have you gone!"
"I don’t like to go," he admitted, simply. "And especially I don’t like
to leave you like this. I wish that it could have been different."
She waited a moment.
"I suppose I better be going to-morrow, too," she said.
"I suppose so. There’s nothing more for you here, Angelica. Polly’s
going away, you know, and----”
"Mr. Eddie!" she cried. "Tell me! Tell me, honestly, do you think I--it
was my fault? If you’d only please tell me everything they told
you--Mrs. Geraldine, and all! What did she say about me--and--that?"
"Polly?" he asked. "She didn’t say anything about you at all, except
that she liked you very much, and that she thought Vincent had behaved
very badly toward you."
"My Gawd!" said Angelica under her breath. "She never told him! He don’t
know a thing!"
"I don’t blame you at all," he said. "Not in any way. You lost your
temper--perhaps you lost your head a little--but you had great
provocation. You see, Angelica, Vincent came to me and explained the
whole thing. I must say he was very candid--and fine about it. He told
me frankly that he had tried to--mislead you, and that you refused to
listen to him; and that that was the reason he behaved so badly to you.
Of course, he _has_ behaved badly, all around,--shamefully; but
still--he has good points. I thought it was a--a plucky sort of thing to
do, you know, especially when we were on such bad terms. He said he
couldn’t bear to think of your being blamed in any sort of way."
Angelica was amazed and delighted that she had been made into a
persecuted heroine. She was filled with admiration for Vincent’s
nobility; and yet she could dimly perceive that there was something
behind it, that he gained something he wanted by this false confession.
It seemed a miracle that Eddie had been spared, both by him and by
Polly, those very facts which Angelica was so anxious for him not to
know.
"He said he was sorry for the whole thing," Eddie went on. "He begged
me to try to influence Polly to give him another chance. I couldn’t do
that. I simply said I’d tell her exactly what he had said, and what he’d
done. I did. I had a long talk with her; but she’s finished with him.
She didn’t say a word against him, but--she’s finished with him."
"But is it that--about me? Is that the reason she’s leaving him?"
Angelica asked, with anxiety.
"No! As far as that goes, there are plenty of things far worse--in that
_line_, you know. No! I think it’s chiefly about the money. She says she
couldn’t trust him again. She says it’s impossible to live with him
under such conditions. I suppose it is. Anyway, she’s absolutely
determined to leave him."
Angelica sat in silence, more utterly wretched than ever. Had Vincent
just sacrificed himself for her? Did he really love her? And for his
love was he to be utterly cast out?
"No!" she said suddenly, aloud.
"No what?" asked Eddie.
"Nothing. I was just thinking. There comes the rain!" she cried. "Gosh,
what a storm!"
They both got up, to push back their chairs against the wall of the
house, but even there it reached them--the spray from the rain falling
in straight, heavy lines, dashing against the earth with a fierce
drumming noise that filled the air and confused the senses. The smell of
the soil, the dead leaves, the grass, came to them with its own
invigorating freshness; and in spite of the chilly sprinkle in their
faces they lingered; fascinated by the noise, the wet odours, the great
black, uproarious void before them. They stood close together, their
shoulders touching, their backs against the wall.
"Angelica!" said Eddie’s voice in her ear, curiously flat and faint in
the surrounding din. "Angelica, _can’t_ you? Just think--if I could only
know--while I’m away--that you--that you were waiting for me!"
"Eddie," she replied, "I couldn’t. Not now, anyway. Perhaps--later. _I_
don’t know."
"You mean--you think some day--it’s not _impossible_? You _could_, then?
I mean--I’m not repulsive to you?"
"Deary boy!" she protested. "Of course you’re not."
"Do you think you could--kiss me?" he asked. "I’m going away to-morrow."
She turned, put a hand upon his shoulder, and kissed him on the cheek.
"There!" she said. "Now you see!"
He didn’t move; stood there like a statue.
"I guess we’d better go in," she said. "We’re getting wet; and I’ve got
to pack up my things."
To go home! She began for the first time to imagine her home-coming, to
think of her future. This was all over; she would never get another such
job, never again be in a house like this, never again have a chance like
this!
She began to think of the kitchen, of the factory, of their suppers of
tea and bread and margarine, of her mother, listless and hopeless--all
of it hopeless--even Vincent. What could he ever do for her, even if he
had the inclination? Who was there on earth who cared to do anything for
her, who could give her in any way the things she craved? Panic
overwhelmed her.
"Eddie!" she cried. "I--could!"
He was suddenly galvanized into life.
"Could?" he cried. "Could what?"
"If you want--I’ll marry you!"
His arms went around her, pressing her tightly against his coat. A smell
of damp tweed and cigar-smoke filled her nostrils; she couldn’t see or
move at all, her head was so buried in his clumsy embrace.
"Oh, my darling!" he cried. "Oh, Angelica, to think that I have to go
_now_!"
"But I’ll be waiting for you," she said.