"ROOTED IN DISHONOUR"
Government House, Ganeshkind, outside Poona, the residence of the
Governor of Bombay during the Rains, was blazing with light and gay with
the sound of music; for His Excellency was giving a fancy dress ball.
Motors and carriages were still rolling up in a long line to the
entrance where the gorgeously-clad Indian Cavalry soldiers of the
Governor's Bodyguard--tall and stately back-bearded men in long scarlet
tunics, white breeches and high black boots, their heads swathed in
gaudy _loongies_ (turbans) with tails streaming down their backs,
holding steel-headed bamboo lances with red and white pennons in their
white-gauntleted right hands--lined the approach. Inside, the splendid
ballroom, ablaze with electric lights, was crowded with gaily-dressed
figures in costumes beautiful or bizarre. The good-looking, middle-aged
baron who was the King's representative in the Bombay Presidency was
standing, dressed as Charles II., beside his plain but pleasant-featured
wife in the garb of Amy Robsart, receiving the last of their guests,
while already the dancing had begun.
Later in the evening a group of officers in varied costumes stood near
one of the entrances criticising the dresses and the company.
"By George, that's a magnificent kit," said a Garrison Gunner just
arrived on short leave from Bombay. "What's it supposed to be?"
"A Polish hussar, I think," replied a subaltern in Wellesley's Rifles.
"No, he's Murat, Napoleon's cavalry leader," said an Indian Lancer
captain.
The wearer of the costume alluded to was passing them in a waltz. He was
a young man in a splendid old-time hussar uniform, a scarlet dolman
thick-laced with gold, a fur-trimmed slung pelisse, tight scarlet
breeches embroidered down the front of the thighs in gold, and long red
Russian leather boots with gold tassels. He was good-looking, but not in
an English way, and the swarthiness of his complexion and a slight kink
in his dark hair seemed to hint a trace of coloured blood. He was
plainly Israelite in appearance; and the large nose with the
unmistakable racial curved nostril would become bulbous with years, the
firm cheeks flabby and the plump chin double.
"That dress cost some money, I'll bet," said the Gunner, cheaply attired
as a Pierrot. "Just look at the gold lace. I say, he's got glass
buttons."
"Glass be hanged, Fergie, they're diamonds. Real diamonds, honour
bright, Murat wore diamonds. He was buckin' about them in the Club
to-night," said a captain in a British infantry regiment quartered in
Poona. "That's Rosenthal of the 2nd Hussars from Bangalore. Son of old
Rosenthal the South African multi-millionaire. A Sheeny, of course."
"Who's the woman he's dancing with?" asked the Gunner. "Jolly
good-looking she is."
"That's Mrs. Norton, wife of a Political somewhere in the Presidency.
Rosenthal's always in her pocket since he met her at Mahableshwar."
As the dance ended the many couples streamed out of the ballroom and
made for the _kala juggas_--the "black places," as the sitting-out spots
are appropriately termed in India from the carefully-arranged lack of
light in them. Mrs. Norton, looking very lovely as Mary, Queen of Scots,
and her partner crossed the verandah and went out into the unlit garden
in search of seats. The first few they stumbled on were already
occupied, a fact that the darkness prevented them from realising until
they almost sat down on the occupants. At last in a retired corner of
the garden Rosenthal found a bench in a recess in the wall. As they
seated themselves he blurted out roughly:
"I'm sick of all this, Vi. When do you mean to give me your answer? I'm
damned if I'm going to hang on waiting much longer. I'm fed up with
India and the Army. I mean to cut it all."
"Well, Harry, what do you want?" asked his companion, smiling in the
darkness at his vehemence.
"Want? You. And you know it. I want to take you away from this rotten
country. What's all this----," he waved his hand towards the lighted
ballroom, "compared to Paris, Monte Carlo, Cairo, Ostend when the races
are on? Let's go where life is worth living. This is stagnation."
"Oh, I find it amusing. You forget, we women have a better time in India
than in Europe. There are too many of us there, so you don't value us."
"Better time. Oh, Law! What rot!" He laughed rudely. "You've never lived
yet, dear. Look here, Vi. My father's one of the three richest men in
South Africa; and all he's got will come to me some day. As it is he
gives me an allowance bigger than those of all the other men in the
regiment put together. I hate the Service and its idiotic discipline. I
want to be free--to go where money counts. Damn India!"
"Doesn't it count everywhere?" she asked, fanning herself lazily. His
rough, almost boorish, manner amused her always. She felt as if she were
playing with a caged tiger. "Doesn't it here?"
"No; in the Army they seem to think more of some damned pauper who comes
of a 'county family,' as they call it, than of a fellow like me who
could buy up a dozen of them. I hate them all. And I mean to chuck it.
But I want you to come with me, Vi. And, what's more, I mean to have
you."
"But your father wishes you to stay in the Service. You told me so
yourself. Will he like it if you leave--and will he continue your
allowance?"
"Oh, I'll get round him. He's only got me. He's no one else to leave his
money to. It'd be all right, Vi. Answer me. I mean to get you."
He grasped her wrist and tried to drag her towards him. She laughed and
held him off.
"Take care, my dear boy. Darkness has ears. We're not alone in the
garden, please remember. If you can't behave prettily I'm going back to
the ballroom. Come, there's the music beginning again."
He tried to seize her in his arms, but she eluded his grasp with a
dexterity that argued practice, and, rising, moved across the grass. He
followed sulkily, dominated by her cool and careless indifference. When
they reached the verandah one of the Government House aides-de-camp
rushed up to her.
"Oh, Mrs. Norton, I've been hunting for you everywhere. I've a message
from His Excellency. He wants you to come to his table at supper and
save him from the Members of Council's awful wives."
"Oh, thanks, Captain Gardner, I'll come with pleasure," she answered,
smiling prettily on him. An A.D.C. is always worth cultivating.
"I say, is it hopeless asking you for a dance now?" he said. "We poor
devils of the Staff don't get a chance at the beginning of the evening,
as we're so busy introducing people to Their Excellencies."
She looked at her programme.
"You can have this, if you like. It's only with some Indian Civilian in
spectacles; and I hate the Heaven Born. They're such bores." She smiled
and sailed off on the A.D.C.'s arm to the disgust of Rosenthal, calmly
abandoned. But he could not help being amused when a round-faced young
man dressed as an ancient Greek with gig-lamp spectacles rushed up to
overtake Mrs. Norton before she entered the ballroom, and stopped in
dismay to gaze after her open-mouthed and peer at his programme.
But the Hussar drove her back from Government House to Poona in his
particularly luxurious Rolls-Royce with an English chauffeur and would
hardly let her go when the car drew up before the door of the Munster
Hotel where she was staying. Laughing, crushed and dishevelled, she
broke from him and jumped out of the automobile, ran up the verandah
steps and turned to wave to him as the chauffeur started off to take him
to his quarters in the Club of Western India.
Still smiling Violet stumbled up the unlighted stairs and reached her
sitting-room. When she turned up the lamp a letter lying on the table
caught her eyes. She picked it up indifferently; but when she saw that
it bore the handwriting of one of her Calcutta cousins and the
Darjeeling postmark she tore it open eagerly and ran her eye rapidly
down the pages. She came to the lines:
"I have seen the man you asked me about. He is always with a girl
called Benson, rather a pretty little thing. She is popular with all
the men; but Mr. Wargrave seems to be the favourite. They are
staying at the same hotel; and everyone says they are engaged."
Then the writer went on to talk of family matters. But Violet read no
more. Her eyes flamed with anger as she crumpled the paper up, flung it
on the floor and stamped it under foot. She paced the room angrily,
tearing the lace handkerchief she held in her hands to shreds. This,
then, was Frank's loyalty to her, this was how he consoled himself for
her absence. With this chit of a girl, with whom he probably laughed at
her, Violet's readiness to give up reputation, good fame, home, for him.
She almost sobbed with jealous rage at the idea. She forgot her own
infidelities and want of remembrance and felt herself to be a deceived
and much-abused woman. But she would not bear such treatment meekly.
Frank was hers; no other woman had a right to him, should ever have him.
She was resolved on that. She stopped and, picking up the letter,
smoothed it out and re-read it. Then, frowning, she passed into her
bedroom and tore off her costume. Not for an instant did she sleep
during the remainder of the night, but tossed on her bed, revolving
plans of vengeance.
Next day she was seated in the train on her way to Darjeeling, a
journey that would take days. She had telegraphed fruitlessly for a room
at the Oriental Hotel at which she knew from his letters that Frank was
staying; but she had secured one at the larger Eastern Palace where her
Calcutta relatives were residing. Only on the second day of her journey
did she wire to Wargrave, bidding him meet her on her arrival.
As the train carried her across India her heart was still filled with
anger, jealousy and almost hate of the man whom she had favoured above
all others and who spurned her, dared to be faithless to her, it seemed.
She did not know how much love she had left for him; for his image had
grown dim in the flight of time and among the distractions of gayer
stations than Rohar. Certainly she had flirted herself, flirted
recklessly; but that was a different matter to his faithlessness. She
might do it; but he must not. Did she want him? She hardly knew. But she
was not going to be put aside for this tiger-killing young person, this
jungle girl, who must be taught not to trespass on Violet's property.
Then her mind went back to Rosenthal; and in the solitude of the ladies'
compartment she laughed aloud at the thought of the shock that his
self-sufficiency must have received when he learned of her sudden and
mysterious disappearance from Poona. For she had left him no word. It
would do him good; he needed a lesson, for he was too sure of her. She
had never troubled to analyse her feelings for him and did not know
whether she liked or hated him most. She saw his faults clearly, his
blatant conceit, his irritating belief in the supremacy of money, his
arrogance, his bad manners. She knew that men deemed him a bounder. But
his very boorishness, his savage outbreaks against conventionality,
attracted her. Under the thin veneer of civilisation, he was simply an
animal; she knew it and it appealed to her baser nature, the sensual
strain in her. That he was beast, and wild beast at that, did not
affright her; she felt that she could always dominate him when she
would. Once or twice the beast had come out into the open; but she had
driven it back with a whip--and she believed that she could always do
it. The wealth, the life of luxury that he offered, appealed to her
strongly; but she kept her head and remembered that he was dependent on
his father's bounty, and she had no intention of compromising herself
irretrievably under such circumstances. If he had the disposal of the
old man's immense riches then the temptation might be over-powering; but
until he had she would wait. And ever the memory of Wargrave obtruded
itself, rather to her annoyance; but angry as she was with him she could
not pretend to herself that she was indifferent to him.
Up in Darjeeling on the very day that she left Poona Frank sat with
Miss Benson under a massive, orchid-clad tree in the lovely Botanical
Gardens, gazing moodily down into the depths of the valley far below
them. Turning suddenly he found his companion looking at him. Something
in her eyes moved him strongly and he forgot his caution.
"Muriel, you know how it is with, me," he said impetuously. "I oughtn't
to say anything; but--well, all the men here run after you, and I can't
bear it. I'm a fool, I know, but I can't help being jealous. I'm always
afraid that some one of them will take you from me. The other woman
seems to be forgetting me completely. She hasn't written to me for
weeks, months. Surely she's tiring of me. I don't suppose she ever
really cared for me--just was bored in that dull station. If--if she
sets me free would you--could you ever like me well enough to marry me?"
The girl looked away over the valley and a little smile crept into her
eyes. Then she turned to him and laid her hand on his.
"Dear boy, if you were free I would," she answered.
They were all alone, no one to see them; and his arms went out to her.
But she drew back.
"Not yet, dear. You're another woman's property still," she said.
He bit his lip.
"Yes, you're right, sweetheart. But--well, even if I weren't, I haven't
much to offer you. I'm still in debt; and I'd be only condemning you to
pass all your existence in the jungle."
"There'd be no hardship in that, dear. I love the forest better than
anywhere else in the world. Life in it is happiness to me."
"But would you be content to live as Mrs. Dermot does?"
"Content? I'd love it better than anything else, if I were with you."
Then he forgot her reproof and she her high-minded resolves as his arms
went round her and he drew her to him until their lips met in a long,
passionate kiss. Afterwards they sat hand in hand and talked of what the
future would hold for them if only Fate were kind. And Mrs. Norton,
speeding across India to shatter their dream-world, smiled a little
grimly as she pictured to herself her meeting with Frank.
Next day the blow fell. Wargrave was sitting at lunch with Mrs. Dermot
and Muriel in the hotel dining-room when Violet's telegram was handed to
him. His companions could see that he had received bad news; but he
pulled himself together and said nothing about it until he was alone
with Mrs. Dermot in her private sitting-room after _tiffin_. Then he
exclaimed suddenly, handing her the telegram:
"She's on her way here."
Noreen understood even before she looked at the paper. When she read
the message she asked:
"What's she coming here for?"
"I don't know. I haven't had a letter from her for a long time," he
replied wearily.
"What are you going to do about her?"
"What can I?" he said with a gesture of despair. "It's for her to
decide. If she wishes it I must keep my word."
"But Muriel? What of her? You know she cares for you. Has she no right
to be considered?" demanded her friend impatiently. "Are you going to
ruin her life as well as yours? This woman will only drag you down. She
can't really be fond of you or she wouldn't forget you as she's been
doing. You don't love her. Don't you see what it will all mean to
you?--to be pilloried in the Divorce Court, made to pay enormous costs,
perhaps heavy damages as well. And even now you say you're in debt. And
then to be chained for life to a woman you don't care about while you're
in love with another. Oh, Mr. Wargrave, do be sensible. Tell her the
truth. Tell her you can't go on with it."
"I've given her my word," he said simply.
She pleaded with him passionately, but to no avail. At last, as Muriel
entered the room, she rose, saying:
"Tell her. I'll not mention the subject again."
And she walked indignantly into her bedroom and shut the door almost
with a bang; for the little woman was furious with him for what she
deemed his crass stupidity.
"What's the matter with Noreen?" asked the girl in surprise.
Without a word he gave her the telegram.
"Oh Frank!" she gasped, and sank overwhelmed into a chair, letting the
fatal paper flutter to the floor.
He did not go to her but stood by the window, the image of despair,
gazing out with unseeing eyes.
"What am I to do?" he asked miserably.
"You must keep your word if she wishes it," answered the girl bravely.
But the next moment she broke down and, burying her face in her hands,
wept bitterly. He made no move to her; and she rose and went quietly
back to her own room.
In the interval that elapsed before Violet's arrival Mrs. Dermot did not
abandon hope, and in spite of her words she attacked Wargrave
persistently, trying to shake his resolution. But to her despair Muriel
sided with him and declared that he was right. So finally Noreen gave it
up and vowed that she would wash her hands of the whole affair.
When Violet reached Darjeeling Wargrave met her at the railway station.
Face to face with him her anger died and something of the attraction he
had had for her revived. So she greeted him effusively and all but
embraced him on the platform. Other men seeing the meeting wondered why
he looked so miserable when such a lovely woman evinced her delight at
seeing him so plainly. She passed her arm through his with an air of
possession and chatted volubly while he watched his servant help hers to
collect her luggage. When she took her seat in the _dandy_, or chair
carried on the shoulders of coolies, and was being conveyed towards her
hotel she behaved as though they had not been parted a week, rattled on
gaily about her doings in Poona and Mahableshwar and, with all the
glories of the Himalayas about her, declared that the Bombay
hill-station was far lovelier than Darjeeling. Wargrave was relieved
that she showed no desire to be sentimental and gladly responded to her
mood, detailing the forthcoming gaieties and promising to take her to
them all.
When they reached the Eastern Palace Hotel and were shown up into her
private sitting-room she put her hands on his shoulders as soon as they
were alone and said:
"Let me look at you, Frank. You have improved. You've grown handsomer, I
think. Aren't you going to kiss me?"
He did it with so little fervour that she made a grimace and thought
"It's quite time that I came to bring him to heel. Not much loving
ardour about that. I wonder if he kisses the jungle girl as coldly."
Aloud she said:
"Now let's go down to _tiffin_. I'm starving. Will you please secure a
table and I'll follow you in a few minutes?"
During the meal she chattered gaily, criticised the dresses and
appearance of the other women in the dining-room and, chaffing him
merrily on his want of appetite, ate a substantial meal herself. Mrs.
Dermot, anxious to befriend him, had thought that she could help him by
inviting him to bring Mrs. Norton to tea with her that afternoon. When
during _tiffin_ he hesitatingly conveyed the invitation Violet said:
"Oh, I don't want to be bothered with women, my dear boy. Take me out
and show me the place and the shops and the _Gymkhana_--what do you call
it here? Oh, the Amusement Club. No, stop a minute. Mrs. Dermot is your
dear friend from Ranga Duar, isn't she? So she's here. And the other,
the jungle girl, where is she?"
Frank flushed as he replied:
"I suppose you mean Miss Benson? She's with Mrs. Dermot."
"So you're all staying at the same hotel. How very nice for you! But, my
dear Frank, doesn't it strike you that it'll be rather dull for me
staying by myself here? You'll have to change to this hotel."
"I asked about rooms here; but they told me they're full up now."
"I'll see if I can't get round the manager and make him find a corner
for you. Well, now for this tea-party. Yes; on second thoughts I'll go.
I'd like to see the ladies who've been consoling you for my absence."
"Oh, nonsense, Violet. They haven't. They're just friends, that's all,"
he said irritably.
"Of course, dear; I know. Well, tell me what these 'just friends' are
like."
She certainly derived little idea of them from Wargrave's lame attempt
at description. And when later she and he were shown into Mrs. Dermot's
sitting-room at tea-time Noreen and Muriel found his picture of her as a
meek, long-suffering, neglected wife very unlike the radiant,
condescending lady who patronised them from the start. She showed a
tendency to address most of her conversation to the girl, despite the
latter's evident disinclination to talk, or perhaps because of it; for
the older woman seemed to take an impish delight in teasing her about
her friendship with Wargrave and their relations as nurse and patient,
although it was apparent that her malicious humour made the others
uncomfortable. She paraded her authority over Frank and treated him like
a hen-pecked husband. When finally she bore him away to escort her to the
Amusement Club she left the two girls speechless behind her. But not
for the same reason. Noreen was furious.
"What a hateful woman!" she exclaimed as soon as her visitor departed.
"And I pitied her as a poor neglected wife! What do you think of her?"
Muriel only shook her head, as she sat looking despondent and thoroughly
miserable. Mrs. Norton's malice affected her little, but her undoubted
loveliness had made her despair. How could an insignificant little
person like herself, she thought, hope to win affection from any man
whom this radiant beauty deigned to favour? Frank could not help adoring
so attractive a woman. He must have loved her in Rohar, although he said
that he had not. Muriel felt that she could have resigned herself more
easily to his keeping his word to Violet, if the latter had been less
good-looking.
Mrs. Dermot broke in on her miserable thoughts.
"Come, dear, we'll take the children for their walk and then go on later
to the Amusement Club."
"I couldn't go to the Club this evening, Noreen. I really couldn't. We'd
only see that woman again--with Frank."
"Well, what of it? We're not going to let her think we're afraid to face
her. I've no patience with Mr. Wargrave. Whatever he can see in her I
can't think. You're worth twenty of her, darling. Shallow, conceited.
She neglected? She badly treated? My sympathy is with her husband now.
What fools men are!" And Noreen swept indignantly from the room.
Every moment of the hour that they spent in the Club that evening was a
lifetime of torture to Muriel. She had faced a charging tiger with less
dread than she did the crowd at the tea-tables in the rink. She fancied
that every woman who looked at her was laughing in her sleeve at her,
that every man who bowed or spoke to her was pitying her. Suddenly her
heart seemed to stop beating, for she saw Frank sitting with Mrs. Norton
and two other ladies, her Calcutta cousins, as well as a couple of men
in the British Infantry regiment at Lebong. They were looking at her;
and she felt that Violet was pointing her out as the deserted maiden.
She tried to smile bravely when her rival waved her hand and called out
a cheery "good evening" to her and Noreen, who answered the greeting
with an almost defiant air of unconcern.
For days afterwards she saw practically nothing of Wargrave, who was
obliged to be in constant attendance on Mrs. Norton. Violet had induced
the manager of her hotel to find a room for him; and he was forced to
transfer himself and his belongings to the Eastern Palace. She
monopolised him, insisted on his taking her shopping in the mornings,
calling in the afternoons or to Lebong to watch the polo, or else
playing tennis with her at the Amusement Club. He dined with her every
evening and escorted her to the dances, concerts or theatricals that
filled the nights during the Season. He hardly recognised her in the gay
social butterfly with seemingly never a care in the world; and she made
him wonder every day if she had any love left for him or wanted him to
have any for her. For she showed no desire to be sentimental and treated
him very much as she had in the early days of their acquaintance. She
never discussed their future. He had not the moral courage to ask her
outright if she still wanted to come to him. She gave no indication of
being happy only in his company; for she soon began to release him from
attendance on her on occasions in favour of some one or other of the new
men friends that she rapidly made. He took advantage of this to see
something of Muriel again.
But this did not suit Mrs. Norton. Even if she did not want Frank
herself that was no reason why the girl should have him. She tried being
jealous and insisted on his breaking off the friendship; but, although
he hated the scenes that ensued, he resolutely refused to do so. Then
Violet adopted another plan. She pretended to be convinced by his
assurances that it meant nothing and declared that she wished to be
friends with Muriel. She went out of her way to be nice to the girl when
they met in public and at last invited her to tea at the Eastern Palace
Hotel on an afternoon on which she knew Mrs. Dermot to be engaged.
Muriel accepted because she did not know very well how to refuse.
When she was shown into Mrs. Norton's private sitting-room she found
Wargrave already there with her hostess, who received her very amiably.
During tea the conversation flowed in safe channels at first. But
suddenly Violet startled her guests by saying:
"Now, Miss Benson, that we three are alone I think it a good opportunity
to speak very plainly about Frank's relations with you. I've just been
giving him a serious talking to about the way he has behaved to you."
The girl drew herself up haughtily.
"What do you mean, Mrs. Norton," she said. "The way Mr. Wargrave has
behaved----? I don't understand you."
"Oh yes, you do. It's best to speak plainly. I'm afraid Frank has been
leading you to believe that he's in love with you----."
"Violet!" broke in Wargrave angrily. "Please don't go on. You've no
right to say such things."
She smiled sweetly on him.
"Yes, I have, Frank. You know, my dear boy, that you've got pretty ways
with women--I fear he's rather a flirt, Miss Benson--that you are apt to
make some of them think you mean more than you do."
"What absurd nonsense!" he cried, more angrily still. "Please stop, I
beg of you."
"No, Frank, it is only right that I should warn Miss Benson." She
turned to the girl. "He hasn't told you, I'm sure, that he's not free to
marry you or any other girl."
Wargrave sprang up.
"I've told her everything about us, Violet," he protested. "I ask you as
a favour to drop the subject."
The girl sat as if turned to stone while Mrs. Norton went on:
"You are young, my dear, and can't know much about men. I suppose you've
lived in the jungle all your life. Now, a little bird has told me you've
let yourself get too fond of Frank--oh, he's very charming, I know, and
this playing at nursing a poor wounded hero is a dangerous game. But I'm
going to tell you plainly that Frank is pledged to me. He has asked me
to leave my husband for him, and I've consented; so there's no use your
trying to catch him, my dear. You're too late."
The girl sprang indignantly to her feet.
"I've done nothing of the sort, Mrs. Norton. How dare you say so? You've
no right to speak to me as you're doing."
The older woman sat back coolly in her chair and laughed; but her eyes
grew hard.
"Oh yes, I have, my dear girl. You two were the talk of Darjeeling
before I came. Of course you're angry, naturally, at failing to catch
him, but I'm going to put a stop to your trying, here and now. He has
got to break with you."
"You are a wicked woman," began the girl; and then indignation choked
her.
Mrs. Norton leant forward in her chair.
"Can you deny that you're in love with him?" she asked.
Wargrave tried to interpose; but the girl waved him aside and faced her
rival.
"I'll answer you. I am. I love him as you could never do. I was willing
to give him up to you--for he loves me, not you--so that he should not
be false to his word. I didn't know what you were like, then. But now I
don't believe you'd ever make him happy. You don't love him--you haven't
got it in you. You wouldn't be content with any one man. I've watched
you. You're absolutely heartless; and you'd only make Frank miserable.
You're willing to disgrace him as well as yourself. You don't mind if
you ruin him. Frank----"
She turned towards Wargrave.
"You said you loved me. Is it true?"
He answered firmly:
"Yes, I do."
"Then will you marry me? This woman will only wreck your life. Choose
between us."
He turned in desperation to Mrs. Norton.
"Violet, you don't really want me, do you? You don't love me. I've felt
for a long time that you're forgetting me. I love Muriel and she loves
me. If you ever cared for me release me from my promise."
Mrs. Norton lay back calmly in her chair and looked with a smile from
one to the other. Then she said deliberately:
"This morning I wrote to my husband and told him that I was never
returning to him, that I was going to you, Frank. That is why I asked
this girl here to-day to tell you before her that now I'm going to ask
you to keep your promise. Will you?"
The girl looked at him appealingly and stretched out her hands to him.
"Frank, for your own sake, if not for mine, don't listen to her."
He stood irresolute, torn by conflicting emotions. Then with an effort
he replied:
"Muriel, I must. I can't break my word."
Mrs. Norton gave a mocking laugh. The girl shrank from him and hid her
face in her hands for a moment. Then she looked up and said, desperately
calm:
"Very well, be it so. You've decided and there's nothing more to be
said. You've shamed me before this woman; and I never want to see you
again."
She turned and walked out of the room.