"You think so, do you?"
"Yes."
"You can't force me to marry you, you know--can you? I want to see the
world. I don't want any tiresome man bothering after me. If I ever do
marry, it will be because--oh, because--" and I stopped and began fiddling
with the cover of a book.
"What?"
"Mrs. Carruthers said it was so foolish--but I believe I should prefer to
marry some one I liked. Oh, I know you think that silly--" and I stopped
him as he was about to speak--"but of course, as it does not last, anyway,
it might be good for a little to begin like that--don't you think so?"
He looked round the room, and on through the wide-open double doors into
my dainty bedroom, where Véronique was still packing.
"You are very cosey here; it is absurd of you to leave it," he said.
I got up off the floor and went to the window and back. I don't know why I
felt moved--a sudden sense of the cosiness came over me. The world looked
wet and bleak outside.
"Why do you say you want me to marry you, Mr. Carruthers?" I said. "You
are joking, of course."
"I am not joking. I am perfectly serious. I am ready to carry out my
aunt's wishes. It can be no new idea to you, and you must have worldly
sense enough to realize it would be the best possible solution of your
future. I can show you the world, you know."
He appeared to be extraordinarily good-looking as he stood there, his face
to the dying light. Supposing I took him at his word, after all!
"But what has suddenly changed your ideas since yesterday? You told me you
had come down to make it clear to me that you could not possibly obey her
orders."
"That was yesterday," he said. "I had not really seen you--to-day I think
differently."
"It is just because you are sorry for me; I suppose I seem so lonely," I
whispered, demurely.
"It is perfectly impossible, what you propose to do--to go and live by
yourself at a London hotel--the idea drives me mad."
"It will be delightful--no one to order me about from day to night!"
"Listen," he said, and he flung himself into an arm-chair. "You can marry
me, and I will take you to Paris, or where you want, and I won't order you
about--only I shall keep the other beasts of men from looking at you."
But I told him at once that I thought that would be very dull. "I have
never had the chance of any one looking at me," I said, "and I want to
feel what it is like. Mrs. Carruthers always assured me I was very pretty,
you know, only she said that I was certain to come to a bad end, because
of my type, unless I got married at once, and then if my head was screwed
on it would not matter; but I don't agree with her."
He walked up and down the room impatiently.
"That is just it," he said. "I would rather be the first--I would rather
you began by me. I am strong enough to ward off the rest."
"What does 'beginning by you' mean?" I asked, with great candor. "Old Lord
Bentworth said I should begin with him, when he was here to shoot
pheasants last autumn; he said it could not matter, he was so old; but I
didn't----"
Mr. Carruthers bounded up from his chair.
"You didn't what! Good Lord! what did he want you to do?" he asked,
aghast.
"Well," I said, and I looked down for a moment; I felt stupidly shy. "He
wanted me to kiss him."
Mr. Carruthers looked almost relieved. It was strange.
"The old wretch! Nice company my aunt seems to have kept!" he exclaimed.
"Could she not take better care of you than that--to let you be insulted
by her guests?"
"I don't think Lord Bentworth meant to insult me. He only said he had
never seen such a red, curly mouth as mine; and as I was bound to go to
the devil some day with that, and such hair, I might begin by kissing
him--he explained it all."
"And were you not very angry?" his voice wrathful.
"No, not very; I could not be, I was shaking so with laughter. If you
could have seen the silly old thing, like a wizened monkey, with dyed hair
and an eye-glass--it was too comic! I only told you because you said the
sentence 'begin with you,' and I wanted to know if it was the same
thing----"
Mr. Carruthers's eyes had such a strange expression--puzzle and amusement,
and something else. He came over close to me.
"Because," I went on, "if so--I believe if that is always the beginning, I
don't want any beginnings. I haven't the slightest desire to kiss any one.
I should simply hate it."
Mr. Carruthers laughed. "Oh, you are only a baby child, after all!" he
said.
This annoyed me. I got up with great dignity. "Tea will be ready in the
white drawing-room," I said, stiffly, and walked towards my bedroom door.
He came after me.
"Send your maid away, and let us have it up here," he said. "I like this
room."
But I was not to be appeased thus easily, and deliberately called
Véronique and gave her fresh directions.
"Poor old Mr. Barton will be feeling so lonely," I said, as I went out
into the passage. "I am going to see that he has a nice tea," and I looked
back at Mr. Carruthers over my shoulder. Of course, he followed me, and we
went together down the stairs.
In the hall a footman with a telegram met us. He tore it open impatiently.
Then he looked quite annoyed.
"I hope you won't mind," he said, "but a friend of mine, Lord Robert
Vavasour, is arriving this afternoon. He is a--er--great judge of
pictures. I forgot I asked him to come down and look at them; it clean
went out of my head."