"I'm thinking of Winchie."
"Oh!" A pause; then he asked, "As soon as you've got Winchie safely,
we'll marry?"
This was a question she had not faced alone, yet. She was far from
ready to face it with him. She found one of those phrases that come
easily and naturally to women, ever compelled to be diplomatic. "If we
both wish it then." Lightly, "You see, as I'm escaping with reputation
intact, you're not bound to marry me."
"Bound?" he exclaimed. "Courtney, please don't joke about this."
"I'm quite serious--though I don't act as funereally as you do when you
think you're serious."
"We love each other, and----"
"Do we?" An impulse of honesty, of impatience at her own yielding to
the temptation to temporize forced her to say it, "Do we, Basil?"
"Courtney, have you--changed? Can't you forgive me for----"
"It isn't that," she interrupted, and she thought she was telling the
truth. "Let's never speak of that. No--it's-- Could anyone go through
what we have without being--sobered?"
"That's true. It has made me love you more intensely, more earnestly
than ever. What we've suffered has made us like--like the two pieces of
metal the fire fuses into one."
"That _sounds_ nice. But--is it so?"
"You know it is!" he cried angrily.
"No, I don't," she replied, as if she were weighing every word. "I've
made up my mind not to tell any more lies, especially to myself. I
don't feel as I used to feel. There's--some one between us."
"Vaughan?"
"Yes. I've a sense of obligation to him. If you had seen what I
saw--how far above the little men who go in for cheap theatricals or act
like mad dogs----"
To his sensitiveness it seemed for an instant that she was hitting at
him, was slyly reminding him of his own conduct. But he soon felt that
he was mistaken--that there was another reason why her words stung him.
"It sounds as if you were falling in love with him," he said in a
grotesque attempt at a voice of raillery.
"No," replied she, and her voice satisfied him. "That part of my life
is over. It could no more be brought back than last year's summer."
"Winter," he corrected.
"It wasn't all winter, to be fair," said she, and changed the subject
with, "But--remember, you are free--free as I am. We shan't see each
other or hear from each other for a long time. It may be that you'll
fall in love with somebody else----"
"Courtney, do you love me? ... Look at me. Answer."
She continued to gaze out over the lake. "Honestly, I do not know.
Sometimes I think I do. Again I wonder, did I love you or was I only in
love with love? It's so easy to fool oneself when one wants any thing
as much as I wanted love."
"If you knew how you were--hurting me you'd not say these things."
"Would you rather I lied to you?" she asked gently.
"Yes! For, I love you and I can't live without you. You've made
yourself necessary to me. We must marry as soon as you are free and
have Winchie."
"Yes--we will marry, I suppose. There isn't anybody so near to me."
"Except Winchie."
"Winchie _is_ me."
"I understand," he said. "It's--beautiful. Ah, Courtney, we must marry
as soon as we can."
"No. I must--" She paused.
"Go on, dear. What is it that's to keep us apart?"
"I must be independent as well as free." The truth was out at last--the
truth her nature as a woman of sheltered breeding was always dodging,
but which her intelligence and pride were forcing her to face. "I must
be independent."
"There couldn't be any question of that kind between us."
"There shan't be," replied she with energy that startled him.
"I'll settle any amount you say on you. I'll make myself your dependent
if you wish."
She laughed in a sweet, tender way. Whatever his faults and failings,
he certainly was generous. "Basil!" she murmured. Then: "As if that
would help matters. Why, anything I got from you would only increase my
dependence. No, I must be really free--so neither of us could think for
an instant I was your wife because I had to be supported--or you were my
husband because you felt I was helpless. We women have got to stop
being canary birds if we're to get real self-respect--or real
consideration."
"What queer notions you do get," said he with man's tolerant amusement
at the fantasies of the women and the children. "Think of wasting such
a night--and our few minutes together--discussing theories--and sordid
ones!"
"Sordid! Basil, we're made out of earth and we've got to live on the
ground. I'm done forever with the kind of romance and idealism we were
brought up on. I'm going to build as high as I can, but I'm going to
build on the ground. No more cloud castles that vanish when the wind
changes. I'm going to use romance for decoration not for building
stone, and cakes for dessert, not in place of bread."
He laughed appreciatively. "How clever you are! We'll get on
beautifully," he said. "You're the sort of woman that never bores a man
or makes him feel like looking about."
"Are you the sort of man that never bores a woman or makes her feel like
looking about?"
"That's not for me to say," answered he with a careless laugh.
"It doesn't strike you as important--what a woman might think about such
matters, does it?" said she, good-humored in her mockery.
"Oh, yes--if the woman's you. But let's not bother about such things.
It seems such a waste of time. One kiss?"