"You will ruin his life," said one of the two women. As the phrase
escaped her she remembered, or seemed to remember, having met with it in
half a dozen novels. She had nerved herself for the interview which up
to this moment had been desperately real; but now she felt herself
losing grip. It had all happened before . . . somewhere; she was
reacting an old scene, going through a part; the four or five
second-hand words gave her this sensation. Then she reflected that the
other woman, too, had perhaps met them before in some cheap novelette,
and, being an uneducated person, would probably find them the more
impressive for that.
The other woman had in fact met them before, in the pages of _Bow
Bells_, and been impressed by them. But since then love had found her
ignorant and left her wise; wiser than in her humiliation she dared to
guess, and yet the wiser for being humiliated. She answered in a
curiously dispassionate voice: "I think, miss, his life is ruined
already; that is, if he sent you to say all this to me."
"He did not." Miss Bracy lifted the nose and chin which she inherited
from several highly distinguished Crusaders, and gave the denial sharply
and promptly, looking her ex-maid straight in the face. She had never--
to use her own words--stood any nonsense from Bassett.
But Bassett, formerly so docile (though, as it now turned out, so
deceitful); who had always known her place and never answered her
mistress but with respect; was to-day an unrecognisable Bassett--not in
the least impudent, but as certainly not to be awed or brow-beaten.
Standing in the glare of discovered misconduct, under the scourge of her
shame, the poor girl had grasped some secret strength which made her
invincible.
"But I think, miss," she answered, "Mr. Frank must have known you was
coming." And this Miss Bracy could not deny. She had never told a lie
in her life.
"It is very likely--no, it is certain--that he guessed," she admitted.
"And if so, it comes to the same thing," Bassett persisted, with a shade
of weariness in her voice.
"You ungrateful girl! You ungrateful and quite extraordinary girl!
First you inveigle that poor boy at the very outset of his career, and
then when upon a supposed point of honour he offers to marry you--"
"A 'supposed' point, miss? Do you say 'supposed'?"
"Not one in a thousand would offer such a redemption. And even he
cannot know what it will mean to his life--what it will cost him."
"I shall tell him, miss," said Bassett quietly.
"And his parents--what do you suppose they would say, were they alive?
His poor mother, for instance?"
Bassett dismissed this point silently. To Miss Bracy the queerest thing
about the girl was the quiet practical manner she had put on so
suddenly.
"You said, miss, that Mr. Frank wants to make amends on a 'supposed'
point of honour. Don't you think it a real one?"
Miss Bracy's somewhat high cheekbones showed two red spots. "Because he
offers it, it doesn't follow that you ought to accept. And that's the
whole point," she wound up viciously.
Bassett sighed that she could not get her question answered.
"You will excuse me, miss, but I never 'inveigled' him, as you say.
That I deny; and if you ask Mr. Frank he will bear me out. Not that
it's any use trying to make you believe," she added, with a drop back to
her old level tone as she saw the other's eyebrows go up. It was indeed
hopeless, Miss Bracy being one of those women who take it for granted
that a man has been inveigled as soon as his love-affairs run counter to
their own wishes or taste; and who thereby reveal an estimate of man for
which in the end they are pretty sure to pay heavily. All her answer
now was a frankly incredulous stare.
"You won't believe me, miss. It's not your fault, I know; you _can't_
believe me. But I loved Mr. Frank."
Miss Bracy made a funny little sound high up in her Crusader nose.
That the passions of gentlemen were often ill-regulated she knew; it
disgusted her, but she recognised it as a real danger to be watched by
their anxious relatives. That _love_, however--what she understood by
_love_--could be felt by the lower orders, the people who "walked
together" and "kept company" before mating, was too incredible.
Even if driven by evidence to admit the fact she would have set it down
to the pernicious encroachment of Board School education, and remarked
that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing.
"'Love!' My poor child, don't profane a word you cannot possibly
understand. A nice love, indeed, that shows itself by ruining his
life!"
That second-hand phrase again! As it slipped out, the indomitable
Bassett dealt it another blow.
"I am not sure, miss, that I love him any longer--in the same way, I
mean. I should always have a regard for him--for many reasons--and
because he behaved honourably in a way. But I couldn't quite believe in
him as I did before he showed himself weak."
"Well, of all the--" Miss Bracy's lips were open for a word to fit this
offence, when Bassett followed it up with a worse one.
"I beg your pardon, miss, but you are so fond of Mr. Frank--Supposing I
refused his offer, would you marry him yourself?"
The girl, too, meant it quite seriously. In her tone was no trace of
impudence. She had divined her adversary's secret, and thrust home the
question with a kind of anxious honesty. Miss Bracy, red and gasping,
tingling with shame, yet knew that she was not being exulted over.
She dropped the unequal fight between conventional argument and naked
insight, and stood up, woman to woman. She neither denied nor
exclaimed. She too told the truth.
"Never!"--she paused. "After what has happened I would never marry my
cousin."
"I thought that, miss. You mean it, I am sure; and it eases my mind;
because you have been a good mistress to me, and it would always have
been a sorry thought that I'd stood in your way. Not that it would have
prevented me."
"Do you still stand there and tell me that you will hold this unhappy
boy to his word?"
"He's twenty-two, miss; my own age. Yes, I shall hold him to it."
"To save yourself!"
"No, miss."
"For his own sake, then?" Miss Bracy's laugh was passing bitter.
"No, miss--though there might be something in that."
"For whose then?"
The girl did not answer. But in the silence her mistress understood,
and moved to the door. She was beaten, and she knew it; beaten and
unforgiving, In the doorway she turned.
"It is not for your own sake that you persist? It was not to gratify
yourself--to be made a lady--that you plotted this? Very well; you
shall be taken at your word. I cannot counsel Frank against his honour;
if he insists, and you still accept the sacrifice, he shall marry you.
But from that hour--you understand?--you have seen the last of him.
I know Frank well enough to promise it."
She paused to let the words sink in and watch their effect. This was
not only cruel, but a mistake; for it gave Bassett--who was past caring
for it--the last word.
"If you do, miss," she said drearily, yet with a mind made up,
"I daresay that will be best."