And so the dream had come true after all, and she and Raymond were
together in Paris.
As she looked up into his handsome face it seemed to Esther that all
the past hours of grief were as if they had never really existed; he
was smiling down at her in the same old way; the very tone of his
voice awoke forgotten memories in her heart; she felt as if a gnawing
pain which had allowed her no rest had suddenly been lulled to sleep.
"I thought it must be you," Raymond was saying nervously. "And yet I
could not be sure. Somehow I never thought of you and Paris as being
in any way compatible, and yet----" He broke off; it had been on the
tip of his tongue to say that she had never looked sweeter or more
desirable.
His overwhelming conceit suddenly woke the wish in his heart to know
if she still cared, or if she had forgotten him, and a little flush
crossed his face and his eyes grew tender as they met the tragedy of
hers; he looked hastily round.
"We can't talk here. Will you come to a café? There is so much I
should like to say to you. When did you come over? What are you doing
here?"
They were walking slowly along, the man's head bent ardently towards
her.
He had once told Micky that this girl was the only woman he had ever
loved, and perhaps it was right--as he accounted love.
He took her to a café--one where there would be nobody likely to
recognise him; he ordered coffee and biscuits.
"Now we can talk undisturbed," he said; he moved his chair closer to
Esther's--he laid his hand on hers.
She did not move or try to evade his touch; she just looked down at
his hand for a moment and then up at the handsome face which had for
so long meant all the world to her.
"I never thought we should meet again here of all places," he said in
his soft voice. "How long ago does it seem to you since we said
good-bye?"
She could not answer, but the thought floated through her mind that
they never had said good-bye, that he had just walked out of her life
and stayed away until this moment, when fate had thrown them
together.
"If you knew how often I have thought about you," he said.
"Did you get my letter, Lallie? The one I wrote on New Year's Eve--and
the money? I sent you some money."
A swift flush dyed her cheeks; she raised her eyes.
That had been his letter then, after all--Micky had lied to her; she
caught her breath on a little gasp.
"Yes," she said faintly. "Yes--yes, I got it--thank you."
"I've often thought since that I might have written you a kinder
letter," he said after a moment. "But everything had gone wrong
then--the mater cut up rough--and I was up to my eyes in debt. It was
the best thing for both of us to put an end to it, don't you think it
was? You used to say that you wouldn't mind being poor, but in the end
you'd have hated it as much as I should." He paused as if expecting
her to speak, but she was plucking at the blue-and-white fringe of the
tablecloth with nervous fingers.
What did he mean--that he might have written her a kinder letter--when
she always remembered it as one of the dearest she had ever received?
He went on again--
"It hurt me more than you'll ever know." There was a sort of
self-satisfaction in his voice. "It took me a long time to forget you,
Lallie, and then, just as I was beginning, I saw you at the
theatre--in the stalls ... with Mellowes." His brows met above his
handsome eyes. "Mellowes wasn't long picking you up," he added
jealously.
Her lip quivered, but she did not raise her eyes.
"You saw me, too, didn't you?" he persisted. "I know you did, because
Mellowes came round afterwards and cursed me to all eternity." He
laughed. "I should have made a point of seeing you the next day if it
hadn't been for his confounded interference," he went on. "He told me
to get out of London and leave you alone." He bent towards her a
little. "What is Mellowes to you?" he asked her deliberately.
She raised her eyes now, and somehow it seemed as if, in the last few
moments, the man she had known and loved had changed into a
stranger--some one whom she had never seen before, whom she hoped
never to see again.
She forced her lips to smile; she felt at that moment she would die
rather than let him see how she was suffering, or guess how she had
suffered in the past.
"He's been kind to me," she said voicelessly. "That's all."
Raymond made a little, inarticulate sound.
"He's got me to thank for ever getting to know you," he said. "I gave
him your address and asked him to take you out a bit if he fancied
it.... I asked him to be kind to you."
The hands in her lap twitched convulsively.
"If I'd had one tenth of his beastly money," Raymond said then
savagely, "we shouldn't be sitting here now as if we were strangers--as
if ... Lallie--do you remember the good time we used to have----"
"I remember everything." He bent closer.
"I never cared for any woman in all my life but you. It's cursed hard
luck." He sighed. "You know I'm married?" he asked abruptly.
"Oh yes!" The words came stiffly.
His eyes searched her white face jealously.
"You don't seem to care. I've often wondered if you knew--and if you
minded!" He sat staring before him, and there was a little smile in
his eyes. "We do things in style now, I can tell you," he said with
sudden change of voice. "She's as rich as you please, and she likes to
spend her money." Another silence.
"I hope you'll be happy," Esther said faintly.
Afterwards she wondered what made her say it, seeing that she did not
care in the very least if he were happy or not; why should she care?
This man was a stranger to her.
He laughed ruefully.
"Oh, I suppose we shall," he said. "She's not a bad sort, and she lets
me alone...." He roused himself suddenly and bent closer to her.
"Lallie--you'll let me see you again. There's no reason why we can't
be--friends--just because I'm married----" He tried to take her hand,
but now she repulsed him, though very gently.
"You're not going to be a little prude?" he said in a whisper. "I can
give you the time of your life if you'll let me. I've plenty of money
now----"
"Your wife's money," said Esther with stiff lips.
He looked annoyed.
"If you like to put it that way--but she doesn't mind--she's too fond
of me to mind how much I spend ... Lallie----" She hated to hear that
name, because once she had loved it.
She closed her eyes for a moment with a little sick shudder.
"Are you faint?" he asked anxiously. "I suppose it is warm in here.
Take your coat off! Jove! that's a fine coat----" He ran an
appreciative hand down the soft fur sleeve; a sudden suspicion
crept into his eyes. "Who gave you that?" he asked sharply. "Not
Mellowes----?"
"No--at least...." She could not go on. Micky had given it to her, she
knew, but she would have bitten her tongue through rather than have
told this man.
It had been Micky all the time--Micky....
She thrust the thought of him from her; she did not want to think of
him now. There would be plenty of time later on; plenty of time when
she had shaken off the last rag of the past.
"It cost a pretty penny, whoever bought it," he said sulkily. "What
else has he given you? If you can take presents from him you can't
refuse to let me see you sometimes, and after all--you did love me
once.... Esther, do you remember the way you cried that last day?"
"Yes," she said mechanically, "I remember; I remember everything."
"You loved me well enough then," he reminded her moodily. "You didn't
behave like an iceberg then, Lallie, and I'm not really changed; I'm
the same man I was--I care for you just as much----"
"You're married!" she said.
She felt as if she had so much time mapped out before her during which
she must put up with this man's society; as if each moment were
another inch torn in the rags of disillusionment which had got to be
destroyed thoroughly before she could ever hope to gather up the
broken threads of her life again.
He laughed at her reminder.
"I'm not the only married man who sometimes forgets that he is no
longer a bachelor," he said detestably.
He laid an arm familiarly along the back of her chair. He touched her
chin with his fingers.
She moved back, the hot blood rushing riotously over her face. She was
white no longer; she looked like a marble Galatea suddenly brought to
life.
Raymond Ashton laughed, well pleased. He was confident that he had not
lost his power over her. For the moment his appalling vanity blinded
him to the fact that it was not love in her eyes, but scorn.
"What are you thinking, Lallie?" he asked her.
She sat very straight and stiff in her chair.
"I am thinking," she said, "how impossible it seems that I can ever
have thought that I cared for you." Her voice was low but very clear,
and he heard each word distinctly. "I am thinking that you are the
most contemptible thing I have ever met in my life--I am thinking how
sorry I am for the woman who is your wife."
She pushed back her chair and rose.
"Would you like to hear any more of my thoughts?" she asked.
Ashton had risen too; there was a look of bewildered amazement in his
face; he tried to laugh. Even now he thought she was joking.
"Lallie--" he said hoarsely. He half held his hand to her. "Lallie--"
he said again--but the cold contempt of her face struck the appeal
from her lips.
He drew himself up with a poor attempt at dignity.
"So virtue is to be the order of the day, is it?" he said sneeringly.
"Very well----" His eyes flamed as they rested on her face. "It
makes one wonder why you are here--in Paris--alone!" he said
insultingly--"If you are alone."
There was a little point of silence. For a moment Esther scanned his
handsome face as if she were trying to remember what it was she had
ever loved in him--his eyes!--but they were so cruel and insolent--his
lips ... she shuddered, realising that in all her life she could
never undo the memory of his kisses--then she pulled herself together
with a great effort and turned away.
He followed. His amazement had gone now--he was merely furiously
angry--his face was crimson--he caught her arm in a grip that hurt.
"My God, you're not going like this," he said furiously. "It's only a
few weeks ago that you were crying round my neck and begging me not to
throw you over. Oh, that hurts, does it?" he said as she winced. "I
dare say you'd like all that wiped out and forgotten. But I've got a
few letters to remember you by--a few letters that would hardly make
pleasant reading for the next man who is fool enough to waste his time
on you--and I promise you I'll send them along if it's Mellowes or any
other man----"
She raised triumphant eyes to his face.
"He wouldn't read them," she said passionately. "Send them if you
like; but he wouldn't read them----" She was not conscious of the
admission in her words--she only knew that the knowledge that Micky
was there somewhere in the background gave her the strength to defy
Ashton.
She saw the sudden fury that filled his eyes.
"Then--then you admit that it's Mellowes," he stammered. "That it's he
who has taken my place--who has cut me out----" His voice changed to a
sort of threat.
"I might have know what he meant to do. I might have guessed. Wait
till I see him--wait till I get back to London."
Esther smiled--a little smile of security and confidence.
"There is no need to wait," she said quietly. "Mr. Mellowes is here in
Paris with me, if you wish to see him."