It is ten days since I wrote anything in this diary, and to-night, when
I opened it in my misery, hoping to find some comfort in writing down my
thoughts, the first thing that met my eyes were those dreadful words, "I
am going to enjoy myself, and I don't care what happens." Enjoy myself,
indeed! I have never been so miserable in my life. I never knew before
what misery meant, even on that awful night of the fire, when we didn't
know whether Vere would live or die. Troubles with which one has
nothing to do, which come, as it were, straight from God, can never make
one feel like this. There is no remorse in them, and no guilt, and no
burning, intolerable shame.
What would Miss Bruce think of her pupil now? What would father think?
What would Rachel--"the best woman in the world"--think of me to-night?
I am going to make myself write it all down, and then, if I ever try to
gloss it over to myself or others in the future, this written account
will be here to give me the lie. Here it is, then, bold and plain--
"I have broken a man's heart for the sake of a little fun and excitement
for myself, and as a sop to my wounded vanity!"
It makes me shiver to read the words, for I did not realise the full
meanness of what I was doing until the end came, and I woke with a shock
to see myself as I really am. All these last ten days I have been
acting a part to myself as well as to others, pretending to be
unconscious of danger, but I knew--oh, I knew perfectly well! I think a
girl must always know when a man loves her. I knew it by the tone of
Wallace's voice, by the light in his eyes, by the change which came over
his looks and manner the moment I appeared. It was like a game, a
horrible new game which fascinated me against my will, and I could not
bear to end it. Every night when I said my prayers I determined to turn
over a new leaf next day, but when the next day came I put on my
prettiest clothes and did my hair the way he liked it best, and sang his
favourite songs, and was all smiles and sweetness. Oh, what a Pharisee
I am! In this very book I have denounced Vere for her flirtations and
greed of admiration, and then I have succumbed to the very first
temptation, without so much as a struggle. I shall never, never be able
to hold up my head again. I feel too contemptible to live.
Last night things came to a crisis. Wallace and Lorna and I went to a
party given by some intimate family friends. Wallace had asked me in
the morning what colour I was going to wear, and just before dinner he
came into the drawing-room and presented me with a spray of the most
lovely pink roses. I think he expected to find me alone, but the whole
family was assembled, and it was most embarrassing to see how seriously
they took it. At home we have loads of flowers in the conservatories,
but sometimes one of Vere's admirers sends her a lot of early violets,
or lilies of the valley, great huge boxes which must cost a small
fortune, but no one thinks anything of it, or pays any attention beyond
a casual remark. Here, however, it was different.
"Roses!" ejaculated Lorna, in a tone of awe-stricken astonishment.
Midas whistled softly, and Mrs Forbes looked first at Wallace and then
at me--in a wistful, anxious kind of way, which made me feel inclined to
run home on the spot. I determined to make some excuse and depart
suddenly some day soon, while Wallace was out on his rounds, but it was
too late. I was not allowed to escape so easily as that.
During the evening Wallace took me into the conservatory to see the
flowers, and it was not my fault that everyone went out and left us
alone. I tried to be cold and chilling, but that only made him anxious
to discover what was wrong.
"It is my fault! I know quite well it is my fault," he cried, bending
over me, his face so drawn and puckered with anxiety that he looked
quite old. "I am a stupid, blundering fellow, and you have been an
angel to be so sweet and forbearing. I am not fit to come near you, but
I would rather cut off my right hand than hurt you in any way. You know
that, don't you, Una?"
He had never called me Una before, and he looked so different from the
calm, complacent youth I had known a few weeks before--so much older and
more formidable, that it was difficult to believe it could be the same
person. I was frightened, but tried hard to appear cool and self-
possessed.
"I am not vexed at all. On the contrary, I am enjoying myself very
much. The flowers are lovely. I always--"