XXI

The days went by, spent by Alec in making necessary preparations for his

journey, spent by Lucy in sickening anxiety. The last two months had

been passed by her in a conflict of emotions. Love had planted itself in

her heart like a great forest tree, and none of the storms that had

assailed it seemed to have power to shake its stubborn roots. Season,

common decency, shame, had lost their power. She had prayed God that a

merciful death might free her from the dreadful uncertainty. She was

spiritless and cowed. She despised herself for her weakness. And

sometimes she rebelled against the fate that crushed her with such

misfortunes; she had tried to do her duty always, acting humbly

according to her lights, and yet everything she was concerned in

crumbled away to powder at her touch. She, too, began to think that she

was not meant for happiness. She knew that she ought to hate Alec, but

she could not. She knew that his action should fill her with nameless

horror, but against her will she could not believe that he was false and

wicked. One thing she was determined on, and that was to keep her word

to Robert Boulger; but he himself gave her back her freedom.

He came to her one day, and after a little casual conversation broke

suddenly into the middle of things.

'Lucy, I want to ask you to release me from my engagement to you,' he

said.

Her heart gave a great leap against her breast, and she began to

tremble. He went on.

'I'm ashamed to have to say it; I find that I don't love you enough to

marry you.'

She looked at him silently, and her eyes filled with tears. The

brutality with which he spoke was so unnatural that it betrayed the

mercifulness of his intention.

'If you think that, there is nothing more to be said,' she answered.

He gave her a look of such bitterness that she felt it impossible to

continue a pretence which deceived neither of them.

'I'm unworthy of your love,' she cried. 'I've made you desperately

wretched.'

'It doesn't matter about me,' he said. 'But there's no reason for you to

be wretched, too.'

'I'm willing to do whatever you wish, Bobbie.'

'I can't marry you simply because you're sorry for me. I thought I

could, but--it's asking too much of you. We had better say no more about

it.'

'I'm very sorry,' she whispered.

'You see, you're still in love with Alec MacKenzie.'

He said it, vainly longing for a denial; but he knew in his heart that

no denial would come.

'I always shall be, notwithstanding everything. I can't help myself.'

'No, it's fate.'

She sprang to her feet with vehement passion.

'Oh, Bobbie, don't you think there's some chance that everything may be

explained?'

He hesitated for a moment. It was very difficult to answer.

'It's only fair to tell you that now things have calmed down, there are

a great many people who don't believe Macinnery's story. It appears that

the man's a thorough blackguard, whom MacKenzie loaded with benefits.'

'Do _you_ still believe that Alec caused George's death?'

'Yes.'

Lucy leaned back in her chair, resting her face on her hand. She seemed

to reflect deeply.

'And you?' said Bobbie.

She gave him a long, earnest look. The colour came to her cheeks.

'No,' she said firmly.

'Why not?' he asked.

'I have no reason except that I love him.'

'What are you going to do?'

'I don't know.'

Bobbie got up, kissed her gently, and went out. She did not see him

again, and in a day or two she heard that he had gone away.

* * *

Lucy made up her mind that she must see Alec before he went, but a

secret bashfulness prevented her from writing to him. She was afraid

that he would refuse, and she could not force herself upon him if she

knew definitely that he did not want to see her. But with all her heart

she wanted to ask his pardon. It would not be so hard to continue with

the dreary burden which was her life if she knew that he had a little

pity for her. He could not fail to forgive her when he saw how broken

she was.

But the days followed one another, and the date which Julia, radiant

with her own happiness, had given her as that of his departure, was

approaching.

Julia, too, was exercised in mind. After her conversation with Alec she

could not ask him to see Lucy, for she knew what his answer would be. No

arguments, would move him. He did not want to give either Lucy or

himself the pain which he foresaw an interview would cause, and his

wounds were too newly-healed for him to run any risks. Julia resolved to

take the matter into her own hands. Alec was starting next day, and he

had promised to look in towards the evening to bid them good-bye. Julia

wrote a note to Lucy, asking her to come also.

When she told Dick, he was aghast.

'But it's a monstrous thing to do,' he cried. 'You can't entrap the man

in that way.'

'I know it's monstrous,' she answered. 'But that's the only advantage of

being an American in England, that one can do monstrous things. You look

upon us as first cousins to the red Indians, and you expect anything

from us. In America I have to mind my p's and q's. I mayn't smoke in

public, I shouldn't dream of lunching in a restaurant alone with a man,

and I'm the most conventional person in the most conventional society in

the world; but here, because the English are under the delusion that New

York society is free and easy, and that American women have no

restraint, I can kick over the traces, and no one will think it even

odd.'

'But, my dear, it's a mere matter of common decency.'

'There are times when common decency is out of place,' she replied.

'Alec will never forgive you.'

'I don't care. I think he ought to see Lucy, and since he'd refuse if I

asked him, I'm not going to give him the chance.'

'What will you do if he just bows and walks off?'

'I have his assurance that he'll behave like a civilised man,' she

answered.

'I wash my hands of it,' said Dick. 'I think it's perfectly

indefensible.'

'I never said it wasn't,' she agreed. 'But you see, I'm only a poor,

weak woman, and I'm not supposed to have any sense of honour or

propriety. You must let me take what advantage I can of the disabilities

of the weaker sex.'

Dick smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

'Your blood be upon your own head,' he answered.

'If I perish, I perish.'

And so it came about that when Alec had been ten minutes in Julia's cosy

sitting-room, Lucy was announced. Julia went up to her, greeting her

effusively to cover the awkwardness of the moment. Alec grew very pale,

but made no sign that he was disconcerted. Only Dick was troubled. He

was obviously at a loss for words, and it was plain to see that he was

out of temper.

'I'm so glad you were able to come,' said Julia, in order to show Alec

that she had been expecting Lucy.

Lucy gave him a rapid glance, and the colour flew to her cheeks. He was

standing up and came forward with outstretched hand.

'How do you do?' he said. 'How is Lady Kelsey?'

'She's much better, thanks. We've been to Spa, you know, for her

health.'

Julia's heart beat quickly. She was much excited at this meeting; and it

seemed to her strangely romantic, a sign of the civilisation of the

times, that these two people with raging passions afire in their hearts,

should exchange the commonplaces of polite society, Alec, having

recovered from his momentary confusion was extremely urbane.

'Somebody told me you'd gone abroad,' he said. 'Was it you, Dick? Dick

is an admirable person, a sort of gazetteer for the world of fashion.'

Dick fussily brought forward a chair for Lucy to sit in, and offered to

disembarrass her of the jacket she was wearing.

'You must make my excuses for not leaving a card on Lady Kelsey before

going away,' said Alec. 'I've been excessively busy.'

'It doesn't matter at all,' Lucy answered.

Julia glanced at him. She saw that he was determined to keep the

conversation on the indifferent level which it might have occupied if

Lucy had been nothing more than an acquaintance. There was a bantering

tone in his voice which was an effective barrier to all feeling. For a

moment she was nonplussed.

'London is an excellent place for showing one of how little importance

one is in the world. One makes a certain figure, and perhaps is tempted

to think oneself of some consequence. Then one goes away, and on

returning is surprised to discover that nobody has ever noticed one's

absence.'

Lucy smiled faintly. Dick, recovering his good-humour, came at once to

the rescue.

'You're overmodest, Alec. If you weren't, you might be a great man. Now,

I make a point of telling my friends that I'm indispensable, and they

take me at my word.'

'You are a leaven of flippancy in the heavy dough of British

righteousness,' smiled Alec.

'It is true that the wise man only takes the unimportant quite

seriously.'

'For it is obvious that one needs more brains to do nothing with

elegance than to be a cabinet minister,' said Alec.

'You pay me a great compliment, Alec,' cried Dick. 'You repeat to my

very face one of my favourite observations.'

Julia looked at him steadily.

'Haven't I heard you say that only the impossible is worth doing?'

'Good heavens,' he cried. 'I must have been quoting the headings of a

copy-book.'

Lucy felt that she must say something. She had been watching Alec, and

her heart was nearly breaking. She turned to Dick.

'Are you going down to Southampton?' she asked.

'I am, indeed,' he answered. 'I shall hide my face on Alec's shoulder

and weep salt tears. It will be most affecting, because in moments of

emotion I always burst into epigram.'

Alec sprang to his feet. There was a bitterness in his face which was in

odd contrast with Dick's light words.

'I loathe all solemn leave-takings,' he said. 'I prefer to part from

people with a nod or a smile, whether I'm going for ever or for a day to

Brighton.'

'I've always assured you that you're a monster of inhumanity,' said Mrs.

Lomas, laughing difficultly.

He turned to her with a grim smile.

'Dick has been imploring me for twenty years to take life flippantly. I

have learnt at last that things are only grave if you take them gravely,

and that is desperately stupid. It's so hard to be serious without being

absurd. That is the chief power of women, that life and death for them

are merely occasions for a change of costume, marriage a creation in

white, and the worship of God an opportunity for a Paris bonnet.'

Julia saw that he was determined to keep the conversation on a level of

amiable persiflage, and with her lively sense of the ridiculous she

could hardly repress a smile at the heaviness of his hand. Through all

that he said pierced the bitterness of his heart, and his every word was

contradicted by the vehemence of his tortured voice. She was determined,

too, that the interview which she had brought about, uncomfortable as it

had been to all of them, should not be brought to nothing;

characteristically she went straight to the point. She stood up.

'I'm sure you two have things to say to one another that you would like

to say alone.'

She saw Alec's eyes grow darker as he saw himself cornered, but she was

implacable.

'I have some letters to send off by the American mail, and I want Dick

to look over them to see that I've spelt _honour_ with a u and

_traveller_ with a double l.'

Neither Alec nor Lucy answered, and the determined little woman took her

husband firmly away. When they were left alone, neither spoke for a

while.

'I've just realised that you didn't know I was coming to-day,' said Lucy

at last. 'I had no idea that you were being entrapped. I would never

have consented to that.'

'I'm very glad to have an opportunity of saying good-bye to you,' he

answered.

He preserved the conversational manner of polite society, and it seemed

to Lucy that she would never have the strength to get beyond.

'I'm so glad that Dick and Julia are happily married. They're very much

in love with one another.'

'I should have thought love was the worst possible foundation for

marriage,' he answered. 'Love creates illusions, and marriage destroys

them. True lovers should never marry.'

Again silence fell upon them, and again Lucy broke it.

'You're going away to-morrow?'

'I am.'

She looked at him, but he would not meet her eyes. He went over to the

window and looked out upon the busy street.

'Are you very glad to go?'

'You can't think what a joy it is to look upon London for the last time.

I long for the infinite surface of the clean and comfortable sea.'

Lucy gave a stifled sob. Alec started a little, but he did not move. He

still looked down upon the stream of cabs and 'buses, lit by the misty

autumn sun.

'Is there no one you regret to leave, Alec?'

It tore his heart that she should use his name. To hear her say it had

always been like a caress, and the word on her lips brought back once

more the whole agony of his distress; but he would not allow his emotion

to be seen. He turned round and faced her gravely. Now, for the first

time, he did not hesitate to look at her. And while he spoke the words

he set himself to speak, he noticed the exquisite oval of her face, her

charming, soft hair, and her unhappy eyes.

'You see, Dick is married, and so I'm much best out of the way. When a

man takes a wife, his bachelor friends are wise to depart from his life,

gracefully, before he shows them that he needs their company no longer.'

'And besides Dick?'

'I have few friends and no relations. I can't flatter myself that anyone

will be much distressed at my departure.'

'You must have no heart at all,' she said, in a low, hoarse voice.

He clenched his teeth. He was bitterly angry with Julia because she had

exposed him to this unspeakable torture.

'If I had I certainly should not bring it to the _Carlton Hotel_. That

sentimental organ would be surely out of place in such a neighbourhood.'

Lucy sprang to her feet.

'Oh, why do you treat me as if we were strangers? How can you be so

cruel?'

'Flippancy is often the only refuge from an uncomfortable position,' he

answered gravely. 'We should really be much wiser merely to discuss the

weather.'

'Are you angry because I came?'

'That would be very ungracious on my part. Perhaps it wasn't quite

necessary that we should meet again.'

'You've been acting all the time I've been here. Do you think I didn't

see it was unreal, when you talked with such cynical indifference? I

know you well enough to tell when you're hiding your real self behind a

mask.'

'If that is so, the inference is obvious that I wish my real self to be

hidden.'

'I would rather you cursed me than treat me with such cold politeness.'

'I'm afraid you're rather difficult to please,' he said.

Lucy went up to him passionately, but he drew back so that she might not

touch him. Her outstretched hands dropped powerless to her side.

'Oh, you're of iron,' she cried pitifully. 'Alec, Alec, I couldn't let

you go without seeing you once more. Even you would be satisfied if you

knew what bitter anguish I've suffered. Even you would pity me. I don't

want you to think too badly of me.'

'Does it much matter what I think? We shall be five thousand miles

apart.'

'You must utterly despise me.'

He shook his head. And now his manner lost that affected calmness which

had been so cruelly wounding. He could not now attempt to hide the pain

that he was suffering. His voice trembled a little with his great

emotion.

'I loved you far too much to do that. Believe me, with all my heart I

wish you well. Now that the first bitterness is past I see that you did

the only possible thing. I hope that you'll be very happy. Robert

Boulger is an excellent fellow, and I'm sure he'll make you a much

better husband than I should ever have done.'

Lucy blushed to the roots of her hair. Her heart sank, and she did not

seek to conceal her agitation.

'Did they tell you I was going to marry Robert Boulger?'

'Isn't it true?'

'Oh, how cruel of them, how frightfully cruel! I became engaged to him,

but he gave me my release. He knew that notwithstanding everything, I

loved you better than my life.'

Alec looked down, but he did not say anything. He did not move.

'Oh, Alec, don't be utterly pitiless,' she wailed. 'Don't leave me

without a single word of kindness.'

'Nothing is changed, Lucy. You sent me away because I caused your

brother's death.'

She stood before him, her hands behind her back, and they looked into

one another's eyes. Her words were steady and quiet. It seemed to give

her an infinite relief to say them.

'I hated you then, and yet I couldn't crush the love that was in my

heart. And it's because I was frightened of myself that I told Bobbie I'd

marry him. But I couldn't. I was horrified because I cared for you

still. It seemed such odious treachery to George, and yet love burnt up

my heart. I used to try and drive you away from my thoughts, but every

word you had ever said came back to me. Don't you remember, you told me

that everything you did was for my sake? Those words hammered away on my

heart as though it were an anvil. I struggled not to believe them, I

said to myself that you had sacrificed George, coldly, callously,

prudently, but my love told me it wasn't true. Your whole life stood on

one side and only this hateful story on the other. You couldn't have

grown into a different man in one single instant. I've learnt to know

you better during these three months of utter misery, and I'm ashamed of

what I did.'

'Ashamed?'

'I came here to-day to tell you that I don't understand the reason of

what you did; but I don't want to understand. I believe in you now with

all my strength. I believe in you as better women than I believe in God.

I know that whatever you did was right and just--because you did it.'

Alec looked at her for a moment Then he held out his hand.

'Thank God,' he said. 'I'm so grateful to you.'

'Have you nothing more to say to me than that?'

'You see, its come too late. Nothing much matters now, for to-morrow I

go away for ever.'

'But you'll come back.'

He gave a short, scornful laugh.

'They were so glad to give me that job on the Congo because no one else

would take it. I'm going to a part of Africa from which Europeans seldom

return.'

'Oh, that's too horrible,' she cried. 'Don't go, dearest; I can't bear

it.'

'I must now. Everything is settled, and there can be no drawing back.'

She let go hopelessly of his hand.

'Don't you care for me any more?' she whispered.

He looked at her, but he did not answer. She turned away, and sinking

into a chair, began to cry.

'Don't, Lucy,' he said, his voice breaking suddenly. 'Don't make it

harder.'

'Oh, Alec, Alec, don't you see how much I love you.'

He leaned over her and gently stroked her hair.

'Be brave, darling,' he whispered.

She looked up passionately, seizing both his hands.

'I can't live without you. I've suffered too much. If you cared for me

at all, you'd stay.'

'Though I love you with all my soul, I can't do otherwise now than go.'

'Then take me with you,' she cried eagerly. 'Let me come too.'

'You!'

'You don't know what I can do. With you to help me I can be very brave.

Let me come, Alec.'

'It's impossible. You don't know what you ask.'

'Then let me wait for you. Let me wait till you come back.'

'And if I never come back?'

'I will wait for you still.'

He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes, as though

he were striving to see into the depths of her soul. She felt very weak.

She could scarcely see him through her tears, but she tried to smile.

Then without a word he slipped his arms around her. Sobbing in the

ecstasy of her happiness, she let her head fall on his shoulder.

'You will have the courage to wait?' he said.

'I know you love me, and I trust you.'

'Then have no fear; I will come back. My journey was only dangerous

because I wanted to die. I want to live now, and I shall live.'

'Oh, Alec, Alec, I'm so glad you love me.'

Outside in the street the bells of the motor 'buses tinkled noisily, and

there was an incessant roar of the traffic that rumbled heavily over the

wooden pavements. There was a clatter of horses' hoofs, and the blowing

of horns; the electric broughams whizzed past with an odd, metallic

whirr.