Leaving the room they crossed to the oilclothed passage and went into
the dining-room, a small apartment enlivened by an oleograph of Leo
XIII., and some gay chromos.
The windows opened to the ground, and opening one the young people went
out into the moonlight. Brigit was feeling very happy, and therefore
very kind. When Théo put his arm round her and drew her to him she did
not protest.
"Brigitte," he whispered, "I do so love you."
"Dear Théo----" Suddenly she remembered that other moonlight night, nearly
a year before, when she had accepted him. She recalled the look of the
beautiful old house, the sound of Tommy at the pianola, the splashing of
the fountain, the sun-dial at which, in his boyish grief, he had knelt.
And she had accepted his love, not because she loved him but because she
hated her home and because, besides being sufficiently rich to satisfy
her needs, he was nice and straight and kind. She had taken everything
he had, and what had she given him? Nothing.
In the moonlight she saw as if with new eyes that he had changed. The
young contours of his cheek were less round, his eyes had a deeper
expression. He had suffered, and he had not complained.
"Théo," she said suddenly, smitten with pity, "I--have been horrid to
you. I--I am so frightfully selfish. Will you forgive me?"
His eyes glistened as he looked at her.
"Forgive you? You angel!"
"No, no. I _have_ been horrid. But--I will be nicer. And--you are so
good to me."
He was silent for a moment, then he said slowly:
"Brigitte--you are never horrid. But--if you do not--care for me at
all--will you tell me now?"
She was abashed and then shivered. Here was the chance she had longed
for. He would, she knew, give her up without a word if she asked him to;
and she had also learned to know that whatever Joyselle might have done
in like case a few months before, he would not refuse to see her now if
she told him that she and Théo had agreed to separate.
Here was freedom to go her own way, unrebuked by her own conscience or
the conscience of the man she loved.
Théo had turned away and stood with folded arms, awaiting her answer.
And she let her chance go by, for she could not bear to say the words
that should hurt him, and in the quiet night under the shadow of the old
house, it seemed to her that, after all, her happiness lay in this boy's
hands. Not the wild rapture she had once or twice felt with Joyselle,
but the kind of happiness that builds homes, and--she wanted a home.
Inexplicably tangled with her feelings for Théo, too, was that anything
binding her to him bound her to his father. They were more than father
and son, these two, they belonged together.
"I--do care for you," she said quietly. "I am not in love with you, but
I will marry you."
As he turned and held out his arms to her, Joyselle appeared at the end
of the lawn. Brigit did not see him, and going slowly to her lover
allowed him to embrace her.
"Ma Brigitte, _mon ange_--I--how can I thank you. Ah, what I have felt
these last five months! I have thought--oh, many things, of late."
His voice shook and was good to hear in its sincere emotion. For the
moment in her new-born wish to be good to him she felt that she had done
the wise thing, and was happy. He was good, and she would marry him
and--life would go on for ever, as it had been the last few weeks.
Joyselle, standing quite still in the shadow, watched them for a moment.
Then he turned and went back into the house.