Rosalind gave a little sob and flicked her handkerchief across her eyes.
"Peggy thinks I am worldly," she said brokenly, "and when I twy to
confide in her, she puts her head in the air and looks as if she had no
patience to listen. She says cwuel things!"
"I'm sorry, Rosalind, and so will she be herself, when she has had time
to think. Peg is a hasty little mortal, but you know how loving and
staunch she is, and I am sure she had not the remotest intention of
wounding you. What was it all about? What was the subject under
discussion?"
But at this Rosalind blushed and hesitated. A problematical marriage
was no easy matter to explain to Arthur Saville, yet mingled with her
embarrassment was a strange eagerness to hear what he would have to say
on the subject. Never once in all these years had a word of love passed
Arthur's lips, but Rosalind was too experienced a woman of the world to
be in any doubt as to his sentiments. She knew that he loved her, and
had been grateful to him for the reticence which made it possible to
continue on terms of friendship, but at this crisis of her life the old
friendship seemed insufficient, and her heart went out to Arthur in a
rush of love and longing.
"I asked her advice about--accepting Lord Everscourt!" she said,
faltering; and there was a moment's silence before Arthur replied
quietly:
"I see! Just so. And Peggy said?"
"She said she was sowwy for him, not me. She said that I looked upon it
as a business arrangement, and seemed to think that I could never really
care for any man."
"And was she misjudging you? _Do_ you care for Lord Everscourt, Rosie?"
She shook her head at him with a soundless movement of lips shaped to
pronounce a "No."
"But he is a good fellow, I am told, and devoted to you. I don't agree
with Peggy on this question, Rosalind. You have been brought up to
value certain things so highly that you cannot be happy without them,
and if you meet an honest English gentleman who can give them to you,
and love you sincerely into the bargain, I believe that it would be your
best chance of happiness. If you can esteem and respect him, love would
probably follow."
Rosalind dropped her eyes and stood before him drooping and silent.
This was not what she had expected to hear. Never in her most
despondent moods had she believed it possible that Arthur Saville would
advocate her marriage with another; never had she believed that he could
listen unmoved to such a suggestion! The pain at her heart forced her
into speech, and the words faltered forth with unconscious self-
betrayal.
"No, I could never love him. It's impossible! I have no love to give."
"You mean--" began Arthur, and then stopped short, for Rosalind had
lifted her eyes to his in a long, eloquent glance, and in that moment
there were no secrets between them. Rosalind realised the patient,
self-sacrificing love which had kept silence for her sake, and Arthur
Saville knew that all that was best in Rosalind Darcy's nature was given
to him, and that he held the key to the poor starved citadel of her
heart.
"Oh, Rosie!" he cried brokenly, "is it really so? Am I the happy man,
dear? Do you mean that you care for me instead--that that is the reason
why you cannot love him?"
"Always, Arthur, oh, always!" whispered Rosalind brokenly. "Ever since
I was a child! I have twied to get over it, but it is no use. I think
of you all the time; I enjoy nothing if you are not with me. I have
behaved badly to you often, but I have suffered for it afterwards. I
have lain awake cwying half the night when you have been vexed with me
and have gone away without saying good-night."
"Poor child!" sighed Arthur softly. His face was pale, and wore a
troubled expression, very different from that of the ordinary happy
lover who has just listened to such a speech from his lady's lips. "And
I have loved you, too, Rosalind; but I never intended to let you know
it. Perhaps I was wrong, but I doubted my own powers of making you
happy, and thought the best thing I could do for you was to stand out of
the way. But the case is altered now. You love me, and that lays a new
duty on us both. The question is--how much do you love me, Rosie dear?
How much are you prepared to give up for my sake? I am a poor man, and
have my way to make. In ten--a dozen years from now, if I am alive and
well,"--Arthur squared his shoulders and drew himself up with an air of
a man who has a justifiable confidence in his own powers--"I shall have
made a position for myself which will be worth your acceptance; but we
must realise what ten years means. In ten years, sweetheart," he looked
at her with a smile so tender that her eyes fell before his, "you will
be young no longer. You will have passed the best years of your life.
Could you bear to pass them as the wife of a poor man, living in a small
house, without any of the luxuries and pleasures to which you are
accustomed? Do you love me enough to do it _willingly_? I'd work with
the strength of ten men, but I have had more experience of the world
than you, dear, and I know that success cannot come in a day. With all
my love and all my care, I could not shield you from the waiting which
must come first."
"But--but--" faltered Rosalind, and was silent. The matter-of-fact
manner in which Arthur had followed up the mutual declaration of love by
a proposal of marriage had filled her with consternation. She did love
him, oh yes! If he had been in Lord Everscourt's position, how gladly
she would have been his wife! but his picture of the life which the must
share if she joined in her lot with him sent a chill of dismay through
her veins. Ten years of poverty and obscurity, ten years' work and
waiting, with no possibility of success until youth and beauty had fled,
and she was an uninteresting, middle-aged woman! Rosalind shivered at
the thought, and summoned up courage to protest once more.
"It is so sudden, Arthur, that I don't know what to say. I was never
sure until now that you weally did care for me. And to talk of being
mawwied so soon--at once!"
"What else can we do? When you tell me that other men wish to marry
you, you cannot wonder that I want to claim you as my own. You are
troubled about Lord Everscourt, but if you were engaged to me the matter
would settle itself dear, and it would be the best way out of the
difficulty. I will speak to your father at once, and--"
"No, no!" she cried quickly, so quickly and with such an emphasis of
denial that Arthur looked at her in wonder. "You must not do that. I
won't allow it. He is waiting for me to give an answer to Lord
Everscourt, and he would be so upset and distwessed. He likes you, and
so does mother, but--Oh, you know how it is! You know what they want!
You know how disappointed they would be!"
"Yes, I know, and I should be sorry for them, for it would be a
reasonable disappointment. You are their only daughter, and from their
point of view Everscourt can do better for you than I; but, my darling,
in this matter you must think first of yourself! It is your life that
is at stake, and it is for you to choose whether you prefer love or
riches. Your parents will bow to your decision, for they love you too
much to destroy your happiness. Your mother would feel it most, but I
would do my best to reconcile her to the disappointment, and as for your
dear, good father, there is one thing which would grieve him infinitely
more than the loss of a brilliant marriage. Can you guess what it is,
Rosie?"
"No," she said, "no," but her eyes drooped, and she fidgeted uneasily
with the handle of her parasol. Arthur laid one hand over hers with a
quick pressure, and, despite its firmness, his voice was very gentle as
he replied:
"Yes, you do, dear. You guess what I mean. He would rather see you
married to me than know that you had deliberately sold yourself for
money while your heart was given to another man. In the one case he
would admire your sincerity, in the other he could feel neither
admiration nor respect, nothing--it seems to me--but shame and
humiliation!"
Rosalind drew in her breath with a deep inhalation. It was true, and
she knew it was true! Lord Darcy had never failed to hold the highest
ideals before his daughter, and it would be a bitter grief to him if she
condescended to an unworthy choice. Already, in imagination, she could
see the shadow fall across the tired old face, and she shivered as if in
pain, for her father's respect and good opinion were very precious in
her eyes. Many a time in days gone past had the fear of his disapproval
held her back from a foolish action, and, in this crisis of her life, it
was more than ever necessary to her peace of mind to retain his
approval. She stood hesitating and trembling, and, unseen to mortal
eyes, the good angel of Rosalind Darcy's life stood by her side at that
moment and whispered counsel in her ear. The worldly motives seemed to
disappear, she looked in Arthur's face and saw, waiting for her, love
and tenderness, with such joy of congenial companionship as for the
moment eclipsed every other consideration. Oh, surely no life was worth
having compared with one spent with him! Her mind ran swiftly over a
dozen possibilities, and in each found a happy solution. Whatever
happened, she could not fail to be content if Arthur were near. He was
so good, so strong, so radiant, that his very presence was a guarantee
of happiness, of something more than happiness, for, with all his
brightness of manner, there was an underlying nobility in Arthur
Saville's character which Rosalind recognised and longed after in the
depths of her vacillating heart. She could be a better woman as his
wife than in any other sphere in life; if she rejected him, she would
reject also her own best chance of becoming a good woman. She knew it,
and a little chill, as of fear, ran through her veins as she
acknowledged as much to herself, for at the bottom of her heart she knew
something else also. She knew that when it came to the point she had no
intention of marrying Arthur Saville. It was sweet to look into his
face and dream for a moment of what might be, but the chains of the
world were too heavy to be broken; the prize for which she had longed
was within her grasp, and she could not throw it aside. The good spirit
spread her wings and flew sadly away, for when a human being sees with
clear eyes the opening of the roads, and deliberately turns in the wrong
direction, the angel who must then step forward to bear her company is
no longer white-robed, but wears a weary countenance and sombre garment.
Sometimes we call her Pain, and sometimes Experience, and there is no
welcome waiting for her where she goes, though sometimes, looking back
over the years, we bless her in our hearts, and realise that she has
taught us lessons which her bright-robed sister was powerless to instil.
The shadow of future suffering seemed already on Rosalind's beautiful
face as she raised it to Arthur's, and cried tremblingly:
"Arthur, I cannot! I love you dearly, but I cannot face it! Evewy one
would be so surpwised--so astonished! They would laugh at me behind my
back, and mother would bweak her heart--and--and--oh, I couldn't bear to
give up so much! I could not be happy seeing other people doing things,
and not being able to do them myself. I could not endure to be poor.
If you were even a little better off, I might wisk it, but it is such a
long, long time to wait. Ten years! And, after all, it is not certain.
You might not succeed even then!"
"No, nothing is certain, not even the success of a worldly marriage,
Rosalind! Health may go, riches may take wings and fly away. Suppose
you married Everscourt, and one of these two things came to pass, where
would your happiness be then? There is only one thing which can be
trusted to remain unchanged, and that is the right sort of love. I
could have given you that love, Rosalind, if you had cared enough in
return to trust yourself to me, but I will not persuade you against your
will. I have an uphill fight before me, and I want a wife who will help
me by her faith, not drag me back by her complaining. I was right in
believing that such a poor thing as my love could have no power with you
against other attractions."
A note of bitterness rang in Arthur's voice, despite his effort to
restrain it, and Rosalind winced, and held out her hands with a gesture
of protesting pain.
"You don't understand! You will never understand, and I can't explain.
I can't justify myself, Arthur, or expect you to forgive me, but twy at
least to think of me as kindly as you can. I may not be able to care
for any one in the way you do, but at least I have cared for you most!
I could never be happy again if I thought I had bwoken your heart."
"You have not broken it, Rosalind," said Arthur quietly. "If you had
loved me truly, and I had lost you, it would have been another matter,
but you have never been mine even in imagination. I could not help
loving you, but there was no hope in my love, only the shadow of this
end hanging over all. Now at last the bolt has fallen, and I have to
face the worst. That is all!"
"But you won't--you won't do anything rash?" gasped Rosalind, the sight
of the set face sending a dozen wild thoughts of suicide, emigration,
and the like through her foolish brain. "Pwomise me, pwomise me, to be
careful of yourself! Oh, Arthur, tell me, what do you mean to do?"
Arthur Saville drew himself up with the old soldierly gesture, and the
flash came back to his eyes.
"Do!" he cried. "Bury the past and begin afresh, Rosalind! This is my
second defeat in life, but I'll go on fighting. I'll win my victories
yet!"
Rosalind Darcy looked at him and was silent. He was speaking the truth,
and she realised it, as any one must have done who saw the young fellow
at that moment, and noted the strength and determination of the handsome
face. Arthur Saville was not a man whose life could be wrecked by a
woman's folly; there was a future before him, and the time would come
when those who loved him would glory in his achievements.
In one of the bitterest moments of her life Rosalind Darcy realised that
when this time arrived, she herself would have neither part nor lot in
his successes!