The Streets of Ascalon Part 51

"Is _that_ your idea of love?"

He shook his head, hopelessly:

"Oh, it's everything else, too--everything on earth--and afterward--everything--mind, soul and body--birth, life, death--sky and land and sea--everything that is or was or will be----"

His hands clenched, relaxed; he made a gesture, half checked--looked up at her, looked long and steadily into her expressionless eyes.

"You care for money, position, ease, security, tranquillity--more than for love; do you?"

"Yes."

"Is that true?"

"Yes. Because, unless you mean friends.h.i.+p, I care nothing for love."

"That is your answer."

"It is."

"Then there _is_ something lacking in you."

"Perhaps. I have never loved in the manner you mean. I do not wish to.

Perhaps I am incapable of it.... I hope I am; I believe--I believe--"

But she fell silent, standing with eyes lowered and the warm blood once more stinging her cheeks.

Presently she looked up, calm, level-eyed:

"I think you had better ask my forgiveness before you go."

He shrugged:

"Yes, I'll ask it if you like."

To keep her composure became difficult:

"It is your affair, Mr. Quarren--if you still care to preserve our friends.h.i.+p."

"Would a kiss shatter it?"

She smiled:

"A look, a word, the quiver of an eyelash is enough."

"It doesn't seem to be very solidly founded, does it?"

"Friends.h.i.+p is the frailest thing in the world--and the mightiest.... I am waiting for your decision."

He walked up to her again, and she steeled herself, not knowing what to expect.

"Will you marry me, Strelsa?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I have told Mr. Sprowl that I will marry him."

"Also because you don't love me; is that so?"

She said tranquilly: "I can't afford to marry you. I wouldn't love you anyway."

"Couldn't?"

"Wouldn't," she said calmly; but her face was crimson.

"Oh," he said under his breath--"you _are_ capable of love."

"I think not, Mr. Quarren; but I am very capable of hate."

And, looking up, he saw it for an instant, clear in her eyes. Then it died out; she turned a trifle pale, walked to the window and stood leaning against it, one hand on the curtain.

She did not seem to hear him when he came up behind her, and he touched her lightly on the arm:

"I ask your forgiveness," he said.

"It is granted, Mr. Quarren."

"Have I ruined our friends.h.i.+p?"

"I don't know what you have done," she said wearily.

A few moments later the motor arrived; Quarren turned on the electric lights in the room; Strelsa walked across to the piano and seated herself.

She was playing rag-time when the motor party entered; Quarren came forward and shook hands with Chrysos Lacy and Sir Charles; Langly Sprowl pa.s.sed him with a short nod, saying "How are you, Quarren?"--and kept straight on to Strelsa.

"Rotten luck," he said in his full, careless voice; "I'd meant to ride over and chance a gallop with you but Wycherly picked me up and started on one of his break-neck tears.... What have you been up to all day?"

"Nothing--Mr. Quarren came."

"I see--showed him about, I expect."

"A--little."

"Are you feeling fit, Strelsa?"

"Perfectly.... Why?"

"You look a bit streaky----"