The Imaginary Marriage Part 26

_("If, in telling you that I love you, is a sin fast all forgiveness, I glory in it. I take not one word of it back.")_

And now another, a worthier, better man, was telling her the same story, holding her hand, and, she knew, looking into her face; yet her eyes did not meet his.

And, listening to him, her heart grew more bitter than ever before to the man who had uttered those words she would never forget, bitter against him, yet more against herself. For she was conscious of shame and anger--at her woman's weakness, at the folly of which her woman's heart was capable.

"I know I am not fit for you, not good enough for you, Joan. There isn't a man living who would be--but--I love you--dear, and with G.o.d's help I would try to make you a happy woman."

Manly words, honest and sincere, she knew, as must be all that this man said and did--a man to rely on, a very tower of strength; a man to protect her, a man to whom she could take her troubles and her secrets, knowing full well that he would not fail her.

And while these thoughts pa.s.sed in her mind she sat there silently, her hand in his, and never thought to draw it away.

"Joan, will you be my wife, dear? I am asking for more than I could ever deserve. There is nothing about me that makes me worthy of that great happiness and honour, save one thing--my love for you."

"And yet," she said, and broke her silence for the first time, "there is one question that you do not ask me, Johnny."

"One question?"

"You do not ask me if I love you!"

"How can I ask for the impossible, the unlikely? There is nothing in me for such a girl as you to love."

"There is much in you for any woman to love. There is honesty and truth and bravery, and a clean sweet mind. I know all that, I know that you are a good man, Johnny. I know that; but oh, I do not love you!"

"I know," he said sadly. "I know that." And his hand seemed to slip away from hers.

"And you would not--not take me--Johnny, without love?" she asked, and her voice trembled.

"Joan, I--I don't understand. I am a foolish, dense fellow, dear, and I don't understand!"

She turned to him, and now her eyes met his frankly, and never had he seen them so soft, so tender, so filled with a strange and wonderful light, the light that is born of tenderness and sympathy and kindliness.

"Would you make me your wife, Johnny, knowing that I--I do not love you as a woman should love the man she takes for her husband."

"I--I would try to teach you, dear. I would try to win a little of your heart."

"And that would content you, Johnny?"

"It must. I dare not ask too much, and I--I--love you so!"

_("I glory in it. I take not one word of it lack!")_

Hateful words, words she could never forget, that came back to torture and fill her with a sense of shame. Strange that they were dinning in her memory, even now.

_("I glory in it. I take not one word back!")_

And then suddenly she made a gesture, as to fling off remembrance. She turned more fully to him, and her eyes met his frankly.

"I do not love you, dear, as a woman should love the man she mates with; but I like you. I honour you and trust you, and if--if you will take me as I am, not asking for too much, not asking, dear, for more than I can give--"

"Joan," he said, "my Joan!"

She bent her head.

"If you will take me--as I am, not asking for more than I can give, then--then I will come to you, if you will have it so. But oh, my dear, you are worth more than this, far more than this!"

He lifted her hand and held it to his lips, the only embrace that in his humility he dare offer her. And even while she felt his lips upon her hand, there came back to her memory eyes that glowed with love and pa.s.sion, a deep voice that shook with feeling--

_("I glory in it, and take not one word of it back!")_

CHAPTER XXV

IN THE MIRE

Women, chattering over their tea in the lounge of the Empire Hotel, followed the tall restless young man with their eyes. He was worth looking at, so big and fine, and bronzed, and so worried, so anxious-looking, poor fellow.

Four o'clock, a quarter past, half past. She would not come. Of course she would not come; he had offended past all forgiveness in taking so long to reply to her appeal. Hugh Alston cursed the unlucky star that he must have been born under.

Two middle-aged women, seated at a small table, taking their tea after strenuous shopping at the sales, watched him and discussed him frankly.

"Evidently here to meet someone!"

"And she hasn't come!"

"You can see how disappointed he looks, poor fellow."

"Too bad of her!"

"My dear, what some men can see in some women..."

"And a girl who would keep a man like that waiting deserves to lose him."

"I hope she does. See, he's going now. I hope she comes later and is disappointed."

"Oh no, I think that must be she. What a handsome girl, but how cold and proud looking!"

She had come, even as he was giving up in despair. As he turned to leave, she came, and they met face to face.

The two amiable busybodies sipped their tea and watched.

"My dear, she didn't even offer him her hand--such a cold and stately bow. They can't be lovers, after all!"

"I don't think I ever saw a more lovely girl!"

"But icily cold. That pink chiffon I bought at Robinson's will make up into a charming evening dress for Irene, don't you think?"