The Last Woman Part 26

There was no evidence of any of these emotions. Indeed, for a moment it seemed as if she had not heard him, so still did she sit in her chair, so utterly unmoved did she appear to be by the statement he had made.

If, at that moment he had stepped around in front of her and looked into her face, he would have been amazed by what he saw. He would have seen great tears welling in her eyes, held in check by her long lashes; he would have seen a near approach to a smile behind those tears, although she was unconscious of that, herself; he would have noticed that she caught her breath again, but not in the same manner, nor from the same cause that had led to the like effort, earlier in their interview. When, at last, she did reply to him, it was in a far-away, uncertain voice, so soft, and so like the Patricia of quiet and sympathetic moods, that Roderick was startled, and he found himself compelled to hold his own spirit in check, lest he should forget the studied deportment he had determined upon for the occasion.

"Why do you insist upon it?" she asked him. He replied, without hesitation--and coldly:

"Because I love you."

"Because ... you ... love ... me," she said, slowly, and so softly that he barely heard the words. They did not form a question; they comprised a statement, like his own.

"Yes," he said.

"But"--she hesitated--"there is another reason."

"Yes. We need not dwell upon that."

"Nevertheless, I should like to hear it."

"No."

"You will not tell me what it is?"

"It is not necessary. It is begging the question."

"You wish to give me the protection of your name. I think I understand."

"Have it so, if you wish."

"You wish to make me your wife. I am beginning to comprehend you, Roderick." The name slipped out, unconsciously, on her part, although he was tragically aware of it. "Have you remembered--have you thought of--are you quite aware of what you are doing?"

"Quite. I have remembered everything, thought of all things."

"And your reason for all this is--what? Tell me again, please."

"You make my task harder," he said, coldly. "My reason is that I love you."

Again, Patricia was silent for a time. Then:

"How do you propose to carry out this chivalrous conduct? Who will marry us, if I agree to your absurd proposal?"

"It is not absurd. It is the only logical thing for you to do. Doctor Moreley will marry us. He came with me, in my special train." She caught at the arms of the chair, and clung to them. "Mrs. Moreley, with Evelyn and Kate, accompany him. It is a short ride to where the cars are sidetracked, waiting. You can ride there in the morning--or go there with me this evening, if you will."

"Do ... they ... know--?"

"They know nothing save the one fact that we are to be married, that Doctor Moreley is to perform the ceremony, and that the members of his family are to act as witnesses. n.o.body knows anything at all, save that. n.o.body ever shall know. Your absence from New York has occasioned no suspicion--save only in the mind of one man, Radnor. The fact of our marriage will be published and broadcast at once, and even his suspicions will be stilled."

"And ... afterward ... after we are married--what?"

"We will discuss that question after the ceremony."

"No. We will discuss it now. Afterward--what?"

"You will be my wife, then. It is right and proper that you should return to New York, that you should live in my house. I shall take you there, and install you, properly. I shall insist upon that much.

There is no way for you to escape the fulfillment of your contract.

When you are my wife, you will have entered upon another contract which you will also keep. The contract to honor and obey."

"To love, honor, and obey," she corrected him.

"I shall not insist upon the first of those terms. The second one I shall endeavor to merit. The third one, I shall insist upon. Now, when will you--"

"Wait. You are sure that you do this because you love me?"

"Yes."

"And you are ready to sacrifice your name, your life, to a creature who, according to your view of conditions, should be the very last woman to bear your name--to become your wife? You do this because you love me? It must be a great love, indeed, Roderick, to compel you to such an act--oh it must have been a very great love, indeed."

"It is a great love; and there will be no sacrifice: there will be satisfaction."

She arose from the chair, but stood as she was, with her back toward him.

"You have forgotten one thing," she said, gently.

"I have forgotten nothing."

She raised her right arm, and pointed toward the house, through the trees.

"You have forgotten the man, in there," she said, no less gently. It was his turn to shudder, but he repeated with doggedness in his tone:

"I have forgotten nothing."

"You mean to deal with him--afterward?"

"Yes."

"How? If I consent to all that you have asked, will you deal with him--gently?"

"Can you plead for him, even now, when--?"

"Hus.h.!.+ Answer my question, if you please."

"I will deal with him more gently than he deserves. I promise you that."

"I shall be satisfied with that promise." She turned about and faced him, and there was a smile on her lips, now, although Roderick entirely misunderstood the cause of it. He drew backward, farther away from her. But she followed after him, holding out one hand for him to take, and persisting in the effort when he refused to see it. There were tears under her lashes again, but she was smiling through them; and then, while she followed him, and he still sought to avoid her, Patricia lost all control over herself. She half-collapsed, half-threw herself upon the chair again, and buried her face in her hands, sobbing.

"Don't Patricia; please, don't," he said to her, brokenly. "You make it much harder for both of us. This has been a terrible scene for you to pa.s.s through, I know, but after a little you will realize its wisdom--and the full justice of the cause I plead."

She controlled herself. She started to her feet.

"Come with me," she cried out to him; and then, before he could stop her, she darted away out of his reach, flew down the steps, and along the pathway, toward the house. He followed. There was nothing else for him to do. She waited for him at the top of the steps where he had first seen her; and, when he would have detained her, she eluded him a second time, and fled through the doorway, into the wide hall of the house--of Richard Morton's dwelling place.