The Vision of Desire Part 44

"I know," he said quietly. "I know." Ignorant of that earlier past of hers, in which Eliot Coventry had played a part, he was thinking only of her unhappy married life, about which he had gathered a good deal from other people and a little--a very little--from Cara herself. But even that little had let in far more light than she had imagined. Robin's insight was extraordinarily quick and keen, and a phrase dropped here or there, even her very silences at times, had enabled him to make a pretty good conjecture as to the kind of martyrdom she had suffered. It made his blood boil to think of the mental--and even physical--suffering she must have endured, tied to the brute and drunken bully which it was common knowledge Dene Hilyard had been.

"Don't you think," he went on gently, "that you could try to forget it, Cara? Don't dwell on the past. Think of the future."

"I'm afraid that's rather dreary, too," she answered, with a sad little smile. "It's just... going on living... and remembering."

He leaned over her and suddenly she felt the eager touch of his hand on hers.

"It needn't be that, Cara," he said swiftly. "It needn't be that." She looked up at him with startled eyes. Her thoughts had been so far away, bridging the gulf between to-day and long-dead yesterday, that she had almost to wrench them back to the present. And now here was Robin, with a new light in his eyes and a new, pa.s.sionate note in his voice.

"Cara--darling--"

With a sudden realisation of what was coming, she drew her hand quickly away from him.

"No--no, Robin--" she began.

But he would not listen.

"Don't say 'no' yet. Hear me out!" he exclaimed. "I love you. But I don't suppose--I'm not conceited enough to suppose that you love me--yet. Only let me try--let me try to teach you to love me! Don't judge all men by one.

You've had a ghastly time. Let me try--some day--to make you happier."

He was so eager, so humble, so entirely selfless in his devotion, thinking only of her, that she was touched inexpressibly--tempted, even. Ah! If she could only put all the past aside, out of sight, and take this love that Robin offered her and hold it round her like a garment s.h.i.+elding her from the icy blasts of life! But she had nothing to give in return for this splendid, brave first love he was offering her. She must play fair. She dare not take where she could not give. Very gently she put him from her.

"You don't understand," she said. "You don't understand. Robin, I wish--I wish I could say 'yes.' But I can't. It isn't--Dene--who stands between us.

I'm not a coward--I'd take my chance again if I could love again--"

"But you never loved him? You _couldn't_ have loved him!" he protested incredulously.

"My husband? No. But--I loved some one once. And I threw away my happiness--to marry Dene. Oh, it was years ago, Robin--" She broke off and lifted her eyes appealingly to his face. "Must I go on? That's--that's really all there is to tell you. Only don't you see--I--I can't marry you."

"No, I don't see--yet," returned Robin stoutly, though her words had dashed the quick, eager look of hope from his face. "This--this other man, the one you cared for--is he coming back to marry you?"

"Coming back? No!" For once the sweet voice was hard--bitterly hard. "He has gone out of my life for ever."

A look of relief came into his eyes. He took her hands into his and held them very gently.

"Then in that case," he said, "there's still a chance for me. Not now--not yet. I wouldn't try to hurry you. But you'll let me go on loving you, Cara--after all, you can't stop my doing that!"--with a crooked little smile. "And some day, perhaps, you'll come to me and let me try and make you happier again. I think I could do that, you know."

"Ah, no, Robin! I couldn't come to you--not like that. I couldn't take all your love--and only give you second best in return. It wouldn't be fair."

He laughed a little.

"I think 'fairness' just doesn't come into love at all," he said, with a great tenderness. "One just loves. And I'd be very glad to take that 'second best'--if you'll give it to me, Cara. Oh, my dear, if you only knew, if you only understood! A man can do so much for a woman when he loves her--he can serve her and protect her, and take all the difficult tasks away from her and leave her only the easy ones--the little, pretty, beautiful things, you know. He can stand between her and the p.r.i.c.kles and sharp swords of life--and there are such a lot of p.r.i.c.kles, and sometimes a terribly sharp sword.... I want to do all these things for you, Cara."

She shook her head silently. For a moment she could not find her voice.

She was too unused to tenderness--out of practice in all the sweet ways of being cared for.

"No--no, Robin," she said at last. "I'm grateful--I shall always be grateful, and--and happier, I think, because you've said these things to me--because you've thought of me that way. But you must keep them--keep them for some nice girl who hasn't wasted all her youth and lost her beliefs--who can give you something better than a bundle of regrets and a second-hand love. You'll--you'll meet her some day, Robin. And then you'll be glad that I didn't take you at your word."

But Robin appeared quite unimpressed.

"No, I shan't. I don't want any 'nice girl,' thank you," he returned, and his head went up a little. "If I can't have you, no one else is going to take your place. But I shall never give up hope until you've actually married some other man. And meanwhile"--smiling a little--"I shall propose to you regularly and systematically, till you give me a different answer. I suppose"--tentatively--"you couldn't give it to-day?"

Cara pushed him gently away from her, but she did not withdraw her hands from the strong, kind, comfortable clasp in which he held them.

"Oh, Robin, you're ridiculous!" she said, a little break in her voice. "I'm speaking for your own good--really I am."

"And I think I'm the best judge of that," he answered, regarding her with a quiet humour in his eyes. "But I won't bother you any more to-night," he went on. "Only I shall come back." He lifted the hands he held and kissed them--kissed them with a kind of reverence that made of the slight action an act of homage. "I shall come back," he repeated, his eyes looking straight into hers.

Then, with a sudden reversion to the commonplace and everyday, he glanced at the clock.

"I must be off!" he exclaimed. "Ann will be wondering what has become of me--and, as soon as she's quite sure I'm safe and sound, she'll give me a scolding for being late for dinner," he added, laughing.

_Ann!_ Cara was conscious of an overwhelming rush of self-reproach. Ann miserable--and alone. And she had been keeping Robin here with her--or, at least, had let him stay. Should she warn him? Prepare him? She hesitated.

But her hesitation was only momentary. Whatever had occurred betwixt Ann and the man who loved her, it was Ann's secret, and she alone had the right to decide whether Robin should be admitted into it or not. But he must go home--now, at once!

"Why, yes," she said urgently. "You must hurry back, Robin. Ann may be--feeling lonely."

Half an hour later Robin strode into the living-room at the Cottage to find Ann sitting by the window, curiously still, and staring out impa.s.sively into the dusk with blank, unseeing eyes. At sight of her--white and motionless as a statue--a queer sense of foreboding woke in him, and he stepped quickly to her side.

"Ann!" he exclaimed. "Ann, what is it?"

She remained quite still, as if she did not hear him. He touched her shoulder.

"What is it, Ann?" he repeated urgently.

At the touch of his hand she glanced stupidly towards him. Then, s.h.i.+vering a little as though suddenly cold, she got up stiffly out of her chair. But still she did not speak. Robin slipped his arm round her.

"Ann--dear old thing, tell me. What's happened?" he entreated.

At last she answered him.

"Nothing much," she said. "Oh, nothing at all, really." She gave a funny little cracked laugh. "Only--I'm not--engaged any longer.... I told you I was 'fey' last night."

Almost before she had finished speaking, he felt her slight young body suddenly become a dead weight on his arm. She crumpled up against him, and sank into the blessed oblivion of unconsciousness.

The following morning two rather strained young faces confronted each other across the Cottage breakfast table. After Ann had recovered consciousness the previous evening, she had confided to Robin something of what had taken place during the interview between herself and Eliot. He had vainly tried to dissuade her, urging that she was too tired to talk and had much better go to bed and rest.

"I'd rather tell you now--to-night," she had insisted. "Then we need never speak of it again. And there's very little to tell. Eliot has broken off his engagement with me because he thinks I've deceived him."

Robin's anger had been deep but inarticulate. When he spoke again it was rea.s.suringly, soothingly. All else he had kept back.

"_You_ deceive him--or any one! If he thinks that, then he doesn't know you at all, little sister. And what's more, if he can think that of you, he isn't good enough for you."

"The trouble is"--with a pale little smile--"that he thinks I'm not--good enough--for him."

She would give no reply to Robin's impetuous demand for an explanation.

"No, dear old boy, don't ask me," she had said painfully. "It--it doesn't bear talking about. He just doesn't think me good enough. That's all."