"I believe that I have to congratulate you, Miss Granger," he said, "and I do so very heartily. It is not everybody who is so fortunate as to----"Beatrice stopped, and half turning faced him.
"What /do/ you mean, Mr. Bingham?" she said. "I do not understand your dark sayings.""Mean! oh, nothing particular, except that I wished to congratulate you on your engagement.""My engagement! what engagement?"
"It seems that there is some mistake," he said, and struggle as he might to suppress it his tone was one of relief. "I understood that you had become engaged to be married to Mr. Owen Davies. If I am wrong I am sure I apologise.""You are quite wrong, Mr. Bingham; I don't know who put such a notion into your head, but there is no truth in it.""Then allow me to congratulate you on there being no truth in it. You see that is the beauty of nine affairs matrimonial out of ten--there are two or more sides of them. If they come off the amiable and disinterested observer can look at the bright side--as in this case, lots of money, romantic castle by the sea, gentleman of unexceptional antecedents, &c., &c, &c. If, on the other hand, they don't, cause can still be found for thankfulness--lady might do better after all, castle by the sea rather draughty and cold in spring, gentlemen most estimable but perhaps a little dull, and so on, you see."There was a note of mockery about his talk which irritated Beatrice exceedingly. It was not like Mr. Bingham to speak so. It was not even the way that a gentleman out of his teens should speak to a lady on such a subject. He knew this as well as she did and was secretly ashamed of himself. But the truth must out: though Geoffrey did not admit it even to himself he was bitterly and profoundly jealous, and jealous people have no manners. Beatrice could not, however, be expected to know this, and naturally grew angry.
"I do not quite understand what you are talking about, Mr. Bingham,"she said, putting on her most dignified air, and Beatrice could look rather alarming. "You have picked up a piece of unfounded gossip and now you take advantage of it to laugh at me, and to say rude things of Mr. Davies. It is not kind.""Oh, no; it was the footsteps, Miss Granger, /and/ the gossip, /and/the appointment you made in the churchyard, that I unwillingly overheard, not the gossip alone which led me into my mistake. Of course I have now to apologise."Again Beatrice stamped her foot. She saw that he was still mocking her, and felt that he did not believe her.
"There," he went on, stung into unkindness by his biting but unacknowledged jealousy, for she was right--on reflection he did not quite believe what she said as to her not being engaged. "How unfortunate I am--I have said something to make you angry again. Why did you not walk with Mr. Davies? I should then have remained guiltless of offence, and you would have had a more agreeable companion. You want to quarrel with me; what shall we quarrel about?
There are many things on which we are diametrically opposed; let us start one."It was too much, for though his words were nothing the tone in which he spoke gave them a sting. Beatrice, already disturbed in mind by the scene through which she had passed, her breast already throbbing with a vague trouble of which she did not know the meaning, for once in her life lost control of herself and grew hysterical. Her grey eyes filled with tears, the corners of her sweet mouth dropped, and she looked very much as though she were going to burst out weeping.
"It is most unkind of you," she said, with a half sob. "If you knew how much I have to put up with, you would not speak to me like that. Iknow that you do not believe me; very well, I will tell you the truth.
Yes, though I have no business to do it, and you have no right--none at all--to make me do it, I will tell you the truth, because I cannot bear that you should not believe me. Mr. Davies did want me to marry him and I refused him. I put him off for a while; I did this because Iknew that if I did not he would go to my father. It was cowardly, but my father would make my life wretched----" and again she gave a half-choked sob.
Much has been said and written about the effect produced upon men by the sight of a lady in, or on the border line of tears, and there is no doubt that this effect is considerable. Man being in his right mind is deeply moved by such a spectacle, also he is frightened because he dreads a scene. Now most people would rather walk ten miles in their dress shoes than have to deal with a young lady in hysterics, however modified. Putting the peculiar circumstances of the case aside, Geoffrey was no exception to this rule. It was all very well to cross spears with Beatrice, who had quite an equal wit, and was very capable of retaliation, but to see her surrender at discretion was altogether another thing. Indeed he felt much ashamed of himself.
"Please don't--don't--be put out," he said. He did not like to use the word "cry." "I was only laughing at you, but I ought not to have spoken as I did. I did not wish to force your confidence, indeed I did not. I never thought of such a thing. I am so sorry."His remorse was evidently genuine, and Beatrice felt somewhat appeased. Perhaps it did not altogether grieve her to learn that she could make him feel sorry.
"You did not force my confidence," she said defiantly, quite forgetting that a moment before she had reproached him for making her speak. "I told you because I did not choose that you should think Iwas not speaking the truth--and now let us change the subject." She imposed no reserve on him as to what she had revealed; she knew that there was no necessity to do so. The secret would be between them--another dangerous link.
Beatrice recovered her composure and they walked slowly on.
"Tell me, Mr. Bingham," she said presently, "how can a woman earn her living--I mean a girl like myself without any special qualifications?
Some of them get on."
