"You see," she said radiantly and with a gesture that disclosed herself to me, "I can forgive even that. You long ago earned the right to hurt me if you want to."It weaned me of all further desire to rail at Mary, and I felt an uncommon drawing to her.
"And if I did think that for a little while--," she went on, with an unsteady smile.
"Think what?" I asked, but without the necessary snap.
"What we were talking of," she replied wincing, but forgiving me again. "If I once thought that, it was pretty to me while it lasted and it lasted but a little time. I have long been sure that your kindness to me was due to some other reason.""Ma'am," said I very honestly, "I know not what was the reason.
My concern for you was in the beginning a very fragile and even a selfish thing, yet not altogether selfish, for I think that what first stirred it was the joyous sway of the little nursery governess as she walked down Pall Mall to meet her lover. It seemed such a mighty fine thing to you to be loved that I thought you had better continue to be loved for a little longer. And perhaps having helped you once by dropping a letter I was charmed by the ease with which you could be helped, for you must know that I am one who has chosen the easy way for more than twenty years."She shook her head and smiled. "On my soul," I assured her, "Ican think of no other reason."
"A kind heart," said she.
"More likely a whim," said I.
"Or another woman," said she.
I was very much taken aback.
"More than twenty years ago," she said with a soft huskiness in her voice, and a tremor and a sweetness, as if she did not know that in twenty years all love stories are grown mouldy.
On my honour as a soldier this explanation of my early solicitude for Mary was one that had never struck me, but the more Ipondered it now--. I raised her hand and touched it with my lips, as we whimsical old fellows do when some gracious girl makes us to hear the key in the lock of long ago. "Why, ma'am," I said, "it is a pretty notion, and there may be something in it. Let us leave it at that."But there was still that accursed dedication, lying, you remember, beneath the blotting-pad. I had no longer any desire to crush her with it. I wished that she had succeeded in writing the book on which her longings had been so set.
"If only you had been less ambitious," I said, much troubled that she should be disappointed in her heart's desire.
"I wanted all the dear delicious things," she admitted contritely.
"It was unreasonable," I said eagerly, appealing to her intellect. "Especially this last thing.""Yes," she agreed frankly, "I know." And then to my amazement she added triumphantly, "But I got it."I suppose my look admonished her, for she continued apologetically but still as if she really thought hers had been a romantic career, "I know I have not deserved it, but I got it.""Oh, ma'am," I cried reproachfully, "reflect. You have not got the great thing." I saw her counting the great things in her mind, her wondrous husband and his obscure success, David, Barbara, and the other trifling contents of her jewel-box.
"I think I have," said she.
"Come, madam," I cried a little nettled, "you know that there is lacking the one thing you craved for most of all."Will you believe me that I had to tell her what it was? And when I had told her she exclaimed with extraordinary callousness, "The book? I had forgotten all about the book!" And then after reflection she added, "Pooh!" Had she not added Pooh I might have spared her, but as it was I raised the blotting-pad rather haughtily and presented her with the sheet beneath it.
"What is this?" she asked.
"Ma'am," said I, swelling, "it is a Dedication," and I walked majestically to the window.
There is no doubt that presently I heard an unexpected sound.
Yet if indeed it had been a laugh she clipped it short, for in almost the same moment she was looking large-eyed at me and tapping my sleeve impulsively with her fingers, just as David does when he suddenly likes you.
"How characteristic of you," she said at the window.
