Part 19 (1/2)
Her voice is a little hard, there is a ring of sarcasm and rebellion in it that is strange to Eleanor.
”Have you ever been to the Savoy?”
”No.”
”Let us lunch there, it is past one,” urges Carol Quinton.
He hails a hansom, though Eleanor is reluctant.
”I really can't,” she whispered.
”There is no harm, dear,” he replies persuasively.
The cabman is watching her; she feels confused, uncertain.
Then his influence is too strong, and Eleanor succ.u.mbs.
Where is the harm? She is a married woman, she can go if she pleases.
He helps her into the hansom, and they spin away.
”Do you remember last time we drove together?” he asks.
”Yes, from the b.u.t.terflies' Club.”
”It was dark then, Eleanor.”
Her eyes droop, an embarra.s.sed flush dyes her cheek.
”I am Mrs. Roche,” she stammers.
”But 'Eleanor' is such a beautiful name, so queenly. You have poisoned all my happiness since the fatal night when I first saw you.”
”I would willingly give it back, every shred of shattered joy, if I could.”
”You could if you would.”
”How?”
”By being kind, by taking me back to favour, and forgiving me.”
”It looks as if I had done that already.”
”But only in a hesitating, half-hearted manner.”
”It is far easier for me to forgive,” says Eleanor, ”than for you to accept my forgiveness and not err again.”
There is silence between them for some moments.
”If I could think you cared for me just a little, Eleanor, I would be a better man.”