Part 54 (1/2)
”Yes. Does a man change in a week? You are a child. Now tell me what you have come for--if you have any object other than your usual one of seeing how much I can endure, and then--go. I am strong, and you cannot make me change my mind, and I--I despise you for trying to make of me--the--_thing_ I was at one time. But I am not made of stone, and you hurt me--almost too much.”
His voice was very even and low-pitched, but she shrank back in her corner and hastened to answer.
”You wrong me. I have not come to tempt you. I have come--to tell you that nothing in the world nor out of it can induce me to marry Theo.”
”You will not----”
”No, I will not marry him.”
Papillon, who had unearthed a long-cherished bone in a dark corner under a Dutch cabinet, dragged his treasure across the floor and laid it at his master's feet with a pleased growl.
”You will not marry Theo?”
”No.”
She had risen, and the two faced each other defiantly, while the little dog between them wagged his tail with joy.
”Why?” asked Joyselle sharply.
”Because--I cannot. I have dawdled and dallied, and refused to face things long enough. Now I see that the worst crime I could commit against him would be to marry him. I love you. Whether you love me or not, I love you, and I always shall. And I ask you as a great favour to tell Theo for me that I cannot marry him.”
”But what are you going to do?”
His voice trembled and he spoke very slowly.
”I am--going away. I don't know where. To Italy, probably, with the Lenskys. And I shall, I daresay, marry in the course of time.”
”Whom are you going to marry?” he cried furiously, forgetting that she had just said that she loved him, and mad with jealousy.
She laughed. ”_Qui sait?_ I don't. Possibly Lord Pontefract--he has just come back from the Andes--possibly someone whom--you do not know.”
”Then,” returned Joyselle very quietly, ”I will kill him.”
And she could have laughed aloud.
”You will tell Theo?” she asked, picking up her gloves.
”No, I will not. I cannot. And you shall not go. Or, yes--Brigit--you shall go--with me. If you will not marry him, then there is nothing between us. I have fought, I have done my best, but I can bear no more.
We will go, you and I----”
Catching her in his arms he held her close, whispering incoherent, broken words in her ear, while the little yellow dog, thinking it was a game, snapped playfully at her trailing skirts.
”You will go with me, my woman? You and I alone, all alone? For ever and ever and ever?”
And putting her arms round his neck she answered, ”Yes, I will go with you. For ever.”