Part 66 (1/2)
”What did he say?”
”Not very much. Just that at first he couldn't believe it. Then, when he saw I was telling the truth, he said nothing.”
”Why did you tell him?”
”Because--it was only right--it was only fair.”
Janet gazed at her, eyes softened with a gentle admiration.
”Do you remember what you told me about your father?” she said.
”Yes, why?”
”I expect you must he very like him. Only, instead of being a slave to a Church, you're a slave to your heart. You're just as much the type of woman whom the world wants and treats d.a.m.ned badly--I don't care if I do swear--as he was the type of man whom an inst.i.tution like the Church of England requires--and treats d.a.m.ned badly too.
I guess you're exactly like your father.”
”That's what mother said; but she didn't put it in that way. She said I was a fool--like father was.”
”Hum!” said Janet, and picked up her brush again. For a time she worked in silence, eyes strained to the fine lines, breath held in to steady her hand, then liberated with a sudden grunting sound.
”Would you have married the man?” she asked presently.
”Yes.”
Janet painted in a few more lines. ”Do you mean to say you didn't realize that he wouldn't be able to stand what you told him?”
”I expected it.”
”Then why--?”
”Simply it wasn't fair. You couldn't make it fair, however much you tried. You'd have done the same yourself. I think I could have been happy with him if he knew. I'd have wors.h.i.+pped his children. But I should have been miserable if he didn't know.”
”So you've learnt at last what I told you?” said Janet. ”Did Traill never wish you to have a child?”
”No; I don't think so. He never said anything about it.”
”And you?”
”No; I don't think I did. I was too happy.”
Janet bent down over the drawing-board. ”You would now?” she said without looking up. In the delicate operation of painting in the petals of a rose, she did not realize that her question had not been answered. A minute slipped by and with breath strained in the holding of it, she repeated her question. ”You would now?”
When the rose had bloomed under her brush, still receiving no reply, she sat upright and looked round. Sally's body was bent forward, her elbows were on her knees, her face in her hands.
Janet clambered down from her stool. ”Crying?” she asked.
Sally gazed up at her with tearless eyes. ”No; I can't cry now. I try to. I can't.”
”G.o.d! What a difference it 'ud make to you!” said Janet.