XXIV
Margaret came out of the summer-house, Billy Woods followed her, in avery moist state of perturbation.
"Peggy----" said Mr. Woods.
But Miss Hugonin was laughing. Clear as a bird-call, she poured forthher rippling mimicry of mirth. They train women well in these matters.To Margaret, just now, her heart seemed dead within her. Her lover wasproved unworthy. Her pride was shattered. She had loved this clumsyliar yonder, had given up a fortune for him, dared all for him, had(as the phrase runs) flung herself at his head. The shame of it was aphysical sickness, a nausea. But now, in this jumble of miseries, inthis breaking-up of the earth and the void heavens that surged abouther and would not be mastered, the girl laughed; and her laughter wascare-free and half-languid like that of a child who is thinking ofsomething else. Ah, yes, they train women well in these matters.
At length Margaret said, in high, crisp accents: "Pardon me, but Ican't help being amused, Mr. Woods, by the way in which hard luckdogs your footsteps. I think Fate must have some grudge against you,Mr. Woods."
"Peggy----" said Mr. Woods.
"Pardon me," she interrupted him, her masculine little chin high inthe air, "but I wish you wouldn't call me that. It was well enoughwhen we were boy and girl together, Mr. Woods. But you've developedsince--ah, yes, you've developed into such a splendid actor, such aconsummate liar, such a clever scoundrel, Mr. Woods, that I scarcelyrecognise you now."
And there was not a spark of anger in the very darkest corner ofBilly's big, brave heart, but only pity--pity all through and through,that sent little icy ticklings up and down his spine and turned hisbreathing to great sobs. For she had turned full face to him and hecould see the look in her eyes.
I think he has never forgotten it. Years after the memory of it wouldcome upon him suddenly and set hot drenching waves of shame andremorse surging about his body--remorse unutterable that he ever hurthis Peggy so deeply. For they were tragic eyes. Beneath them hertwitching mouth smiled bravely, but the mirth of her eyes wasmonstrous. It was the mirth of a beaten woman, of a woman who hasknown the last extreme of shame and misery and has learned to laugh atit. Even now Billy Woods cannot quite forget.
"Peggy," said he, brokenly, "ah, dear, dear Peggy, listen to me!"
"Why, have you thought of a plausible lie so soon?" she queried,sweetly. "Dear me, Mr. Woods, what is the use of explaining things? Itis very simple. You wanted to marry me last night because I was rich.And when I declined the honour, you went back to your old love. Oh,it's very simple, Mr. Woods! It's a pity, though--isn't it?--that allyour promptness went for nothing. Why, dear me, you actually managedto propose before breakfast, didn't you? I should have thought thatsuch eagerness would have made an impression on Kathleen--oh, a mostfavourable impression. Too bad it hasn't!"
"Listen!" said Billy. "Ah, you're forcing me to talk like a cad,Peggy, but I can't see you suffer--I can't! Kathleen misunderstoodwhat I said to her. I--I didn't mean to propose to her, Peggy. It wasa mistake, I tell you. It's you I love--just you. And when I asked youto marry me last night--why, I thought the money was mine, Peggy.I'd never have asked you if I hadn't thought that. I--ah, you don'tbelieve me, you don't believe me, Peggy, and before God, I'm tellingyou the simple truth! Why, I hadn't ever seen that last will, Peggy!It was locked up in that centre place in the desk, you remember.Why--why, you yourself had the keys to it, Peggy. Surely, youremember, dear?" And Billy's voice shook and skipped whole octaves ashe pleaded with her, for he knew she did not believe him and he couldnot endure the horror of her eyes.
But Margaret shook her head; and as aforetime the twitching lipscontinued to laugh beneath those tragic eyes. Ah, poor little lady ofElfland! poor little Undine, with a soul wakened to suffering!
"Clumsy, very clumsy!" she rebuked him. "I see that you are accustomedto prepare your lies in advance, Mr. Woods. As an extemporaneous liaryou are very clumsy. Men don't propose by mistake except in farces.And while we are speaking of farces, don't you think it time to dropthat one of your not knowing about that last will?"
"The farce!" Billy stammered. "You--why, you saw me when I found it!"
"Ah, yes, I saw you when you pretended to find it. I saw you when youpretended to unlock that centre place. But now, of course, I know itnever was locked. I'm very careless about locking things, Mr. Woods.Ah, yes, that gave you a beautiful opportunity, didn't it? So, whenyou were rummaging through my desk--without my permission, by the way,but that's a detail--you found both wills and concocted your littlecomedy? That was very clever. Oh, you think you're awfully smooth,don't you, Billy Woods? But if you had been a bit more daring, don'tyou see, you could have suppressed the last one and taken the moneywithout being encumbered by me? That was rather clumsy of you, wasn'tit?" Suave, gentle, sweet as honey was the speech of Margaret as shelifted her face to his, but her eyes were tragedies.
"Ah!" said Billy. "Ah--yes--you think--that." He was very careful inarticulating his words, was Billy, and afterward he nodded his headgravely. The universe had somehow suffered an airy dissolution likethat of Prospero's masque--Selwoode and its gardens, the great globeitself, "the cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemntemples" were all as vanished wraiths. There was only Peggy left--Peggy with that unimaginable misery in her eyes that he must driveaway somehow. If that was what she thought, there was no way for himto prove it wasn't so.
"Why, dear me, Mr. Woods," she retorted, carelessly, "what else couldI think?"
Here Mr. Woods blundered.
"Ah, think what you will, Peggy!" he cried, his big voice cracking andsobbing and resonant with pain. "Ah, my dear, think what you will, butdon't grieve for it, Peggy! Why, if I'm all you say I am, that's noreason you should suffer for it! Ah, don't, Peggy! In God's name,don't! I can't bear it, dear," he pleaded with her, helplessly.
Billy was suffering, too. But her sorrow was the chief of his, andwhat stung him now to impotent anger was that she must suffer and hebe unable to help her--for, ah, how willingly, how gladly, he wouldhave borne all poor Peggy's woes upon his own broad shoulders.
But none the less, he had lost an invaluable opportunity to hold histongue.
"Suffer! I suffer!" she mocked him, languidly; and then, like abanjo-string, the tension snapped, and she gave a long, angry gasp,and her wrath flamed.
"Upon my word, you're the most conceited man I ever knew in my life!You think I'm in love with you! With you! Billy Woods, I wouldn't wipemy feet on you if you were the last man left on earth! I hate you, Iloathe you, I detest you, I despise you! Do you hear me?--I hate you.What do I care if you _are_ a snob, and a cad, and a fortune-hunter,and a forger, and--well, I don't care! Perhaps you haven't everforged anything yet, but I'm quite sure you would if you ever got anopportunity. You'd be delighted to do it. Yes, you would--you're justthe sort of man who _revels_ in crime. I love you! Why, that's thebest joke I've heard for a long time. I'm only sorry for you, BillyWoods--_sorry_ because Kathleen has thrown you over--sorry, do youunderstand? Yes, since you're so fond of skinny women, I think it's agreat pity she wouldn't have you. Don't talk to me!--she _is_ skinny.I guess I know. She's as skinny as a beanpole. She's skinnier than Iever imagined it possible for anybody--_anybody_--to be. And shepads and rouges till I think it's disgusting, and not half--not_one-half_--of her hair belongs to her, and that half is dyed. But,of course, if you like that sort of thing, there's no accounting fortastes, and I'm sure I'm very sorry for you, even though personally I_don't_ care for skinny women. I hate 'em! And I hate you, too, BillyWoods!"
She stamped her foot, did Margaret. You must bear with her, for herheart is breaking now, and if she has become a termagant it is becauseher shamed pride has driven her mad. Bear with her, then, a littlelonger.
Billy tried to bear with her, for in part he understood.
"Peggy," said he, very gently, "you're wrong."
"Yes, I dare say!" she snapped at him.
"We won't discuss Kathleen, if you please. But you're wrong about thewill. I've tol
d you the whole truth about that, but I don't blame youfor not believing me, Peggy--ah, no, not I. There seems to be a curseupon Uncle Fred's money. It brings out the worst of all of us. It haschanged even you, Peggy--and not for the better, Peggy. You've becomedistrustful. You--ah, well, we won't discuss that now. Give me thewill, my dear, and I'll burn it before your eyes. That ought to showyou, Peggy, that you're wrong." Billy was very white-lipped as heended, for the Woods temper is a short one.
But she had an arrow left for him. "Give it to you! And do you thinkI'd trust you with it, Billy Woods?"
"Peggy!--ah, Peggy, I hadn't deserved that. Be just, at least, to me,"poor Billy begged of her.
Which was an absurd thing to ask of an angry woman.
"Yes, I _do_ know what you'd do with it! You'd take it right off andhave it probated or executed or whatever it is they do to wills, andturn me straight out in the gutter. That's just what you're _longing_to do this very moment. Oh, I know, Billy Woods--I know what a temperyou've got, and I know you're keeping quiet now simply because youknow that's the most exasperating thing you can possibly do. Iwouldn't have such a disposition as you've got for the world. You'veabsolutely _no_ control over your temper--not a bit of it. You're_vile_, Billy Woods! Oh, I _hate_ you! Yes, you've made me cry, and Isuppose you're very proud of yourself. _Aren't_ you proud? Don't standstaring at me like a stuck pig, but answer me when I talk to you!Aren't you _proud_ of making me cry? Aren't you? Ah, don't talk tome--don't talk to _me_, I tell you! I don't wish to hear a word you'vegot to say. I _hate_ you. And you shan't have the money, that's flat."
"I don't want it," said Billy. "I've been trying to tell you for thelast, half-hour I don't want it. In God's name, why can't you talklike a sensible woman, Peggy?" I am afraid that Mr. Woods, too, wasbeginning to lose his temper.
"That's right--swear at me! It only needed that. You do want themoney, and when you say you don't you're lying--lying--_lying_, do youunderstand? You all want my money. Oh, dear, _dear!_" Margaret wailed,and her great voice was shaken to its depths and its sobbing was thelong, hopeless sobbing of a violin, as she flung back her tear-stainedface, and clenched her little hands tight at her sides; "why _can't_you let me alone? You're all after my money--you, and Mr. Kennaston,and Mr. Jukesbury, and all of you! Why _can't_ you let me alone? Eversince I've had it you've hunted me as if I'd been a wild beast. Godhelp me, I haven't had a moment's peace, a moment's rest, a, moment'squiet, since Uncle Fred died. They all want my money--everybody wantsmy money! Oh, Billy, Billy, why _can't_ they let me alone?"
"Peggy----" said he.
But she interrupted him. "Don't talk to _me_, Billy Woods! Don't you_dare_ talk to me. I told you I didn't wish to hear a word you had tosay, didn't I? Yes, you all want my money. And you shan't have it.It's mine. Uncle Fred left it to me. It's mine, I tell you. I've gotthe greatest thing in the world--money! And I'll keep it. Ah, I hateyou all--every one of you--but I'll make you cringe to me. I'll makeyou _all_ cringe, do you hear, because I've got the money you're readyto sell your paltry souls for! Oh, I'll make you cringe most of all,Billy Woods! I'm rich, do you hear?--rich--_rich_! Wouldn't you beglad to marry the rich Margaret Hugonin, Billy? Ah, haven't youschemed hard for that? You'd be glad to do it, wouldn't you? You'dgive your dirty little soul for that, wouldn't you, Billy? Ah, what acur you are! Well, some day perhaps I'll buy you just as I would anyother cur. Wouldn't you be glad if I did, Billy? Beg for it, Billy!Beg, sir! Beg!" And Margaret flung back her head again, and laughedshrilly, and held up her hand before him as one holds a lump of sugarbefore a pug-dog.
In Selwoode I can fancy how the Eagle screamed his triumph.
But Billy's face was ashen.
"Before God!" he said, between his teeth, "loving you as I do, Iwouldn't marry you now for all the wealth in the world! The money hasruined you--ruined you, Peggy."
For a little she stared at him. By and bye, "I dare say it has," shesaid, in a strangely sober tone. "I've been scolding like a fishwife.I beg your pardon, Mr. Woods--not for what I've said, because I meantevery _word_ of it, but I beg your pardon for saying it. Don't comewith me, please."
Blindly she turned from him. Her shoulders had the droop of an oldwoman's. Margaret was wearied now, weary with the weariness of death.
For a while Mr. Woods stared after the tired little figure thattrudged straight onward in the sunlight, stumbling as she went. Then apleached walk swallowed her, and Mr. Woods groaned.
"Oh, Peggy, Peggy!" he said, in bottomless compassion; "oh, my poorlittle Peggy! How changed you are!"
Afterward Mr. Woods sank down upon the bench and buried his face inhis hands. He sat there for a long time. I don't believe he thoughtof anything very clearly. His mind was a turgid chaos of misery; andabout him the birds shrilled and quavered and carolled till the airwas vibrant with their trilling. One might have thought they choiredin honour of the Eagle's triumph, in mockery of poor Billy.
Then Mr. Woods raised his head with a queer, alert look. Surely he hadheard a voice--the dearest of all voices.
"Billy!" it wailed; "oh, Billy, _Billy_!"