XVI
For what happened a few moments later you must not blame him. Somemeasure of force was the only way out of an impossible situation. It wasin vain that he commanded the young lady to let go: she did but clingthe closer. It was in vain that he tried to disentangle himself of herby standing first on one foot, then on the other, and veering sharply onhis heel: she did but sway as though hinged to him. He had no choice butto grasp her by the wrists, cast her aside, and step clear of her intothe room.
Her hat, gauzily basking with a pair of long white gloves on one of hisarm-chairs, proclaimed that she had come to stay.
Nor did she rise. Propped on one elbow, with heaving bosom and partedlips, she seemed to be trying to realise what had been done to her.Through her undried tears her eyes shone up to him.
He asked: "To what am I indebted for this visit?"
"Ah, say that again!" she murmured. "Your voice is music."
He repeated his question.
"Music!" she said dreamily; and such is the force of habit that "Idon't," she added, "know anything about music, really. But I know what Ilike."
"Had you not better get up from the floor?" he said. "The door is open,and any one who passed might see you."
Softly she stroked the carpet with the palms of her hands. "Happycarpet!" she crooned. "Aye, happy the very women that wove the threadsthat are trod by the feet of my beloved master. But hark! he bids hisslave rise and stand before him!"
Just after she had risen, a figure appeared in the doorway.
"I beg pardon, your Grace; Mother wants to know, will you be lunchingin?"
"Yes," said the Duke. "I will ring when I am ready." And it dawned onhim that this girl, who perhaps loved him, was, according to all knownstandards, extraordinarily pretty.
"Will--" she hesitated, "will Miss Dobson be--"
"No," he said. "I shall be alone." And there was in the girl's partinghalf-glance at Zuleika that which told him he was truly loved, and madehim the more impatient of his offensive and accursed visitor.
"You want to be rid of me?" asked Zuleika, when the girl was gone.
"I have no wish to be rude; but--since you force me to say it--yes."
"Then take me," she cried, throwing back her arms, "and throw me out ofthe window."
He smiled coldly.
"You think I don't mean it? You think I would struggle? Try me." She letherself droop sideways, in an attitude limp and portable. "Try me," sherepeated.
"All this is very well conceived, no doubt," said he, "and wellexecuted. But it happens to be otiose."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you may set your mind at rest. I am not going to back out of mypromise."
Zuleika flushed. "You are cruel. I would give the world and all not tohave written you that hateful letter. Forget it, forget it, for pity'ssake!"
The Duke looked searchingly at her. "You mean that you now wish torelease me from my promise?"
"Release you? As if you were ever bound! Don't torture me!"
He wondered what deep game she was playing. Very real, though, heranguish seemed; and, if real it was, then--he stared, he gasped--therecould be but one explanation. He put it to her. "You love me?"
"With all my soul."
His heart leapt. If she spoke truth, then indeed vengeance was his! But"What proof have I?" he asked her.
"Proof? Have men absolutely NO intuition? If you need proof, produce it.Where are my ear-rings?"
"Your ear-rings? Why?"
Impatiently she pointed to two white pearls that fastened the frontof her blouse. "These are your studs. It was from them I had the greatfirst hint this morning."
"Black and pink, were they not, when you took them?"
"Of course. And then I forgot that I had them. When I undressed, theymust have rolled on to the carpet. Melisande found them this morningwhen she was making the room ready for me to dress. That was just aftershe came back from bringing you my first letter. I was bewildered. Idoubted. Might not the pearls have gone back to their natural statesimply through being yours no more? That is why I wrote again to you, myown darling--a frantic little questioning letter. When I heard how youhad torn it up, I knew, I knew that the pearls had not mocked me. Itelescoped my toilet and came rushing round to you. How many hours haveI been waiting for you?"
The Duke had drawn her ear-rings from his waistcoat pocket, and wascontemplating them in the palm of his hand. Blanched, both of them, yes.He laid them on the table. "Take them," he said.
"No," she shuddered. "I could never forget that once they were bothblack." She flung them into the fender. "Oh John," she cried, turning tohim and falling again to her knees, "I do so want to forget what I havebeen. I want to atone. You think you can drive me out of your life. Youcannot, darling--since you won't kill me. Always I shall follow you onmy knees, thus."
He looked down at her over his folded arms,
"I am not going to back out of my promise," he repeated.
She stopped her ears.
With a stern joy he unfolded his arms, took some papers from hisbreast-pocket, and, selecting one of them, handed it to her. It was thetelegram sent by his steward.
She read it. With a stern joy he watched her reading it.
Wild-eyed, she looked up from it to him, tried to speak, and swerveddown senseless.
He had not foreseen this. "Help!" he vaguely cried--was she not afellow-creature?--and rushed blindly out to his bedroom, whence hereturned, a moment later, with the water-jug. He dipped his hand, andsprinkled the upturned face (Dew-drops on a white rose? But someother, sharper analogy hovered to him). He dipped and sprinkled. Thewater-beads broke, mingled--rivulets now. He dipped and flung, thencaught the horrible analogy and rebounded.
It was at this moment that Zuleika opened her eyes. "Where am I?" Sheweakly raised herself on one elbow; and the suspension of the Duke'shatred would have been repealed simultaneously with that of herconsciousness, had it not already been repealed by the analogy. She puta hand to her face, then looked at the wet palm wonderingly, looked atthe Duke, saw the water-jug beside him. She, too, it seemed, had caughtthe analogy; for with a wan smile she said "We are quits now, John,aren't we?"
Her poor little jest drew to the Duke's face no answering smile, didbut make hotter the blush there. The wave of her returning memory swepton--swept up to her with a roar the instant past. "Oh," she cried,staggering to her feet, "the owls, the owls!"
Vengeance was his, and "Yes, there," he said, "is the ineluctable hardfact you wake to. The owls have hooted. The gods have spoken. This dayyour wish is to be fulfilled."
"The owls have hooted. The gods have spoken. This day--oh, it must notbe, John! Heaven have mercy on me!"
"The unerring owls have hooted. The dispiteous and humorous gods havespoken. Miss Dobson, it has to be. And let me remind you," he added,with a glance at his watch, "that you ought not to keep The MacQuernwaiting for luncheon."
"That is unworthy of you," she said. There was in her eyes a look thatmade the words sound as if they had been spoken by a dumb animal.
"You have sent him an excuse?"
"No, I have forgotten him."
"That is unworthy of you. After all, he is going to die for you, likethe rest of us. I am but one of a number, you know. Use your sense ofproportion."
"If I do that," she said after a pause, "you may not be pleased by theissue. I may find that whereas yesterday I was great in my sinfulness,and to-day am great in my love, you, in your hate of me, are small. Imay find that what I had taken to be a great indifference is nothing buta very small hate... Ah, I have wounded you? Forgive me, a weak woman,talking at random in her wretchedness. Oh John, John, if I thought yousmall, my love would but take on the crown of pity. Don't forbid me tocall you John. I looked you up in Debrett while I was waiting for you.That seemed to bring you nearer to me. So many other names you have,too. I remember you told me them all yesterday, here in this room--nottwenty-four hours ago. Hours? Years!" She laughed hysterically. "J
ohn,don't you see why I won't stop talking? It's because I dare not think."
"Yonder in Balliol," he suavely said, "you will find the matter of mydeath easier to forget than here." He took her hat and gloves from thearm-chair, and held them carefully out to her; but she did not takethem.
"I give you three minutes," he told her. "Two minutes, that is, inwhich to make yourself tidy before the mirror. A third in which to saygood-bye and be outside the front-door."
"If I refuse?"
"You will not."
"If I do?"
"I shall send for a policeman."
She looked well at him. "Yes," she slowly said, "I think you would dothat."
She took her things from him, and laid them by the mirror. With a highhand she quelled the excesses of her hair--some of the curls stillagleam with water--and knowingly poised and pinned her hat. Then, aftera few swift touches and passes at neck and waist, she took her glovesand, wheeling round to him, "There!" she said, "I have been quick."
"Admirably," he allowed.
"Quick in more than meets the eye, John. Spiritually quick. You saw meputting on my hat; you did not see love taking on the crown of pity, andme bonneting her with it, tripping her up and trampling the life out ofher. Oh, a most cold-blooded business, John! Had to be done, though. Noother way out. So I just used my sense of proportion, as you rashlybade me, and then hardened my heart at sight of you as you are. One ofa number? Yes, and a quite unlovable unit. So I am all right again. Andnow, where is Balliol? Far from here?"
"No," he answered, choking a little, as might a card-player who, havingbeen dealt a splendid hand, and having played it with flawless skill,has yet--damn it!--lost the odd trick. "Balliol is quite near. At theend of this street in fact. I can show it to you from the front-door."
Yes, he had controlled himself. But this, he furiously felt, did notmake him look the less a fool. What ought he to have SAID? He prayed,as he followed the victorious young woman downstairs, that l'esprit del'escalier might befall him. Alas, it did not.
"By the way," she said, when he had shown her where Balliol lay, "haveyou told anybody that you aren't dying just for me?"
"No," he answered, "I have preferred not to."
"Then officially, as it were, and in the eyes of the world, you die forme? Then all's well that ends well. Shall we say good-bye here? Ishall be on the Judas Barge; but I suppose there will be a crush, asyesterday?"
"Sure to be. There always is on the last night of the Eights, you know.Good-bye."
"Good-bye, little John--small John," she cried across her shoulder,having the last word.