The Beetle: A Mystery

  CHAPTER XXIII

  THE WAY HE TOLD HER

  I am the happiest woman in the world! I wonder how many women have saidthat of themselves in their time,--but I am. Paul has told me that heloves me. How long I have made inward confession of my love for him, Ishould be ashamed to say. It sounds prosaic, but I believe it is a factthat the first stirring of my pulses was caused by the report of aspeech of his which I read in the Times. It was on the Eight Hours'Bill. Papa was most unflattering. He said that he was an oily spouter,an ignorant agitator, an irresponsible firebrand, and a good deal moreto the same effect. I remember very well how papa fidgeted with thepaper, declaring that it read even worse than it had sounded, andgoodness knew that it had sounded bad enough. He was so very emphaticthat when he had gone I thought I would see what all the pother wasabout, and read the speech for myself. So I read it. It affected mequite differently. The speaker's words showed such knowledge, charity,and sympathy that they went straight to my heart.

  After that I read everything of Paul Lessingham's which I came across.And the more I read the more I was impressed. But it was some timebefore we met. Considering what papa's opinions were, it was not likelythat he would go out of his way to facilitate a meeting. To him, themere mention of the name was like a red rag to a bull. But at last wedid meet. And then I knew that he was stronger, greater, better eventhan his words. It is so often the other way; one finds that men, andwomen too, are so apt to put their best, as it were, into their shopwindows, that the discovery was as novel as it was delightful.

  When the ice was once broken, we often met. I do not know how it was.We did not plan our meetings,--at first, at any rate. Yet we seemedalways meeting. Seldom a day passed on which we did notmeet,--sometimes twice or thrice. It was odd how we were always comingacross each other in the most unlikely places. I believe we did notnotice it at the time, but looking back I can see that we must havemanaged our engagements so that somewhere, somehow, we should becertain to have an opportunity of exchanging half a dozen words. Thoseconstant encounters could not have all been chance ones.

  But I never supposed he loved me,--never. I am not even sure that, forsome time, I was aware that I loved him. We were great on friendship,both of us.--I was quite aware that I was his friend,--that he regardedme as his friend; he told me so more than once.

  'I tell you this,' he would say, referring to this, that, or the other,'because I know that, in speaking to you, I am speaking to a friend.'

  With him those were not empty words. All kinds of people talk to onelike that,--especially men; it is a kind of formula which they use withevery woman who shows herself disposed to listen. But Paul is not likethat. He is chary of speech; not by any means a woman's man. I tell himthat is his weakest point. If legend does not lie more even than iscommon, few politicians have achieved prosperity without the aid ofwomen. He replies that he is not a politician; that he never means tobe a politician. He simply wishes to work for his country; if hiscountry does not need his services--well, let it be. Papa's politicalfriends have always so many axes of their own to grind, that, at first,to hear a member of Parliament talk like that was almost disquieting. Ihad dreamed of men like that; but I never encountered one till I metPaul Lessingham.

  Our friendship was a pleasant one. It became pleasanter and pleasanter.Until there came a time when he told me everything; the dreams hedreamed; the plans which he had planned; the great purposes which, ifhealth and strength were given him, he intended to carry to a greatfulfilment. And, at last, he told me something else.

  It was after a meeting at a Working Women's Club in Westminster. He hadspoken, and I had spoken too. I don't know what papa would have said,if he had known, but I had. A formal resolution had been proposed, andI had seconded it,--in perhaps a couple of hundred words; but thatwould have been quite enough for papa to have regarded me as anAbandoned Wretch,--papa always puts those sort of words into capitals.Papa regards a speechifying woman as a thing of horror,--I have knownhim look askance at a Primrose Dame.

  The night was fine. Paul proposed that I should walk with him down theWestminster Bridge Road, until we reached the House, and then he wouldsee me into a cab. I did as he suggested. It was still early, not yetten, and the streets were alive with people. Our conversation, as wewent, was entirely political. The Agricultural Amendment Act was thenbefore the Commons, and Paul felt very strongly that it was one ofthose measures which give with one hand, while taking with the other.The committee stage was at hand, and already several amendments werethreatened, the effect of which would be to strengthen the landlord atthe expense of the tenant. More than one of these, and they not themost moderate, were to be proposed by papa. Paul was pointing out howit would be his duty to oppose these tooth and nail, when, all at once,he stopped.

  'I sometimes wonder how you really feel upon this matter.'

  'What matter?'

  'On the difference of opinion, in political matters, which existsbetween your father and myself. I am conscious that Mr Lindon regardsmy action as a personal question, and resents it so keenly, that I amsometimes moved to wonder if at least a portion of his resentment isnot shared by you.'

  'I have explained; I consider papa the politician as one person, andpapa the father as quite another.'

  'You are his daughter.'

  'Certainly I am;--but would you, on that account, wish me to share hispolitical opinions, even though I believe them to be wrong?'

  'You love him.'

  'Of course I do,--he is the best of fathers.'

  'Your defection will be a grievous disappointment.'

  I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. I wondered what waspassing through his mind. The subject of my relations with papa was onewhich, without saying anything at all about it, we had consented totaboo.

  'I am not so sure. I am permeated with a suspicion that papa has nopolitics.'

  'Miss Lindon!--I fancy that I can adduce proof to the contrary.'

  'I believe that if papa were to marry again, say, a Home Ruler, withinthree weeks his wife's politics would be his own.'

  Paul thought before he spoke; then he smiled.

  'I suppose that men sometimes do change their coats to please theirwives,--even their political ones.'

  'Papa's opinions are the opinions of those with whom he mixes. Thereason why he consorts with Tories of the crusted school is because hefears that if he associated with anybody else--with Radicals,say,--before he knew it, he would be a Radical too. With him,association is synonymus with logic.'

  Paul laughed outright. By this time we had reached Westminster Bridge.Standing, we looked down upon the river. A long line of lanterns wasgliding mysteriously over the waters; it was a tug towing a string ofbarges. For some moments neither spoke. Then Paul recurred to what Ihad just been saying.

  'And you,--do you think marriage would colour your convictions?'

  'Would it yours?'

  'That depends.' He was silent. Then he said, in that tone which I hadlearned to look for when he was most in earnest, 'It depends on whetheryou would marry me.'

  I was still. His words were so unexpected that they took my breathaway. I knew not what to make of them. My head was in a whirl. Then headdressed to me a monosyllabic interrogation.

  'Well?'

  'I found my voice,--or a part of it.

  'Well?--to what?'

  He came a little closer.

  'Will you be my wife?'

  The part of my voice which I had found, was lost again. Tears came intomy eyes. I shivered. I had not thought that I could be so absurd. Justthen the moon came from behind a cloud; the rippling waters were tippedwith silver. He spoke again, so gently that his words just reached myears.

  'You know that I love you.'

  Then I knew that I loved him too. That what I had fancied was a feelingof friendship was something very different. It was as if somebody, intearing a veil from before my eyes, had revealed a spectacle whichdazzled me. I was speechless. He misconstrued my silence.

/>   'Have I offended you?'

  'No.'

  I fancy that he noted the tremor which was in my voice, and read itrightly. For he too was still. Presently his hand stole along theparapet, and fastened upon mine, and held it tight.

  And that was how it came about. Other things were said; but they werehardly of the first importance. Though I believe we took some time insaying them. Of myself I can say with truth, that my heart was too fullfor copious speech; I was dumb with a great happiness. And, I believe,I can say the same of Paul. He told me as much when we were parting.

  It seemed that we had only just come there when Paul started. Turning,he stared up at Big Ben.

  'Midnight!--The House up!--Impossible!'

  But it was more than possible, it was fact. We had actually been on theBridge two hours, and it had not seemed ten minutes. Never had Isupposed that the flight of time could have been so entirely unnoticed.Paul was considerably taken aback. His legislative conscience prickedhim. He excused himself--in his own fashion.

  'Fortunately, for once in a way, my business in the House was not soimportant as my business out of it.'

  He had his arm through mine. We were standing face to face.

  'So you call this business!'

  He laughed.

  He not only saw me into a cab, but he saw me home in it. And in the cabhe kissed me. I fancy I was a little out of sorts that night. Mynervous system was, perhaps, demoralised. Because, when he kissed me, Idid a thing which I never do,--I have my own standard of behaviour, andthat sort of thing is quite outside of it; I behaved like a sentimentalchit. I cried. And it took him all the way to my father's door tocomfort me.

  I can only hope that, perceiving the singularity of the occasion, heconsented to excuse me.