Chapter 2

"No more," I answered; and I smiled, too, although a rage of anger was clutching my throat. I do not know who I was angry with--Mrs. Carruthers for procuring this situation, Christopher for being insensible to my charms, or myself for ever having contemplated for a second the possibility of his doing otherwise. Why, when one thinks of it calmly, should he want to marry me, a penniless adventuress with green eyes and red hair that he had never seen before in his life? I hoped he thought I was a person of naturally high color, because my cheeks from the moment I began to dress had been burning and burning. It might have given him the idea the scene was causing me some emotion, and that he should never know!

He took some more tea, but he did not drink it, and by this I guessed that he also was not as calm as he looked!

"There is something else," he said--and now there was almost an awkwardness in his voice--"something else which I want to say, though perhaps Mr. Barton could say it for me, but which I would rather say straight to you, and that is, you must let me settle such a sum of money on you as you had every right to expect from my aunt, after the promises I understand she always made to you----"

This time I did not wait for him to finish. I bounded up from my seat, some uncontrollable sensation of wounded pride throbbing and thrilling through me.

"Money! Money from you!" I exclaimed. "Not if I were starving." Then I sat down again, ashamed of this vehemence. How would he interpret it! But it galled me so--and yet I had been ready an hour ago to have accepted him as my husband! Why, then, this revolt at the idea of receiving a fair substitute in gold? Really, one is a goose, and I had time to realize, even in this tumult of emotion, that there can be nothing so inconsistent as the feelings of a girl.

"You must not be foolish!" he said, coldly. "I intend to settle the money whether you will or no, so do not make any further trouble about it!"

There was something in his voice so commanding and arrogant, just as I noticed at first, that every obstinate quality in my nature rose to answer him.

"I do not know anything about the law in the matter; you may settle what you choose, but I shall never touch any of it," I said, as calmly as I could. "So it seems ridiculous to waste the money, does it not? You may not, perhaps, be aware I have enough of my own, and do not in any way require yours."

He became colder and more exasperated.

"As you please, then," he said, snappishly, and Mr. Barton fortunately entering at that moment, the conversation was cut short, and I left them.

They are not going back to London until to-morrow morning, and dinner has yet to be got through. Oh, I do feel in a temper! and I can never tell of the emotions that were throbbing through me as I came up the great stairs just now. A sudden awakening to the humiliation of the situation! How had I ever been able to contemplate marrying a man I did not know, just to secure myself a comfortable home! It seems preposterous now. I suppose it was because I have always been brought up to the idea, and, until I came face to face with the man, it did not strike me as odd. Fortunately he can never guess that I had been willing to accept him; my dissimulation has stood me in good stead. Now I am animated by only one idea--to appear as agreeable and charming to Mr. Carruthers as possible. The aim and object of my life shall be to make him regret his decision. When I hear him imploring me to marry him, I shall regain a little of my self-respect! And as for marriage, I shall have nothing to do with the horrid affair! Oh, dear, no! I shall go away free and be a happy adventuress. I have read the _Trois Mousquetaires_ and _Vingt Ans Apres_--mademoiselle had them--and I remember milady had only three days to get round her jailer, starting with his hating her; whereas Mr. Carruthers does not hate me, so that counts against my only having one evening. I shall do my best!

_Thursday night._

I was down in the library, innocently reading a book, when Mr. Carruthers came in. He looked even better in evening dress, but he appeared ill-tempered, and no doubt found the situation unpleasant.

"Is not this a beautiful house?" I said, in a velvet voice, to break the awkward silence, and show him I did not share his unease. "You had not seen it before, for ages, had you?"

"Not since I was a boy," he answered, trying to be polite. "My aunt quarrelled with my father--she was the direct heiress of all this--and married her cousin, my father's younger brother--but you know the family history, of course----"

"Yes."

"They hated each other, she and my father."

"Mrs. Carruthers hated all her relations," I said, demurely.

"Myself among them?"

"Yes," I said, slowly, and bent forward so that the lamplight should fall upon my hair. "She said you were too much like herself in character for you ever to be friends."

"Is that a compliment?" he asked, and there was a twinkle in his eye.

"We must speak no ill of the dead," I said, evasively.

He looked slightly annoyed--as much as these diplomats ever let themselves look anything.

"You are right," he said. "Let her rest in peace."

There was silence for a moment.

"What are you going to do with your life now?" he asked, presently. It was a bald question.

"I shall become an adventuress," I answered, deliberately.

"A _what_?" he exclaimed, his black eyebrows contracting.

"An adventuress. Is not that what it is called? A person who sees life, and has to do the best she can for herself."

He laughed. "You strange little lady!" he said, his irritation with me melting. And when he laughs you can see how even his teeth are; but the two side ones are sharp and pointed, like a wolf's.

"Perhaps, after all, you had better have married me!"

"No, that would clip my wings," I said, frankly, looking at him straight in the face.

"Mr. Barton tells me you propose leaving here on Saturday. I beg you will not do so. Please consider it your home for so long as you wish--until you can make some arrangements for yourself. You look so very young to be going about the world alone!"

He bent down and gazed at me closer--there was an odd tone in his voice.

"I am twenty, and I have been often snubbed," I said, calmly. "That prepares one for a good deal. I shall enjoy doing what I please."

"And what are you going to please?"

"I shall go to Claridge's until I can look about me."

He moved uneasily.

"But have you no relations--no one who will take care of you?"

"I believe none. My mother was nobody particular, you know--a Miss Tonkins by name."

"But your father?" He sat down now on the sofa beside me; there was a puzzled, amused look in his face; perhaps I was amazing him.

"Papa? Oh, papa was the last of his family. They were decent people, but there are no more of them."

He pushed one of the cushions aside.

"It is an impossible position for a girl--completely alone. I cannot allow it. I feel responsible for you. After all, it would do very well if you married me. I am not particularly domestic by nature, and should be very little at home, so you could live here and have a certain position, and I would come back now and then and see you were getting on all right."

One could not say if he was mocking or no.

"It is too good of you," I said, without any irony. "But I like freedom, and when you were at home it might be such a bore----"

He leaned back and laughed merrily.

"You are candid, at any rate!" he said.

Mr. Barton came into the room at that moment, full of apologies at being late. Immediately after, with the usual ceremony, the butler entered and pompously announced, "Dinner is served, sir." How quickly they recognize the new master!

Mr. Carruthers gave me his arm, and we walked slowly down the picture-gallery to the banqueting-hall, and there sat down at the small, round table in the middle, that always looks like an island in a lake.

I talked nicely at dinner. I was dignified and grave, and quite frank. Mr. Carruthers was not bored. The chef had outdone himself, hoping to be kept on. I never felt so excited in my life.

I was apparently asleep under a big lamp, after dinner, in the library, a book of silly poetry in my lap, when the door opened and he--Mr. Carruthers--came in alone, and walked up the room. I did not open my eyes. He looked for just a minute--how accurate I am! Then he said, "You are very pretty when asleep!"

His voice was not caressing or complimentary--merely as if the fact had forced this utterance.

I allowed myself to wake without a start.

"Was the '47 port as good as you hoped?" I asked, sympathetically.

He sat down. I had arranged my chair so that there was none other in its immediate neighborhood. Thus he was some way off, and could realize my whole silhouette.

"The '47 port? Oh yes; but I am not going to talk of port. I want you to tell me a lot more about yourself, and your plans----"

"I have no plans--except to see the world."

He picked up a book and put it down again; he was not perfectly calm.

"I don't think I shall let you. I am more than ever convinced you ought to have some one to take care of you--you are not of the type that makes it altogether safe to roam about alone."

"Oh! as for my type," I said, languidly, "I know all about that. Mrs. Carruthers said no one with this combination of color could be good, so I am not going to try. It will be quite simple."

He rose quickly from his chair and stood in front of the great log fire, such a comical expression on his face.

"You are the quaintest child I have ever met," he said.

"I am not a child, and I mean to know everything I can."

He went over towards the sofa again and arranged the cushions--great, splendid, fat pillows of old Italian brocade, stiff with gold and silver.

"Come!" he pleaded. "Sit here beside me, and let us talk; you are miles away there, and I want to--make you see reason."

I rose at once and came slowly to where he pointed. I settled myself deliberately. There was one cushion of purple and silver right under the light, and there I rested my head.

"Now talk!" I said, and half closed my eyes.

Oh, I was enjoying myself! The first time I have ever been alone with a real man! They--the old ambassadors and politicians and generals--used always to tell me I should grow into an attractive woman--now I meant to try what I could do.

Mr. Carruthers remained silent, but he sat down beside me, and looked and looked right into my eyes.

"Now talk, then," I said again.

"Do you know, you are a very disturbing person," he said, at last, by way of a beginning.

"What is that?" I asked.

"It is a woman who confuses one's thoughts when one looks at her. I do not now seem to have anything to say, or too much----"

"You called me a child."

"I should have called you an enigma."

I assured him I was not the least complex, and that I only wanted everything simple, and to be left in peace, without having to get married or worry to obey people.

We had a nice talk.

"You won't leave here on Saturday," he said, presently, apropos of nothing. "I do not think I shall go myself to-morrow. I want you to show me all over the gardens, and your favorite haunts."

"To-morrow I shall be busy packing," I said, gravely, "and I do not think I want to show you the gardens; there are some corners I rather loved; I believe it will hurt a little to say good-bye."

Just then Mr. Barton came into the room, fussy and ill at ease. Mr. Carruthers's face hardened again, and I rose to say good-night.

As he opened the door for me--"Promise you will come down to give me my coffee in the morning," he said.

"Qui vivra verra," I answered, and sauntered out into the hall. He followed me, and watched as I went up the staircase.

"Good-night!" I called, softly, as I got to the top, and laughed a little--I don't know why.

He bounded up the stairs, three steps at a time, and before I could turn the handle of my door he stood beside me.

"I do not know what there is about you," he said, "but you drive me mad. I shall insist upon carrying out my aunt's wish, after all! I shall marry you, and never let you out of my sight--do you hear?"

Oh, such a strange sense of exaltation crept over me--it is with me still! Of course, he probably will not mean all that to-morrow, but to have made such a stiff block of stone rush up-stairs and say this much now is perfectly delightful!

I looked at him up from under my eyelashes. "No, you will not marry me," I said, calmly, "or do anything else I don't like; and now, really, good-night," and I slipped into my room and closed the door. I could hear he did not stir for some seconds. Then he went off down the stairs again, and I am alone with my thoughts!

My thoughts! I wonder what they mean! What did I do that had this effect upon him? I intended to do something, and I did it, but I am not quite sure what it was. However, that is of no consequence. Sufficient for me to know that my self-respect is restored and I can now go out and see the world with a clear conscience.

_He_ has asked me to marry him--and _I_ have said I won't!

BRANCHES PARK,[1]

Thursday night, _November 3._

DEAR BOB,--

A quaint thing has happened to me! Came down here to take over the place, and to say decidedly I would not marry Miss Travers, and I find her with red hair and a skin like milk, and a pair of green eyes that look at you from a forest of black eyelashes with a thousand unsaid challenges. I should not wonder if I commit some folly. One has read of women like this in the _cinque-cento_ time in Italy, but up to now I had never met one. She is not in the room ten minutes before one feels a sense of unrest, and desire for one hardly knows what--principally to touch her, I fancy. Good Lord! what a skin! pure milk and rare roses--and the reddest Cupid's bow of a mouth! You had better come down at once (these things are probably in your line) to save me from some sheer idiocy. The situation is exceptional--she and I practically alone in the house, for old Barton does not count. She had nowhere to go, and as far as I can make out has not a friend in the world. I suppose I ought to leave. I will try to on Monday; but come down to-morrow by the 4.00 train.

Yours,

CHRISTOPHER.

P. S.--'47 port A1, and two or three brands of the old aunt's champagne exceptional, Barton says--we can sample them. Shall send this up by express; you will get it in time for the 4.00 train.

[Footnote 1: A letter from Mr. Carruthers which came into Evangeline's possession later, and which she put into her journal at this place.--EDITOR'S NOTE.]

BRANCHES,

Friday night, _November 4th._

This morning Mr. Carruthers had his coffee alone. Mr. Barton and I breakfasted quite early, before nine o'clock, and just as I was calling the dogs in the hall for a run, with my out-door things already on, Mr. Carruthers came down the great stairs with a frown on his face.

"Up so early!" he said. "Are you not going to pour out my tea for me, then?"

"I thought you said coffee! No, I am going out," and I went on down the corridor, the wolf-hounds following me.

"You are not a kind hostess!" he called after me.

"I am not a hostess at all," I answered back--"only a guest."

He followed me. "Then you are a very casual guest, not consulting the pleasure of your host."

I said nothing. I only looked at him over my shoulder as I went down the marble steps--looked at him and laughed, as on the night before.

He turned back into the house without a word, and I did not see him again until just before luncheon.

There is something unpleasant about saying good-bye to a place, and I found I had all sorts of sensations rising in my throat at various points in my walk. However, all that is ridiculous and must be forgotten. As I was coming round the corner of the terrace, a great gust of wind nearly blew me into Mr. Carruthers's arms. Odious weather we are having this autumn!

"Where have you been all the morning?" he said, when we had recovered ourselves a little. "I have searched for you all over the place."

"You do not know it all yet, or you would have found me," I said, pretending to walk on.

"No, you shall not go now!" he exclaimed, pacing beside me. "Why won't you be amiable, and make me feel at home?"

"I do apologize if I have been unamiable," I said, with great frankness. "Mrs. Carruthers always brought me up to have such good manners."

After that he talked to me for half an hour about the place.

He seemed to have forgotten his vehemence of the night before. He asked all sorts of questions, and showed a sentiment and a delicacy I should not have expected from his hard face. I was quite sorry when the gong sounded for luncheon and we went in.