A Bachelor Husband Part 6

"I wish I could have died! I would like to have died!"

Feathers picked up her gloves and fan, which had fallen to the floor. His ugly face was commiserating as he looked at her.

"The room was very stuffy. It was inconsiderate of us to let you be there, Mrs. Lawless. I am afraid it was my fault!"

His fault. Everything was his fault, she told herself bitterly, as she turned away. And yet--surely it was better to know now the true facts of her marriage than to learn them later on--when it was too late.

A bachelor husband. How infinitely funny it was! She looked at Chris as he walked with her to the stairs. His eyes were concerned, but as he had said, she had "only fainted," and a faint was nothing. She wondered if he would have cared had she been dead.

He slipped a hand through her arm to steady her.

"I am afraid it was all my fault," he said. "You told me you were tired. I'm sorry, Marie Celeste."

Her lip quivered at the sound of the two little names. n.o.body but Chris ever called her that, and she turned her head away.

"I'll fetch one of the maids to look after you," he said, as they reached her room. He turned away, but she called him back.

"Chris, I want to speak to you."

"Well?" He followed her into the room. A pretty room it was the best in the hotel, and the very new silver brushes and trinkets which Aunt Madge had given her for a wedding present were laid out on the dressing-table.

When she had dressed there for dinner only two hours ago she had been the happiest girl in the world, but now ... a long, shuddering sigh broke from her lips.

Chris was looking at her anxiously. He was worried by her pallor, and sorry she had fainted, but he quite realized that there was nothing serious in a faint. Some women made it a habit, he believed, and he was anxious to get back and finish that game of billiards!

"What do you want to say to me?" he asked. "Won't it do presently?"

She shook her head.

"No."

She was standing by the dressing-table, nervously fingering a little silver box, and for a moment she could not speak, then she said in desperation:

"Chris--I want to tell you--I know all about our Wedding!"

He echoed her words blankly.

"You know all about it. You funny kid! I suppose you do. Why---"

He stopped, struck by something in her eyes.

"What do you mean, Marie Celeste?"

She turned round and faced him squarely. "I mean--I know why you married me," she said.

"Why?" The hot blood rushed to his face. "Who told you?" he asked sharply.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Does that matter? I--just found out. And I--I wanted to say that ...

that it doesn't matter. I--I think it was quite right of you."

He looked rather puzzled, then he smiled.

"Oh, well--if you think it's right." He hesitated, and drew a step nearer to her. "Who told you, Marie?" he asked. "Aunt Madge agreed with me that there was no need for you to know."

She pushed the soft hair back from her forehead. So Aunt Madge had been willing to deceive her as well. That hurt. Somehow she had always believed in Aunt Madge.

She managed a smile.

"What does it matter? I only thought it was better we should start by--by not having any secrets. We--we've always been good friends, haven't we?" Friends! When she adored him.

"Of course!" He gave his agreement readily, and a sharp pain touched her heart. It was only friendship, then--on his side, at least. She knew how much she had longed for him to wipe out that word and subst.i.tute another.

There was a little silence, then Chris said again: "Marie--is there anything the matter? You look--somehow you look--different!"

He walked up to her, and laid his hands on her shoulders.

"Look at me," he said.

She raised her eyes obediently.

"Now tell me what is the matter!" he demanded. "There is something you are keeping from me! I haven't known you all these years for nothing, you know, Marie Celeste."

There was a little laughing note of tenderness in his voice, and for a moment the girl swayed in his grasp.

If only she could put her arms round his neck and lay her head on his breast and tell him the truth, the whole wretched truth of what she had heard! Even if he did not love her, it would be such exquisite relief to unburden her heart to him, but she did not dare!

Chris had always hated what he called "scenes." Years ago, when they were both children, tears had been the last means whereby to win his sympathy or admiration. He liked a girl to be a "sport"; he had always been nicest to her when she could take a knock without flinching under the pain.

She remembered that now--forced herself to remember it, and nothing else, as she raised her eyes to his.

"Yes--what is it?" he urged. "Don't be afraid! It's all right, whatever it is, I promise you."

Twice her lips moved, but no words would come, and then with a rush of desperation she faltered:

"It's only--it's only ... you said just now--we had always been good friends ..."

"Did I?" he laughed. "I was rather under the impression that it was you who said that, but never mind. Go on!"

"Well--well ... Can't we go on ... just being good friends?-- just _only_ being good friends, I mean."

He did not answer, though it was not possible to mistake her meaning, and in the silence that followed it seemed to Marie that every hope she had cherished was throbbing away with each agonized heart beat. Then his hands fell slowly from her shoulders.

"You mean--that you don't care for me?"

She almost cried out at the tone of his voice. That he tried to make it property hurt and amazed, she knew, but her heart told her that his one great emotion was an overwhelming relief. That he had no intention of even paying her the compliment of discussion.

Her lips felt like ice as she answered him in a whisper.