The Hoyden Part 93

"He wants me to go back to him."

"Yes?" anxiously.

"Well---- That's all."

"But you, dearest?"

"Oh, I can't _bear_ to think of it!" cries t.i.ta, in a miserable tone.

At this Margaret feels hope dying within her. Beyond question she has again refused to be reconciled to him. Margaret is so fond of the girl that it goes to her very heart to see her thus wilfully (as she believes) throwing away her best chance of happiness in this world.

"t.i.ta, have you well considered what you are doing? A woman separated from her husband, no matter how free from blame she may be, is always regarded with coldness by----"

"Oh, yes! I know," impatiently. _"He_ has been saying all that."

"And, after all, what has Maurice done that you should be so hard with him? Many a man has loved another woman before his marriage.

That old story----"

"It isn't that," says t.i.ta suddenly. "It is"--she lays her hands on Margaret's shoulders, and regards her earnestly and with agitation--"it is that I fear _myself."_

"You fear"--uncertainly--"that you don't love him?"

"Pshaw!" says t.i.ta, letting her go, and rising to her feet, as though to sit still is impossible to her. "What a speech from you to me--you, who know all! _Love_ him! I am sure about that, at all events. I know I don't."

"Are you so sure?"

"Positive--_positive!"_

"What? Not even _one_ doubt?"

"Not one."

"What is your fear, then?" asks Margaret.

"That even if I went back to him, took up my old position, asked his guests to our house, and so on, that sooner or later I should quarrel with him a second time, and then this dreadful work would have to be done all over again."

"That would rest in your own hands. Of course, it is a risk, if, indeed, you mean what you say, t.i.ta"--watching her closely--"that you do not care for Maurice. But"--anxiously--"at all events, you do not care for anyone else?"

"No--no--no" petulantly--"why should I? I think all men more trouble than they are worth."

"If that is so, and you are heart-whole, I think it your positive duty to live with your husband," says Margaret, with decision. "How can you hesitate, t.i.ta? Are the vows you uttered at the altar nothing to you? Many a woman lives with a bad husband through conscientious motives, and----"

"I don't believe it," says t.i.ta, who is evidently in one of her most wayward moods. "They go on living with their horrid husbands because they are afraid of what people will say about them. You know you said something about it yourself just now, and so did--_he;_ something about the world being disagreeable to any woman, however good, who is separated from the man she married."

Margaret gives up the argument.

"Well," says she, smiling, "at all events, Maurice isn't a horrid husband."

"You say that because he isn't yours," with a shrug.

"Come back here, you bad child," says Margaret, laughing now, "and listen to me for a little while longer. You know, t.i.ta, darling, that I have your interest, and yours only, at heart. Promise me you will at least think of what Maurice proposes."

"Oh, I've promised _him_ that," says t.i.ta, frowning.

"You have?" cries Margaret. "Oh, you _good_ girl! Come! that's right. And so you parted not altogether at war? How glad I am! And he--he was glad, too. He"--anxiously--"he said----"

"He said he was coming again to-morrow," with apparent disgust.

"To get your answer?"

"Oh, I suppose so! I don't know, I'm sure," with such a sharp gesture as proves to Margaret her patience has come to an end. "Let us forget it--put it from us--while we can." She laughs nervously.

"You see what a temper I have! He will repent his bargain, I think--if I do consent. Come, let us talk of something else, Meg--of you."

"Of me?"

"What better subject? Tell me what Colonel Neilson was saying to you in that window this evening," pointing to the one farthest off.

"Nothing--nothing at all. He is so stupid," says Margaret, blushing crimson. "He really never sees me without proposing all over again, as if there was any good in it."

"And what did you say this time?"

Margaret grows confused.

"Really, dearest, I was so taken up thinking of you and Maurice,"

says she, with a first (and most flagrant) attempt at dissimulation, "that I believe I forgot to--to--say anything."

t.i.ta gives way to a burst of irrepressible laughter.

"I like that," says she. "Well, at all events, by your own showing, you didn't say _no."_

CHAPTER XXVIII.

HOW t.i.tA RECEIVES A BASKET OF FLOWERS AND AN ENTREATY; AND HOW SHE CEASES TO FIGHT AGAINST HER DESTINY.

It is quite early, barely eleven o'clock, and a most lovely morning.

t.i.ta and Margaret, who have just settled down in the latter's boudoir, presumably to write their letters, but actually to have a little gossip, are checked by the entrance of a servant, who brings something to t.i.ta and lays it on the table beside her.

"With Sir Maurice Rylton's compliments," says the servant.

"What is it?" says t.i.ta, when he has gone, with the air of one who instinctively knows, but would prefer to go on guessing about it.

"Not dynamite, a.s.suredly," says Margaret. "What a delightful basket!"

"What can be inside it?"