The Immortal Moment Part 20

"Yes. Because of _them_."

"And now you know all about me?"

"Yes. Now I know all about you."

"Don't you want to know something about--about Mr. Tailleur?"

Lucy's face hardened. "No, I don't think I want to know anything about him."

He had made up his mind that Mr. Tailleur had been a brute to her.

"He _is_ dead."

"Well, yes. I supposed he would be."

"He died four years ago. I was married very young."

"I supposed that too."

"You don't feel that he's important?"

"Not in the very least."

She laughed.

"When I said that I knew all about you, I only meant that I knew--I'd the sense to see--what you were. You mustn't think that I take anything for granted."

"Ah, Mr. Lucy, dear, I'm afraid you're taking everything for granted."

"On my soul I'm not. I'm not that sort. There's one thing about you I don't know yet, and I'm afraid to ask, and it's the only thing I really want to know. It's the only thing that matters."

"Then ask me, ask me straight, whatever it is, and let's get it over.

Can't you trust me to tell you the truth?"

"I trust you--to tell me the truth. I want to know where I am--where we are."

"Is it for me to say?"

"It's for you to say whether you think you can ever care for me."

"Can't you see that I care for you?"

"No, I'd give anything to see."

"Ah, it's so like you not to. And I thought I'd shown you--everything."

"You haven't shown me yet whether you care enough to--to----"

He checked himself, while his love for her drew its first breath, as if it had been born but that instant, in an agony of desire and fear.

"To do what?" she said. "Why won't you tell me?"

"I'm afraid," he said simply.

"Afraid of _me_! Why should you be?"

"Because, if you really cared for me, I think you'd know what I want."

"It's because I care so much that I don't know. Unless you tell me."

She put her small fingers lightly on the sleeve of his coat; they slid till they found his hands that hung clenched before him.

At her touch he trembled.

"Don't you know," she said, "that there's nothing I wouldn't do for you?

Tell me what you want me to do."

He spoke so low that she strained to hear him.

"To marry me--to be my wife."

Her hand still lay on his, but she herself seemed to draw back and pause.

"Your wife?" she said at last. "My dear, you've only known me ten days."

"It makes no difference."

He took her hand in his and kissed it, bowing his head.

She twisted herself away from him, and drew back her face from his. They rose.

"Ah," she said, "you're cold. You don't know how. Let me look at you.

It's not me you want. You want a mother for your children."

"Not I. I want you--you--for myself."

She moved toward him with a low cry, and he took her in his arms and stood still by her without a word. And to his joy, she whom he held (gently, lest he should hurt her) laid her face to his face, and held him with a grip tighter than his own, as if she feared that he would loose himself and leave her. Her eyes closed as he kissed her forehead, and opened as her mouth found his.

Then she drew herself slowly from him.

"You love me then?" she said.

"Yes, Kitty, I love you."

CHAPTER XII