The Immortal Moment Part 25

"Well, it's possible that I might not consider it worth while to dispute his claim. That would depend altogether on the woman."

"If you cared for her?"

"If I cared enough for her I might be able to convince her that it would at any rate be prudent, from a worldly point of view, to stick to me.

But _that_ would depend, wouldn't it, on the amount of the other fellow's income?"

"And if all that didn't matter in the very least to her, if she didn't care a rap about anybody's income, if she cared for the other fellow more than she'd ever cared for you, if she didn't care for your caring, if she cared for nothing except _his_ caring, and nothing you could do could move her--what would you do then?"

He paused to light another cigarette before he answered her. "I should probably tell her, first of all, that for all I cared she might go to the devil, I mean to the other fellow, and stay there as long as he wanted her."

"Well"--she said placably.

"That's what I should say first. Afterward, when we were both a little calmer--if I cared for her, Kitty--I should ask her to think a moment before she did anything rash, to be quite sure that she would really be happier with the other fellow. And I should point out to her very clearly that, in any case, if she once went, it would not be open to her to come back."

"But you wouldn't try and keep her?"

"I couldn't keep her, my dear child, by trying."

"No--you couldn't keep her. Not for yourself. But, if you could keep her from the other man, would you?"

"I dare say I should do my best."

"Would you do your worst? No, Wilfrid, you've been very good to me--I don't believe you'd do your worst."

"What do you mean," he said sharply.

"You wouldn't tell him what she was, what she had been--if he didn't know it. Would you?"

He was silent.

"Would you?" she cried.

"No, Kitty, I wouldn't do that. I'm not a cad."

He pondered.

"But my dear girl, do you suppose for a moment that he doesn't know?"

"He doesn't know a thing."

"Then what in heaven's name are you talking about?"

"I'm trying to tell you. It isn't what you think. I--I'm going to be married."

Marston took his cigarette out of his mouth, and stared at it. There was no expression in his face beyond that concentrated, attentive stare.

"Good Lord. Why," he said, "couldn't you tell me that before I came down?"

"I was going to. I was going to write to you and ask you not to come."

"_Good_ G.o.d."

He said it softly, and with calm incredulity rather than amazement.

"Who is it, Kitty? Do I know him?"

"No."

"Do you know him yourself?"

She smiled. "Yes I know him."

"Well--but how long?"

"Ten days."

"You met him here? In this hotel?"

"Yes."

"That's why you were so anxious for me to go to the Metropole, was it?"

"Yes."

"Look here. I don't want to be unkind, but it doesn't do to blink facts.

Are you quite sure he means to marry you?"

"Why shouldn't he?"

"Well, these marriages do happen, but--I don't want to be unkind again--but you know they are, to say the least of it, a little unusual."

"Yes."

"You've seen some of them?"

"Yes."

"And you know, you know as well as I do, the sort of man who--who----"

"Who marries the sort of woman I am? Yes, I know him, perfectly well.

He's horrible."

"There are exceptions, but he's generally pretty bad. You think he's horrible. You'll be miserable when you find yourself tied to him for life. You see, however awful he was, you wouldn't be exactly in a position to get rid of him."

"Wilfrid," her voice was very low and tender, "he isn't like that. He's good----"

"Good, is he?" He laughed.