The Man Who Rose Again Part 45

"Don't say that, Miss Castlemaine. I suppose it is bad policy to expose my hand in this way; nevertheless what I tell you is true. Although you first refused me three years ago, I shall never give up hoping that I shall win you, and never give up trying."

"Had we not better change the subject?" she said rather coldly, although there was no look of anger or resentment in her eyes.

"I only wanted to tell you this. It is more than a year since I spoke to you last, and I wished you to know that I have not altered--never shall alter. I love you, and I shall not give up hope of winning you. I know I am not of your way of thinking. To be perfectly frank, I interpret the duties and responsibilities of a landholder differently from you. But I admire you all the same. No doubt you have given a great deal of pleasure by keeping an open house; no doubt, too, your home of rest for a jaded mult.i.tude is very fine, but then I have old-fashioned ideas."

Olive laughed gaily. She had almost enjoyed the criticisms which, during the past five years, had been pa.s.sed upon her work.

"At any rate the house was never used in such a way before," she said.

"Never," said Herbert Briarfield. "The late owner--well, he did not believe in using his home as a sort of hydro, or convalescent establishment."

"No," said Olive, "I suppose he did not, but then one has one's duties."

"Yes, but duty is a word which is interpreted differently by different people. For my own part, I do not see why one should open one's house to everybody. Of course, it is not my business, but don't you think you fulfilled your duty when you built your home of rest?"

"No," said Olive. "The Home of Rest, as you call it, is for strangers, but those I invite here are people I have known. They come here as my personal friends."

"You must have a lot of personal friends."

"I have, and really these last few years have been a revelation to me. I never realised the number of over-worked gentlefolk there were, neither did I ever dream of the amount of grat.i.tude there is in the world."

"And do you mean to continue doing this--this--kind of thing, Miss Castlemaine?"

"Yes, I think so."

"What, when you get married?"

"I shall never marry."

Herbert Briarfield looked at her steadily. For the last three years he had been a suitor for Olive Castlemaine's hand, and although she had given him no encouragement, he had never given up hope that he would one day win her. Moreover, so certain was he that he would one day succeed, that he had almost unconsciously a.s.sumed a kind of proprietary right over her.

"Of course you will marry," he said, "and then you will think differently. Your first duties then will be to your husband--and to--to your position."

Olive Castlemaine did not reply. He had so often expressed this kind of sentiment, that she did not think it worth while.

"Miss Castlemaine," continued Herbert Briarfield, "you will not be offended if I speak plainly, will you?"

"I am not likely to be offended with my friends, Mr. Briarfield," she said, "but there is one subject that should be debarred. You know very well that I have made up my mind."

"Let no subject be debarred, Miss Castlemaine. It is not right that it should be. If there were some one else, of course I should have to regard your refusal as inevitable. But there is no one else--is there?"

Olive Castlemaine did not speak, but there was a look in her eyes which, had Herbert Briarfield seen, he would have thought it wise to be silent.

"We are neither of us children," he went on; "I am thirty-six, and therefore not ignorant of the world. I know that you have had many offers of marriage, and I--I know that the man to whom you were once engaged is dead."

He felt he was acting like a fool while he was speaking, but the words escaped him, in spite of himself.

"But you are not going to allow that to wreck your life," he went on.

"You are young--and--and you know how beautiful you are. Besides, I love you; love you like my own life. You are the only woman in the world to me. I do not know the--the story of that business, but--but surely--oh, Olive, you cannot allow such an episode--the fact that a worthless fellow committed suicide--to close your heart to me for ever. Oh, Olive, do have a little pity on me!"

Her first feeling as he spoke was of anger, but this was followed by pity. She had always thought of him with kindness. In many respects he was a fine young fellow, and was beloved in the neighbourhood; thus the fact of his love could not be altogether unpleasant.

"Mr. Briarfield," she said, "really I am very sorry for this; but let me say once and for all----"

"No, no, not now. Give me another three months--let me speak to you again then. In the meanwhile think it all out again, Olive."

"It is no use, Mr. Briarfield. I am not one to alter my mind easily."

"But there is no one else, is there?"

"No."

"Then let me speak to you again in three months' time. May I?"

"But my answer will be the same as now."

"No, it will not. You will let me speak again then, won't you?"

"And you'll accept what I say then as final?"

"If you wish it. That is, if you'll promise me one thing."

"Tell me what it is."

"That if you refuse me at the end of three months, and then if you alter your mind afterwards, you'll let me know."

"Yes, I promise that. But mind, after that you are not to speak to me, that is, on this subject, till I tell you."

"Yes, I promise that."

Herbert Briarfield turned away from Olive as he spoke, and walked to the end of the lawn. There could be no doubt that he was deeply in earnest.

A look of fierce determination shone from his eyes, and his hands clenched and unclenched nervously.

"She must, she must," he said. "There is no one else, and I _will_ win her."

He returned to her presently and, drawing a chair near hers, sat down by her side.

"I suppose your Home of Rest is full," he said, with seeming carelessness.

"Yes," she said: "had it been twice as large it would have been filled.

As for the golf links, they are always popular. You see, while it is foggy and miserable in London, it is perfect weather here. Just fancy, we are only in the middle of April, and yet we are sitting out of doors in perfect comfort. It's as warm as June."

"There is a mixed crew down there," said Briarfield, nodding in the direction of what he had called "the Home of Rest."

"Yes?"

"Yes. It is a good thing you are so cosmopolitan in your views. I dropped in there last night, and had a talk with a German and a Frenchman, while I saw, sitting in the smoking-room, an Arab of some sort. At any rate, he wore a fez."

"Indeed?"