The Odd Women Part 83

'Yes, I know what it all meant.'

'Can you gratify my not unnatural curiosity?'

'I can say nothing about it, except that I know how the misunderstanding arose.'

Rhoda was betraying the effort it had cost her to seem so self-possessed when she entered. Her colour had deepened, and she spoke hurriedly, unevenly.

'And it didn't occur to you that it would be a kindness, not inconsistent with your dignity, to make me in some way acquainted with this fact?'

'I feel no uneasiness on your account.'

Everard laughed.

'Splendidly frank, as of old. You really didn't care in the least how much I suffered?'

'You misunderstand me. I felt sure that you didn't suffer at all.'

'Ah, I see. You imagined me calm in the a.s.surance that I should some day be justified.'

'I had every reason for imagining it,' rejoined Rhoda. 'Other wise, you would have given some sign.'

Of course he had deeply offended her by his persistent silence. He had intended to do so first of all; and afterwards--had thought it might be as well. Now that he had got over the difficulty of the meeting he enjoyed his sense of security. How the interview would end he know not; but on his side there would be nothing hasty, unconsidered, merely emotional. Had Rhoda any new revelation of personality within her resources?--that was the question. If so, he would be pleased to observe it. If not--why, it was only the end to which he had long ago looked forward.

'It was not for me to give any sign,' he remarked.

'Yet you have said that it is well to have reason on one's side.'

Perhaps a softer note allowed itself to be detected in these words. In any case, they were not plainly ironical.

'Admit, then, that an approach was due from me. I have made it. I am here.'

Rhoda said nothing. Yet she had not an air of expectancy. Her eye was grave, rather sad, as though for the moment she had forgotten what was at issue, and had lost herself in remoter thought. Regarding her, Everard felt a n.o.bility in her countenance which amply justified all he had ever felt and said. But was there anything more--any new power?

'So we go back,' he pursued, 'to our day at Wast.w.a.ter. The perfect day--wasn't it?'

'I shall never wish to forget it,' said Rhoda reflectively.

'And we stand as when we quitted each other that night--do we?'

She glanced at him.

'I think not.'

'Then what is the difference?'

He waited some seconds, and repeated the question before Rhoda answered.

'You are conscious of no difference?' she said.

'Months have lapsed. We are different because we are older. But you speak as if you were conscious of some greater change.'

'Yes, you are changed noticeably. I thought I knew you; perhaps I did.

Now I should have to learn you all over again. It is difficult, you see, for me to keep pace with you. Your opportunities are so much wider.'

This was puzzling. Did it signify mere jealousy, or a profounder view of things? Her voice had something even of pathos, as though she uttered a simple thought, without caustic intention.

'I try not to waste my life,' he answered seriously. 'I have made new acquaintances.'

'Will you tell me about them?'

'Tell me first about yourself. You say you would never have written to me. That means, I think, that you never loved me. When you found that I had been wrongly suspected--and you suspected me yourself, say what you will--if you had loved me, you would have asked forgiveness.'

'I have a like reason for doubting _your_ love. If you had loved me you could never have waited so long without trying to remove the obstacle that was between us.'

'It was you who put the obstacle there,' said Everard, smiling.

'No. An unlucky chance did that. Or a lucky one. Who knows?'

He began to think: If this woman had enjoyed the social advantages to which Agnes Brissenden and those others were doubtless indebted for so much of their charm, would she not have been their equal, or more? For the first time he compa.s.sionated Rhoda. She was brave, and circ.u.mstances had not been kind to her. At this moment, was she not contending with herself? Was not her honesty, her dignity, struggling against the impulses of her heart? Rhoda's love had been worth more than his, and it would be her one love in life. A fatuous reflection, perhaps; yet every moment's observation seemed to confirm it.

'Well, now,' he said, 'there's the question which we must decide. If you incline to think that the chance was fortunate--'

She would not speak.

'We must know each other's mind.'

'Ah, that is so difficult!' Rhoda murmured, just raising her hand and letting it fall.

'Yes, unless we give each other help. Let us imagine ourselves back at Seascale, down by the waves. (How cold and grim it must be there to-night!) I repeat what I said then: Rhoda, will you marry me?'

She looked fixedly at him.

'You didn't say that then.'

'What do the words matter?'

'That was not what you said.'

He watched the agitation of her features, until his gaze seemed to compel her to move. She stepped towards the fireplace, and moved a little screen that stood too near the fender.

'Why do you want me to repeat exactly what I said?' Everard asked, rising and following her.

'You speak of the "perfect day." Didn't the day's perfection end before there was any word of marriage?'

He looked at her with surprise. She had spoken without turning her face towards him; it was visible now only by the glow of the fire. Yes, what she said was true, but a truth which he had neither expected nor desired to hear. Had the new revelation prepared itself?

'Who first used the word, Rhoda?'