The Second Honeymoon Part 17

She was beautifully dressed; he realised in a vague sort of way that she had never looked more desirable, and yet for the life of him he could not have told what she was wearing, except that there was a big bunch of lilies tucked into the bosom of her gown.

She held out her hands to him; she was smiling adorably.

"Jimmy," she said.

Jimmy's first wild instinct was to rush forward and take her in his arms; then he remembered. He backed away from her a step; he began to tremble.

"What--what have you come here for?" he stammered.

She laughed.

"Jimmy, how rude! You don't look a bit pleased to see me. You--oh, Jimmy, I thought you'd be so happy--so delighted."

She came across to him now; she slipped a hand through his arm; she leaned her cheek against his coat-sleeve; the scent of the lilies she wore mounted intoxicatingly to his head.

He tried not to look at her--he tried to stiffen his arm beneath her cheek; but his heart was thumping--he felt as if he were choking.

There was a moment of silence, then she looked up at him with a little spark of wonderment in her eyes.

"You're not going to forgive me--is that it?" she asked blankly.

She moved away from him; she stood just in front of him, looking into his face with the witching eyes he knew so well.

He would not look at her; he stared steadily over her head at the door beyond; he tried to laugh.

"It's not a question of forgiveness--is it?" he asked jerkily.

"You--you chucked me up. You--you told me a lie to get rid of me.

It--it isn't a question of forgiveness, do you think?"

She looked nonplussed, then she smiled. She took Jimmy's face between her hands, holding it so that he was forced to meet her eyes; she stood on tiptoe and softly kissed his chin.

"I'm sorry," she said, and now there was a very genuine ring of earnestness in her voice. "I'm more sorry than I can ever say.

Forgive me, Jimmy; I've been punished enough. I--oh, if you knew how miserable I've been."

Jimmy stood like a man turned to stone; he stared at her with a sort of dread in his eyes. There were tears in hers; one big tear fell from her long lashes, and splashed down on to the lilies she wore.

After a moment he spoke with difficulty.

"Are you . . . what are you trying to say to me?"

Her hands fell to her sides; she looked down with a touch of shame.

"I'm trying to say that I'm sorry; I'm trying to tell you that I--I don't mind how poor you are. I thought I did, but--oh, Jimmy, I'd rather have you, and no money at all, than--than be as rich as Croesus with--with any other man."

"Cynthia!" Jimmy spoke her name in a stifled voice; she raised her eyes quickly. There was none of the pa.s.sionate joy in his face which she had so confidently expected; none of the pa.s.sionate joy in his voice which her heart told her ought to be there. Suddenly he turned aside from her; he put his arm down on the mantelshelf, hiding his face in it.

"Jimmy." She whispered his name with a sort of fear.

"Jimmy--what--what is it? Oh, you are frightening me. I thought you would be so glad--so glad." She caught the limp hand hanging against his side; she laid her soft cheek to it.

Jimmy Challoner tore himself free with a sort of rage.

"It's too late--too late," he said hoa.r.s.ely.

"Too--late!" She stared at him, not understanding. "What--what do you mean? That--that you can't forgive me; that--that you're so angry that--that----"

He swung round, white-faced and quivering.

"It's too late," he said again hopelessly. "I'm engaged to be married.

I--oh, why did you ever send me away?" he broke out in anguish.

Her face had paled, but she was still far enough from understanding.

"Engaged to be married--you! To whom, Jimmy?"

He answered her in a voice of stifled rage.

"It's your doing--all your fault. You nearly drove me mad when you sent me away, and I--I----" There was a long pause. "I told you that I met some friends in the theatre that night when you . . . well, I'm engaged to her--to Christine. I've known her all my life. I--I was utterly wretched . . . I asked her to marry me. We're--we're going to be married the day after to-morrow."

Twice she tried to speak, but no words would come. She was as white now as the lilies she wore; her eyes had a stunned, incredulous look in them. She had never even remotely dreamed of this; it was like some crude nightmare. . . . Jimmy engaged! Jimmy who had sworn a thousand times never to love another woman; Jimmy who had been heart-broken when she sent him away. She broke out in vehement protest:

"Oh, no--no!"

"It's true," said Jimmy obstinately. "It's true."

For the moment he was hardly conscious of any feeling except a sort of shock. It had never once crossed his mind that she would come back to him; he could not believe even now that she was in earnest; he found himself remembering that night in her dressing-room at the theatre when she had lied to him, and pretended, and deceived him. Perhaps even this was all part of the play-acting; perhaps she was just trying to win him back again, to make a fool of him afresh.

Cynthia broke out again.

"Well, this girl must be told; she can't care for you. You say you haven't seen her for years. It's--it's absurd!" She took a step towards him. "You must tell her, Jimmy; you must explain to her. She . . . surely there is such a thing as buying her off."

The vulgarity of the expression made him wince; he thought of Christine with a sort of shame.

She would be the last girl in the world, he knew, to wish to hold him to a promise which he was unwilling to fulfil; he thought of her pale face and wistful brown eyes, and he broke out strenuously:

"It's impossible . . . it's too late . . . we are to be married on Thursday; everything is fixed up. I--oh, for G.o.d's sake, Cynthia, don't go on talking about it. You drove me to do what I have done.

It's too late--I can't go back on my word."

She stood twisting her fingers agitatedly. Suddenly she went to where he stood; she tried to put her arms round his neck, but he resisted fiercely. He held her wrists; he kept his head flung back beyond her reach.

"It's too late, Cynthia--do you hear! I've given my word; I'm not going back on it now. You can't blame me. . . . I--I'd have given my life for this to have happened before--just a few days ago; but now----"

"You don't love me," she accused him pa.s.sionately; she began to cry.

"You said you would never love any woman but me as long as you lived.

I thought you cared more for me than I do for you, but now I know you don't--you don't care so much. If you did you would give up this--this girl, whoever she is, without a single thought." Her voice dropped sobbingly. "Oh, Jimmy--Jimmy, don't be cruel; you can't mean It. I love you so much . . . you belonged to me first."

"You sent me away; you lied to me and deceived me."

He felt that he must keep on reminding himself of it; that he dared not for one instant allow himself to forget everything but how beautiful she was, and how much he wanted her.