The Streets of Ascalon Part 58

"So you don't really dare express your kindly regard for me fearing I might again mistake it for something deeper." He was still laughing, and she lifted her gray eyes in silence for a moment, then:

"There is nothing in the world deeper than my regard for you--if you will let it be what it is, and seek to make nothing less spiritual out of it."

"Do you mean that?" he asked, his face altering.

"Mean it? Why of course I do, Mr. Quarren."

"I thought I spoiled that for both of us," he said.

"I didn't say so. I told you that I didn't know what you had done. I've had time to reflect. It--our friendship isn't spoiled--if you still value it."

"I value it above everything in the world, Strelsa."

There was a silence. The emotion in his face and voice was faintly reflected in hers.

"Then let us have peace," she said unsteadily. "I have--been--not very happy since you--since we----"

"I know. I've been utterly miserable, too." He lifted one of her hands and kissed it, and she changed colour but left her hand lying inert in his.

"Do you mind?" he asked.

"N-no."

He laid his lips to her fingers again; she stirred uneasily, then rested her other arm on the back of the seat and shaded her eyes.

"I think--you had better not--touch me--any more--" she said faintly.

"Is it disagreeable?"

"Yes--n-no.... It is--it has nothing to do with friendship--" she looked up, flushed, curious: "Why do you always want to touch me, Mr. Quarren?"

"Did you never caress a flower?"

"Rix!"--she caught her breath as his name escaped her for the first time, and he saw her face surging in the loveliest colour. "It was your nonsensical answer!--I--it took me by surprise ... and I ask your pardon for being stupid.... And--may I have my hand? I use it occasionally."

He quietly reversed it, laid his lips to the palm, and released her fingers.

"Strelsa," he said, "I'm coming back into the battle again."

"Then I am sorry I forgave you."

"_Are_ you?"

"Yes, I am. Yes, yes, yes! Why can't you be to me what I wish to be to you? Why can't you be what I want--what I need----"

"Do you know what you need?"

"Yes, I----"

"No, you don't. You need to love--and to be loved. You don't know it, but you do!"

"That is a--a perfectly brutal thing to say----"

"Does it sound so to you?"

"Yes, it does! It is brutal--common, unworthy of you and of me----"

He took both her hands in a grip that almost hurt her:

"_Can't_ you have any understanding, any sympathy with human love? Can't you? Doesn't a man's love mean anything to you but words? Is there anything to be ashamed of in it?--merely because nothing has ever yet awakened _you_ to it?"

"Nothing ever will," she said steadily. "The friendship you can have of me is more than love--cleaner, better, stronger----"

"It isn't strong enough to make you renounce what you are planning to do!"

"No."

"Yet love would be strong enough to make you renounce anything!"

She said calmly: "Call it by its right name. Yes, they say its slaves become irresponsible. I know nothing about it--I could not--I will not! I loathe and detest any hint of it--to me it is degrading--contemptible----"

"What are you saying?"

"I am telling you the truth," she retorted, pale, and breathing faster.

"I'm telling you what I know--what I have learned in a bitter school--during two dreadful years----"

"_That!_"

"Yes, that! Now you know! Now perhaps you can understand why I crave friendship and hold anything less in horror! Why can't you be kind to me? You are the one man I could ask it of--the only man I ever saw who seemed fitted to give me what I want and need, and to whom I could return what he gave me with all my heart--all my heart----"

She bowed her face over the hands which he still held; suddenly he drew her close into his arms; and she rested so, her head against his shoulder.

"I won't _talk_ to you of love any more," he whispered. "You poor little girl--you poor little thing. I didn't realise--I don't want to think about it----"

"I don't either," she said. "You will be kind to me, won't you?"

"Of course--of course--you little, little girl. n.o.body is going to find fault with you, n.o.body is going to blame you or be unkind or hurt you or demand anything at all of you or tell you that you make mistakes. People are just going to like you, Strelsa, and you needn't love them if you don't want to. You shall feel about everything exactly as you please--about Tom, d.i.c.k, and Harry and about me, too."

Her hot face against his shoulder was quivering.

"There," he whispered--"there, there--you little, little girl. That's all I want of you after all--only what you want of me. I don't wish to marry you if you don't wish it; I won't--I perhaps couldn't really love you very deeply if you didn't respond. I shall not bother you any more--or worry or nag or insist. What you do is right as far as I am concerned; what you offer I take; and whenever you find yourself unable to respond to anything I offer, say so fearlessly--look so, even, and I'll understand. Is all well between us now, Strelsa?"

"Yes.... You are so good.... I wanted this.... You don't mean anything, do you by--by your arm around me----"

"No more than your face against my shoulder means." He smiled--"Which I suppose signifies merely that you feel very secure with me."

"I--begin to.... Will you let me?"

"Yes.... Do you feel restless? Do you want to lift your head?"