The Swindler and Other Stories Part 77

His arms closed about her. He held her tensely against his heart, so that she heard the wild tumult of its beating. But he said nothing whatever. He waited for her still.

And so at last she found strength to turn her face a little upwards and whisper his name.

"Pierre!" And then, with more a.s.surance, "Pierre, it is true I haven't much to offer you. But such as it is--such as it is--and you asked for it once, remember--will you not take it?"

"Meaning?" he said again, and his voice was hoa.r.s.e and low. It seemed to come through closed lips.

"Meaning," she answered him quickly and pa.s.sionately, "that revolutionist as you have been, tyrant as you are, you have managed somehow to bind me to you. Oh, I was a fool--a fool--not to marry you long ago at Maritas even though I hated you. I might have known that you would conquer me in the end."

"Has it come to that?" said Pierre, and there was a queer break in his voice that might have been laughter. "And have you never asked yourself what made me a revolutionist--and a tyrant?"

"Never," she murmured.

"Must I tell you?" he said. "Will you believe me if I do?"

She turned her face fully to him, no longer fearing to meet that piercing scrutiny before which she had so often quailed. "Was it for my sake?" she said.

He met her look with eyes that gleamed as steel gleams in red firelight.

"How else could I have saved you?" he said. "How else could I have been in time?"

"Oh, but you should have told me!" she said. "You should have told me!"

"And if I had," said Pierre, "would you have hated me less? Do you hate me the less now that you know it?"

She was silent.

"Tell me, Stephanie," he persisted.

Her eyes fell before his.

"Have I ever hated you?" she said, her voice very low.

"If I did not make you hate me last night," he said, "then you never have."

"And I never shall," she supplemented under her breath.

"That," said Pierre, "is another matter. You forget that I am a blackguard."

Again she heard in his voice that sound that might have been laughter.

It thrilled her strangely, seeming in some fashion to convey a message that was beyond words. She turned in his arms, responding instinctively, and clung closely to him.

"I forget everything," she told him very earnestly, "except that to-morrow--or the next day--you will be--my husband."

His arms grew tense about her. She felt his breathing quicken.

"Be careful!" he muttered. "Be careful! Remember, I am not to be trusted."

But she answered him with that laughter that is without fear and more intimate than speech.

"All that is over," she said, and lifted her face to his. And then, more softly, in a voice that quivered and broke, "I trust you with my whole heart. And Pierre--my Pierre--you will never again--kiss me--against my will!"

Where the Heart Is

"Of course, I know that a quiet, well-meanin' fool like myself hasn't much of a chance with women, but I just thought I'd give you the opportunity of refusin' me, and then we should know where we were."

It was leisurely uttered, and without any hint of agitation. The speaker was lying on his back at the end of a long, green lawn. His hat was over the upper part of his face, leaving only his mouth visible. It was a singularly kindly mouth. Some critics called it weak, though there was no sign of nervousness about it. The clean lips made their statement without faltering, and without apparent effort, and, having spoken, relaxed into a faint smile that was pleasantly devoid of self-consciousness.

The girl at whose side he lay listened with a slight frown between her eyes. She was quivering inwardly with embarra.s.sment, but she would have died sooner than have betrayed it. The shyest child found it hard to be shy with Tots Waring. His full name was Tottenham, but n.o.body dreamed of using it. From his cradle onwards he had been Tots to all who knew him.

His proposal was followed by a very decided pause. Then, still frowning, the girl spoke.

"Is it a joke?"

"Never made a joke in my life," said Tots.

"Then why don't you do it properly?"

There was a decided touch of irritation in the question. The girl was leaning slightly forward, her hands clasped round her knee. Her black brows looked decidedly uncompromising, and there was a faintly contemptuous twist about her upper lip.

"Don't be vexed!" pleaded Tots. "I suppose you know by experience how these things are managed, but I don't. You see, it's my first attempt."

Unwillingly, as it were in spite of itself, the contemptuous curve became a very small smile. The girl's dark eyes dwelt for several seconds upon that portion of her suitor's countenance that was visible under the linen hat. There was a wonderful serenity about the mouth and chin she studied. They did not look in the least as if their owner were taking either himself or her seriously. Her own lips tightened a little, and a sudden gleam shot up behind her black lashes--a gleam that had in it an elusive glint of malice. She suffered her eyes to pa.s.s beyond him and to rest upon a distant line of firs. The man stretched out beside her remained motionless.

"Why," she said at last, with slight hesitation, "should you take it for granted that I should refuse you?"

"Eh?" said Tots. He stirred languidly, and removed the hat from his face, but he still maintained his easy att.i.tude. He had heavy-lidded eyes, upon the colour of which most people disagreed--eyes that never appeared critical, and yet were somehow not wholly in keeping with the kindly, half-whimsical mouth. "I'm not takin' it for granted," he said.

"I only think it likely. You see, all I have to go upon is this: Every one hereabouts is gettin' married or engaged, except you and me. That, of course, is all right for them, but it isn't precisely excitin' for us. I thought it might be more fun for both of us if we did the same. At least, I thought I'd find out your opinion about it, and act accordin'ly. If we don't see alike about it, of course, there's no more to be said. We'll just go on as we were before, and hope that somethin'

else nice will turn up soon."

"To relieve our mutual boredom!" The girl's laugh sounded rather hard.

"Don't you think," she asked, after a moment, "that we should bore each other even worse if we got engaged?"

"Oh, I don't know!" Tots laughed too--an easy, tolerant laugh. "Could but try, eh?" he suggested. "I'm tired of this everlastin' lookin' on."

"So am I--horribly tired." The girl rose suddenly, with a movement curiously vehement.

"But I shouldn't have thought you'd care," she said, with a touch of bitterness. "I should have thought a bovine existence suited you."