It was cold enough for fires in halls and bedrooms, and Lady Anstruthers often sat over hers and watched the glowing bed of coals with a fixed1 thoughtfulness of look. She was so sitting when her sister went to her room to talk to her, and she looked up questioningly when the door closed and Betty came towards her.
“You have come to tell me something,” she said.
A slight shade of anxiousness showed itself in her eyes, and Betty sat down by her and took her hand. She had come because what she knew was that Rosalie must be prepared for any step taken, and the time had arrived when she must not be allowed to remain in ignorance even of things it would be unpleasant to put into words.
“Yes,” she answered. “I want to talk to you about something I have decided2 to do. I think I must write to father and ask him to come to us.”
Rosalie turned white, but though her lips parted as if she were going to speak, she said nothing.
“Do not be frightened,” Betty said. “I believe it is the only thing to do.”
“I know! I know!”
Betty went on, holding the hand a little closer. “When I came here you were too weak physically3 to be able to face even the thought of a struggle. I saw that. I was afraid it must come in the end, but I knew that at that time you could not bear it. It would have killed you and might have killed mother, if I had not waited; and until you were stronger, I knew I must wait and reason coolly about you—about everything.”
“I used to guess—sometimes,” said Lady Anstruthers.
“I can tell you about it now. You are not as you were then,” Betty said. “I did not know Nigel at first, and I felt I ought to see more of him. I wanted to make sure that my child hatred4 of him did not make me unfair. I even tried to hope that when he came back and found the place in order and things going well, he might recognise the wisdom of behaving with decent kindness to you. If he had done that I knew father would have provided for you both, though he would not have left him the opportunity to do again what he did before. No business man would allow such a thing as that. But as time has gone by I have seen I was mistaken in hoping for a respectable compromise. Even if he were given a free hand he would not change. And now——” She hesitated, feeling it difficult to choose such words as would not be too unpleasant. How was she to tell Rosy5 of the ugly, morbid6 situation which made ordinary passiveness impossible. “Now there is a reason——” she began again.
To her surprise and relief it was Rosalie who ended for her. She spoke7 with the painful courage which strong affection gives a weak thing. Her face was pale no longer, but slightly reddened, and she lifted the hand which held hers and kissed it.
“You shall not say it,” she interrupted her. “I will. There is a reason now why you cannot stay here—why you shall not stay here. That was why I begged you to go. You must go, even if I stay behind alone.”
Never had the beautiful Miss Vanderpoel's eyes worn so fully8 their look of being bluebells9 under water. That this timid creature should so stand at bay to defend her was more moving than anything else could have been.
“Thank you, Rosy—thank you,” she answered. “But you shall not be left alone. You must go, too. There is no other way. Difficulties will be made for us, but we must face them. Father will see the situation from a practical man's standpoint. Men know the things other men cannot do. Women don't. Generally they know nothing about the law and can be bullied10 into feeling that it is dangerous and compromising to inquire into it. Nigel has always seen that it was easy to manage women. A strong business man who has more exact legal information than he has himself will be a new factor to deal with. And he cannot make objectionable love to him. It is because he knows these things that he says that my sending for father will be a declaration of war.”
“Did he say that?” a little breathlessly.
“Yes, and I told him that it need not be so. But he would not listen.”
“And you are sure father will come?”
“I am sure. In a week or two he will be here.”
Lady Anstruthers' lips shook, her eyes lifted themselves to Betty's in a touchingly11 distressed12 appeal. Had her momentary13 courage fled beyond recall? If so, that would be the worst coming to the worst, indeed. Yet it was not ordinary fear which expressed itself in her face, but a deeper piteousness, a sudden hopeless pain, baffling because it seemed a new emotion, or perhaps the upheaval14 of an old one long and carefully hidden.
“You will be brave?” Betty appealed to her. “You will not give way, Rosy?”
“Yes, I must be brave—I am not ill now. I must not fail you—I won't, Betty, but——”
She slipped upon the floor and dropped her face upon the girl's knee, sobbing15.
Betty bent16 over her, putting her arms round the heaving shoulders, and pleading with her to speak. Was there something more to be told, something she did not know?
“Yes, yes. Oh, I ought to have told you long ago—but I have always been afraid and ashamed. It has made everything so much worse. I was afraid you would not understand and would think me wicked—wicked.”
It was Betty who now lost a shade of colour. But she held the slim little body closer and kissed her sister's cheek.
“What have you been afraid and ashamed to tell me? Do not be ashamed any more. You must not hide anything, no matter what it is, Rosy. I shall understand.”
“I know I must not hide anything, now that all is over and father is coming. It is—it is about Mr. Ffolliott.”
“Mr. Ffolliott?” repeated Betty quite softly.
Lady Anstruthers' face, lifted with desperate effort, was like a weeping child's. So much so in its tear-wet simpleness and utter lack of any effort at concealment17, that after one quick look at it Betty's hastened pulses ceased to beat at double-quick time.
“Tell me, dear,” she almost whispered.
“Mr. Ffolliott himself does not know—and I could not help it. He was kind to me when I was dying of unkindness. You don't know what it was like to be drowning in loneliness and misery18, and to see one good hand stretched out to help you. Before he went away—oh, Betty, I know it was awful because I was married!—I began to care for him very much, and I have cared for him ever since. I cannot stop myself caring, even though I am terrified.”
Betty kissed her again with a passion of tender pity. Poor little, simple Rosy, too! The tide had crept around her also, and had swept her off her feet, tossing her upon its surf like a wisp of seaweed and bearing her each day farther from firm shore.
“Do not be terrified,” she said. “You need only be afraid if—if you had told him.”
“He will never know—never. Once in the middle of the night,” there was anguish19 in the delicate face, pure anguish, “a strange loud cry wakened me, and it was I myself who had cried out—because in my sleep it had come home to me that the years would go on and on, and at last some day he would die and go out of the world—and I should die and go out of the world. And he would never know—even KNOW.”
Betty's clasp of her loosened and she sat very still, looking straight before her into some unseen place.
“Yes,” she said involuntarily. “Yes, I know—I know—I know.”
Lady Anstruthers fell back a little to gaze at her.
“YOU know? YOU know?” she breathed. “Betty?”
But Betty at first did not speak. Her lovely eyes dwelt on the far-away place.
“Betty,” whispered Rosy, “do you know what you have said?”
The lovely eyes turned slowly towards her, and the soft corners of Betty's mouth deepened in a curious unsteadiness.
“Yes. I did not intend to say it. But it is true. I know—I know—I know. Do not ask me how.”
Rosalie flung her arms round her waist and for a moment hid her face.
“YOU! YOU!” she murmured, but stopped herself almost as she uttered the exclamation20. “I will not ask you,” she said when she spoke again. “But now I shall not be so ashamed. You are a beauty and wonderful, and I am not; but if you KNOW, that makes us almost the same. You will understand why I broke down. It was because I could not bear to think of what will happen. I shall be saved and taken home, but Nigel will wreak21 revenge on HIM. And I shall be the shame that is put upon him—only because he was kind—KIND. When father comes it will all begin.” She wrung22 her hands, becoming almost hysterical23.
“Hush,” said Betty. “Hush! A man like that CANNOT be hurt, even by a man like Nigel. There is a way out—there IS. Oh, Rosy, we must BELIEVE it.”
She soothed24 and caressed25 her and led her on to relieving he............