Ayala's Angel [189]
as far as Ayala was concerned, of all pecuniary trouble. In answer to this she only shook her head, promising, however, that she would be ready to give Tom an audience when he should be brought to the Crescent on the following day.
Punctually at four Tom made his appearance at Somerset House, and started with his uncle as soon as the index-books had been put in their places. Tom was very anxious to take his uncle home in a cab, but Mr Dosett would not consent to lose his walk. Along the Embankment they went, and across Charing Cross into St James's Park, and then by Green Park, Hyde Park, and Kensington Gardens, all the way to Notting Hill. Mr Dosett did not walk very fast, and Tom thought they would never reach Kingsbury Crescent. His uncle would fain have talked about the weather, of politics, or the hardships of the Civil Service generally; but Tom would not be diverted from his one subject. Would Ayala be gracious to him? Mr Dosett had made up his mind to say nothing on the subject. Tom must plead his own cause. Uncle Reginald thought that he knew such pleading would be useless, but still would not say a word to daunt the lover. Neither could he say a word expressive of hope. As they were fully an hour and a half on their walk, this reticence was difficult.
Immediately on his arrival, Tom was taken up into the drawing-room. This was empty, for it had been arranged that Mrs Dosett should be absent till the meeting was over. "Now I'll look for this child," said Uncle Reginald, in his cheeriest voice as he left Tom alone in the room. Tom, as he looked round at the chairs and tables, remembered that he had never received as much as a kind word or look in the room, and then great drops of perspiration broke out all over his brow. All that he had to hope for in the world must depend upon the next five minutes -- might depend perhaps upon the very selection of the words which he might use. Then Ayala entered the room and stood before him.
"Ayala," he said, giving her his hand.
"Uncle Reg says that you would like to see me once again."
"Of course I want to see you once, and twice -- and always. Ayala, if you could know it! If you could only know it!" Then he clasped his two hands high upon his breast, not as though appealing to her heart, but striking his bosom in very agony. "Ayala, I feel that, if I do not have you as my own, I can only die for the want of you. Ayala, do you believe me?"
"I suppose I believe you, but how can I help it?"
"Try to help it! Try to try and help it! Say a word that you will perhaps help it by and bye." Then there came a dark frown upon her brow -- not, indeed, from anger, but from a feeling that so terrible a task should be thrown upon her. "I know you think that I am common."
"I have never said a word, Tom, but that I could not love you." "But I am true -- true as the sun. Would I come again after all if it were not that I cannot help coming? You have heard that I have been -- been misbehaving myself?"
"I have not thought about that."
"It has been so because I have been so wretched. Ayala, you have made me so unhappy. Ayala, you can make me the happiest man there is in London this day. I seem to want nothing else. As for drink, or clubs, or billiards, and all that, they are nothing to me -- unless when I try to forget that you are so -- so unkind to me!"
"It is not unkind, not to do as you ask me."
"To do as I ask you -- that would be kind. Oh, Ayala, cannot you be kind to me?" She shook her head, still standing in the place which she had occupied from the beginning. "May I come again? Will you give me three months, and then think of it? If you would only say that, I would go back to my work and never leave it." But she still shook her head. "Must I never hope?" "Not for that, Tom. How can I help it?"
"Not help it?"
"No. How can I help it? One does not fall in love by trying -- nor by trying prevent it."
"By degrees you might love me -- a little." She had said all that she knew how to say, and again shook her head. "It is that accursed
Punctually at four Tom made his appearance at Somerset House, and started with his uncle as soon as the index-books had been put in their places. Tom was very anxious to take his uncle home in a cab, but Mr Dosett would not consent to lose his walk. Along the Embankment they went, and across Charing Cross into St James's Park, and then by Green Park, Hyde Park, and Kensington Gardens, all the way to Notting Hill. Mr Dosett did not walk very fast, and Tom thought they would never reach Kingsbury Crescent. His uncle would fain have talked about the weather, of politics, or the hardships of the Civil Service generally; but Tom would not be diverted from his one subject. Would Ayala be gracious to him? Mr Dosett had made up his mind to say nothing on the subject. Tom must plead his own cause. Uncle Reginald thought that he knew such pleading would be useless, but still would not say a word to daunt the lover. Neither could he say a word expressive of hope. As they were fully an hour and a half on their walk, this reticence was difficult.
Immediately on his arrival, Tom was taken up into the drawing-room. This was empty, for it had been arranged that Mrs Dosett should be absent till the meeting was over. "Now I'll look for this child," said Uncle Reginald, in his cheeriest voice as he left Tom alone in the room. Tom, as he looked round at the chairs and tables, remembered that he had never received as much as a kind word or look in the room, and then great drops of perspiration broke out all over his brow. All that he had to hope for in the world must depend upon the next five minutes -- might depend perhaps upon the very selection of the words which he might use. Then Ayala entered the room and stood before him.
"Ayala," he said, giving her his hand.
"Uncle Reg says that you would like to see me once again."
"Of course I want to see you once, and twice -- and always. Ayala, if you could know it! If you could only know it!" Then he clasped his two hands high upon his breast, not as though appealing to her heart, but striking his bosom in very agony. "Ayala, I feel that, if I do not have you as my own, I can only die for the want of you. Ayala, do you believe me?"
"I suppose I believe you, but how can I help it?"
"Try to help it! Try to try and help it! Say a word that you will perhaps help it by and bye." Then there came a dark frown upon her brow -- not, indeed, from anger, but from a feeling that so terrible a task should be thrown upon her. "I know you think that I am common."
"I have never said a word, Tom, but that I could not love you." "But I am true -- true as the sun. Would I come again after all if it were not that I cannot help coming? You have heard that I have been -- been misbehaving myself?"
"I have not thought about that."
"It has been so because I have been so wretched. Ayala, you have made me so unhappy. Ayala, you can make me the happiest man there is in London this day. I seem to want nothing else. As for drink, or clubs, or billiards, and all that, they are nothing to me -- unless when I try to forget that you are so -- so unkind to me!"
"It is not unkind, not to do as you ask me."
"To do as I ask you -- that would be kind. Oh, Ayala, cannot you be kind to me?" She shook her head, still standing in the place which she had occupied from the beginning. "May I come again? Will you give me three months, and then think of it? If you would only say that, I would go back to my work and never leave it." But she still shook her head. "Must I never hope?" "Not for that, Tom. How can I help it?"
"Not help it?"
"No. How can I help it? One does not fall in love by trying -- nor by trying prevent it."
"By degrees you might love me -- a little." She had said all that she knew how to say, and again shook her head. "It is that accursed