The Cost [21]
Fierce famine is your lot--for this misdeed, Reduced to grind the plates on which you feed.' "
He glanced at her. She was leaning on her elbow, obviously weaving day-dreams round those boughs as they trembled with the ecstasy of spring.
"You are happy to-day?" he said.
"Yes--happier than I have been for a year." She smiled mysteriously. "I've had good news." She turned abruptly, looked him in the eyes with that frank, clear expression--his favorite among his memory-pictures of her had it. "There's one thing that worries me--it's never off my mind longer than a few minutes. And when I'm blue, as I usually am on rainy days, it makes me--horribly uncomfortable. I've often almost asked your advice about it."
"If you'd be sorry afterward that you told me," said he, "I hope you won't. But if I can help you, you know how glad I'd be."
"It's no use to tell Olivia," Pauline went on. "She's bitterly prejudiced. But ever since the first month I knew you, I felt that I could trust you, that you were a real friend. And you're so fair in judging people and things."
His eyes twinkled.
"I'm afraid I'd tilt the scales--just a little--where you were concerned."
"Oh, I want you to do that," she answered with a smile. "Last fall I did something--well, it was foolish, though I wouldn't admit that to any one else. I was carried away by an impulse. Not that I regret. In the only really important way, I wouldn't undo it if I could--I think." Those last two words came absently, as if she were debating the matter with herself.
"If it's done and can't be undone," he said cheerfully, "I don't see that advice is needed."
"But--you don't understand." She seemed to be casting about for words. "As I said, it was last fall--here. In Saint X there was a man--and he and I--we'd cared for each other ever since we were children. And then he went away to college. He did several things father didn't like. You know how older people are--they don't make allowances. And though father's the gentlest, best--at any rate, he turned against Jack, and--"
Scarborough abruptly went to the window and stood with his back to her.
After a pause Pauline said, in a rush, "And he came here last fall and we got married."
There was a long silence.
"It was DREADFUL, wasn't it?" she said in the tone of one who has just made a shocking discovery.
Scarborough did not answer.
"I never realized till this minute," she went on after a while. "Not that I'm sorry or that I don't--don't CARE--just as I always did. But somehow, telling it out loud to some one else has made me see it in a different light. It didn't seem like treachery to them--to father and mother--then. It hasn't seemed like a--a marriage REALLY marriage--until now."
Another long silence. Then she burst out appealingly: "Oh, I don't see how I'm ever going to tell them!"
Scarborough came back to his chair and seated himself. His face was curiously white. It was in an unnatural voice that he said: "How old is he?"
"Twenty-five," she replied, then instantly flared up, as if he had attacked Dumont: "But it wasn't his fault--not in the least. I knew what I was doing--and I wanted to do it. You mustn't get a false impression of him, Hampden. You'd admire and respect him. You--any one--would have done as he did in the same circumstances." She blushed slightly. "You and he are ever so much alike--even in looks. It was that that made me tell you, that made me like you as I have--and trust you."
Scarborough winced. Presently he began: "Yet you regret----" "No--no!" she protested--too vehemently. "I do NOT regret marrying him. That was certain to be sooner or later. All I regret is that I did something that seems underhanded. Perhaps I'm really only sorry I didn't tell them as soon as I'd done it."
She waited until she saw he was not going to speak. "And now," she said, "I don't know HOW to tell them." Again she waited, but he did not speak, continued to look steadily out into the sky. "What do
He glanced at her. She was leaning on her elbow, obviously weaving day-dreams round those boughs as they trembled with the ecstasy of spring.
"You are happy to-day?" he said.
"Yes--happier than I have been for a year." She smiled mysteriously. "I've had good news." She turned abruptly, looked him in the eyes with that frank, clear expression--his favorite among his memory-pictures of her had it. "There's one thing that worries me--it's never off my mind longer than a few minutes. And when I'm blue, as I usually am on rainy days, it makes me--horribly uncomfortable. I've often almost asked your advice about it."
"If you'd be sorry afterward that you told me," said he, "I hope you won't. But if I can help you, you know how glad I'd be."
"It's no use to tell Olivia," Pauline went on. "She's bitterly prejudiced. But ever since the first month I knew you, I felt that I could trust you, that you were a real friend. And you're so fair in judging people and things."
His eyes twinkled.
"I'm afraid I'd tilt the scales--just a little--where you were concerned."
"Oh, I want you to do that," she answered with a smile. "Last fall I did something--well, it was foolish, though I wouldn't admit that to any one else. I was carried away by an impulse. Not that I regret. In the only really important way, I wouldn't undo it if I could--I think." Those last two words came absently, as if she were debating the matter with herself.
"If it's done and can't be undone," he said cheerfully, "I don't see that advice is needed."
"But--you don't understand." She seemed to be casting about for words. "As I said, it was last fall--here. In Saint X there was a man--and he and I--we'd cared for each other ever since we were children. And then he went away to college. He did several things father didn't like. You know how older people are--they don't make allowances. And though father's the gentlest, best--at any rate, he turned against Jack, and--"
Scarborough abruptly went to the window and stood with his back to her.
After a pause Pauline said, in a rush, "And he came here last fall and we got married."
There was a long silence.
"It was DREADFUL, wasn't it?" she said in the tone of one who has just made a shocking discovery.
Scarborough did not answer.
"I never realized till this minute," she went on after a while. "Not that I'm sorry or that I don't--don't CARE--just as I always did. But somehow, telling it out loud to some one else has made me see it in a different light. It didn't seem like treachery to them--to father and mother--then. It hasn't seemed like a--a marriage REALLY marriage--until now."
Another long silence. Then she burst out appealingly: "Oh, I don't see how I'm ever going to tell them!"
Scarborough came back to his chair and seated himself. His face was curiously white. It was in an unnatural voice that he said: "How old is he?"
"Twenty-five," she replied, then instantly flared up, as if he had attacked Dumont: "But it wasn't his fault--not in the least. I knew what I was doing--and I wanted to do it. You mustn't get a false impression of him, Hampden. You'd admire and respect him. You--any one--would have done as he did in the same circumstances." She blushed slightly. "You and he are ever so much alike--even in looks. It was that that made me tell you, that made me like you as I have--and trust you."
Scarborough winced. Presently he began: "Yet you regret----" "No--no!" she protested--too vehemently. "I do NOT regret marrying him. That was certain to be sooner or later. All I regret is that I did something that seems underhanded. Perhaps I'm really only sorry I didn't tell them as soon as I'd done it."
She waited until she saw he was not going to speak. "And now," she said, "I don't know HOW to tell them." Again she waited, but he did not speak, continued to look steadily out into the sky. "What do