The Real Charlotte - Edith Somerville [62]
“I knew it was the way of the world to kick a fellow out of the way when you had got as much as you wanted out of him, and I suppose as I am an old married man I have no right to expect anything better, but I did think you’d have treated me better than this!”
“Don’t,” she said brokenly, looking up at him with her eyes full of tears; “I’m too tired to fight you.”
Lambert took her hand quickly. “My child,” he said, in a voice rough with contrition and pity, “I didn’t mean to hurt you; I didn’t know what I was saying.” He tenderly stroked the hand that lay limply in his. “Tell me you’re not vexed with me.”
“No,” said Francie, with a childish sob; “but you said horrid things to me—”
“Well, I never will again,” he said soothingly. “We’ll always be friends, won’t we?” with an interrogatory pressure of the hand. He had never seen her in such a mood as this; he forgot the inevitable effect on her nerves of what she had gone through, and his egotism made him believe that this collapse of her usual supple hardihood was due to the power of his reproaches.
“Yes,” she answered, with the dawn of a smile.
“Till the next time, anyhow,” continued Lambert, still holding her hand in one of his, and fumbling in his breast pocket with the other. “And, now, look here what I brought you to try and make up to you for nearly drowning you.” He gently pulled her hand down from her eyes, and held up a small gold bangle, with a horse-shoe in pearls on it. “Isn’t that a pretty thing?”
Francie looked at it incredulously, with the tears still shining on her eyelashes.
“Oh, Mr. Lambert, you don’t mean you got that for me? I couldn’t take it. Why, it’s real gold!”
“Well, you’ve got to take it. Look what’s written on it.”
She took it from him, and saw engraved inside the narrow band of gold, her own name and the date of the accident.
“Now, you see it’s yours already,” he said. “No, you mustn’t refuse it,” as she tried to put it back into his hand again. “There,” snapping it quickly on to her wrist, “you must keep it as a sign you’re not angry with me.”
“It’s like a policeman putting on a handcuff,” said Francie, with a quivering laugh. “I’ve often seen them putting them on the drunken men in Dublin.”
“And you’ll promise not to chuck over your old friends?” said Lambert urgently.
“No, I won’t chuck them over,” she replied, looking confidingly at him.
“Not for anybody?” He weighted the question with all the expression he was capable of.
“No, not for anybody,” she repeated, rather more readily than he could have wished.
“And you’re sure you’re not angry with me?” he persisted, “and you like the bangle?”
She had taken it off to re-examine it, and she held it up to him.
“Here, put it on me again, and don’t be silly,” she said, the old spirit beginning to wake in her eyes.
“Do you remember when you were a child the way you used to thank me when I gave you anything?” he asked, pressing her hand hard.
“But I’m not a child now!”
Lambert, looking in her face, saw the provoking smile spread like sunshine from her eyes to her lips, and, intoxicated by it, he stooped his head and kissed her.
Steps came running along the walk towards them, and the fat face and red head of the Protestant orphan appeared under the boughs of the lime-tree.
“A messenger from Bruff’s afther bringing this here, Miss Francie,” she panted, tendering a letter in her fingers, “an’ Miss Charlotte lef’ me word I should get tea when ye’d want it, an’ will I wet it now?”
Christopher had shirked the expression of Miss Fitzpatrick’s gratitude.
* * *
CHAPTER XVII.
“Tally Ho Lodge.
“My Dearest Fanny,
“Although I’m nearly dead after the bazaar I must write you a line or two to tell you what it was like. It was scrumshous. I wore my white dress with the embroidery the first day and the pink dress that you and I bought together the second day and everybody liked me best in the white one. It was fearful hot and it was great luck it was at the flower stall Mrs. Gascogne asked me to sell. Kathleen Baker and the Beatties had the refreshments