Artists -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction
"Let him stay, please," said Margaret in her coldest tones; and
Geoffrey turned back at once. But as he turned he saw a thrill run
through her, and marked the manner in which she steadied her hand on
the mantelpiece on which she was leaning. In an instant he was by her
side.
"You are ill, my darling?" he exclaimed. "You have done too much again,
and are over-fatigued----"
"I am perfectly well," she said; "it was nothing--or whatever it was,
it has passed. I did not know you had returned. I was going to write to
you."
"To write to me!" said Geoff in a hollow voice,--"to write to me!"
"To write to you. I had something to tell you--and--and I did not know
whether I should ever see you again!"
For an instant the table against which Geoffrey Ludlow stood seemed
to spin away under his touch, and the whole room reeled. A deadly
faintness crept over him, but he shook it off with one great effort,
and said in a very low tone, "I scarcely understand you--please
explain."
She must have had the nature of a fiend to look upon that large-souled
loving fellow, stricken down by her words as by a sudden blow, and with
his heart all bleeding, waiting to hear the rest of her sentence. She
had the nature of a fiend, for through her set teeth she said calmly
and deliberately:
"I say I did not know whether I should ever see you again. That cab is
detained by me to take me away from this house, to which I ought never
to have come--which I shall never enter again."
Geoff had sunk into a chair, and clutching the corner of the table with
both hands, was looking up at her with a helpless gaze.
"You don't speak!" she continued; "and I can understand why you are
silent. This decision has come upon you unexpectedly, and you can
scarcely realise its meaning or its origin. I am prepared to explain
both to you. I had intended doing so in a letter, which I should have
left behind me; but since you are here, it is better that I should
speak."
The table was laid for dinner, and there was a small decanter of sherry
close by Geoff's hand. He filled a glass from it and drank it eagerly.
Apparently involuntarily, Margaret extended her hand towards the
decanter; but she instantly withdrew it, and resumed:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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