Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
“Well, whatever your motive may be, I want you, in consideration of
this admiration, this interest, to make me a promise. Will you give
me your word that you will cease this persecution of me, that you
will take it for granted I have my own reasons for behaving as I do,
and that, if I am a criminal, I shall be punished in due course, and
justice will be satisfied? And will you, in addition to all this,
promise me that you will say nothing to anybody about me or my doings,
that you will try to consider me as unknown to you, that you will, in
short, not only give up my acquaintance, but behave exactly as if I
had never existed? Listen, Mr. Buckland. I know you to be an honorable
man, and I believe you to be a chivalrous one. Won’t you, at my
earnest request, leave justice to take its course upon me without your
interference, and without your knowledge, and leave me to be dealt with
in the natural course of things as I deserve?”
“Why don’t you explain? I’m sure you could if you wished. I won’t
believe you are guilty of a course of despicable crimes--”
“It’s absolutely immaterial to me whether you believe that or not,”
retorted Miss Davison, cutting him short with superb disdain. “I
don’t ask you to believe I’m innocent: it’s not the adjective most
applicable to me. All I ask is that you should leave me alone, and
that, as you have seen that the police have their eye upon me, you
should take it for granted that they know what I’m about, and that,
when they have proof enough, they will arrest me, bring me to justice,
and punish me as I deserve.”
“But I can’t believe this--I can’t believe the evidence of my own eyes!”
She laughed lightly, having quite recovered her self-possession, though
she still looked pitifully pale and drawn.
“Why not? I don’t wish you to believe anything else. Only--be quite
sure that your eyes see aright, Mr. Buckland, and that you don’t
sometimes see more than there is to be seen. Now we are at Lady
Jennings’. Are you coming in?”
There was no invitation in her look or tone.
“No,” said Gerard shortly. “It is too late. Besides, I’ve been there
already this evening.”
“And your promise?”
“I shall not give you any promise.”
He spoke with quiet resolution, but without menace of any sort.
Miss Davison looked grave.
“You mean to go on with this persecution? You mean to follow me about,
to insult me by your suspicions--”
“You told me you did not care what I thought. How then can any
suspicions I may have be insulting?”
“Oh, don’t let us quibble,” said she impatiently. “I ask you to leave
me alone. I wish to drop your acquaintance, but to do it amicably and
without any ill-will. Or, if you won’t do that, I ask you to bring
specific charges against me, or even to give information about me to
the police.”
“Miss Davison!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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