He looked at her, paused for a moment to give her an opportunity of
speaking, but she did not speak. She looked at him steadily.
“May I briefly explain my position? I am practically alone in the
world. My home is at Hurst Dormer, one of the finest old buildings in
Sussex. I have an income of eight thousand a year.”
“What has this to do with me?”
“Only that I am offering it to you, myself and all I possess. I am
asking you to do me the honour of marrying me. It seems to me that it
is the one and the only atonement that I can make for what has passed.”
“You are—very generous! And—and you think that I would accept?”
“I hoped that you might consider the offer.”
Slotman gripped at the edge of the table against which he leaned.
He could scarcely believe his own ears—Joan, who had held her head so
high, whom he had believed to be above the breath of suspicion!
If it were possible for such a man as Mr. Philip Slotman to be shocked,
then Slotman was deeply shocked at this moment. He had come to regard
Joan as something infinitely superior to himself. Self-indulgent, a
libertine, he had pursued her with his attentions, pestered her with
his admiration and his offensive compliments. Then it had slowly dawned
on the brain of Mr. Philip Slotman that this girl was something better,
higher, purer than most women he had known. He had come to realise it
little by little. His feelings towards her had undergone a change. The
idea of marriage had come to him, a thing he had never considered
seriously before. Little by little it grew on him that he would prefer
to have Joan Meredyth for a wife rather than in any other capacity. He
could have been so proud of her beauty, her birth and her breeding.
And now everything had undergone a change. The bottom had fallen out of
his little world of romance. He stood there, gasping and clutching at
the edge of the table, while he listened to the man in the adjoining
room offering marriage to Joan Meredyth “as the only possible
atonement” he could make her!
Naturally, Mr. Philip Slotman could not understand in the least why or
wherefore; it was beyond his comprehension.
And now he stood listening eagerly, holding his breath waiting for her
answer.
Would she take him, this evidently rich man? If so, then good-bye to
all his hopes, all his chances.
Within the room the two faced one another in momentary silence. A flush
had come into the girl’s cheeks, making her adorable. For an instant
the coldness and hardness and bitterness were all gone, and Hugh Alston
had a momentary glimpse of the real woman, the woman who was neither
hard, nor cold, but was womanly and sweet and tender.
And then she was her old self again, the bitterness and the anger had
come back.
“I thank you for making everything so clear to me, your wealth and
position and your desire to make—to make amends for the insult and the
shame you have put on me. I need hardly say of course that I refuse!”
“Why?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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