Love -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction
As he knelt before her on the sand, offering her a tea-cup in both his
hands as though it were some sacrifice to an idol, he realized, by the
glance which accepted both the humour and the service, what a big thing
he had in hand. It was big enough even, so he found before long, to
hide his own immense disappointment, which shrank into a small affair
beside that which she must never be allowed to feel.
He had received his discomfiture from a false trust in Fate, but hers
would come from a false trust in him.
So Maurice reflected as he watched Miss Nevern trying to persuade
herself that cake on such an occasion was as easy to consume as cake on
any other. In that, however, despite an excellent intention, she did
not succeed; and her failure, absurd as it might sound, lit in him a
pride of responsibility which her "I love you" had not. Here, at any
rate, was an unequivocal effect; beyond evasion he was chargeable with
this; and no priestly sacrament could have so pledged his allegiance as
that little dryness of her throat. She set down her half-emptied cup
with the prettiest pretence of satiety, a pretence which Caragh, with
the hot thirst of a wound upon him, and having already drained the
tea-pot, felt it best became him to ignore.
The wind, which had died at mid-day, freshened in the shadows of the
September evening, and ruffled the flat face of the water into one rich
dark hue.
Along the northern shore of the bay the shade of the bluff had fallen,
and made a leaden edging to the sea.
Southward the low sun blazed, a dull rose-red, against the scarp of
cliff, and turned the further waters and the dim head-lands beyond them
to a wine-dipped purple.
"It's as solemnly gorgeous as you could well have it," Maurice affirmed
as he hauled in the boat, "and we're going out of this spiny harbour
under all sail to show we take the display in a proper spirit."
There was something so boyishly absurd in his determination, that
Lettice, too numb with happiness to be determined about anything, went
with a sigh of abdication into the bow, and leaning over the stem-post,
with her fingers through the lower cringle in the luff, called the
course with the quick decision of a river pilot.
But for one long strident scrape--during which each held a
breath--against a sunken ledge which the helmsman found her too close
hauled to clear, they came valorously into the open sea, and Maurice,
sitting over the gunwale to windward with the sheet in his hand,
brought Lettice aft to steer.
He had the position of vantage, for she sat a foot beneath him, and,
unlike hers, his eyes owed no attention to the sail.
She begged him not to look at her; but, feeling that observation was to
her advantage, he only complied for a moment with her request.
Observation was to his advantage too; for if, with shut eyes, it was
easier to remember what he had lost in his new possession, with them
open it was impossible to forget what he had gained.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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