The Wheels of Chance: A Bicycling IdyllWells, H. G. (Herbert George)
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The Wheels of Chance: A Bicycling Idyll
Wells, H. G. (Herbert George)
Cycling -- Fiction; England -- Social conditions -- 19th century -- Fiction
She turned upon him, her eyes and cheeks glowing, her hands clenched.
“You unspeakable _cad_,” she said, and choked, stamped her little foot,
and stood panting.
“Unspeakable cad! My dear girl! Possible I _am_ an unspeakable cad. Who
wouldn’t be—for you?”
“‘Dear girl!’ How _dare_ you speak to me like that? _You_—”
“I would do anything—”
“_Oh!_”
There was a moment’s pause. She looked squarely into his face, her eyes
alight with anger and contempt, and perhaps he flushed a little. He
stroked his moustache, and by an effort maintained his cynical calm.
“Let us be reasonable,” he said.
“Reasonable! That means all that is mean and cowardly and sensual in
the world.”
“You have always had it so—in your generalising way. But let us look at
the facts of the case—if that pleases you better.”
With an impatient gesture she motioned him to go on.
“Well,” he said,—“you’ve eloped.”
“I’ve left my home,” she corrected, with dignity. “I left my home
because it was unendurable. Because that woman—”
“Yes, yes. But the point is, you have eloped with me.”
“You came with me. You pretended to be my friend. Promised to help me
to earn a living by writing. It was you who said, why shouldn’t a man
and woman be friends? And now you dare—you dare—”
“Really, Jessie, this pose of yours, this injured innocence—”
“I will go back. I forbid you—I forbid you to stand in the way—”
“One moment. I have always thought that my little pupil was at least
clear-headed. You don’t know everything yet, you know. Listen to me for
a moment.”
“Haven’t I been listening? And you have only insulted me. You who dared
only to talk of friendship, who scarcely dared hint at anything
beyond.”
“But you took the hints, nevertheless. You knew. You _knew_. And you
did not mind. _Mind!_ You liked it. It was the fun of the whole thing
for you. That I loved you, and could not speak to you. You played with
it—”
“You have said all that before. Do you think that justifies you?”
“That isn’t all. I made up my mind—Well, to make the game more even.
And so I suggested to you and joined with you in this expedition of
yours, invented a sister at Midhurst—I tell you, I _haven’t_ a sister!
For one object—”
“Well?”
“To compromise you.”
She started. That was a new way of putting it. For half a minute
neither spoke. Then she began half defiantly: “Much I am compromised.
Of course—I have made a fool of myself—”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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