Chapter 16

by William Dean Howells

　　"I don't understand how you came to be put in there," she said, as sheled the way to the cozier place, "unless it was because Alice thoughtyou were only here on probation, anyway. Father hasn't got home yet,but I'm expecting him every moment; I don't know what's keeping him.Did the girl tell you that mother and Irene were out?""No, she didn't say. It's very good of you to see me." She had notseen the exaltation which he had been feeling, he perceived with half asigh; it must all be upon this lower level; perhaps it was best so."There was something I wished to say to your father----I hope," hebroke off, "you're better to-night.""Oh yes, thank you," said Penelope, remembering that she had not beenwell enough to go to dinner the night before."We all missed you very much.""Oh, thank you! I'm afraid you wouldn't have missed me if I had beenthere.""Oh yes, we should," said Corey, "I assure you."They looked at each other."I really think I believed I was saying something," said the girl."And so did I," replied the young man. They laughed rather wildly, andthen they both became rather grave.He took the chair she gave him, and looked across at her, where she saton the other side of the hearth, in a chair lower than his, with herhands dropped in her lap, and the back of her head on her shoulders asshe looked up at him. The soft-coal fire in the grate purred andflickered; the drop-light cast a mellow radiance on her face. She lether eyes fall, and then lifted them for an irrelevant glance at theclock on the mantel."Mother and Irene have gone to the Spanish Students' concert.""Oh, have they?" asked Corey; and he put his hat, which he had beenholding in his hand, on the floor beside his chair.She looked down at it for no reason, and then looked up at his face forno other, and turned a little red. Corey turned a little red himself.She who had always been so easy with him now became a littleconstrained."Do you know how warm it is out-of-doors?" he asked."No, is it warm? I haven't been out all day.""It's like a summer night."She turned her face towards the fire, and then started abruptly."Perhaps it's too warm for you here?""Oh no, it's very comfortable.""I suppose it's the cold of the last few days that's still in thehouse. I was reading with a shawl on when you came.""I interrupted you.""Oh no. I had finished the book. I was just looking over it again.""Do you like to read books over?""Yes; books that I like at all.""That was it?" asked Corey.The girl hesitated. "It has rather a sentimental name. Did you everread it?--Tears, Idle Tears.""Oh yes; they were talking of that last night; it's a famous book withladies. They break their hearts over it. Did it make you cry?""Oh, it's pretty easy to cry over a book," said Penelope, laughing;"and that one is very natural till you come to the main point. Thenthe naturalness of all the rest makes that seem natural too; but Iguess it's rather forced.""Her giving him up to the other one?""Yes; simply because she happened to know that the other one had caredfor him first. Why should she have done it? What right had she?""I don't know. I suppose that the self-sacrifice----""But it WASN'T self-sacrifice--or not self-sacrifice alone. She wassacrificing him too; and for some one who couldn't appreciate him halfas much as she could. I'm provoked with myself when I think how Icried over that book--for I did cry. It's silly--it's wicked for anyone to do what that girl did. Why can't they let people have a chanceto behave reasonably in stories?""Perhaps they couldn't make it so attractive," suggested Corey, with asmile."It would be novel, at any rate," said the girl. "But so it would inreal life, I suppose," she added."I don't know. Why shouldn't people in love behave sensibly?""That's a very serious question," said Penelope gravely. "I couldn'tanswer it," and she left him the embarrassment of supporting an inquirywhich she had certainly instigated herself. She seemed to have finallyrecovered her own ease in doing this. "Do you admire our autumnaldisplay, Mr. Corey?""Your display?""The trees in the Square. WE think it's quite equal to an opening atJordan & Marsh's.""Ah, I'm afraid you wouldn't let me be serious even about your maples.""Oh yes, I should--if you like to be serious.""Don't you?""Well not about serious matters. That's the reason that book made mecry.""You make fun of everything. Miss Irene was telling me last nightabout you.""Then it's no use for me to deny it so soon. I must give Irene atalking to.""I hope you won't forbid her to talk about you!"She had taken up a fan from the table, and held it, now between herface and the fire, and now between her face and him. Her littlevisage, with that arch, lazy look in it, topped by its mass of duskyhair, and dwindling from the full cheeks to the small chin, had aJapanese effect in the subdued light, and it had the charm which comesto any woman with happiness. It would be hard to say how much of thisshe perceived that he felt. They talked about other things a while,and then she came back to what he had said. She glanced at himobliquely round her fan, and stopped moving it. "Does Irene talk aboutme?" she asked. "I think so--yes. Perhaps it's only I who talk aboutyou. You must blame me if it's wrong," he returned."Oh, I didn't say it was wrong," she replied. "But I hope if you saidanything very bad of me you'll let me know what it was, so that I canreform----""No, don't change, please!" cried the young man.Penelope caught her breath, but went on resolutely,--"or rebuke youfor speaking evil of dignities." She looked down at the fan, now flatin her lap, and tried to govern her head, but it trembled, and sheremained looking down. Again they let the talk stray, and then it washe who brought it back to themselves, as if it had not left them."I have to talk OF you," said Corey, "because I get to talk TO you soseldom.""You mean that I do all the talking when we're--together?" She glancedsidewise at him; but she reddened after speaking the last word."We're so seldom together," he pursued."I don't know what you mean----""Sometimes I've thought--I've been afraid that you avoided me.""Avoided you?""Yes! Tried not to be alone with me."She might have told him that there was no reason why she should bealone with him, and that it was very strange he should make thiscomplaint of her. But she did not. She kept looking down at the fan,and then she lifted her burning face and looked at the clock again."Mother and Irene will be sorry to miss you," she gasped.He instantly rose and came towards her. She rose too, and mechanicallyput out her hand. He took it as if to say good-night. "I didn't meanto send you away," she besought him."Oh, I'm not going," he answered simply. "I wanted to say--to say thatit's I who make her talk about you. To say I----There is something Iwant to say to you; I've said it so often to myself that I feel as ifyou must know it." She stood quite still, letting him keep her hand,and questioning his face with a bewildered gaze. "You MUST know--shemust have told you--she must have guessed----" Penelope turned white,but outwardly quelled the panic that sent the blood to her heart."I--I didn't expect--I hoped to have seen your father--but I must speaknow, whatever----I love you!"She freed her hand from both of those he had closed upon it, and wentback from him across the room with a sinuous spring. "ME!" Whateverpotential complicity had lurked in her heart, his words brought heronly immeasurable dismay.He came towards her again. "Yes, you. Who else?"She fended him off with an imploring gesture. "I thought--I--itwas----"She shut her lips tight, and stood looking at him where he remained insilent amaze. Then her words came again, shudderingly. "Oh, what haveyou done?""Upon my soul," he said, with a vague smile, "I don't know. I hope noharm?""Oh, don't laugh!" she cried, laughing hysterically herself. "Unlessyou want me to think you the greatest wretch in the world!""I?" he responded. "For heaven's sake tell me what you mean!""You know I can't tell you. Can you say--can you put your hand on yourheart and say that--you--say you never meant--that you meant me--allalong?""Yes!--yes! Who else? I came here to see your father, and to tell himthat I wished to tell you this--to ask him----But what does it matter?You must have known it--you must have seen--and it's for you to answerme. I've been abrupt, I know, and I've startled you; but if you loveme, you can forgive that to my loving you so long before I spoke."She gazed at him with parted lips."Oh, mercy! What shall I do? If it's true--what you say--you must go!"she said. "And you must never come any more. Do you promise that?""Certainly not," said the young man. "Why should I promise such athing--so abominably wrong? I could obey if you didn't love me----""Oh, I don't! Indeed I don't! Now will you obey.""No. I don't believe you." "Oh!"He possessed himself of her hand again."My love--my dearest! What is this trouble, that you can't tell it? Itcan't be anything about yourself. If it is anything about any oneelse, it wouldn't make the least difference in the world, no matterwhat it was. I would be only too glad to show by any act or deed Icould that nothing could change me towards you.""Oh, you don't understand!""No, I don't. You must tell me.""I will never do that.""Then I will stay here till your mother comes, and ask her what it is.""Ask HER?""Yes! Do you think I will give you up till I know why I must?""You force me to it! Will you go if I tell you, and never let any humancreature know what you have said to me?""Not unless you give me leave.""That will be never. Well, then----" She stopped, and made two orthree ineffectual efforts to begin again. "No, no! I can't. You mustgo!""I will not go!""You said you--loved me. If you do, you will go."He dropped the hands he had stretched towards her, and she hid her facein her own."There!" she said, turning it suddenly upon him. "Sit down there. Andwill you promise me--on your honour--not to speak--not to try topersuade me--not to--touch me? You won't touch me?""I will obey you, Penelope.""As if you were never to see me again? As if I were dying?""I will do what you say. But I shall see you again; and don't talk ofdying. This is the beginning of life----""No. It's the end," said the girl, resuming at last something of thehoarse drawl which the tumult of her feeling had broken into thosehalf-articulate appeals. She sat down too, and lifted her face towardshim. "It's the end of life for me, because I know now that I must havebeen playing false from the beginning. You don't know what I mean, andI can never tell you. It isn't my secret--it's some one else's.You--you must never come here again. I can't tell you why, and youmust never try to know. Do you promise?""You can forbid me. I must do what you say.""I do forbid you, then. And you shall not think I am cruel----""How could I think that?""Oh, how hard you make it!"Corey laughed for very despair. "Can I make it easier by disobeyingyou?""I know I am talking crazily. But I'm not crazy.""No, no," he said, with some wild notion of comforting her; "but try totell me this trouble! There is nothing under heaven--no calamity, nosorrow--that I wouldn't gladly share with you, or take all upon myselfif I could!""I know! But this you can't. Oh, my----""Dearest! Wait! Think! Let me ask your mother--your father----"She gave a cry."No! If you do that, you will make me hate you! Will you----"The rattling of a latch-key was heard in the outer door."Promise!" cried Penelope."Oh, I promise!""Good-bye!" She suddenly flung her arms round his neck, and, pressingher cheek tight against his, flashed out of the room by one door as herfather entered it by another.Corey turned to him in a daze. "I--I called to speak with you--about amatter----But it's so late now. I'll--I'll see you to-morrow.""No time like the present," said Lapham, with a fierceness that did notseem referable to Corey. He had his hat still on, and he glared at theyoung man out of his blue eyes with a fire that something else musthave kindled there."I really can't now," said Corey weakly. "It will do quite as wellto-morrow. Good night, sir.""Good night," answered Lapham abruptly, following him to the door, andshutting it after him. "I think the devil must have got into prettymuch everybody to-night," he muttered, coming back to the room, wherehe put down his hat. Then he went to the kitchen-stairs and calleddown, "Hello, Alice! I want something to eat!"