“Gertrude! I like your cheek.”
“You mean that you dislike my presumption.”
“No, I think cheek a more expressive word than presumption; and I mean that I like it—that it amuses me.”
“Really! What are you reading?”
“Rubbish, you said just now. A novel.”
“That is, a lying story of two people who never existed, and who would have acted very differently if they had existed.”
“Just so.”
“Could you not imagine something just as amusing for yourself?”
“Perhaps so; but it would be too much trouble. Besides, cooking takes away one’s appetite for eating. I should not relish stories of my own confection.”
“Which volume are you at?”
“The third.”
“Then the hero and heroine are on the point of being united?”
“I really don’t know. This is one of your clever novels. I wish the characters would not talk so much.”
“No matter. Two of them are in love with one another, are they not?”
“Yes. It would not be a novel without that.”
“Do you believe, in your secret soul, Agatha—I take the liberty of using your Christian name because I wish to be very solemn—do you really believe that any human being was ever unselfish enough to love another in the story-book fashion?”
“Of course. At least I suppose so. I have never thought much about it.”
“I doubt it. My own belief is that no latter-day man has any faith in the thoroughness or permanence of his affection for his mate. Yet he does not doubt the sincerity of her professions, and he conceals the hollowness of his own from her, partly because he is ashamed of it, and partly out of pity for her. And she, on the other side, is playing exactly the same comedy.”
“I believe that is what men do, but not women.”
“Indeed! Pray do you remember pretending to be very much in love with me once when—”
Agatha reddened and placed her palm on the step as if about to spring up. But she checked herself and said: “Stop, Mr. Trefusis. If you talk about that I shall go away. I wonder at you! Have you no taste?’,
“None whatever. And as I was the aggrieved party on that—stay, don’t go. I will never allude to it again. I am growing afraid of you. You used to be afraid of me.”
“Yes; and you used to bully me. You have a habit of bullying women who are weak enough to fear you. You are a great deal cleverer than I, and know much more, I dare say; but I am not in the least afraid of you now.”
“You have no reason to be, and never had any. Henrietta, if she were alive, could testify that it there is a defect in my relations with women, it arises from my excessive amiability. I could not refuse a woman anything she had set her heart upon—except my hand in marriage. As long as your sex are content to stop short of that they can do as they please with me.”
“How cruel! I thought you were nearly engaged to Gertrude.”
“The usual interpretation of a friendship between a man and a woman! I have never thought of such a thing; and I am sure she never has. We are not half so intimate as you and Sir Charles.”
“Oh, Sir Charles is married. And I advise you to get married if you wish to avoid creating misunderstandings by your friendships.”
Trefusis was struck. Instead of answering, he stood, after one startled glance at her, looking intently at the knuckle of his forefinger.
“Do take pity on our poor sex,” said Agatha maliciously. “You are so rich, and so very clever, and really so nice looking that you ought to share yourself with somebody. Gertrude would be only too happy.”
Trefusis grinned and shook his head, slowly but emphatically.
“I suppose I should have no chance,” continued Agatha pathetically.
“I should be delighted, of course,” he replied with simulated confusion, but with a lurking gleam in his eye that might have checked her, had she noticed it.
“Do marry me, Mr. Trefusis,” she pleaded, clasping her hands in a rapture of mischievous raillery. “Pray do.”
“Thank you,” said Trefusis determinedly; “I will.”
“I am very sure you shan’t,” said Agatha, after an incredulous pause, springing up and gathering her skirt as if to run away. “You do not suppose I was in earnest, do you?”
“Undoubtedly I do. I am in earnest.”
Agatha hesitated, uncertain whether he might not be playing with her as she had just been playing with him. “Take care,” she said. “I may change my mind and be in earnest, too; and then how will you feel, Mr. Trefusis?”
“I think, under our altered relations, you had better call me Sidney.”
“I think we had better drop the joke. It was in rather bad taste, and I should not have made it, perhaps.”
“It would be an execrable joke; therefore I have no intention of regarding it as one. You shall be held to your offer, Agatha. Are you in love with me?”
“Not in the least. Not the very smallest bit in the world. I do not know anybody with whom I am less in love or less likely to be in love.”
“Then you must marry me. If you were in love with me, I should run away. My sainted Henrietta adored me, and I proved unworthy of adoration—though I was immensely flattered.”
“Yes; exactly! The way you treated your first wife ought to be sufficient to warn any woman against becoming your second.”
“Any woman who loved me, you mean. But you do not love me, and if I run away you will have the advantage of being rid of me. Our settlements can be drawn so as to secure you half my fortune in such an event.”
“You will never have a chance of running away from me.”
“I shall not want to. I am not so squeamish as I was. No; I do not think I shall run away from you.”
“I do not think so either.”
“Well, when shall we be married?”
“Never,” said Agatha, and fled. But before she had gone a step he caught her.
“Don’t,” she said breathlessly. “Take your arm away. How dare you?”
He released her and shut the door of the conservatory. “Now,” he said, “if you want to run away you will have to run in the open.”
“You are very impertinent. Let me go in immediately.”
“Do you want me to beg you to marry me after you have offered to do it freely?”
“But I was only joking; I don’t care for you,” she said, looking round for an outlet.
“Agatha,” he said, with grim patience, “half an hour ago I had no more intention of marrying you than of making a voyage to the moon. But when you made the suggestion I felt all its force in an instant, and now nothing will satisfy me but your keeping your word. Of all the women I know, you are the only one not quite a fool.”
“I should be a great fool if—”
“If you married me, you were going to say; but I don’t think so. I am the only man, not quite an ass, of your acquaintance. I know my value, and yours. And I loved you long ago, when I had no right to.”
Agatha