“So—you won’t help me to paint my picture?”
“I’ll think about it, and let you know. When shall I come?”
Maddison took out his engagement book and turned over the pages.
“You have to find time between one engagement and another,” she said, watching him; “I’m free every day.”
“To-day’s Tuesday; would Thursday, eleven, suit you? We could go and have lunch somewhere afterwards.”
“I can’t decide. Will you leave it open? I’ll just come, if I’m coming, and, if I don’t come, it will mean I’d rather you didn’t come here again.”
“I won’t worry about that. I’ll just hope you will come. Now, I must be going. Good-by, and—again—I wish I could help you.”
As Maddison drove home, he was in doubt as to what course he should pursue in this adventure so suddenly thrown his way. Marian greatly attracted him, both by her beauty and her brains, but he did not as yet feel disposed to face the scandal that must come if he took her away from her husband, should she care to come to him, and should he care to ask her. He felt certain that if he saw much more of her he would fall under her fascination, yet, weakly, he had given her this invitation rather than run the risk of not meeting her frequently, rather than have to meet her in the dismal surroundings of her home.
During the last few years he had drilled himself into not yielding to his every impulse. When he had first met her the desire bred in him by her country comeliness had almost led him into marrying her; its renewal urged him strongly to ask her to be his mistress. He believed that she would yield. What would be the outcome of such a course? She was evidently trembling on the brink of revolt, undecided whether or not to dare all. Should he tempt her? There could be no question as to her beauty, which was of a type that had always appealed to him. Tall, lithe, well-proportioned; elegant in face and figure—how lovely she would look daintily dressed! No mere animal, but a woman.
Between now and Thursday he must decide with regard to her.
Then the fear shot into his mind that perhaps she would not come.
When he had left the room, Marian sat down again by the fire, her face lit up by a smile of complete satisfaction.
She was not trembling on the brink of revolt. When she had met him that foggy afternoon she had been so, but only because she felt helpless. Now succor had come. She felt certain that she could win Maddison to her will, that she would be able to use him as the stepping-stone to the luxury and power for which she lusted. He had almost loved her in the old days, he nearly loved her now after these two brief meetings; at any rate he was sorry for her. She would tempt him and he would fall.