Paul left the room, and Mr. Wainbridge waited in silence.
“I hope you are better,” he said, at last.
“Look here, Launa, I know what you are going to say. You are going to say . . . what you will regret. Something about Mr. Harvey. I mean to marry you; you have promised. That is all.”
“You do not consider me responsible for my feelings; you have said it.”
“For your feelings, no; but for your promises, yes.”
“Suppose you never felt what you promised; suppose it was merely a refuge from loneliness, from—”
“Well, suppose it was,” she answered. “But I never promised to feel anything—simply to marry you.”
“What do you want me to do now?” he asked.
“Never, never. To do that would be ruin for me.”
They faced each other; she was excited, flushed—with a new look of a half-born, half-understood joy. He was sullen.
“Why—tell me why? You could not hold me to my bargain—unwillingly.”
“It would be ruin for me to release you. My uncle would cut me off—leave me nothing, and give me nothing, if you or I break off our engagement. He has heard several things about me—things which—well, I have told you enough. Darling, you would not, you could not ruin me. I love you so intensely. Think of my life, my prospects, without you!”
The joy had left her face—the flush was gone. She was pale, and her face looked haggard.
“Go, go. I will not ruin your prospects and devastate your life—go. But you must leave me alone now. Yes, I hate you.”
He went to his Club. On the way he meditated writing a novel or a play—his inventive powers were so great. He had impressed Launa—she believed him. He had constructed the first chapter when he reached his Club.
Paul was defeated. That night he received this note.
“We have made a mistake, you and I. Forget it. It is too late. Remember only your promise to stay until my wedding.
LADY BLAKE had started evening receptions, and once a fortnight she was at home. She had some idea of founding a _salon_, but her ignorance of the necessary steps was appalling. She thought it would have something to do with school-books and asking questions on abstruse subjects.
Launa went frequently, and took Sylvia with her, who was now second leading lady in the new play “Some Cabbages and a Weed.” The interview in the _Signal_ had been of much assistance to her career. Formerly she had an existence—now she had a career. Mr. George devoted himself to her. This evening they met at Lady Blake’s. Launa was quickly surrounded by her friends, by her enemies, and people who could be either, had they known her. She was charming—the self-possession of a duchess, combined with the amiability and cleverness of the unknown woman wishing to be successful.