“He’s in there,” said the old man, “and I would bide for no careplace with’. I would suffer nae joukery-pawkery, I would just gang ben!”
Effie stood on the stairs for a moment like one who prepares for a fatal plunge, then with her pulses loud in her ears, and every nerve quivering, ran down the remaining steps and opened the door.
Fred was standing in the middle of the room holding Mrs. Ogilvie’s hand. He did not at first hear the opening of the door, done noiselessly by Effie in her whirl of passionate feeling.
“If you think it will be best,” he was saying, “I desire to do only what is best for her. I don’t want to agitate or distress her--Effie!”
In a moment he had dropped her stepmother’s hand and made a hurried step towards the apparition, pale, breathless, almost speechless with emotion, at the door. He was pale too, subdued, serious, very different from the easy and assured youth who had so often met her there.
“Oh, Fred! what has become of you all this time? did you think that I was like the rest?”
“Now, Effie,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, “you are just spoiling everything both for him and for yourself. What brought you here? you are not wanted here. He has plenty on his mind without you. Just you go back again where you came from. He has told me all he wants to say. You here just makes everything worse.”
Fred had taken her hands into his. He looked into her eyes with a gaze which Effie did not understand.
“To think you should be willing to encounter even poverty and misery for me!” he said; “but I cannot take you at your word. I cannot expose you to that struggle. It must be put off indefinitely, my sweetest girl: alas, that I should have to say it! when another fortnight, only two weeks more, should have made us happy.”
He stooped down and kissed her hands. There was a tone, protecting, compassionate, respectful in his voice. He was consoling her quite as much as himself.
“Postponed?” she said faltering, gazing at him with an astonishment which was mingled with dismay.
“Alas, yes, my generous darling: though you are willing, I am not able to carry out our engagement: that is what I have been explaining. Don’t think it is not as bad for me as for you.”
“As bad for me, as for you,” the blood rushed to Effie’s countenance in a wild flood of indignation and horror. As bad for him as for her! She stood aghast, her eyes fixed upon his, in which there was, could it be? a complaisance, a self-satisfaction mingled with regret.