.As the day went on it changed--it turned into a clear pool, into a flower.And I--think of my not understanding! I was pleased with it! For a long time, for days, I never dreamed that it could be anything but a little secret joy.Then, suddenly--oh, I had not been perceiving enough!--it was in all my veins, a tide, an efflorescence, a thing of my very life.
'Then--it was a little late--I understood, and since--'I began by hating it--being furious, furious--and afraid, too.
Sometimes it was like a low cloud, hovering and travelling always with me, sometimes like a beast of prey that went a little way off and sat looking at me....
'I have--done my best.But there is nothing to do, to kill, to abolish.How can I say, "I will not let you in," when it is already there? How can I assume indifference when this thing is imposed upon every moment of my day? And it has grown so sweet--the longing--that--isn't it strange?--I could more willingly give him up than the desire of him.That seems as impossible to part with as life itself.'
She sat reflective for a moment, and I saw her eyes slowly fill.
Don't--don't CRY, Judy,' I faltered, wanting to horribly, myself.
She smiled them dry.
'Not now.But I am giving myself, I suppose, to many tears.'
'God help you,' I said.What else was there to say?
'There is no such person,' she replied, gaily.'There is only a blessed devil.'
'Then you go all the way--to the logical conclusion?'
She hardly hesitated.'To the logical conclusion.What poor words!'
'May I ask--when?'
'I should like to tell you that quite definitely, and I think I can.
The English mail leaves tonight.'
'And you have arranged to take it?'
'We have arranged nothing.Do you know'--she smiled as if at the fresh colours of an idyll--'we have not even come to the admission?
There has been between us no word, no vision.Ah, we have gone in bonds, and dumb! Hours we have had, exquisite hours of the spirit, but never a moment of the heart, a moment confessed.It was mine to give--that moment, and he has waited--I know--wondering whether perhaps it would ever come.And today--we are going for a ridetoday, and I do not think we shall come back.'
'O Judy,' I cried, catching at her sleeve, 'he is only a boy!'
'There were times when I thought that conclusive.Now the misery of it has gone to sleep; don't waken it.It pleases me to believe that the years are a convention.I never had any dignity, you know, and I seem to have missed the moral deliverance.I only want--oh, you know what I want.Why don't you open your telegram?'
I had been folding and fingering the brown envelope as if it had been a scrap of waste paper.
'It is probably from Mrs.Watkins about the victoria,' I said, feeling its profound irrelevance.'I wired an offer to her in Bombay.However'--and I read the telegram, the little solving telegram from Army Headquarters.I turned my back on her to read it again, and then I replaced it very carefully and put it in my pocket.It was a moment to take hold of with both hands, crying on all one's gods for steadiness.
'How white you look!' said Mrs.Harbottle, with concern.'Not bad news?'
'On the contrary, excellent news.Judy, will you stay to lunch?'
She looked at me, hesitating.'Won't it seem rather a compromise on your part? When you ought to be rousing the city--'
'I don't intend to rouse the city,' I said.
'I have given you the chance.'
'Thank you,' I said, grimly, 'but the only real favour you can do me is to stay to lunch.' It was then just on one.
'I'll stay,' she said, 'if you will promise not to make any sort of effort.I shouldn't mind, but it would distress you.'
'I promise absolutely,' I said, and ironical joy rose up in me, and the telegram burned in my pocket.
She would talk of it, though I found it hard to let her go on, knowing and knowing and knowing as I did that for that day at least it could not be.There was very little about herself that she wanted to tell me; she was there confessed a woman whom joy had overcome; it was understood that we both accepted that situation.
But in the details which she asked me to take charge of it was plain that she also kept a watchful eye upon fate--matters of business.
We were in the drawing-room.The little round clock in its Armritsar case marked half-past three.Judy put down her coffee cup and rose to go.As she glanced at the clock the light deepened in her eyes, and I, with her hand in mine, felt like an agent of the Destroyer--for it was half-past three--consumed myself with fear lest the blow had miscarried.Then as we stood, suddenly, the sound of hoofs at a gallop on the drive, and my husband threw himself off at the door and tore through the hall to his room; and in the certainty that overwhelmed me even Judy, for an instant, stood dim and remote.
'Major Jim seems to be in a hurry,' said Mrs.Harbottle, lightly.
