Complete Works of F Marion Crawford

by F. Marion Crawford

  ‘Never mind Mrs. Rushmore,’ Margaret said. ‘What I will not forgive you is that you made me take your money without my knowing it. I’ve been flirting with you — yes, I confess it! I’m not perfection, and you’re rather amusing sometimes — —’

  ‘You are adorable!’ Logotheti put in, as a sort of murmuring parenthesis.

  ‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ Margaret answered. ‘I mean that whatever I may have said to you I’ve never given you the right to make me a present of a hundred thousand pounds. It’s the most unparalleled piece of impertinence I ever heard of.’

  ‘But I’ve not made you a present of anything. I bought what was yours without letting you know, that’s all.’

  ‘Then give me back what is mine and take your money again.’

  ‘Hm!’ Logotheti smiled. ‘That would be very like going into a business partnership with me. Do you wish to do that?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You see, I’m the whole company at present. But if you come in with a third of the stock to your credit, we shall be partners, to all intents and purposes. We shall have meetings of the board of directors, just you and I, and we shall decide what to do. It will be rather a queer sort of board, for of course I shall always do exactly what you wish, but it’s not impossible that we may make money together. Well — on the whole I have no particular objection to selling you exactly the amount of stock I bought from you the other day. That’s the shape the transaction takes. I’ll do any thing to please you, but I’m quite willing you should know that I am doing you a favour, as business men would look at it.’

  ‘A favour!’ Margaret slipped from the arm of the chair as she spoke and stood upright and made a step towards him. ‘Do you think I’m a child to believe such nonsense?’

  ‘In matters of business all women are children. With the possible exception of Mrs. Rushmore,’ he added in a tone of reflection. ‘Besides, this is not nonsense.’

  ‘It is!’ cried Margaret. ‘It is absurd to try and make me believe that a mere claim set up on the chance of getting something should have turned out to be worth so much. It has cost Mrs. Rushmore I don’t know how much in lawsuits, and no one ever really believed in it. She fought for it out of pure kindness of heart, and even the lawyers said she was very foolish to go on — —’

  ‘Will you listen to me?’ asked Logotheti, interrupting her. ‘I’ve not much to say, but it’s rather convincing. You probably admit that the invention is valuable, and that Alvah Moon has made money by it.’

  ‘I should think he had, the old thief!’

  ‘Very well. I happened to want that invention. I’ve bought several at different times and have founded companies and sold them. That’s a part of finance, which is a form of game. You deal yourself a hand and then play it. I made up my mind to play with this particular invention. I know much more about it than you do; in fact, I understand it thoroughly. I cabled to my agent in America to buy it, if he could, and he succeeded. Now please tell me whether you think Mrs. Rushmore, acting for you, would have withdrawn the suit after the property had changed hands, merely because I’ve dined in her house.’

  ‘No,’ Margaret was forced to admit. ‘No, she would have gone on.’

  ‘Precisely. Now I don’t want property of that kind, about which there is constant litigation. The credit of such property is injured by the talk there always is about lawsuits. So I went to Mrs. Rushmore and asked her what she thought your claim was worth, and she told me, and I gave her a cheque for the money, and she has given me a full release, as your attorney. If it had been her claim, or Madame De Rosa’s or any one else’s, I should have done exactly the same thing. Will you tell me how I could have acted otherwise in order to get the property into my hands free of all chance of dispute? Was there any other way?’

  Margaret was silent, for she could find no answer.

  ‘There was one other way,’ Logotheti continued. ‘I could have proposed that you should go into partnership with me, which is what you yourself are proposing now. But in the eyes of the world I confess that might look intimate, to say the least of it. Don’t you think so too?’

  ‘You’re the most plausible person I ever listened to!’ Margaret almost laughed, though her anger had not subsided.

  ‘Will you leave things as they are and forget all about this business? What has been done cannot possibly be undone now. Won’t you separate me from it in your thoughts? You can, if you try. You know, I’m two people in one. So are you. I’m Logotheti the financier, and I’m Logotheti the man. You are Margaret Donne, and you are Señorita da Cordova, on the very eve of being famous — and then, I think you are some thing else which I don’t quite understand, but which is like my fate, for I cannot escape from you, whether I see you, or only dream of you.’

  Margaret was silent, and looked at the Aphrodite while she sat on the arm of the big chair. She might have breathed a little faster if she had known that the two doors through which she had entered, and which had closed so silently and surely after her, were as sound-proof as six feet of earth. She would not have been afraid, for she was fearless and confident, but her heart would have beaten a little more quickly at the thought that she was out of hearing of the world, and in the presence of a man whose eyes looked at her strangely and whose cheeks were darkly flushed, who was a good deal nearer to the primitive human animal than most men are, and in whom the main force of nature was awake and hungry.

  ‘I don’t want you to make love to me just now,’ she said, swinging her foot a little as she sat. ‘You’ve done something that has hurt me very much, and has made me almost wish that I might never see you again after this time. I wish you could find a way of undoing it — I’m sure there is a way.’

  Unconsciously wise, she had checked his pulse for a moment, and she looked at him calmly and shook her head. With a sudden and impatient movement he rose, turned away from her and began to walk up and down at a little distance, his head bent and his hands behind him.

  Though the air in the high room was pure, it was still and hot, for the late spring afternoon had turned sultry all at once; the fluid of a near storm was fast condensing to the point of explosion.

  The man felt the tension more than the woman just then. It acted on his state, and made it almost unbearable. His hands were locked behind him and his fingers twisted each other till they changed colour. He moved with the short, noiseless steps of a young wild animal measuring its cage, up and down, up and down, without pause.

  ‘It’s this,’ Margaret continued, much more gently than she had meant to speak, ‘I don’t quite believe you. I’m almost sure you thought that I would give up the stage if I had enough money to live on without my work.’

  ‘Yes, I did.’ He stopped as if in anger and the words came sharply; but he was not angry.

  ‘You see!’ Margaret answered triumphantly. ‘I knew it! What becomes of your story about the company now?’

  She rose also and began to walk. The big leathern arm-chair was between them; he leaned his elbows on the back of it and watched her, and compared her hungrily with the Aphrodite.

  ‘All I have told you is true,’ he said. ‘The business happened to serve two purposes, that’s all. At least, I thought it would, and it was a pleasure to help you without your knowing it. Why should I be sorry? That money might as well come to you through me as through anybody else. You’re angry with me. Why? Because I’m too fond of you? It cannot reasonably be about the money any more — the wretched money! If you can’t keep the filthy stuff — if it won’t prevent you from going on the stage after all — why then, give it away! Throw it away! Lose it, if you can. But don’t come to me with it, for it’s the price of a thing I bought in the way of business and which I won’t give up, nor take as a gift from anybody.’

  He spoke in such a harsh tone now that she paused in her short walk and met his eyes, to see what he meant, over and above what he was saying. She stood in front of the chair; he was leaning over the back of it, with
his hands together; one hand was slowly kneading the closed fist, and the veins stood out on both. His voice was hoarse but rather low, like that of a man who wants water.

  The light in the room had a yellowish tinge now, and the window showed a dull glare where there had been blue sky before. The lurid light got into Logotheti’s eyes, and was ready to flash while Margaret looked at him. The marble Aphrodite took a creamy, living tint, and the little shadows that modelled her quivered and deepened.

  All at once Margaret knew that there was danger. She could not have told how she knew it, nor just what the danger was, but she raised her fair head suddenly, as the stag does when the scent of the hounds comes down the breeze. Watching her, he saw and understood, and his hands left each other and closed tightly upon the back of the chair.

  ‘Will you take me back to Madame De Rosa, please?’ Margaret asked, and her voice did not shake.

  Before he could answer, a flash of lightning filled the room, vivid as flame, and almost purple; it flared and danced two or three times before it went out.

  If Logotheti spoke at all, his words were drowned in the crash that shook the house and rolled away over the city. His eyes never moved from Margaret’s face; she felt that his gaze was fastened on her lips, as if he would have drawn them to meet his own. She was not exactly afraid, but she knew that she must get away from him, for he was stronger than she, and he was like a man going mad. That was what she would have called it. And it seemed to her that one of two things was going to happen. Either she would let his lips reach hers, without resisting, or else she would try to kill him when he came near her. She did not know which she should do. She was in herself two people; the one was a human woman, tempted by the mysterious sympathy of flesh and blood; the other self was a startled maiden caught in a trap and at bay, without escape.

  With the great peal of thunder the Aphrodite trembled from head to foot, twice, as the vibration ran down the walls of the house to the very foundations and then came up again and died away, like the second shock of an earthquake. The statue trembled as if it were alive and afraid.

  With a glance, Margaret measured the distance which separated her from the door, but it was too far. There were half-a-dozen steps, and Logotheti was much nearer to her than that, even allowing that he must get past the chair to reach her.

  Now he moved a little and it was too late to try. He was beside the chair instead of behind it; but then he stopped and came no further yet, while he spoke to her.

  ‘Why did you come?’ he asked in a low tone. ‘You might have guessed that it wasn’t quite safe!’

  It was almost as if he were speaking to himself. She kept her eyes on him, and tried to back away towards the door so slowly that he should not notice it. But he smiled and his lids drooped.

  ‘You could not open the door if you reached it,’ he said. ‘You said that you wanted to speak with me alone. We are alone here — quite alone. No one can hear, even if you scream. No one can get in. Why did you say you wanted to be alone with me, if you were not in earnest? Why do you risk playing with a man who is crazy about you, and has everything in the world except you, and would throw it all away to have you? And now that you are here of your own accord, why should I let you go?’

  The speech was rough, but there was a sudden caress in his voice with the last words, and he had scarcely spoken them when another flash of lightning filled the room with a maddening purple light.

  Before the peal broke, Logotheti held Margaret by the wrists, and spoke close to her face, very fast.

  ‘I will not let you go. I love you, and I will not let you go.’

  The thunder burst, and roared and echoed away, while he drew her nearer, looking for the woman in her eyes, too mad to know that she did not feel what he felt. He touched her now; he could feel her breathings, fast and frightened, and the quiver that ran through her limbs. He held her, but without hurting her in the least — she could turn her wrists loosely in the bonds he made of his fingers. Yet she could not get away from him and he drew her closer.

  She threw her head back from his face, and tried to speak.

  ‘Please — please, let me go.’

  ‘No. I love you.’

  He drew her till she was pressed against him, and he held her hands in his behind her waist. The air was clearing with a furious rush of rain, and her courage was not all gone yet. She looked up to the high windows, as one about to die might look up from the scaffold, and there was a streak of clear blue sky between the driving clouds. It was as if hope looked through, out of heaven, at the girl driven to bay.

  Margaret did not try to use her strength, for she knew it was useless against his. But she held her head back and spoke slowly.

  ‘For your mother’s sake,’ she said, low and clear, her eyes on his.

  For one moment his grasp tightened and his white teeth caught his lower lip; but his look was changing slowly.

  ‘For her sake,’ Margaret said, ‘as you would have kept harm from her — —’

  His hold relaxed, and he turned away. There was good in him still; he had loved his mother.

  He turned deliberately, till he could see neither Margaret nor the Aphrodite, and he leaned heavily on the table, with bent head, resting the weight of his body on the palms of his hands, and remaining quite motionless for some time.

  He heard her go towards the door. Without looking round he slowly shook his head.

  ‘Don’t be afraid of me,’ he said, in a low voice. ‘It’s all over, now. I’ll let you out in a moment.’

  ‘Yes.’

  She waited quietly by the door, which she did not understand how to open. Presently he moved a little, and his head sank lower between his shoulders; then he spoke again, but still without turning towards her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I did not know I could be such a brute. Forgive me, will you?’

  As usual, when he was very much in earnest, there was something rudely abrupt about his speech.

  ‘It was my fault,’ Margaret answered from the door. ‘I should not have come.’

  Even after her escape, something about him still pleased her. The maiden that had been brought to bay was scarcely safe, before the human woman began to be drawn to him again by that sympathy of flesh and blood that had nearly cost her more than life.

  But Margaret revolted against it now, as soon as she knew what it was that made her speak kindly.

  ‘I’m not afraid of you,’ she said, almost coldly, ‘but I want you to let me out, please.’

  He straightened himself and turned slowly to her. The dark red colour was gone from his cheeks, he was suddenly pale and haggard, and if he had not been really young, he would have looked old; as it was, his face was drawn and pinched as if by sharp physical suffering. He drew two or three quick, deep breaths as he came towards her.

  He stood beside her a moment, and then without a word, he unfastened the door. It swung inwards and stood open. Margaret saw that it was thickly padded to prevent any sound from passing, and that there was another padded door beyond it which she had not noticed when she had entered. He understood her look of doubt.

  ‘That one is open now,’ he said. ‘It locks and unlocks itself as I shut or open the inner door.’

  He was willing to let her see how completely she had been cut off from the outer world; and she realised the truth and shuddered.

  ‘Good-bye,’ she said, abruptly, as if he were not to go downstairs with her, and she made a step to pass him.

  He thrust his arm out across the way, resting his head against the door-post. She started, almost nervously, and then stood still again and looked at him.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘I shall not try to keep you, and the door is open. But please don’t say good-bye like that, as if we were not going to meet soon.’

  ‘It’s not good for us to be alone together,’ she said.

  The words came by instinct, and acknowledged a weakness in herself. After she had spoken, she was very sorry. His drawn face
softened.

  ‘That’s why I forgive you,’ she said, with sudden frankness, and a blush reddened her cheeks under the fawn-coloured veil she had drawn down again.

  He took her hand, against her will and almost violently, but in an instant his own was gentle again.

  ‘Margaret!’ His voice had a thrill in it.

  ‘No,’ she answered, but not roughly now, and scarcely trying to free herself. ‘No. I don’t love you in the least. That is why I won’t marry you. There’s something that draws me to you against my will sometimes — yes, I know that! But I hate it, and I’m afraid of it. It’s not what I like in you, it’s what I like least. It’s something like hypnotism, I’m sure. I’m ashamed of it, because it is what has made me flirt with you. Yes, I have! I’ve flirted outrageously, except that I’ve always told you that I never would marry you. I’ve been truthful in that, at all events.’

  ‘Do you think I reproach you?’

  ‘You might have, this morning. Now we have each something to reproach the other. We will forgive and say good-bye for a while. When we meet again, that something I’m afraid of will be gone — perhaps — then everything will be different. Now, good-bye.’

  He had held her hand all the time while she had been speaking. She pressed his now, with an impulse of frank loyalty, and dropped it suddenly.

  ‘Do you mean that I may not even come and see you?’ he asked.

  ‘Not till after my début,’ answered Margaret in a decided tone, for she felt that she dominated him at last. ‘You don’t want me to be a singer and I cannot help feeling your opposition. It disturbs me, as the time comes near. Of course I can’t hinder you from being there on the first night — —’

  ‘No indeed!’

  ‘And when you’ve heard me, and seen Gilda’s head come out of the sack, and when the curtain has gone down on Rigoletto’s despair — why, then you may come behind and congratulate me, especially if I’ve made a failure! Till then I don’t want to see you, please!’