Yet it all seemed so softened and womanly that the thoughts which he had once had of her seemed like a distant nightmare to him. The ethical and physical horror of her being—of her ever becoming—what he feared, rose up strong within him, and deepened at once his sense of responsibility towards her, and his new-born tenderness. He took her hand gently, and was startled to find how cold it was. [pg 98] [pg 98] "So you do feel lonely, Adrea, sometimes," he said softly, "although you have so many acquaintances." The colour burned deeper for a moment in her cheeks. She looked at him half reproachfully, half indignantly. "Acquaintances! You mean the people who come to see me! I hate them all! Sometimes they amuse me a little, but that is all. They are nothing!" "And you have no women friends?" "None! How should I! But I do not care. I do not like English-women!" "But, Adrea, it is not good for you,—this isolation from your sex." At the sound of her Christian name, coming from his lips so gently, almost affectionately, she looked up quickly. It seemed to him almost as though some softening change had crept over her. Was it the firelight, he wondered, or was it fancy? "Good for me!" she said softly. "Have you just thought of that, Monsieur Paul?" Again he felt that pang of conscience; and yet, was she not a little unjust to him? "You took your life into your own hands," he reminded her. "You chose for yourself." "Yes, yes!" she answered, drawing a little nearer to him, till her head almost rested upon his knees. "I do not blame you." [pg 99] [pg 99] "It would have been so easy before to have found a home for you," he went on, "and now you have made it so difficult." "There is no need," she interrupted proudly; "I could keep myself now. I do not want anything from you, Monsieur Paul,—save one thing!"
Prev.
Back
Top