Perhaps because of the ring in her voice, or the sheer seriousness of the position, he did not feel resentment as when he lost her to Fiorsen. Love! A passion such as had overtaken her mother and himself! And this young man? A decent fellow, a good rider--comprehensible! Ah, if the course had only been clear! He put his hand on her shoulder and said:
"Well, Gyp, we must go for the divorce, then, after all."She shook her head.
"It's too late. Let HIM divorce me, if he only will!"Winton needed all his self-control at that moment. Too late?
Already! Sudden recollection that he had not the right to say a word alone kept him silent. Gyp went on:
"I love him, with every bit of me. I don't care what comes--whether it's open or secret. I don't care what anybody thinks."She had turned round now, and if Winton had doubt of her feeling, he lost it. This was a Gyp he had never seen! A glowing, soft, quick-breathing creature, with just that lithe watchful look of the mother cat or lioness whose whelps are threatened. There flashed through him a recollection of how, as a child, with face very tense, she would ride at fences that were too big. At last he said:
"I'm sorry you didn't tell me sooner."
"I couldn't. I didn't know. Oh, Dad, I'm always hurting you!
Forgive me!"
She was pressing his hand to her cheek that felt burning hot. And he thought: "Forgive! Of course I forgive. That's not the point;the point is--"
And a vision of his loved one talked about, besmirched, bandied from mouth to mouth, or else--for her what there had been for him, a hole-and-corner life, an underground existence of stealthy meetings kept dark, above all from her own little daughter. Ah, not that! And yet--was not even that better than the other, which revolted to the soul his fastidious pride in her, roused in advance his fury against tongues that would wag, and eyes that would wink or be uplifted in righteousness? Summerhay's world was more or less his world; scandal, which--like all parasitic growths--flourishes in enclosed spaces, would have every chance. And, at once, his brain began to search, steely and quick, for some way out; and the expression as when a fox broke covert, came on his face.
"Nobody knows, Gyp?"
"No; nobody."
That was something! With an irritation that rose from his very soul, he muttered:
"I can't stand it that you should suffer, and that fellow Fiorsen go scot-free. Can you give up seeing Summerhay while we get you a divorce? We might do it, if no one knows. I think you owe it to me, Gyp."Gyp got up and stood by the window a long time without answering.
Winton watched her face. At last she said:
"I couldn't. We might stop seeing each other; it isn't that. It's what I should feel. I shouldn't respect myself after; I should feel so mean. Oh, Dad, don't you see? He really loved me in his way. And to pretend! To make out a case for myself, tell about Daphne Wing, about his drinking, and baby; pretend that I wanted him to love me, when I got to hate it and didn't care really whether he was faithful or not--and knowing all the while that I've been everything to someone else! I couldn't. I'd much rather let him know, and ask him to divorce me."Winton replied:
"And suppose he won't?"
"Then my mind would be clear, anyway; and we would take what we could.""And little Gyp?"
Staring before her as if trying to see into the future, she said slowly:
"Some day, she'll understand, as I do. Or perhaps it will be all over before she knows. Does happiness ever last?"And, going up to him, she bent over, kissed his forehead, and went out. The warmth from her lips, and the scent of her remained with Winton like a sensation wafted from the past.
Was there then nothing to be done--nothing? Men of his stamp do not, as a general thing, see very deep even into those who are nearest to them; but to-night he saw his daughter's nature more fully perhaps than ever before. No use to importune her to act against her instincts--not a bit of use! And yet--how to sit and watch it all--watch his own passion with its ecstasy and its heart-burnings re-enacted with her--perhaps for many years? And the old vulgar saying passed through his mind: "What's bred in the bone will come out in the meat." Now she had given, she would give with both hands--beyond measure--beyond!--as he himself, as her mother had given! Ah, well, she was better off than his own loved one had been. One must not go ahead of trouble, or cry over spilled milk!
VIII
Gyp had a wakeful night. The question she herself had raised, of telling Fiorsen, kept her thoughts in turmoil. Was he likely to divorce her if she did? His contempt for what he called 'these bourgeois morals,' his instability, the very unpleasantness, and offence to his vanity--all this would prevent him. No; he would not divorce her, she was sure, unless by any chance he wanted legal freedom, and that was quite unlikely. What then would be gained?
Ease for her conscience? But had she any right to ease her conscience if it brought harm to her lover? And was it not ridiculous to think of conscience in regard to one who, within a year of marriage, had taken to himself a mistress, and not even spared the home paid for and supported by his wife? No; if she told Fiorsen, it would only be to salve her pride, wounded by doing what she did not avow. Besides, where was he? At the other end of the world for all she knew.
She came down to breakfast, dark under the eyes and no whit advanced toward decision. Neither of them mentioned their last night's talk, and Gyp went back to her room to busy herself with dress, after those weeks away. It was past noon when, at a muffled knock, she found Markey outside her door.
"Mr. Fiorsen, m'm."
Gyp beckoned him in, and closed the door.
"In the hall, m'm--slipped in when I answered the bell; short of shoving, I couldn't keep him out."Gyp stood full half a minute before she said:
"Is my father in?"
"No, m'm; the major's gone to the fencin'-club.""What did you say?"
"Said I would see. So far as I was aware, nobody was in. Shall Ihave a try to shift him, m'm?"
With a faint smile Gyp shook her head.
