Beyond the Rocks

* * * * * Lord Bracondale had passed what he termed a dog's day. He had gone

racing, and there had met, and been bitterly reproached by, Esclarmonde

de Chartres for his neglect.

Qu'est-ce qu'il a eu pour toute une semaine?

He had important business in England, he said, and was going off at

once; but she would find the bracelet she had wished for waiting for her

at her apartment, and so they parted friends.

He felt utterly revolted with all that part of his life.

He wanted nothing in the world but Theodora. Theodora to worship and

cherish and hold for his own. And each hour that came made all else seem

more empty and unmeaning.

Just before dinner he went into the widow's sitting-room. She was

alone, Marie had said in the passage--resting, she thought, but madame

would certainly see milord. She had given orders for him to be admitted

should he come.

"Now sit down near me, beau jeune homme," Mrs. McBride commanded from

the depths of her sofa, where she was reclining, arrayed in exquisite

billows of chiffon and lace. "I have been expecting you. It is not

because I have been indulging in a little sentiment myself that my eyes

are glued shut--you have a great deal to confess--and I hope we have not

done too much harm between us."

Hector wanted sympathy, and there was something in the widow's

directness which he felt would soothe him. He knew her good heart. He

could speak freely to her, too, without being troubled by an

over-delicacy of mauvaise honte, as he would have been with an

Englishwoman. It would not have seemed sacrilege to the widow to discuss

with him--who was a friend--the finest and most tender sentiments of her

own, or any one else's, heart. He drew up a bergère and kissed her

hand.

"I have been behaving like a damned scoundrel," he said.

"My gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. McBride, with a violent jerk into a

sitting position. "You don't say--"

Then, for the first time for many years, a deep scarlet blush overspread

Hector's face, even up to his forehead--as he realized how she had read

his speech--how most people of the world would have read it. He got up

from his chair and walked to the window.

"Oh, good God!" he said, "I don't mean that."

The widow fell back into her pillows with a sigh of relief.

"I mean I have deliberately tried to make her unhappy, and I have

succeeded--and myself, too."

"That is not so bad then," and she settled a cushion. "Because

unhappiness is only a thing for a time. You are crazy for the moon, and

you can't get it, and you grieve and curse for a little, and then a new

moon arises. What else?"