They had gone twenty steps before she spoke.
'You might have trusted me,' she said.
'I should think you would understand why I did not tell you,' he
answered rather bitterly.
She opened her parasol so impatiently that it made an ominous little
noise as if it were cracking.
'I do understand,' she said, almost harshly, as she held it up against
the sun.
'And yet you complain because I did not tell you,' said Lushington in a
puzzled tone.
'It's you who don't understand!' Margaret retorted.
'No. I don't.' 'I'm sorry.' They went on a little way in silence, walking rather slowly. She was
angry with herself for being irritated by him, just when she admired
him more than ever before, and perhaps loved him better; though love
has nothing to do with admiration except to kindle it sometimes, just
when it is least deserved. Now it takes generous people longer to
recover from a fit of anger against themselves than against their
neighbours, and in a few moments Margaret began to feel very unhappy,
though all her original irritation against Lushington had subsided. She
now wished, in her contrition, that he would say something
disagreeable; but he did not. He merely changed the subject, speaking
quite naturally.
'So it is all decided,' he said, 'and you are to make your début.' 'Yes,' she answered, with a sort of eagerness to be friendly again.
'I'm a professional from to-day, with a stage name, a prey to critics,
reporters and photographers--just like your mother, except that she is
a very great artist and I am a very little one.' It was not very skilfully done, but Lushington was grateful for what
she meant by it, and for saying 'your mother' instead of 'Madame
Bonanni.' 'I think you will be great, too,' he said, 'and before very long. There
is no young soprano on the stage now, who has half your voice or half
your talent.' Margaret coloured with pleasure, though she could not quite believe
what he told her. But he glanced at her and felt sure that he was
right. She had voice and talent, he knew, but even with both some
singers fail; she had the splendid vitality, the boundless health and
the look of irresistible success, which only the great ones have. She
was not a classic beauty, but she would be magnificent on the stage.
There was a short silence, before she spoke.
'Two days ago,' she said, 'I did not think we would meet again so
soon.' 'Part again so soon, you ought to say,' he answered. 'It is nothing but
that, after all.' She bit her lip.