Susan pronounced
his name, and he stood on the threshold, thinking the room was empty.
A very small voice pierced the stillness. 'Charles, I'm here.'
'I won't come a step farther,' Charles said severely, 'until you tell
me if you love me.'
'I thought you'd come to see Aunt Rose.'
'Henrietta--'
'Yes, I love you, I love you,' she said hurriedly. 'I'm nodding my
head hard. No, stay where you are, stay where you are. I've been
loving you for weeks and you've treated me shamefully. No, no, I've
got to be different, I've got to give. You didn't treat me
shamefully.'
'No,' he said stolidly, 'I didn't. Here's the ring, and I took that
house. I've been renting it ever since I knew we were going to live in
it. Here's the ring.' He dropped it into her lap.
She looked down at the stones, hard and bright like herself. 'Aunt
Rose will be very much surprised,' she said, and she was too happy to
wonder why he laughed.
Standing on the stair, Rose heard that laughter and went on very
slowly to her room. She had, at least, done something for Henrietta.
She had given Charles his chance, and now she was to go on doing
things for Francis Sales. She owed him something: she owed him the
romance of her youth, she owed him the care which was all she had left
to give him. Things had come to her too late, her eyes were too wide
open, yet perhaps it was better so. She had no illusions and she
wanted to justify her early faith and Christabel's sufferings and her
own.
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