“What was his intention?”
“To make you believe that I am in his power; to make you think that he has been my lover; to lower me in your eyes, so that you might believe all that others have believed—all that Hugh Clavering has pretended to believe. That has been his object, Harry, and perhaps you will tell me what success he has had.”
“Lady Ongar!”
“You know the old story, that the drop which is ever dropping will wear the stone. And after all why should your faith in me be as hard even as a stone?”
“Do you believe that what he said had any such effect?”
“It is very hard to look into another person’s heart; and the dearer and nearer that heart is to your own, the greater, I think, is the difficulty. I know that man’s heart—what he calls his heart; but I don’t know yours.”
For a moment or two Clavering made no answer, and then, when he did speak, he went back from himself to the count.
“If what you surmise of him be true, he must be a very devil. He cannot be a man—”
“Man or devil, what matters which he be? Which is the worst, Harry, and what is the difference? The Fausts of this day want no Mephistopheles to teach them guile or to harden their hearts.”
“I do not believe that there are such men. There may be one.”
“One, Harry! What was Lord Ongar? What is your cousin Hugh? What is this Count Pateroff? Are they not all of the same nature; hard as stone, desirous simply of indulging their own appetites, utterly without one generous feeling, incapable even of the idea of caring for anyone? Is it not so? In truth this count is the best of the three I have named. With him a woman would stand a better chance than with either of the others.”
“Nevertheless, if that was his motive, he is a devil.”
“He shall be a devil if you say so. He shall be anything you please, so long as he has not made you think evil of me.”
“No; he has not done that.”
“Then I don’t care what he has done, or what he may do. You would not have me see him, would you?” This she asked with a sudden energy, throwing herself forward from her seat with her elbows on the table, and resting her face on her hands, as she had already done more than once when he had been there; so that the attitude, which became her well, was now customary in his eyes.
“You will hardly be guided by my opinion in such a matter.”
“By whose, then, will I be guided? Nay, Harry, since you put me to a promise, I will make the promise. I will be guided by your opinion. If you bid me see him, I will do it—though, I own, it would be distressing to me.”
“Why should you see him, if you do not wish it?”
“I know no reason. In truth there is no reason. What he says about Lord Ongar is simply some part of his scheme. You see what his scheme is, Harry?”
“What is his scheme?”
“Simply this—that I should be frightened into becoming his wife. My darling bosom friend Sophie, who, as I take it, has not quite managed to come to satisfactory terms with her brother—and I have no doubt her price for assistance has been high—has informed me more than once that her brother desires to do me so much honour. The count, perhaps, thinks that he can manage such a bagatelle without any aid from his sister; and my dearest Sophie seems to feel that she can do better with me herself in my widowed state, than if I were to take another husband. They are so kind and so affectionate; are they not?”
At this moment tea was brought in, and Clavering sat for a time silent with his cup in his hand. She, the meanwhile, had resumed the old position with her face upon her hands, which she had abandoned when the servant entered the room, and was now sitting looking at him as he sipped his tea with his eyes averted from her. “I cannot understand,” at last he said, “why you should persist in your intimacy with such a woman.”
“You have not thought about it, Harry, or you would understand it. It is, I think, very easily understood.”
“You know her to be treacherous, false, vulgar, covetous, unprincipled. You cannot like her. You say she is a dragon.”
“A dragon to you, I said.”
“You cannot pretend that she is a lady, and yet you put up with her society.”
“Exactly. And now tell me what you would have me do.”
“I would have you part from her.”
“But how? It is so easy to say, part. Am I to bar my door against her when she has given me no offence? Am I to forget that she did me great service, when I sorely needed such services? Can I tell her to her face that she is all these things that you say of her, and that therefore I will for the future dispense with her company? Or do you believe that people in this world associate only with those they love and esteem?”
“I would not have one for my intimate friend whom I did not love and esteem.”
“But, Harry, suppose that no one loved and esteemed you; that you had no home down at Clavering with a father that admires you and a mother that worships you; no sisters that think you to be almost perfect, no comrades with whom you can work with mutual regard and emulation, no self-confidence, no high hopes of your own, no power of choosing companions whom you can esteem and love;—suppose with you it was Sophie Gordeloup or none—how would it be with you then?”
His heart must have been made of stone if this had not melted it. He got up and coming round to her stood over her. “Julia,”
