“You seem to have as bad an opinion of Washington as Mr. Gore,” said Madeleine, with a contemptuous smile. “He gave me the same advice, though he was afraid to tell me why. I am not a child. I am thirty years old, and have seen something of the world. I am not afraid, like Mr. Gore, of Washington malaria, or, like you, of Mr. Ratcliffe’s influence. If I fall a victim I shall deserve my fate, and certainly I shall have no cause to complain of my friends. They have given me advice enough for a lifetime.”
Carrington’s face darkened with a deeper shade of regret. The turn which the conversation had taken was precisely what he had expected, and both Sybil and he had agreed that Madeleine would probably answer just in this way. Nevertheless, he could not but feel acutely the harm he was doing to his own interests, and it was only by a sheer effort of the will that he forced himself to a last and more earnest attack.
“I know it is an impertinence,” he said; “I wish it were in my power to show how much it costs me to offend you. This is the first time you ever had occasion to be offended. If I were to yield to the fear of your anger and were to hold my tongue now, and by any chance you were to wreck your life on this rock, I should never forgive myself the cowardice. I should always think I might have done something to prevent it. This is probably the last time I shall have the chance to talk openly with you, and I implore you to listen to me. I want nothing for myself. If I knew I should never see you again, I would still say the same thing. Leave Washington! Leave it now!—at once!—without giving more than twenty-four hours’ notice! Leave it without letting Mr. Ratcliffe see you again in private! Come back next winter if you please, and then accept him if you think proper. I only pray you to think long about it and decide when you are not here.”
Madeleine’s eyes flashed, and she threw aside her embroidery with an impatient gesture: “No! Mr. Carrington! I will not be dictated to! I will carry out my own plans! I do not mean to marry Mr. Ratcliffe. If I had meant it, I should have done it before now. But I will not run away from him or from myself. It would be unladylike, undignified, cowardly.”
Carrington could say no more. He had come to the end of his lesson. A long silence ensued and then he rose to go. “Are you angry with me?” said she in a softer tone.
“I ought to ask that question,” said he. “Can you forgive me? I am afraid not. No man can say to a woman what I have said to you, and be quite forgiven. You will never think of me again as you would have done if I had not spoken. I knew that before I did it. As for me, I can only go on with my old life. It is not gay, and will not be the gayer for our talk tonight.”
Madeleine relented a little: “Friendships like ours are not so easily broken,” she said. “Do not do me another injustice. You will see me again before you go?”
He assented and bade good night. Mrs. Lee, weary and disturbed in mind, hastened to her room. “When Miss Sybil comes in, tell her that I am not very well, and have gone to bed,” were her instructions to her maid, and Sybil thought she knew the cause of this headache.
But before Carrington’s departure he had one more ride with Sybil, and reported to her the result of the interview, at which both of them confessed themselves much depressed. Carrington expressed some hope that Madeleine meant, after a sort, to give a kind of pledge by saying that she had no intention of marrying Mr. Ratcliffe, but Sybil shook her head emphatically: “How can a woman tell whether she is going to accept a man until she is asked?” said she with entire confidence, as though she were stating the simplest fact in the world. Carrington looked puzzled, and ventured to ask whether women did not generally make up their minds beforehand on such an interesting point; but Sybil overwhelmed him with contempt: “What good will they do by making up their minds, I should like to know? of course they would go and do the opposite. Sensible women don’t pretend to make up their minds, Mr. Carrington. But you men are so stupid, and you can’t understand in the least.”
Carrington gave it up, and went back to his stale question: Could Sybil suggest any other resource? and Sybil sadly confessed that she could not. So far as she could see, they must trust to luck, and she thought it was cruel tor Mr. Carrington to go away and leave her alone without help. He had promised to prevent the marriage.
“One thing more I mean to do,” said Carrington: “and here everything will depend on your courage and nerve. You may depend upon it that Mr. Ratcliffe will offer himself before you go north. He does not suspect you of making trouble, and he will not think about you in any way if you let him alone and keep quiet. When he does offer himself you will know it; at least your sister will tell you if she has accepted him. If she refuses him point blank, you will have nothing to do but to keep her steady. If you see her hesitating, you must break in at any cost,
