Patricia Wentworth - The Fire Within

“It would n't stay up,” said Elizabeth.

“I wish it would n't. Oh, Lizabeth, won't you let it down just for once?”

“No, I won't,” said Elizabeth, with pleasant firmness.

Louis fell into a gloom. His brown eyes darkened.

“I don't see why,” he said; and Elizabeth laughed at him.

“Oh, Louis, will you ever grow up?

Louis assumed an air of dignity. “My last book,” he said, “was not only very well reviewed by competent and appreciative persons, but I would have you to know that it also brought me in quite a large and solid cheque. And my poems have had what is known as a succèss d'estime , which means that you and your publisher lose money, but the critics say nice things. These facts, my dear madam, all point to my having emerged from the nursery.”

“Go on emerging, Louis,” said Elizabeth, with a little nod of encouragement. Louis appeared to be plunged in thought. He frowned, made calculations upon his fingers, and finally inquired:

“How many times have I proposed to you, Lizabeth?”

Elizabeth looked at him with amusement.

“I really never counted. Do you want me to?”

“No. I think I 've got it right. I think it must be eight times, because I know I began when I was twenty, and I don't think I 've missed a year since. This,” said Louis, getting on to his knees and coming nearer, “this will be number nine.”

“Oh, Louis, don't,” said Elizabeth.

“And why not?”

“Because it really is n't kind. Do you want me to go away to-morrow? If you propose to me, and I refuse you, every possible rule of propriety demands that I should immediately return to Market Harford. And I don't want to.” Louis hesitated.

“How long are you staying?”

“Nice, hospitable young man. Agneta has asked me to stay for a fortnight.”

“All right.” Louis sat back upon his heels. “Let's talk about books. Have you read Pender's last? It 's a wonder-just a wonder.”

Elizabeth enjoyed her fortnight's stay very much. She was glad to be away from Market Harford, and she was glad to be with Agneta and Louis. She saw one or two good plays, had a great deal of talk of the kind she hade been starving for, and met a good many people who were doing interesting things. On the last day of her visit Agneta said:

“So you go back to Market Harford for a year. Is it because Mr. Mottisfont asked you to?”

“Partly.”

There was a little pause.

“What are you going to do with your life, Lizabeth?”

Elizabeth looked steadily at the blue of her ring. Her eyes were very deep.

“I don't know, Neta. I 'm waiting to be told.”

Agneta nodded, and looked understanding.

“And if you are n't told?”

“I think I shall be.”

“But if not?”

“Well, that would be a telling in itself. If nothing happens before the year is up, I shall come up to London, and find some work. There 's plenty.”

“Yes,” said Agneta. She put her little pointed chin in her hands and gazed at Elizabeth. There was something almost fierce in her eyes. She knew very little about David Blake, but she guessed a good deal more. And there were moments when it would have given her a great deal of pleasure to have spoken her mind on the subject.

They sat for a little while in silence, and then Louis came in, and wandered about the room until Agneta exclaimed at him:

“Do, for goodness' sake, sit down, Louis! You give me the fidgets.”

Louis drifted over to the hearth. “Have you ordered any meals,” he said, with apparent irrelevance.

“Tea, dinner, breakfast, lunch, tea, and dinner again.” Agneta's tone was vicious. “Is that enough for you?”

“Very well, then, run away and write a letter to Douglas. I believe you are neglecting him, and there 's a nice fire in the dining-room.”

Agneta rose with outraged dignity. “I don't write my love-letters to order, thank you,” she said “and you need n't worry about Douglas. If you want me to go away, I don't mind taking a book into the dining-room. Though, if you 'll take my advice-but you won't-so I 'll just leave you to find out for yourself.”

Louis shut the door after her, and came back to Elizabeth.

“Number nine,” he observed.

“No, Louis, don't.”

“I 'm going to. You are in for it, Lizabeth. Your visit is over, so you can't accuse me of spoiling it. Number nine, and a fortnight overdue. Here goes. For the ninth time of asking, will you marry me?”

Elizabeth shook her head at him.

“No, Louis, I won't,” she said.

Louis looked at her steadily.

“This is the ninth time I have asked you. How many times have you taken me seriously, Lizabeth? Not once.”

“I should have been so very sorry to take you seriously, you see, Louis dear,” said Elizabeth, speaking very sweetly and gently.

Louis Mainwaring walked to the window and stood there in silence for a minute or two. Elizabeth began to look troubled. When he turned round and came back his face was rather white.

“No,” he said, “you 've never taken me seriously-never once. But it 's been serious enough, for me. You never thought it went deep-but it did. Some people hide their deep things under silence-every one can understand that. Others hide theirs under words-a great many light words. Jests. That 's been my way. It 's a better mask than the other, but I don't want any mask between us now. I want you to understand. We 've always talked about my being in love with you. We 've always laughed about it, but now I want you to understand. It 's me, the whole of me-all there is-all there ever will be-”

He was stammering now and almost incoherent. His hand shook. Elizabeth got up quickly.

“Oh, Louis dear, Louis dear,” she said. She put her arm half round him, and for a moment he leaned his head against her shoulder. When he raised it he was trying to smile.

“Oh, Lady of Consolation,” he said, and then, “how you would spoil a man whom you loved! There, Lizabeth, you need n't worry about it. You see, I 've always known that you would never love me.”

“Oh, Louis, but I love you very much, only not just like that.”

“Yes, I know. I 've always known it and I 've always known that there was some one else whom you did love-just like that. What I 've been waiting for is to see it making you happy. And it does n't make you happy. It never has. And, lately, there 's been something fresh-something that has hurt. You 've been very unhappy. As soon as you came here I knew. What is it? Can't you tell me?”

Elizabeth sat down again, but she did not turn her eyes away.

“No, Louis, I don't think I can.” she said.

Louis's chin lifted.

“Does Agneta know?” he asked with a quick flash of jealously.

“No, she does n't,” said Elizabeth, reprovingly. “And she has never asked.”

Louis laughed.

“That 's for my conscience, I suppose,” he said, “but I don't mind. I can bear it a lot better if you have n't told Agneta. And look here, Lizabeth, even if you never tell me a single word, I shall always know things about you-things that matter. I 've always known when things went wrong with you, and I always shall.”

It was obviously quite as an afterthought that he added:

“Do you mind?”

“No,” said Elizabeth, slowly, “I don't think I mind. But don't look too close, Louis dear-not just now. It 's kinder not to.”

“All right,” said Louis.

Then he came over and stood beside her. “Lizabeth, if there 's anything I can do-any sort or kind of thing-you 're to let me know. You will, won't you? You 're the best thing in my world, and anything that I can do for you would be the best day's work I ever did. If you 'll just clamp on to that we shall be all right.”