The Rake's Progress. Bowen Marjorie
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She gave a torn little sigh.
"My silly heart incommodes me. I strive to tell you, my lord, that you have done the best that could be—for Mr. Lyndwood and your honour."
Still she would not look at him, and he rose in his seat.
"If he is spared what I endure now," he said unsteadily, "through any act of mine, he hath cause to thank me."
Now she slowly turned her eyes on him.
"There is one we do not speak of," she whispered. "What of Miss Hilton?"
His pale face darkened.
"She knows why I seek her hand, and assents to the dictates of her ambition."
"Maybe of her father," said Miss Boyle. "She is very young."
"I cannot find it in me to pity her, madam, for this honour I do her. She will find me courteous, as I doubt not I shall find her obedient."
A sudden smile radiated Miss Boyle's ardent face.
"I do not commiserate her in that she will be your wife, my lord, but in that she hath no place in your affections. Your wife—ah, sir, the theatre grows something close, and my head throbs piteously."
The smile faded from her face, and her long lids drooped.
"Give me that flower from your lace," she whispered, "and go. You must go!"
She rested her head against the side of the box, and her lashes showed dark yet gleaming against her smooth pale cheeks.
"I cannot give you that," answered my lord, "for it hath touched one I degraded, lain next a fellow I treated carelessly."
She did not move, speak, or raise her eyes, but her whole slight body quivered and trembled with her breathing.
"This is for you," said Rose Lyndwood, under his breath, and faintly. "When I was a child I loved it; it seemed to me sacred. I—I did not understand it, and so I kept it hidden; it hath been secret all my life because of this. Will you take it?"
She looked, and her eyes were drenched with tears; it was a small white shell with a smooth pink lip that lay on my lord's palm. She did not put out her hand, and he placed it on the edge of the box.
Then she took it up.
"'Tis safe with me," she breathed, "for ever."
The act came to a tearing conclusion. These two looked at each other.
"It is better you should go now," whispered Miss Boyle.
He stooped in the darkness and took up the end of her scarf, laid it to his lips, and was gone.
A shaft of strong light fell across her face as he opened the door. As he softly closed it, and she was again concealed in soft darkness, she closed her eyes and smiled while the great tears quivered on her lashes.
Lord Lyndwood's box stood empty for the rest of the performance. Statira acted like a fury, and afterwards fell into hysterics in the green-room, to the triumph of Miss Fenton and the other ladies performing in The Rival Queens.
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