"But the spirit moves me to utter a few yowls to-night. I've something to tell you. And your darling letter came to-day... so I will write to-night, and let the dog eat me if he will.
"I'm glad you're keeping well and good-humoured. There are times I envy you fiercely, Emily... your New Moon quiet and peace and leisure... your intense absorption and satisfaction in your work... your singleness of purpose. 'If thine eye be single thy whole body shall be full of light.' That's either in the Bible or Shakespeare, but wherever it is, it is true. I remember you told me once you envied me my opportunities of travel. Emily, old dear, rushing about from one place to another isn't travelling. If you were like your foolish Ilse, chasing a score of butterfly projects and ambitions you wouldn't be so happy. You always remind me... always did remind me, even in our old chummy days... of somebody's line... 'her soul was like a star and dwelt apart.'
"Well, when one can't get the thing one really wants, one can't help chasing after anything that MIGHT made a decent substitute. I know you've always thought me an unmitigated donkey because I cared so much about Perry Miller. I knew you never quite understood. You couldn't. You never really cared a hoot about any he-creature, did you, Emily? So you thought me an idiot. I daresay I was. But I'm going to be sensible in future, I'm going to marry Teddy Kent."
VI
"There... it's out!"
Emily laid down... or dropped... the letter for a moment. She did not feel either pain or surprise... one does not feel either, I am told, when a bullet strikes the heart. It seemed to her that she had always known this was coming... always. At least, since the night of Mrs. Chidlaw's dinner-dance. And yet, now that it had really happened, it seemed to her that she was suffering everything of death but its merciful dying. In the dim, twilit mirror before her she saw her own face. Had Emily-in-the-glass ever looked like that before? But her room was just the same. It seemed indecent that it should be the same. After a few moments... or years... Emily picked up the letter and read on.
"I'm not in love with Teddy, of course. But he's just got to be a habit with me. I can't do without him... and I either have to do without him or marry him. He won't stand my hesitation any longer. Besides, he's going to be very famous. I shall enjoy being the wife of a famous man. Also, he will have the simoleons, too. Not that I'm altogether mercenary, Emily. I said 'No' to a millionaire last week. A nice fellow, too... but with a face like a good-natured weasel's, if there can be such a thing. And he CRIED when I told him I wouldn't marry him. Oh, it was ghastly.
"Yes, it's mostly ambition, I grant you. And a certain odd kind of weariness and impatience with my life as it has been these last few years. Everything seems squeezed dry. But I'm really very fond of Teddy... always was. He's nice and companionable... and our taste in jokes is exactly the same. And he never bores me. I have no use for people who bore me. Of course he's too good-looking for a man... he'll always be a target for the head-hunters. But since I don't care TOO much for him I shan't be tortured by jealousy. In life's morning march when my bosom was young I could have fried in boiling oil anyone... except you... at whom Perry Miller cast a sheep's eye.
"I've thought for years and known for weeks that this was coming some day. But I've been staving Teddy off... I wouldn't let him say the words that would really bind us. I don't know whether I'd ever have scraped up the courage to let him say them, but destiny took a hand. We were out for a spin two weeks ago one evening and a most unseasonable and malignant thunder-storm came up. We had a dreadful time getting back... there was no place on that bare, lonely hill-road we could stop... the rain fell in torrents, the thunder crashed, the lightning flashed. It was unendurable and we didn't endure it. We just tore through it and cussed. Then it cleared off as suddenly as it had began... and my nerves went to pieces... fancy! I HAVE nerves now... and I began to cry like a frightened, foolish baby. And Teddy's arms were about me and he was saying I MUST marry him... and let him take care of me. I suppose I said I would because it's quite clear he thinks we are engaged. He has given me a blue Chow pup and a sapphire ring... a sapphire he picked up in Europe somewhere... an historic jewel for which a murder was once committed, I believe.
"I think it will be rather nice to be taken care of. Properly. I never was, you know. Dad had no use for me until you found out the truth about Mother... what a witch you were! And after that he adored and spoiled me. But he didn't take any more real care of me than before.
"We are to be married next June. Dad will be pleased, I fancy. Teddy was always the white-haired boy with him. Besides, I think he was beginning to be a little scared I was never going to hook a husband. Dad plumes himself on being a radical but at heart he out-Victorians the Victorians.
"And of course you must be my bridesmaid. Oh, Emily dear, how I wish I could see you to-night... talk with you... one of our old-time spiels... walk with you over the Delectable Mountain and along the ferny, frosted woodside, hang about that old garden by the sea where red poppies blow... all our old familiar places. I wish... I think I really do wish... I was ragged, barefooted, wild Ilse Burnley again. Life is pleasant still... oh, I don't say it isn't. Very pleasant... in spots... like the curate's immortal egg. But the 'first fine careless rapture'... the thrush may recapture it but we never. Emily, old pal, would you turn the clock back if you could?"
VII
Emily read the letter over three times. Then she sat for a very long time at her window, looking blindly out on the blanched, dim world lying under the terrible mockery of a sky full of stars. The wind around the eaves was full of ghostly voices. Bits here and there in Ilse's letter turned and twisted and vanished in her consciousness like little venomous snakes, each with a mortal sting.
"Your singleness of purpose"... "you never cared for anyone"... "of course you must be my bridesmaid"... "I'm really very fond of Teddy"... "my hesitation."
COULD any girl really "hesitate" over accepting Teddy Kent? Emily heard a little note of bitter laughter. Was it something in herself that laughed... or that vanishing spectre of Teddy that had haunted her all day... or an old smothered persistent hope that laughed before it died at last?
And at that very moment probably Ilse and Teddy were together.
"If I had gone... that night... last summer... when he called... would it have made any difference?" was the question that asked itself over and over again maddeningly.
"I wish I could hate Ilse. It would make it easier," she thought drearily. "If she loved Teddy I think I COULD hate her. Somehow, it isn't so dreadful when she doesn't. It ought to be MORE dreadful. It's very strange that I can bear the thought of his loving her when I couldn't bear the thought of her loving him."
A great weariness suddenly possessed her. For the first time in her life death seemed a friend. It was very late when she finally went to bed. Towards morning she slept a little. But wakened stupidly at dawn. What was it she had heard?
She remembered.
She got up and dressed... as she must get up and dress every morning to come for endless years.
"Well," she said aloud to Emily-in-the-glass. "I've spilled my cup of life's wine on the ground... somehow. And she will give me no more. So I must go thirsty. Would... WOULD it have been different if I had gone to him that night he called. If I only knew!" She thought she could see Dean's ironical, compassionate eyes.