"You are not being very serious, I think. We should try to find the others. Of that I am sure."
"That would make you happy?"
"Yes please."
"As ever I am at your service. Come."
"Is this the way?"
"This is the way."
They rode on, and after a while Melisande cried: "Are you sure this is the way?"
"This is the way," he assured her again.
The mist had cleared considerably and she saw the moor about them, the heather glistening, little streams tumbling over the stones; the grey tors reminded her of poor Anna Quale, for they were like tormented beings.
"I have so long wanted to talk to you alone," said Fermor.
"Of what did you wish to talk?"
"I believe you know. You must know. You must realize that ever since I met you I have wanted to be . . . your friend."
"You have been very friendly, very kind. I thank you."
"I would be kinder than anyone has ever been. I would be the greatest friend you have ever had. Shall we pull up here and give the horses a rest?"
"But do they need a rest? They were watered and fed at the inn where we had the pasties. And I think we should get back to Treven-ning. Caroline will be very anxious if we are not there when she returns."
"But I want to talk to you, and it is difficult talking as we go along."
"Then perhaps we should talk some other time."
"What other time? It is very rarely that we get away from them all. Here there is no one to be seen. Look about you. You and I . . . are alone up here. We could not be more alone than this, could we?"
He brought his horse close to hers and suddenly stretching out an
arm caught her and kissed her violently. Her horse moved restively and she broke free.
She said breathlessly: "Please, do not. I wish to go back at once. This must not be. I do not believe we are on the right road."
"You and I are on the right road, Melisande. What other road matters ?"
"I do not understand you."
"You know that is not true. I thought you were a truthful young lady."
"I cannot believe . . . that you mean what ..."
"What you think I mean? Why should you not? You must know how damnably attractive you are."
She was trembling. She wanted to hate him. She thought of the hurt to Caroline. Yet she could not hate him. She could not keep in mind his unkindness to Caroline, his careless indifference to the suffering of others; she could only think of his singing along the road the sad song about the miller's daughter, the merry one about the gipsy and the earl; she could only think of his blazing blue eyes when he had caught her horse by its bridle and forced a way for them through the crowd.
"Dear little Melisande," he was saying now, and again he tried to put an arm about her shoulder. As she eluded him he laughed, and she realized that it was that sudden laughter which disarmed her criticism. "This is an awkward position!" he cried. "Damme if I ever was in such an awkward one . . . and never did I so long to be on my own two feet. But what if I dismount? I believe you'd gallop away and leave me standing here. Shall I chance it? Shall I dismount? Shall I make you do the same? Shall I carry you to the grass there and make a couch for us among the bracken?"
"You talk too fast. I do not understand."
"Do not cower behind your unfamiliarity with the language. You know very well what I say. You love me and I love you. Why make any bones about that? Life is too complicated to argue about the obvious."
"The obvious?"
"My sweet Melisande, how can you hide it any more than I can?"
"And what of Caroline?"
"I will look after Caroline."
"By . . . hurting her ... as the miller's daughter was hurt? What if she. . .?"
"This is not a song. This is life. Caroline is no miller's daughter. If she were I should not be affianced to her. If Caroline discovers that I love . . . but why should she ? You and I are not so foolish as to wish to make that sort of trouble. You may rest assured that she will not be found in the cold river. Caroline will understand that she
and I must marry for the sake of our families; and all the arrangements for the future have been made for us. As for you and me . . . that is love. That is different."
She drew back, her green eyes blazing. "You are a very wicked man, I think."
"Oh come! You wouldn't like me if I were a saint."
She was thinking: I must get away . . . quickly. He is bad. He is one of those men of whom Therese thought, of whom Sister Emilie and Sister Eugenie thought when they would not look into the faces of men. It would be better if / had never looked into his face. She thought suddenly of the nun who had been walled up in the convent all those years ago; she wondered fleetingly if the man whom that nun had loved had been like this one, and she believed he must have been.
She quickly turned her horse and rode back the way she had come.
She heard him behind her shouting as she broke into a gallop.
"Melisande! You fool! You idiot! Stop! Do you want to break your neck?"
"I hope you break yours," she called over her shoulder. "That would be a goodness ... for Caroline ... for me. ..."
"I shan't break my neck. I can ride."
Soon he was beside her, catching at her bridle and slowing down the horses.
"There, you see. You cannot get away from me. You never will, Melisande. Oh, just at first you will be very virtuous. You will say 'Get you behind me, Satan! I am a virtuous young woman of very high ideals. I have been brought up in a convent and all my opinions are ready-made.' But are you sure they are, Melisande? Are you sure of your virtue?"
"I am sure of one thing. You are despicable. You knew we were not going the right way. Deliberately you brought us here. I am sorry for Caroline."
"That's a lie. You envy her."
"Envy her! Marriage with you!"
"Indeed you do, my dear. A minute ago, when you were full of your convent ideas and you thought I was suggesting a break with Caroline and marriage w ; th you, you could not conceal your delight. But wait . . . wait until you begin to think freely. Wait until you learn to be honest with yourself."
"You ... to talk of honesty! You . . . who have arranged this! Who brought us here?"
"Who started it ? Who had the crowd at her heels ? Do you realize that but for me you would be chained up with a mad woman now?"
"It is not true."
"You've never seen an angry mob before, have you? There is a
108 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS
lot you have to learn, my dear Mademoiselle. It might have gone very badly for you if I had not been there."
"John Collings would have saved me."
"Well, I at least was the one who prevented disaster, wasn't I."
"It is a truth. I have already thanked you."
"So here is a little gratitude from you at last? Pity is love's sister, I've heard. What is gratitude?"
"I have thanked you for saving me from the crowd. Now let us return."
"Be sensible, Melisande. Be reasonable. What will you do when Caroline no longer needs your services? Have you thought of that?"
"You mean when you marry her?"
"She might even decide before then that she does not need them."
"Yes, that is a truth."
"A truth indeed. You should look to the future. And that, my dear, as you so charmingly say, is another truth."