"This is like Satan and his temptations. You think to show me the kingdoms of the world."
"The kingdoms of the world are well worth having."
"At the expense of what one knows to be right?"
"When you have endured the indignities your careless employers will not hesitate to put upon you, when you have suffered at their hands—even been unable to find employment at all—then perhaps you will not despise those kingdoms of comfort. . . and more than comfort ... of affection and friendship as well as passion and all the love I will give you."
"You speak with much persuasion, but you cannot disguise your wickedness. If you were unhappily married and spoke thus to me there would be a difference. But while you plan to marry you make these plans . . . with the cold blood ... on the eve of your wedding."
"There is nothing cold-blooded about me. You will, I prophesy, ere long discover that."
She was silent and he went on gently: "Melisande, of what do you think?"
"Of you."
"I knew it. Now that you are in a truthful mood, admit that you think of me continually."
"I think a good deal of you . . . and Caroline. I wish that I had lived more in the world. I wish I could understand you more."
He put his arm about her. "Give yourself time to understand me. Try to cast aside most of what these nuns have taught you of the world. It is all very well for them, living their shut-in lives. What were their lives—living death, mere existence. You don't know what is to be found in the world—what joy, what pleasure. I will
show you. Yes, I am offering you the kingdoms of the world. But you see, my dearest Melisande, life is not the simple thing of black and white that those nuns have painted for you. They believed they were teaching you the truth. They know no other. Poor little cowards . . . afraid of the world! People like you and I should be afraid of nothing."
"But we are both afraid. I am afraid of what I have been taught is sin. You say that you wish they had chosen me to marry you. Then, if you are not afraid, why should you not make your own choice ? You are afraid . . . even as I am. You are afraid of opinion ... of the convention. You are afraid of marrying outside your own social class. That, it seems to me, is more cowardly than being afraid of what one has been taught is sinful."
He was nonplussed for a while. Then he said: "It is not fear. It is the certain knowledge that a marriage between us would be impossible."
"You may dress it up as you like. You can call it certain knowledge. I call it fear, and I call you a coward. You are not afraid to face any man single-handed; you are not afraid of an angry mob. That is because you are big and strong ... in your body. But in your mind you are not strong; and it is in your mind that you are afraid. You are afraid of what people may say and do; you are afraid they will not help you to the position you want. That is a fear. It is a worse fear than being afraid because the body is not strong enough to fight."
"You mistake wisdom for fear."
"Do I? Then please go on being wise . . . and so will I!"
He said: "I've hurt you. I've been too frank. In other words, I've been a fool. I've shown you too much of myself. I don't know why I did it. I ought to have waited ... to have caught you unaware."
"You are too interested in yourself, Monsieur. You think yourself irresistible. That is not the case as far as I am concerned."
He caught her angrily and kissed her. She could not hold him off, but she knew that she did not want to. She was shaken at having to admit to herself that, if he had made his proposals at a time other than when he was planning marriage to Caroline, she might have been unable to resist them.
She must fight him. He must never know how near she was to submission. She must continually see him as he really was, not as she was trying to believe he must be.
"Do you think I don't understand you?" he said as though reading her thoughts.
"You are clever at self-deception, I do not doubt."
"You attack me with your tongue, but you betray yourself in other ways."
"You have a high opinion of yourself. If it pleases you, keep it, Monsieur."
"Do not call me Monsieur as though I am one of your prinking Frenchmen."
"If I were so misguided as to do as you wish, we should spend our lives in quarrelling."
"Our sort of quarrels can be more stimulating than agreement."
"I do not find them stimulating . . . only an irritation."
"That is why your cheeks grow scarlet, your eyes blaze and you are a hundred times more attractive when you are with me than with anyone else."
"I must return. Caroline will wonder what has happened to me. I should not take all day to visit Miss Pennifield and ask her to make dresses for Caroline's marriage to you." She hurried on.
"Melisande!" he called. "Don't go yet."
She answered over her shoulder: "You had better not come any farther with me. You would not wish Caroline to see you with me, you brave man."
She heard herself laugh, but it was shrill laughter. She hoped he did not notice that there was a note of hysteria in it.
"Melisande," he repeated. "Melisande."
But he did not follow her now. We are too near the house, she thought; and he has too much wisdom. Poor Caroline! And poor Melisande!
Fermor had gone to London and Trevenning was a different place without him. It is as though an evil spirit has departed, thought Melisande; but how dull was the place without him!
Life had become more simple, it seemed. Everybody appeared to be happy. Caroline spent hours with Miss Pennifield, trying on the garments for her trousseau. They had discovered that Melisande, whilst being a poor needlewoman, could made suggestions about dresses, add an ornament—or take one away—so that the effect was transformed.
"It is your French blood," said Caroline, now sweet and friendly. "The French are wonderfully clever at such things."
"Mamazel certainly has the touch!" cried Miss Pennifield. "Why, Miss Caroline, when you are married you will be wanting her with you to help you with your clothes."
Poor blind Miss Pennifield! thought Melisande. Unwittingly she had shattered the peace.
But the gloom quickly passed and Caroline forgot her fears, and when Miss Pennifield retired to the sewing-room and Caroline suggested that she and Melisande should read together from a French book, she said: "By the way, I hear there are some French people in the neighbourhood. Everyone is agog. They find them amusing."
"I know," said Melisande; "we have met."
"Really?"
"Yes. It was when I went to Miss Pennifield's cottage last week. I tried to get down the cliffs but it was very steep; the little boy was playing there and he guided me down. His guardian, who is also his cousin, was on the beach. The little boy introduced us."
"That must have been fun."
"Yes, it was fun. They were very pleased to speak French. They said they could not understand the English of the people here and I explained they were Cornish . . . not English."
"It must be pleasant to meet people from your own country."
"It was a . . . niceness."