“You put me off my game,” he said grimly. “I can see you’re up to something; but we can’t talk here.”
“Let’s talk to-morrow,” she urged, “not now. I thought perhaps you’d like to come and listen to the music with me; there is music in the hall.”
“You did, did you?” he replied in the same hard voice. “Well, you were mistaken. Go up-stairs to my room and wait for me. It’s number 28, two or three doors beyond Miss Marley’s sitting-room. I’ll follow you.”
An older woman would have hesitated, and if Claire had hesitated, Winn would never have forgiven her. But her youth was at once her danger and her protection.
She would rather have waited till to-morrow, because she saw that Winn was in a difficult mood; but she had no idea what was behind his mood. She went at once.
She had never been in Winn’s room before, and as she sat down to wait for him her eyes took in its neat impressive bareness. It was a narrow hotel room, a bed in one corner, a chest of drawers, washstand, and wardrobe opposite. By the balcony window were a small table and an armchair. A cane chair stood at the foot of the bed.
Nothing was lying about. There were few traces of occupation visible; only a pair of felt slippers under the bed, a large bath sponge on the washstand, and a dressing-gown hanging on the nail behind the door. In his tooth-glass by the bedside was a rose Claire had worn and given him. It was put there with meticulous care; its stalk had been re-cut and its leaves freshened. Beside it lay a small New Testament and a book on saddles.
Winn joined her in exactly five minutes. He shut the door carefully after him, and sat down on the cane chair opposite her.
“I thought you might like to know,” he said politely, “that I have made up my mind not to let you go.”
Then he waited for Claire to contradict him. But Claire waited, too; Claire waited longest. She was not sure what to say, and, unlike most women, when she was not sure what to say, she said nothing. Winn spoke again, but a little less quietly.
“It’s no use your making a fuss,” he stated, “or cutting up rough about it and throwing morals at my head. I’ve got past that.” He got up, locked the door, and then came back. “I’m going to keep that door locked until I make sure what you’re up to.”
“You needn’t have done that,” Claire said quietly. “Do you think I want to leave you? If I did, I shouldn’t be here. You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to do, because I want exactly what you do.”
Winn shot an appreciative glance at her; that was a good stroke, but he wasn’t going to be taken in by it. In some ways he would have preferred to see her angry. Hostility is generally the sign of weakness; but Claire looked at him with an unyielding tenderness.
“The question is,” he said firmly, “can I make you do what we both want and what you are holding back from? I dare say you’ve got good reasons for holding back and all that, and I know I’m an out-and-out blackguard to press you, but I’ve reached a place where I won’t stand any more. D’you see my point?”
Claire nodded. She was not angry, because she saw that Winn was fighting her not because he wanted to be victorious over her, but because he was being conquered by pain.
She was not going to let him be conquered by it – that, as Miss Marley had said, was her responsibility – but it wasn’t going to be easy to prevent it. She was close against the danger-line, and every nerve in her being had long ago become part of Winn. He was fighting against the best of himself, but all that was not the best of Claire fought on his side. Perhaps there was not very much that was not the best in Claire. She hesitated, then she said:
“I thought you wanted me – to go. I think you really do want it; that’s why I’m going.”
Winn leaned forward and took hold of both her wrists. “So I did,” he agreed; “but it isn’t any good. I can’t do it. I’ve thought it all out – just what to do, you know – for both of us. I’ll have to leave my regiment, of course, but I can get back into something else all right later on. Estelle will give me a divorce. She’ll want to keep the child away from me; besides, she’ll like to be a public martyr. As for you and me, you’ll have to face rough music for a year or two; that’s the worst part of it. I’m sorry. We’ll stay abroad till it’s over. My mother will help us. I can count on her.”
“Winn, come here,” said Claire. He came and knelt down beside her. She put her hands on his shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. He tried to keep them hard, but he failed.
“Don’t try and get round me!” he said threateningly. “You’ll make me dangerous if you do. It isn’t the least good!”
“Can you listen to what I say?” Claire asked quietly.
“I suppose so,” said Winn, guardedly. “I love every bit of you – I love the ground your chair’s on – but I’m not going to give in.”
“And that’s the way I love you,” she said. “I’d go with you to the world’s end, Winn, if I didn’t love you so much and you’d take me there; but you won’t, for just the same reason. We can’t do what would be unfair; we shouldn’t like it. It’s no use, darling; we shouldn’t like it.”
“That’s all you know about it,” said Winn, unappeasably. “Anyhow, we’re going to do it, whether you like it or not.”
Then she took her hands away from his shoulders and leaned back in her chair. He had never seen her look so frail and small, and he knew that she had never been so formidably strong.
“Oh, no, Winn,” she whispered; “I’m not. I’m not going to do it. If you wanted it, if you really wanted it with all of you, you wouldn’t be rough with me; you’d be gentle. You’re not being gentle because you don’t think it right, and I’m never going to do what you don’t think right.”
Winn drew a deep, hard breath. He threw his arms round her and pressed her against his heart.
“I’m not rough,” he muttered, “and you’ve got to do it! You’ve got to give in!”
Claire made no answer. She only clung to him, and every now and then she said his name under her breath as if she were calling to something in him to save her.
Whatever it was that she was calling to answered her. He suddenly bowed his head and buried it in her lap. She felt his body shake, and he began to sob, hard, dry sobs that broke him as they came. He held her close, with his face hidden. Claire pressed her hands on each side of his temples, feeling the throbbing of his heart. She felt as if something inside her were being torn to pieces, something that knocked its way against her side in a vain endeavor to escape. She very nearly gave in. Then Winn stopped as suddenly as he had begun.
“Sorry,” he said, “but this kind of thing is a bit wearing. I’m not going to unlock that door. Do you intend to stay all night here, or give me your promise?” He spoke steadily now; his moment of weakness was past. She could have gone then, but nothing would have induced her to leave him while he cried.
“I don’t intend to do either,” Claire said with equal steadiness. “When you think I ought to go, you’ll let me out.”
It struck Winn that her knowledge of him was positively uncanny.
“I don’t believe,” he said sharply, “you’re only nineteen. I believe you’ve been in love before!”
Claire didn’t say anything, but she looked past him at the door.
Her look maddened him.
“You’re playing with me!” he cried. “By Jove! you’re playing with me!” He caught her by the shoulders, and for a moment he believed that he was going to kill her; but her eyes never wavered. He was not hurting her, and she knew that he never would. She said: