The Beloved Stranger - By Grace Livingston Hill Page 0,5
this. Have you forgotten how you kissed my fingers, and the palm of my hand, when they all had gone away and left us to work?”
“Hush!” said the man, his face stern with agony. “No, I haven’t forgotten! You know I haven’t forgotten! I’ve explained it all to you over and over again. I thought you were reasonable. I thought you understood that this was necessary in order to save all that I have worked so hard to gain.”
“Oh, but Cart! I’ve tried to, but I can’t! I cannot give you up!”
“You won’t have to give me up,” he soothed impatiently. “We’ll see each other every day as soon as I get back from this trip. We’ll really be closer together than if we were married, for there’ll be nothing to hinder us from having good times whenever we like. No household cares or anything. And really, a man’s secretary is nearer—”
There came a sharp imperative tap on the door of the sitting room. McArthur started and pushed the weeping girl from him into a corner.
“Yes?” he said harshly, going over to the door. “Has the car come for me? Well, say, I’ll be there in just a minute. There is plenty of time by my watch. But I’ll be right down.”
There was a painful silence. Sherrill could see the other girl shrinking behind a curtain, could hear the painful breathing as she struggled to keep back the sobs, could see the strained attitude of Carter McArthur as he stood stiffly in the middle of the room glaring toward the frail girl.
“Arla, if you love me, you must go away at once,” he said sternly, coming toward the girl again, and now he was within the range of the next room, and Sherrill had to shrink farther back into the shadow again lest he should see her.
Suddenly she saw him stoop, put both arms about the other girl, draw her close to him, and put his lips down on hers, hungrily, passionately, kissing her and devouring her with his eyes, just as he had sometimes on rare and precious occasions done to Sherrill! Sherrill clutched her bridal flowers and shivered as she shrank into the shadow and tried to shut the sight out by closing her eyes, yet could not.
A great awful cold had come down upon her heart, caught it with an icy hand, and was slowly squeezing it to death. She wanted to cry out, as in a nightmare, and waken herself—prove that this was only a hideous dream; yet something was stopping her voice and holding her quiet. It must not be that he should hear her, or see her! It must never happen that she should be drawn into this dreadful scene. She must keep very still, and it would pass. This awful delirium would pass, and her right mind would return! She was going pretty soon to the church to be married to this man, and all this would be forgotten, and she would be telling him sometime how she had watched him and loved him as he prepared to go forth and meet her, her dear bridegroom! He would be kissing her fingers and her eyelids this way…. But no! She was going crazy! That would never happen! A great wall had come down between them. She knew in her heart that now she would never, never tell him! He would never take her in his arms again, or kiss her lips or eyelids, or call her his! That was over forever. A dream that could not come true.
Then an impassioned voice broke the stillness and cut through to the depths of her being. It was his voice with that beloved quality she knew so well!
“Oh my darling, my darling! I can’t stand to see you suffer so! There will never be any girl like you to me. Why can’t you understand?”
“Then if that is so,” broke out the weeping girl, lifting her head with sudden hope, “come with me now! We can get out the way I came and no one will see us. Let us go away! Leave her and leave the business, and everything. No one will see us! Come!”
The man groaned.
“You will not understand!” he murmured impatiently. “It is not possible! Do you want to see me ruined? This girl is rich! Her fortune and the connection with her family will save me. Sometime later there may come a time when I could go with you—not now!”