"
He called a carriage and took her off to a roof garden. There,
as it was early, they got a seat near the parapet. Tavernake
talked clumsily about himself most of the time. There was a lump
in his throat. He felt all the while that tragedy was very near.
By degrees, though, as she ate and drank, the color came back to
her cheeks, the fear of a breakdown seemed to pass away. She
became even cheerful.
"We are really the most amazing people, Leonard," she declared.
"You stumbled into my life once before when I was on the point of
being turned out of my rooms. You've come into it again and you
find me once more homeless. Don't spend too much money upon our
dinner, for I warn you that I am going to borrow from you."
He laughed.
"That's good news," he remarked, "but I'm not sure that I'm going
to lend anything."
He leaned across the table. Their dinner had taken long in
preparing and the dusk was falling now. Over them were the
stars, the band was playing soft music, the hubbub of the streets
lay far below. Almost they were in a little world by themselves.
"Dear Beatrice," he said, "three times I asked you to marry me
and you would not, and I asked you because I was a selfish brute,
and because I knew that it was good for me and that it would save
me from things of which I was afraid. And now I am asking you
the same thing again, but I have a bigger reason, Beatrice. I
have been alone most of the last two years, I have lived the sort
of life which brings a man face to face with the truth, helps him
to know himself and others, and I have found out something.
Pages:
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364