Kept in the Dark | Page 8

wrath but with head so turned from
him that he should not see her.
"Nor have ever had one? I am entitled to ask the question, though
perhaps I should have asked it before."
"You are at any rate not entitled to ask it now. Sir Francis Geraldine,
between you and me all is over. I can only beg you to understand most
positively that all is over."
"My dear Miss Holt, you need not insist upon that, as it is perfectly
understood."

"Then there need be no further words. If I have done you any wrong I
ask your pardon. You have wronged me only in your thoughts. I must
take what consolation I can from the feeling that the injury will fall
chiefly upon my head and not upon yours." Then without a further
word of farewell she marched out of the room.
Sir Francis, when he found himself alone, shook himself, as it were, as
he rose from the sofa, and looked about the room in amazement. It was
quite true that she was gone--gone, as far as he was concerned, for ever.
It did not occur to him for a moment that there could be any
reconciliation between them, and his first feeling undoubtedly was one
of amazed disappointment. Then, standing there in Mrs. Holt's
drawing-room, he began to bethink himself what could have been the
cause of it. Since the first week of his engagement he had begun and
had continued to tell himself what great things he was about to do for
Cecilia Holt. With her beauty, her grace, her dignity, and her
accomplishments he was quite satisfied. It was expedient that he should
marry, and he did not know that he could marry much better. Cecilia,
when her mother died, would have twenty thousand pounds, and that in
his eyes had been sufficient. But he was about to make her Lady
Geraldine, and the more that he thought of this, the more grateful it had
appeared to him that she should be to him. Then by degrees, while he
had expected from her expressions of gratitude, she had rebelled
against him! Of the meaning of this he had not been quite conscious,
but had nevertheless felt it necessary that he should dominate her spirit.
Up to the moment in which this interview had begun he had thought
that he was learning to do so. She had not dared to ask him questions
which would have been so natural, or to demand from him services to
which she was entitled. It was thus that he had regarded her conduct.
But he had never feared for a moment but that he was on the road to
success. Up to the moment at which he had entered the room he had
thought that he was progressing favourably. His Cecilia was becoming
tame in his hands, as was necessary. He had then been altogether taken
aback and surprised by her statement to him, and could not for some
moments get over his feeling of amazement. At last he uttered a low
whistle, and then walked slowly out of the house. At the front door he
found his horse, and, mounting it, rode back into Exeter. As he did so

he began to inquire of himself whether this step which the girl had
determined to take was really a misfortune to him or the reverse. He
had hardly as yet asked himself any such question since the day on
which he had first become engaged to her. He had long thought of
marrying, and one girl after another had been rejected by him as he had
passed them in review through his thoughts. Then had come Cecilia's
turn, and she had seemed to answer the purpose. There had been about
her an especial dignity which had suited his views of matrimonial life.
She was a young woman as to whom all his friends would say that he
had done well in marrying her. But by degrees there had come upon
him a feeling of the general encumbrance of a wife. Would she not
interfere with him? Would she not wish to hinder him when he chose to
lead a bachelor's life? Newmarket for instance, and his London clubs,
and his fishing in Norway,--would she not endeavour to set her foot
upon them? Would it not be well that he should teach her that she
would not be allowed to interfere? He had therefore begun to teach
her,--and this had come of it! It had been quite unexpected, but still he
felt as though he were released from a burden.
He had accused her of having had another lover. At the moment an idea
had passed through his mind that she was suddenly prompted by her
conscience to tell him something