Marjorie Bowen

“ Sir Gilbert rose from his place.
Without a word Sophie passed him, took the peony from her breast and set it in the dragon-painted vase on the mantel-shelf; then she turned.
"It is yes, after all, Sir Gilbert," she said, quietly. "I will be your wife."
VENUS The ruddy, steady glow of a fire that had burned to a great golden heart shone on the blue and purple of a Japanese vase that stood on a slim table by Sir Gilbert's chair and gave a slight color to his worn, bloodless face. By the tall window stood his wife, gazing out on Soho Square, growing dim in the waning English afternoon. ”

“ Still"—he lifted slowly his gray eyes—"you leave the château for the hedgerow, do you not?"
She scattered the torn fragments of hazel leaf to the wind.
"What do you know of Sir Gilbert?" she asked.
He laughed, as if amused at the seriousness of her question.
"I knew him in England, my dear,—he is a worthy gentleman. He would make you a good husband."
"Ah!" said Sophie. "Though he is fifty, and old for that?"
Lord Frere suddenly sighed.
"Ah, my dear, he is rich, as you have said,—and you are not fitted for a poor man's wife—as I have recognized." ”

“ He rose from his seat. "I want you, yourself—Venus as well as the apple, my dear."
She was breathing painfully.
"You—you would suggest I go with you?"
"Yes."
"You—you think I will?"
"By God! I think so."
Her fingers had closed over the chain across her bosom; she saw how he watched this.
"What else am I to steal from Sir Gilbert for you?" she asked; she moved away from him, but he leaned forward and caught at her glittering dress where the cloak fell aside.
"Are we to palter here until the old man sees us? Sophie, I am tired of England. Come with me back to France." ”

“ The rose-silk screen fluttered a little in her hand.
"He is coming to-night to dine with us," continued her husband. "I think he will amuse you."
"Amuse me?" The hand-screen was quite still now.
"Yes—he is interesting." Sir Gilbert was fixing the apple to a long, fine gold chain. "He was most stormy when I refused to sell this to him, but we parted good friends. He is Earl of Clare now, through a distant cousin's death, and, for the time at least, a swinging fortune. A scoundrel, of course."
"Why do you have him here?" asked Sophie. "Do you think scoundrels amuse me?" ”

“ Sophie came forward with a sudden movement, the tall meadowsweet dragging at the hem of her gown, and the man at the stile turned and raised a clearcut English face, half pleasantly scornful and wholly alluring.
"You have frightened them away," he smiled, and he indicated two pheasants that flashed into the undergrowth at her approach.
Sophie frowned, disdaining a reply.
"You are always late," he said, easily. ”

“ The Earl laughed at the recollection of the successful part he had played that evening.
"You have graced this dusty dwelling long enough, my dear."
Sophie rose suddenly; the perfume of the wallflowers was strong as wine to make her senses reel. ”

“ I have so much to ask, to answer. After I leave to-night I shall return to your garden and wait for you. ⁠Paulyn."
Sophie closed her fan slowly; her desire was to laugh madly; this was characteristic of him: when he could have had her for the asking,—yes, it was the naked truth, for the asking,—he rode away, and now she was another man's wife, he would risk a great deal to whistle her back. She was to steal his jewel for him, and he put this on her fan!—his old recklessness—his old insolence. ”

“ The longest-living author of this work died in 1952, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 70 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works. ”