Chapter VII.

FIRST OFFER.

A little before noon next day word came to her room that Sir Oliver had called and desired to speak with her.

She was not unprepared. She had indeed dressed with special care in the hope of it; but she went to her gla.s.s and stood for a minute or two, touching here and there her seemly tresses.

Should she keep him waiting--keep him even a long while? . . .

He deserved it. . . . But ah, no! She was under a vow never to be other than forthright with him; and the truth was, his coming filled her with joy.

"I am glad you have come!" These, in fact, were her first words as he turned to face her in the drawing-room. He had been standing by the broad window-seat, staring out on the roses.

"You guess, of course, what has brought me?" He had dressed himself with extreme care. His voice was steady, his eye clear, and only a touch of pallor told of the overnight debauch. "I am here to be forgiven."

"Who am I, to forgive?"

"If you say that, you make it three times worse for me. Whatever you are does not touch my right to ask your pardon, or my need to be forgiven--which is absolute."

"No," she mused, "you are right. . . . Have you asked pardon of Tatty?"

"I have, ten minutes ago. She sent the message to you."

"Tatty was heroic"--Ruth paused on the reminiscence with a smile--"

and, if you will believe me, quite waspish when I told her so."

"You should have refused to come. You might have known that I was drunk, or I could never have sent."

"How does it go?" She stood before him, puckering her brows a little as she searched to remember the words--"'_On the seventh day, when the heart of the king was merry with wine, he commanded the seven chamberlains_--'"

"Spare me."

"'--_to bring Vasbti the queen before the king with the crown royal, to show the people and the princes her beauty, for she was fair to look on_.' Do I quote immodestly, my lord?"

"Not immodestly," he answered. "For I think--I'll be sworn--no woman ever had half your beauty without knowing it. But you quote _mal a propos_. Queen Vashti refused to come."

"'_Therefore was the king very wroth, and his anger burned in him_.'"

"I think, again, that you were not the woman to obey any such fear."

"No. Queen Vashti refused to come, being a queen. Whereas I, my lord--

"'Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire?'"

"My slave?" he asked. "Setting aside last night--when I was disgustingly drunk--have you a single excuse for using that word?"

"Of your giving, none. You have been more than considerate. Of my own choosing, yes."

He stared.

"At any rate Tatty is not your slave," she went on, and he smiled with her. "I am glad you asked Tatty's pardon. Did she forgive you easily?"

"Too easily. She was aware, she said, that gentlemen would be gentlemen."

"She must have meant precisely the reverse."

"Was I pretty bad?"

She put a hand across her eyes as if to brush the image from them.

"What matters the degree? It was another man seated and wearing my lord's body. _That_ hurt."

"By G.o.d, Ruth, it shall never happen again!"

She winced as he spoke her name, and her colour rose. "Please make no promise in haste," she said.

"Excuse me; when a man takes an oath for life, the quicker he's through with it the better--at least that's the way with us Vyells.

It's trifles--like getting drunk, for instance--we do deliberately.

Believe me, child, I have a will of my own."

"Yes," she meditated, "I believe you have a strong will."

"'Tis a swinish business, over-drinking, when all's said and done."

He announced it as if he made a discovery; and indeed something of a discovery it was, for that age. "Weakens a man's self-control, besides dulling his palate. . . . They tell me, by the way, that after you left I beat Silk."

Ruth looked grave. "You did wrong, then."

"Silk is a beast."

"An excellent reason for not making him your guest; none for striking him at your own table."

"Perhaps not." Sir Oliver shrugged his shoulders. "Well, he can have his revenge, if he wants it."

"How so? As a clergyman he cannot offer to fight you, and as a coward he would not if he could."

"Is one, then, to be considerate with cowards?"

"Certainly, if you honour cowards with your friendship."

"Friendship! . . . The dog likes his platter and I suffer him for his talk. When his talk trespa.s.ses beyond sufferance, I chastise him.

That's how I look at it."

"I am sorry, my lord, that Mr. Silk should make the third on your list this morning."

"Oh, come; you don't ask me to _apologise_ to Silk!"

"To him rather than to me."