Anna looked at her coldly. “Are you speaking of Mr. Darrow? I don’t know why you think your going or staying can in any way affect our relations.”
“You mean that you have given him up–because of me? Oh, how could you? You can’t really love him!–And yet,” the girl suddenly added, “you must, or you’d be more sorry for me!”
“I’m very sorry for you,” Anna said, feeling as if the iron band about her heart pressed on it a little less inexorably.
“Then why won’t you hear me? Why won’t you try to understand? It’s all so different from what you imagine!”
“I’ve never judged you.”
“I’m not thinking of myself. He loves you!”
“I thought you’d come to speak of Owen.”
Sophy Viner seemed not to hear her. “He’s never loved any one else. Even those few days…I knew it all the while…he never cared for me.”
“Please don’t say any more!” Anna said.
“I know it must seem strange to you that I should say so much. I shock you, I offend you: you think me a creature without shame. So I am–but not in the sense you think! I’m not ashamed of having loved him; no; and I’m not ashamed of telling you so. It’s that that justifies me–and him too…Oh, let me tell you how it happened! He was sorry for me: he saw I cared. I knew that was all he ever felt. I could see he was thinking of some one else. I knew it was only for a week…He never said a word to mislead me…I wanted to be happy just once–and I didn’t dream of the harm I might be doing him!”
Anna could not speak. She hardly knew, as yet, what the girl’s words conveyed to her, save the sense of their tragic fervour; but she was conscious of being in the presence of an intenser passion than she had ever felt.
“I am sorry for you.” She paused. “But why do you say this to me?” After another interval she exclaimed: “You’d no right to let Owen love you.”
“No; that was wrong. At least what’s happened since has made it so. If things had been different I think I could have made Owen happy. You were all so good to me-I wanted so to stay with you! I suppose you’ll say that makes it worse: my daring to dream I had the right…But all that doesn’t matter now. I won’t see Owen unless you’re willing. I should have liked to tell him what I’ve tried to tell you; but you must know better; you feel things in a finer way. Only you’ll have to help him if I can’t. He cares a great deal…it’s going to hurt him…”
Anna trembled. “Oh, I know! What can I do?”
“You can go straight back to Givre–now, at once! So that Owen shall never know you’ve followed him.” Sophy’s clasped hands reached out urgently. “And you can send for Mr. Darrow–bring him back. Owen must be convinced that he’s mistaken, and nothing else will convince him. Afterward I’ll find a pretext–oh, I promise you! But first he must see for himself that nothing’s changed for you.”
Anna stood motionless, subdued and dominated. The girl’s ardour swept her like a wind.
“Oh, can’t I move you? Some day you’ll know!” Sophy pleaded, her eyes full of tears.
Anna saw them, and felt a fullness in her throat. Again the band about her heart seemed loosened. She wanted to find a word, but could not: all within her was too dark and violent. She gave the girl a speechless look.
“I do believe you,” she said suddenly; then she turned and walked out of the room.
Chapter XXXII
She drove from Miss Painter’s to her own apartment. The maid-servant who had it in charge had been apprised of her coming, and had opened one or two of the rooms, and prepared a fire in her bedroom. Anna shut herself in, refusing the woman’s ministrations. She felt cold and faint, and after she had taken off her hat and cloak she knelt down by the fire and stretched her hands to it.
In one respect, at least, it was clear to her that she would do well to follow Sophy Viner’s counsel. It had been an act of folly to follow Owen, and her first business was to get back to Givre before him. But the only train leaving that evening was a slow one, which did not reach Francheuil till midnight, and she knew that her taking it would excite Madame de Chantelle’s wonder and lead to interminable talk. She had come up to Paris on the pretext of finding a new governess for Effie, and the natural thing was to defer her return till the next morning. She knew Owen well enough to be sure that he would make another attempt to see Miss Viner, and failing that, would write again and await her answer: so that there was no likelihood of his reaching Givre till the following evening.