Pimpernel and Rosemary, Baroness Orczy [i have read the book a hundred times .txt] 📗

“You have seen Elza?” he asked.

“How did you know?”

“It was not a very difficult guess,” he said. Then he went on: “She thinks as you do?”

“Absolutely!” Rosemary replied.

He gave a quick, impatient sigh. “I am sorry,” he said. “What will you do now?”

“Destroy these papers, of course. I have no further use for them.”

Jasper appeared thoughtful for a moment or two, then he said, “I think Elza ought to have put the matter before Anna’s mother before she finally decided.”

“She is going to do that now,” Rosemary said.

“Has she driven over to Ujlak, then?”

“Yes. And after that she is going to try to see Philip. I was thinking,” Rosemary went on, “that you or I might telephone to General Naniescu and use what influence we possess to induce him to let Elza see the two children.”

“By all means,” Jasper assented. Then he added: “I think it will come best from you.”

He was watching Rosemary closely. She was kneeling beside the huge porcelain stove, which is such a feature in country houses in this part of the world, and was trying to undo the catch of the door. She still had the manuscript in her hand.

“What are you trying to do, little one?” he asked.

“To open the door of the stove,” she replied. “Then, if you will give me a match⁠ ⁠…”

“Such a hurry?” he queried with a smile.

“Evil in any form is best destroyed as quickly as possible.”

“That is true on principle. But in this case⁠ ⁠…”

“Well?”

“Do you think it would be quite fair to Anna’s mother?”

“What do you mean?”

“She has not been consulted, you said.”

“No; but Elza is sure⁠—”

“Can anybody be sure?” he broke in quickly. “You know what these people are. A woman like Elza⁠—a splendid woman, I grant you⁠—is very impulsive. She is a heroine, as you say; but doesn’t she measure weaker characters by her own standard? She has no right to do that in this case. Charlotte Heves has as much at stake as Elza Imrey. Maurus, I dare say, is not in a fite state to give his opinion; but Anna’s mother certainly is; and, honestly, I don’t think that it would be fair to confront her with a fait accompli.”

Rosemary made no reply for a moment or two, then she deliberately closed the catch of the iron door and rose slowly from her knees.

“Perhaps you are right,” she said.

Jasper put out his hand, and as she tried to evade him he clutched at her dress and drew her close to him.

“Don’t punish me, little one,” he pleaded gently, and tried to look into her eyes, which, however, she kept resolutely downcast. “Don’t punish me for not seeing entirely eye to eye with you in this. You would not have me abdicate my freedom of thought, even though I would lie down in the dust, for your dear feet to walk over me.”

Rosemary shook her head, but she still kept her head obstinately averted from him.

“May I read what you have written?” he asked.

She gave him the manuscript without a word. He only glanced at the envelope and then slipped the whole packet in the inner pocket of his coat.

“I may be able to make a suggestion or two,” he went on with a kindly smile, “something that you will call by the ugly name of compromise. But, darling, I cannot help it. I still think that you look at the whole thing from too lofty an elevation. Come down to earth, little one, and look at it from a more practical point of view.”

He had succeeded in capturing both her hands, and with a sudden, compelling gesture he forced her down on her knees. She gave a little cry because he had hurt her wrists; but the next moment he had his arms round her shoulders and his face buried between her throat and chin. Rosemary managed to push him away from her.

“Now now, Jasper,” she murmured, “please!”

He gave a curious, hoarse laugh.

“Not now?” he retorted. “Any time, sweetheart, is kissing time! And if you only knew how I ache with wanting your kiss!” He held her by the shoulders and gazed on her with such a living flame in his deep-set, dark eyes, that it seemed to consume the veils that hid her soul and to leave it stripped before his gaze and shamed in its nakedness.

“If you loved me ever so little,” he murmured between his teeth. He kissed her on the lips once, twice, till hers were seared and bruised, then he released her so suddenly that she lost her balance and almost measured her length on the floor while he rose abruptly to his feet. He looked down at her for a moment or two, but made no attempt to help her to get up; seeing her struggles he laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

“I wonder, sometimes,” he said in a hard, dry voice, “why one goes on living. How much easier it would be just to lie down and die. Look at the fuss there is because a boy and a girl will be lucky enough to go out of this world before they have learned to hate it. They don’t know how much easier it is to die than to live. And how much better! For me how much better! But the best of all would be to see you dead, my dear, for then you could not go on hurting me, as you do⁠—as you would do even if I were in my grave⁠—”

And with that he strode out of the room and banged the door to behind him.

Rosemary struggled to her feet. She felt bruised and hurt, mentally as well as physically. Never had Jasper been so repellent to her as he was just now. The fear that one day she might come to hate him had become a hideous reality. The awful thing was that he had read her secret thoughts, her soul had been revealed to him in all its nakedness and its shame. He