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Page 105

"That, or something similar, is in many men's lives. They don't
tell it, that's the difference. I 'm not taking any credit for
telling you this. I'm ashamed to the bottom of my soul, and when
I look at your bandaged arm I'm suicidal. Peter Byrne urged me to
tell you. He said I couldn't get away with it; some time or other
it would come out. Then he said something else. He said you'd
probably understand, and that if you married me it was better to
start with a clean slate."

No love, no passion in the interview now. A clear statement of
fact, an offer--his past against hers, his future with hers. Her
hand was steady now. The light in the priest's house had been
extinguished. The chill of the mountain night penetrated Anita's
white furs; and set her--or was it the chill?--to shivering.

"If I had not told you, would you have married me?"

"I think so. I'll be honest, too. Yes."

"I am the same man you would have married. Only--more honest."

"I cannot argue about it. I am tired and cold."

Stewart glanced across the valley to where the cluster of villas
hugged the mountain-side There was a light in his room; outside
was the little balcony where Marie had leaned against the railing
and looked down, down. Some of the arrogance of his new virtue
left the man. He was suddenly humbled. For the first time he
realized a part of what Marie had endured in that small room
where the light burned.

"Poor little Marie!" he said softly.

The involuntary exclamation did more for him than any plea he
could have made. Anita rose and held out her hand.

"Go and see her," she said quietly. "You owe her that. We'll be
leaving here in a day or so and I'll not see you again. But
you've been honest, and I will be honest, too. I--I cared a great
deal, too."

"And this has killed it?"

"I hardly comprehend it yet. I shall have to have time to think."

"But if you are going away--I'm afraid to leave you. You'll think
this thing over, alone, and all the rules of life you've been
taught will come--"

"Please, I must think. I will write you, I promise."

He caught her hand and crushed it between both of his.

"I suppose you would rather I did not kiss you?" humbly.

"I do not want you to kiss me."

He released her hand and stood looking down at her in the
darkness. If he could only have crushed her to him, made her feel
the security of his love, of his sheltering arms! But the barrier
of his own building was between them. His voice was husky.

"I want you to try to remember, past what I have told you, to the
thing that concerns us both--I love you. I never loved the other
woman. I never pretended I loved her. And there will be nothing
more like that."

"I shall try to remember."

Anita left Semmering the next day, against the protests of the
doctor and the pleadings of the chaperon. She did not see Stewart
again. But before she left, with the luggage gone and the fiacre
at the door, she went out on the terrace, and looked across to
the Villa Waldheim, rising from among its clustering trees.
Although it was too far to be certain, she thought she saw the
figure of a man on the little balcony standing with folded arms,
gazing across the valley to the Kurhaus.

Having promised to see Marie, Stewart proceeded to carry out his
promise in his direct fashion. He left Semmering the evening of
the following day, for Vienna. The strain of the confession was
over, but he was a victim of sickening dread. To one thing only
he dared to pin his hopes. Anita had said she cared, cared a
great deal. And, after all, what else mattered? The story had
been a jolt, he told himself. Girls were full of queer ideas of
right and wrong, bless them! But she cared. She cared!

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Sun 28th Dec 2025, 18:09

The Street of Seven Stars by Mary Roberts Rinehart