IF I HAD A FATHER. 107 Ger. The coffee will do well enough. (Exit COL. G.)-Is she so beautiful? (turning to the Psyche)-Is there a likeness?—I see it.Nonsense! A mere chance confluence of the ideal and the actual.-Even then the chance must mean something. Such a mere chance would indeed be a strange one! Enter CONSTANCE. Oh, my heart! here she comes! my Psyche herself! Well, Constance ! Con. Oh, Arthur, I am so glad I've found you! I want to talk to you about something. I know you don't care much about me now, but I must tell you, for it would be wrong not. Ger. (aside). How beautiful she is! What can she have to tell me about? It cannot be -it shall not be. Sit down, won't you? (offering her a chair.) Con. No. You sit there (pointing to the dais), and I will sit here (placing herself on the lower step). It was here I used to sit so often when I was a little girl. Why can't one keep little? I was always with you then! (Sighs.) Ger. It is not my fault, Constance. Con. Oh no! I suppose it can't be. Only I don't see why. Oh, Arthur, where should I be but for you! I saw the old place yesterHow dreadful and yet how dear it day. was! Ger. Who took you there? Con. Nobody. I went alone. Ger. It was hardly safe.—I don't like your going out alone, Constance. Con. Why, Arthur! I used to know every court and alley about Shoreditch better than I know Berkeley Square now! Ger. But what made you go there? Con. I went to find a dressmaker who has been working for my aunt, and lost my way. And-would believe it? I was actually frightened! you 1 Ger. No wonder! There are rough people about there. Con. I never used to think them rough when I lived among them with my father and mother. There must be just as good people there as anywhere else. Yet I could not help shuddering at the thought of living there again!-How strange it made me feel! You have been my angel, Arthur. What would have become of me if you hadn't taken me, I dare not think. Ger. I have had my reward, Constance; you are happy. Con. Not quite. There's something I want to tell you. Ger. Tell on, child. Con. Oh, thank you!-that is how you used to talk to me. (Hesitates.) Ger. (with foreboding) Well, what is it? Con: (pulling the fingers of her gloves) A gentleman--you know him-has been-calling upon aunt-and me. We have seen a good deal of him. Ger. Who is he? Con. Mr. Waterfield. (Keeps her eyes on the floor.) Ger. Well? Con. He says-he-he-he wants me to marry him.-Aunt likes him. Ger. And you? Con. I like him too. I don't think I like him enough-I dare say I shall. It is so good of him to take poor me! He is very rich, they say. Ger. Have you accepted him? Con. I am afraid he thinks so.-Ye-e-s. -I hardly know. Ger. Haven't you-been rather-in a hurry-Constance? Con. No, indeed! I haven't been in a hurry at all. He has been a long time trying to make me like him. I have been too long a burden to Mrs. Clifford. Ger. So! it is her doing, then! Ger. (bitterly) Yes; too far-chipping stones and making mud-pies! Con. I don't know what you mean by that, Arthur. Ger. Oh-nothing. I mean that—that—. Of course if you are engaged to him, then Con. I'm afraid I've done very wrong, Arthur. If I had thought you would care!— I knew aunt would be pleased!—she wanted me to have him, I knew.-I ought to do what I can to please her, ought I not? I have no right to Ger. Surely, surely. Yes, yes; I under- stand. It was not your fault. mustn't marry him, if you——. for telling me. Thank you Con. I ought to have told you beforebefore I let him speak to me again. But I didn't think you would care-not much. Ger. Yes, yes. Con. (looking up with anxiety) Ah! you are vexed with me, Arthur! I see how wrong |