There was humour one moment and pathos
the next--deep feeling and the wittiest cynicism.
They were all swung about Europe and with Cards at their head pranced
through the cities of the world. Meanwhile Peter fancied that once or twice
Clare flung him a little glance of appeal to ask for forgiveness--and once
they looked up and smiled at one another. A tiny smile but it meant
everything.
"Oh! won't we have a reconciliation afterwards? How could I have said those
things? Don't we just love one another?"
When they went upstairs again Peter and Cards exchanged a word:
"You'll come and see us?"
"My dear old man, I should just think so. This is the first time I've been
properly in London for years and now I'm going to stay. Fancy you married
and successful and here am I still the rolling-stone!"
"You! Why you can do anything!"
"Can't write 'Reuben Hallard,' old boy...." and so, with a laugh, they
parted.
In the cab, afterwards, Clare's head was buried in Peter's coat, and she
sobbed her heart out. "How I _could_ have been such a beast, Peter, Peter!"
"Darling, it was nothing."
"Oh, but it was! It shall never, never happen again...but I was
frightened--"
"Frightened!"
"Yes, I always think some one's going to take you away. I don't understand
all those other people. They frighten me--I want you to myself, just you
and I--always.
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