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Marion, the Story of an Artist's Model

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<h2>XXII</h2> MY younger sister, Nellie, had married her Frenchman. The family began to look upon me as they did on Ada, as an old maid! And I was only twenty-one. Reggie had been much wrapped up in certain elections and I had seen him only for a few minutes each day, when one night he came over to the studio. He looked very handsome and reckless. I think he had been drinking, for there was a strange look about his eyes, and when he took me in his arms I thought he was never going to let me go. Whenever Reggie was especially kind to me, I always thought it a good time to broach the subject of our marriage. So now I said: “Reggie, don’t you think it would be lovely if we could arrange to be married in June? I hate to think of another summer alone.” It was a clear, sweet night in April, and my windows were all open. There was the fragrance of growing green in the air, and it seemed as warm as an early summer day. I felt happy, and{126} oh, so drawn to my handsome Reggie as he held me close in his arms. He put his warm face right down on mine, and he said: “Darling girl, if we were to marry, you cannot imagine the mess it would make of my career. My father would never forgive me. Don’t you see my whole future might be ruined? Be my wife in every way but the silly ceremony. If you loved me, you would make this sacrifice for me.” Something snapped in my head! I pushed him from me with my hands doubled into fists. For the first time I saw Reginald Bertie clearly! My sister was right. He was a monument of selfishness and egotism. He was worse. He was a beast who had taken from me all my best years, and now—now he made a proposition to me that was vile!—me, the girl he had asked to be his wife! What had I done, then, that he should have changed like this to me? I was guilty of no fault, save that of poverty. I knew that had I been possessed of those things that Reggie prized so much, never would he have insulted me like this. I felt him approaching me with his arms held out, but I backed away from him and suddenly I found myself hysterically speaking those lines from Camille. I was pointing to the door: “That’s your way!” I screamed at him. “Go!” <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/i_153_sml.jpg" width-obs="337" height-obs="500" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> <div class="caption">If you loved me you would make this sacrifice for me. </div> </div> {127} “Marion—darling—forgive me—I didn’t mean that.” But I wouldn’t listen to him, and when at last he was out of my room, I locked and bolted the door upon him.{128} <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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