Rosamund said sharply:
“What earthly motive do you think I had to kill Arlena?”
His glance shifted. He mumbled something again.
Rosamund cried:
“Ken, you mass of conceit! You thought I killed her out of altruism on your behalf, did you? Or—did you think I killed her because I wanted you myself?”
“Not at all,” said Kenneth Marshall indignantly. “But you know what you said that day—about Linda and everything—and—and you seemed to care what happened to me.”
Rosamund said:
“I’ve always cared about that.”
“I believe you have. You know, Rosamund—I can’t usually talk about things—I’m not good at talking—but I’d like to get this clear. I didn’t care for Arlena—only just a little at first—and living with her day after day was a pretty nerve-racking business. In fact it was absolute hell, but I was awfully sorry for her. She was such a damned fool—crazy about men—she just couldn’t help it—and they always let her down and treated her rottenly. I simply felt I couldn’t be the one to give her the final push. I’d married her and it was up to me to look after her as best I could. I think she knew that and was grateful to me really. She was—she was a pathetic sort of creature really.”
Rosamund said gently:
“It’s all right, Ken. I understand now.”
Without looking at her Kenneth Marshall carefully filled a pipe. He mum
bled:
“You’re—pretty good at understanding, Rosamund.”
A faint smile curved Rosamund’s ironic mouth. She said:
“Are you going to ask me to marry you now, Ken, or are you determined to wait six months?”
Kenneth Marshall’s pipe dropped from his lips and crashed on the rocks below.
He said:
“Damn, that’s the second pipe I’ve lost down here. And I haven’t got another with me. How the devil did you know I’d fixed six months as the proper time?”
“I suppose because it is the proper time. But I’d rather have something definite now, please. Because in the intervening months you may come across some other persecuted female and rush to the rescue in chivalrous fashion again.”
He laughed.
“You’re going to be the persecuted female this time, Rosamund. You’re going to give up that damned dress-making business of yours and we’re going to live in the country.”
“Don’t you know that I make a very handsome income out of my business? Don’t you realize that it’s my business—that I created it and worked it up, and that I’m proud of it! And you’ve got the damned nerve to come along and say, ‘Give it all up, dear.’”
“I’ve got the damned nerve to say it, yes.”
“And you think I care enough for you to do it?”
“If you don’t,” said Kenneth Marshall, “you’d be no good to me.”
Rosamund said softly:
“Oh, my dear, I’ve wanted to live in the country with you all my life. Now—it’s going to come true….”
* * *