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Hichens, Robert Smythe, 1864-1950

"The Woman with the Fan"

"
It gave her an odd, sharp pleasure to speak the truth to him.
"What are you going to do, then?" he asked, after a pause.
He spoke without emotion, accepting the situation.
"To do? What do you mean?"
"Come and sit down. I'll tell you."
He took her hand and led her back to the sofa. When she had sat down, he
poured out tea, put in cream and gave it to her.
"Nothing to eat," she said.
He poured out his tea and sat down in a chair opposite to her, and close
to her.
"May I dare to speak frankly?" he asked. "I've known you so long, and
I've--I've loved you very much, and I still do."
"Go on!" she answered.
"You thought your beauty was everything, that so long as it lasted you
were safe from unhappiness. Well, to-day you are beautiful, and yet--"
"But what does he care for?" she said. "What do men care for? You pretend
that it's something romantic, something good even. Really, it's
impudent--just that--cold and impudent. You're a fool, Robin, you're a
fool!"
"Am I? Thank God there are men--and men. You can't be what Carey said."
For once he had spoken incautiously. He had blurted out something he
never meant to say.
"Mr. Carey!" she exclaimed quickly, curiously. "What did Mr. Carey say I
was?"
"Oh--"
"No, Robin, you are to tell me. No diplomatic lies."
A sudden, almost brutal desire came into him to tell her the truth, to
revel in plain speaking for once, and to see how she would bear it.


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