The Complete Works. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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      “Oh, bother! you’re not old. You won’t mind my wanting you to go for this once, will you?”

      She smiled affectionately, put on her mantle, and turned her cheek towards him to be kissed. The unaccustomed gesture alarmed him; he retreated a step, and involuntary assumed an attitude of self-defence, as if the problem before him were a pugilistic one. Recovering himself immediately, he kissed her, and impatiently accompanied her to the house door, which he closed softly behind her, leaving her to walk in search of her carriage alone. Then he stole upstairs to the library, where he found Lydia reading.

      “She’s gone,” he said.

      Lydia put down her book, looked up at him, saw what was coming, looked down again to hide a spasm of terror, and said, with a steady severity that cost her a great effort, “I hope you have not quarrelled.”

      “Lord bless you, no! We kissed one another like turtle-doves. At odd moments she wheedles me into feeling fond of her in spite of myself. She went away because I asked her to.”

      “And why do you ask my guests to go away?”

      “Because I wanted to be alone with you. Don’t look as if you didn’t understand. She’s told me a whole heap of things about myself that alter our affairs completely. My birth is all right; I’m heir to a county family that came over with the Conqueror, and I shall have a decent income. I can afford to give away weight to old Webber now.”

      “Well,” said Lydia, sternly.

      “Well,” said Cashel, unabashed, “the only use of all that to me is that I may marry if I like. No more fighting or teaching now.”

      “And when you are married, will you be as tender to your wife as you are to your mother?”

      Cashel’s elation vanished. “I knew you’d think that,” he said. “I am always the same with her; I can’t help it. She makes me look like a fool, or like a brute. Have I ever been so with you?”

      “Yes,” said Lydia. “Except,” she added, “that you have never shown absolute dislike to me.”

      “Ah! EXCEPT! That’s a very big except. But I don’t dislike her. Blood is thicker than water, and I have a softness for her; only I won’t put up with her nonsense. But it’s different with you. I don’t know how to say it; I’m not good at sentiment — not that there’s any sentiment about it. At least, I don’t mean that; but — You’re fond of me in a sort of way, ain’t you?”

      “Yes; I’m fond of you in a sort of way.”

      “Well, then,” he said, uneasily, “won’t you marry me? I’m not such a fool as you think; and you’ll like me better after a while.”

      Lydia became very pale. “Have you considered,” she said, “that henceforth you will be an idle man, and that I shall always be a busy woman, preoccupied with the work that may seem very dull to you?”

      “I won’t be idle. There’s lots of things I can do besides boxing. We’ll get on together, never fear. People that are fond of one another never have any difficulty; and people that hate each other never have any comfort. I’ll be on the lookout to make you happy. You needn’t fear my interrupting your Latin and Greek: I won’t expect you to give up your whole life to me. Why should I? There’s reason in everything. So long as you are mine, and nobody else’s, I’ll be content. And I’ll be yours and nobody else’s. What’s the use of supposing half a dozen accidents that may never happen? Let’s sign reasonable articles, and then take our chance. You have too much goodnature ever to be nasty.”

      “It would be a hard bargain,” she said, doubtfully; “for you would have to give up your occupation; and I should give up nothing but my unfruitful liberty.”

      “I will swear never to fight again; and you needn’t swear anything. If that is not an easy bargain, I don’t know what is.”

      “Easy for me, yes. But for you?”

      “Never mind me. You do whatever you like; and I’ll do whatever you like. You have a conscience; so I know that whatever you like will be the best thing. I have the most science; but you have the most sense. Come!”

      Lydia looked around, as if for a means of escape. Cashel waited anxiously. There was a long pause.

      “It can’t be,” he said, pathetically, “that you are afraid of me because I was a prizefighter.”

      “Afraid of you! No: I am afraid of myself; afraid of the future; afraid FOR you. But my mind is already made up on this subject. When I brought about this meeting between you and your mother I determined to marry you if you asked me again.”

      She stood up, quietly, and waited. The rough hardihood of the ring fell from him like a garment: he blushed deeply, and did not know what to do. Nor did she; but without willing it she came a step closer to him, and turned up her face towards his. He, nearly blind with confusion, put his arms about her and kissed her. Suddenly she broke loose from his arms, seized the lapels of his coat tightly in her hands, and leaned back until she nearly hung from him with all her weight.

      “Cashel,” she said, “we are the silliest lovers in the world, I believe — we know nothing about it. Are you really fond of me?”

      She recovered herself immediately, and made no further demonstration of the kind. He remained shy, and was so evidently anxious to go, that she presently asked him to leave her for a while, though she was surprised to feel a faint pang of disappointment when he consented.

      On leaving the house he hurried to the address which his mother had given him: a prodigious building in Westminster, divided into residential flats, to the seventh floor of which he ascended in a lift. As he stepped from it he saw Lucian Webber walking away from him along a corridor. Obeying a sudden impulse, he followed, and overtook him just as he was entering a room. Lucian, finding that some one was resisting his attempt to close the door, looked out, recognized Cashel, turned white, and hastily retreated into the apartment, where, getting behind a writing-table, he snatched a revolver from a drawer. Cashel recoiled, amazed and frightened, with his right arm up as if to ward off a blow.

      “Hullo!” he cried. “Drop that d — d thing, will you? If you don’t, I’ll shout for help.”

      “If you approach me I will fire,” said Lucian, excitedly. “I will teach you that your obsolete brutality is powerless against the weapons science has put into the hands of civilized men. Leave my apartments. I am not afraid of you; but I do not choose to be disturbed by your presence.”

      “Confound your cheek,” said Cashel, indignantly; “is that the way you receive a man who comes to make a friendly call on you?”

      “Friendly NOW, doubtless, when you see that I am well protected.”

      Cashel gave a long whistle. “Oh,” he said, “you thought I came to pitch into you. Ha! ha! And you call that science — to draw a pistol on a man. But you daren’t fire it, and well you know it. You’d better put it up, or you may let it off without intending to: I never feel comfortable when I see a fool meddling with firearms. I came to tell you that I’m going to be married to your cousin. Ain’t you glad?”

      Lucian’s face changed. He believed; but he said, obstinately, “I don’t credit that statement. It is a lie.”

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