William Monk 09 - A Breach of Promise

to whether he was socially fully acceptable.
    “My mother died some years ago, Mrs. Ballinger,” he answered. “My father lives in Primrose Hill, but he mixes very little in society. In fact, I suppose it would be more honest to say he does not mix at all.” He looked at her directly. “Of course, he is quite well acquainted with most of the scientific and mathematical community because of his work … before he retired. And he always had a high regard for Lord Palmerston.”
    He knew instantly he should not have mentioned the Prime Minister. She was immensely impressed.
    “How very agreeable,” she answered, momentarily at a loss for words. She recovered rapidly. “I hope I shall have the good fortune to meet him someday. He sounds quite delightful.”
    Margaret looked as if she wanted to groan.
    “I am afraid my opinion is hopelessly biased,” Rathbone said, excusing himself with a smile. He was actually extremely fond of his father. He liked him quite as much as anyone he knew. “Now I must not monopolize your time, Mrs. Ballinger. Miss Ballinger, I have greatly enjoyed your company, and I hope we shall meet again. Good evening.”
    They replied appropriately and he turned and walked away, perhaps a little more rapidly than usual. In spite of his intellectual knowledge of what was happening, and why, and his wry amusement at it all, he still felt pursued, and only his certainty of escape kept the panic from welling up inside him.
    He must not seem to be fleeing. It would hurt Margaret and be inexcusably rude. He should dance with at least three or four other young ladies, and perhaps one or two older ones, before he could decently leave.
    An hour later he was preparing to excuse himself to Lady Hardesty and thank her for a delightful evening, when he found himself standing next to Zillah Lambert, who had just been left by a companion who had gone to seek refreshment for her. She looked flushed and happy, her skin glowing, her eyes bright.
    “Good evening again, Miss Lambert,” he said politely. She really was a very charming girl.
    “Good evening, Sir Oliver. Isn’t it a lovely ball?” She looked around at the sea of lace and tulle and silk, the blaze of lights, the laughter and the music and the sway and swirl of movement. “I wish everyone could be as happy as I am.”
    He felt acutely awkward. He knew that almost all of her joy rested in her engagement to Melville, and she obviously had not even the slightest idea that his feeling was utterly different. What to her was a prospect of excitement and unshadowed delight was to him a prison closing in, so unbearable he would risk social ruin—and very probably financial and professional ruin also—rather than endure it.
    Why? There had to be far more to it than he had told Rathbone. Was Zillah really completely different from the way she seemed?
    He looked at her again. She was certainly comely enough to please any man, and yet not so beautiful as to be vain or spoiled because of it. If she was extravagant, she would probably bring a dowry with her which would more than offset that. And her nature seemed most agreeable.
    “You must meet Mr. Melville, Sir Oliver,” she was saying enthusiastically. “I am sure you would like him. Everybody does, or nearly everybody. I would not wish to give the impression he is so obliging as to be without character or opinion. He certainly is not.”
    “You are very fond of him, aren’t you?” he said gently.
    “Oh yes!” She seemed to radiate her happiness. “I think I am the most fortunate woman in England, if not the world. He is everything I could wish. I have never felt so extremely at ease in anyone’s company, and yet at the same time so invigorated in thought and so filled with the awareness of being on the brink of the greatest adventure life has to offer.” There was not a shadow of doubt in her. “We shall be the envy of everyone in London for the blessings of our lives together. I know he will make me a perfect husband, and I shall do everything I can think of to please him and make him proud of me. I wish thatnever in all the years we shall live together should he even for an hour regret that he chose me.” She looked at him with wide, soft eyes filled with hope and trust.
    Suddenly, like a hand clenching inside him, he understood Melville’s fear. It was unbearable to think of being responsible for so much in the life of another human being, one who sees you not as the fallible,