William Monk 09 - A Breach of Promise

live by the standards of ordinary people. That thought provoked in him a deep disgust. It was fundamentally dishonest.
    Was it possible Melville was merely naive, as he had told Rathbone, and had been maneuvered into a betrothal he had never intended? Was the marriage really unbearable to him?
    Monk stepped off the pavement over the swirling gutter and ran across the cobbled street as a hansom driver came around the corner at a canter and swore at him for getting in the way. The wheels threw an arc of water over his legs, soaking his trousers, and he swore back at the man fluently.
    He reached the far side and brushed the excess water and mud off himself. He was filthy.
    How would he feel in Melville’s place? Suddenly his imagination was vivid! He would no longer have any privacy. He could not do so simple a thing as decorate his room as he wished, have the windows open or closed according to his own whim, eat what and when he liked. And these things were trivial. What about the enormous financial responsibility? And the even greater emotional commitment to spend the rest of his life with one other human being, to put up with her weaknesses, her foibles, her temper or occasional stupidity, to be tender to her needs, her physical illness or emotional wounds and hungers! How could any sane person undertake such a thing?
    But then the other person would also promise the same to him. It would be better than passion, stronger than the heat of any moment, more enduring. It would be the deepest of friendships; it would be the kindness which can be trusted, which need not be earned every day, the generosity which shares a triumph and a disaster with equal loyalty, which will listen to a tale of injury or woe as honestly as a good joke. Above all it could be closeness to one who would judge him as he meant tobe, not always as he was, and who would tell him the truth, but gently.
    He was walking more and more rapidly. He was now in Woburn Place, and the bare trees of Tavistock Square were ahead of him. The sky was clearing again. A brougham swept by, horses stepping out briskly. Two young women walking together laughed loudly and one clasped the other by the arm. A small boy threw a stick for a black-and-white puppy that went racing after it, barking excitedly. “Casper!” the boy shouted, his voice high with delight. “Casper! Fetch!”
    Monk turned into Tavistock Square and stopped at number fourteen. Before he could give himself time to reconsider, he pulled the bell.
    “Good evening,” he said to the parlormaid who answered. “My name is Monk. I should like to call upon Miss Latterly, if she is in and will receive me. That is, if Lieutenant Sheldon will permit?”
    The maid looked less surprised than he had expected, then he remembered that Rathbone would have been there only the day before. Somehow that irritated him. He should not have come without a better reason, but it was too late to retreat now without looking ridiculous.
    “I shall understand, of course, if she is occupied,” he added.
    But she was not, and less than ten minutes later she came into the small library where he was waiting. She looked neat and efficient, and a little pale. Her hair was pulled back rather too tightly. It was no doubt practical, and she might have done it in a hurry, but it was less than flattering to her strong, intelligent face and level eyes.
    She regarded him with surprise. Obviously she had not expected to see him. He was now acutely aware of being wet and his trousers splashed with filth.
    “How are you?” he asked stiffly. “You look tired.”
    Her face tightened. It was apparently not what she wished to be told.
    “I am quite well, thank you. How are you? You look cold.”
    “I am cold!” he snapped. “It is raining outside. I’m soaked.”
    She regarded his trousers, biting her lip.
    “Yes, I can see that. You would have been better advised to take a hansom. You must have walked some distance.”
    “I was thinking.”
    “So I see,” she observed. “Perhaps you should have been watching where you were going.” A tiny flicker of amusement touched the corner of her mouth.
    “You have been nursing too long,” he criticized. “It has become a habit with you to tell people what to do for their welfare. It is extremely unattractive. You remind me of one of the more miserable type of governess. Nobody likes to be ordered around, even if the person doing it is correct.”
    Two spots of color burned on her