Dead or Alive Read Free

with Robin, I knew that all along.”
    She took this with a kind of shock of relief. Then she drew a long breath and said,
    â€œ Happy? ”
    So it had been as bad as that.… His little Meg—his darling little Meg.… He was physically incapable of speaking for the moment, and Meg went on:
    â€œI can’t talk about it—but if I don’t, you won’t understand; besides, some of it must have been my fault. If I knew whether he was dead or not, it would be easier.”
    Bill sat there big and solid. He said in a rough, commonsense voice,
    â€œI don’t see what that’s got to do with it. If he didn’t treat you properly, he didn’t.”
    Meg looked up for a moment.
    â€œHe didn’t beat me—it wasn’t anything like that. It was partly my fault. I’m stupid—it’s easy to hurt me—” She stopped suddenly because she couldn’t go on. By some horrible illusion it wasn’t Bill sitting there, with his big frame, fair hair, and rugged features, but Robin O’Hara, dark and slim, with the air of charm which had stolen her heart and the bright cruelty which had broken it. The eyes smiled behind their black lashes—beautiful grey Irish eyes, looking at her as if he loved her, whilst he stabbed with bitter words. He had known just how to strip her of her defences and strike suddenly and deep. He had known how to betray her lightly with a kiss. But how could she tell Bill these things? She couldn’t. With an effort she controlled the trembling of her body, but her mind shrank and all her thoughts were quivering with pain. She said in a small quiet voice,
    â€œNo, we weren’t happy. Just at first—” Just at first she had been in a fool’s paradise and had taken it for the truth. Just at first Robin had been the dream lover of the most beautiful dream in the world—just at first.… She went on as soon as she could. “It’s difficult. He thought Uncle Henry would give me an allowance. I can see his point of view. I was living in the house—like a daughter—there was lots of money. He thought it would come to me—some of it at once, the rest later. I suppose it was natural if you didn’t know Uncle Henry. When I told him, Uncle Henry would leave all his money for research work, and that that was all money meant to him, research, it—I think it was a most awful shock. I’d got so used to Uncle Henry’s point of view that I never thought about it. I’ve tried awfully hard to be fair, and I think some of it was my fault because I didn’t explain, and some of it was his because he took too much for granted.”
    Bill clenched his hands. Meg wouldn’t talk if he let fly. If she didn’t talk, he couldn’t help her. But to sit there and hear her blame herself because that swine O’Hara had been a disappointed fortune-hunter took every bit of his self-control. He said,
    â€œGo on.”
    If Meg looked at him—But she didn’t. She looked down at her own clasped hands.
    â€œIt got worse and worse. I was stupid—I minded—too much. I hadn’t anyone to talk to. Uncle Henry went off to his island. You went to South America. Then I told Robin I couldn’t go on. I said I would divorce him—” Her voice just left off.
    â€œWhen was that?” said Bill.
    â€œThis time last year, just before—Bill, it was the day before—”
    â€œHow did he take it?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    He laughed.
    She stopped, because Robin’s laughter rang in her ears. He had seemed amused, and then there had been a sudden flare of anger—“You’ll do nothing of the sort! Do you hear? When I want a divorce I’ll let you know!” And then he had laughed again, and tipped up her chin and kissed her with a sort of hard mockery. Then, just at the door, he had turned and flung her his farewell. “Perhaps