Free Who Pays the Piper? by Patricia Wentworth Page B

to the kitchen and saw Susan standing there as white as paper. He shut the door behind him and stood against it. Neither of them spoke, until at last he said in the same rough tone which he had used over the telephone,
    â€œWhat’s all this nonsense?”
    Susan went back till she could lean against the dresser.
    â€œYou shouldn’t have come,” she said in a desolate tone.
    â€œI have come. And you’ve got to explain. On Wednesday when I was down here everything was all right—I was going to get Garnish’s job, and you were going to marry me. Now I’ve got the job, and you’re going to marry Dale. I suppose you don’t think that needs any explanation. I’m sorry, but I don’t agree. I’ve come here to get an explanation, and I’m not going away till I’ve got one. If you haven’t got a story ready, you’d better do some quick thinking.”
    Bill had never spoken to her like that in his life before. They had disagreed and argued, they had quarrelled and made it up again, but he had never looked as if he hated her before, never used that rough, cold voice of sarcasm. It hurt unbelievably, but it steadied her. She said,
    â€œIt’s no use trying to explain. It was no use your coming down. We mustn’t see each other, we mustn’t talk. It’s no use——”
    He left the door and came towards her.
    â€œLook here, Susan, if you think you can come that sort of thing over me, you can’t! We’re engaged. If you want to break the engagement you can, but you must tell me why.” He dropped his hands on her shoulders and let them lie there heavy and strong. “Look at me!”
    Susan looked at him. She did not know how wretched a look it was. The hands that held her tightened.
    â€œWhat’s the matter? What’s happened? You’ve got to tell me.”
    â€œBill, it’s no use. Oh, Bill—please go!”
    â€œWhat’s the good of saying things like that? There’s something behind this, and I’m going to know what it is. Are you going to look me in the face and say that you care for this fellow?”
    She went on looking, but she did not speak.
    â€œCome along—say it! You wouldn’t marry a man you didn’t care for. Don’t mind my feelings—they don’t matter to you any more. Go on—tell me you love him—a little—much—passionately—not at all! Which of them is it? Or shall I tell you that you don’t care a snap of your fingers about him? Susan, you don’t—you can’t!”
    She put up her hands and took him by the wrists to push him away.
    â€œStop! It’s no good, Bill.”
    â€œThen you’ve got to tell me why.”
    She freed herself.
    â€œI can’t tell you why—I can’t tell you anything. We’re not engaged any more. I can’t marry you—I’m going to marry him. That’s all there is to say.” Her colour had risen, her breath came quickly. There was a desperate sound in her voice.
    Bill’s manner changed suddenly. The roughness went out of it. He said,
    â€œLook here, Susan, this is no good. You were all right on Wednesday. Something has happened since then, and you’re going to tell me what it is. If you’ve fallen out of love with me you’ve only got to say so. If you’ve fallen in love with him you’ve only got to tell me. But if you love me and I love you, do you suppose for a moment that anything you say or do is going to make me stand on one side whilst you marry him? I don’t know what’s happened, but you’re not using your brain. Get on and use it. You’re no fool, but you’re behaving like the village idiot. Drop it, and tell me what’s been happening.”
    Susan leaned back against the dresser.
    â€œIt won’t do any good.”
    â€œIt won’t do any harm.”
    â€œI don’t know—it might.