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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cfe9cdc --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55470 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55470) diff --git a/old/55470-0.txt b/old/55470-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9b4b196..0000000 --- a/old/55470-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,17851 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Slaves Of Freedom, by Coningsby Dawson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Slaves Of Freedom - -Author: Coningsby Dawson - -Release Date: August 31, 2017 [EBook #55470] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SLAVES OF FREEDOM *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by Google Books - - - - - - - -SLAVES OF FREEDOM - -By Coningsby Dawson - -New York: Henry Holt And Company - -1916 - - -[Illustration: 0003] - - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - - -A SLAVE OF FREEDOM - - - The Night slips his arm about the Moon - - And walks till the skies grow gray; - - But my Love, when I speak of love, - - Has never a word to say. - - I set my dreams at her feet as lamps - - For which all my hope must pay; - - But my Love, when I speak of love, - - Has never a word to say. - - I fill her hands with a gleaming soul - - For her plaything night and day; - - But she, when I speak to her of love, - - Has never a word to say. - - I give my life, which is hers to kill - - Or to keep with her alway; - - And still, when I speak to her of love, - - She’s never a word to say. - - _The Night slips his arm about the Moon - - And walks till the skies grow gray; - - But my Love, when I speak of love, - - Has never a word to say._ - - - - - -BOOK I--LIFE TILL TWENTY-ONE - - - - -CHAPTER I--MRS. SHEERUG’S GARDEN - - -Nother bucket o’ mortar, Mr. Ooze.” - -The excessively thin man glanced up from the puddle of lime that he -was stirring and regarded the excessively fat man with a smile of meek -interrogation. - -“‘Nother bucket o’ mortar, Willie Ooze, and don’t you put your ’ead on -one side at me like a bloomin’ cockatoo.” - -Mr. William Hughes stuttered an apology. “I was thin-thinking.” - -“Thin-thinking!” The fat man laughed good-naturedly. Turning his back -on his helper, he gave the brick which he had just laid an extra tap to -emphasize his incredulity. “’Tisn’t like you.” - -The thin man’s feelings were wounded. To the little boy who looked on -this was evident from the way he swallowed. His Adam’s-apple took a -run up his throat and, at the last moment, thought better of it. “But I -_was_ thinking,” he persisted; “thinking that I’d learnt something from -stirring up this gray muck. If ever I was to kill somebody--you, for -instance, or that boy--I’d know better than to bury you in slaked lime.” - -“Uml Urn!” The fat man gulped with surprise. He puckered his vast chin -against his collar so that his voice came deep and strangled. “It’s -scraps o’ knowledge like that as saves men from the gallers. If ’alf -the murderers that is ’anged ’ad come to me first, they wouldn’t be -’anging. But--but----” He seemed at last to realize the unkind -implication of Mr. Hughes’s naive confession. “But I’d make four o’ you, -Willyum! You couldn’t kill me, however you tried.” - -In the face of contradiction Mr. Hughes forgot his nervousness. “I -could.” he pleaded earnestly. “I’ve often thought about it. I’d put off -till you was stooping, and then jump. What with you being so short of -breath and me being so long in the arms and legs, why-----------! I’ve -planned it out many times, you and me being such good friends and so -much alone together.” - -The face of the fat man grew serious with disapproval. “You? -’ave, ’ave you! You’ve got as far as that! You’re a nice domestic -pet, I must say, to keep unchained to play with the children.” He -attempted to go on with his bricklaying, but the memory of Mr. Hughes’s -long arms and legs so immediately behind him was disturbing. He swung -round holding his trowel like a weapon. “Don’t like your way of talking; -don’t like it. O’ course you’ve ‘ad your troubles; for them I make -allowances. But I don’t like it, and I don’t mind telling you. Um! Um!” - -The thin man was crestfallen; he had hoped to give pleasure. “But I -thought you liked murders.” - -“Like ’em! I enjoy them--so I do.” The fat man spoke tartly. “But when -you make me the corpse of your conversations, you presoom, Mr. Ooze, and -I don’t mind telling you--you really do. Let that boy be the corpse next -time; leave me out of it---- ’Nother bucket o’ mortar.” - -_That_ boy, who was sole witness to this quarrel, was very small--far -smaller than his age. In the big walled garden of Orchid Lodge he felt -smaller than usual. Everything was strange; even the whispered sigh of -dead leaves was different as they swam up and swirled in eddies. In his -own garden, only six walls distant, their sigh was gentle as Dearie’s -footstep--but something had happened to Dearie; Jimmie Boy had told -him so that morning. “Teddy, little man, it’s happened again”--the -information had left Teddy none the wiser. All he knew was that Jane had -told the milkman that something was expected, and that the milkman had -told the cook at Orchid Lodge. The result had been the intrusion at -breakfast of the remarkable Mrs. Sheerug. - -For a long while Mrs. Sheerug had been a staple topic of conversation -between Dearie and Jimmie Boy. They had wondered who she was. They -had made up the most preposterous tales about her and had told them to -Teddy. They would watch for her to come out of her house six doors away, -so that as she passed their window in Eden Row Jimmie Boy might make -rapid sketches of her trotting balloon-like figure. He had used her more -than once already in books which he had been commissioned to illustrate. -She was the faery-godmother in his _Cinderella and Other Ancient Tales: -With!6 Plates in color by James Gurney_. She was Mother Santa Claus in -his _Christmas Up to Date_. They had rather wanted to get to know her, -this child-man and woman who seemed no older than their little son -and at times, even to their little son, not half as sensible. They had -wanted to get to know her because she was always smiling, and because -she was always upholstered in such hideously clashing colors, and -because she was always setting out burdened on errands from which she -returned empty-handed. The attraction of Mrs. Sheerug was heightened by -Jane’s, the maid-of-all-work’s, discoveries: Orchid Lodge was heavily -in debt to the local tradesmen and yet (it was Dearie who said “And yet.” - with a sigh of envy), and yet its mistress was always smiling. - -When Mrs. Sheerug had invaded Teddy’s father that morning, she had come -arrayed for conquest. She had worn a green plush mantle, a blue bonnet -and, waving defiance from the blue bonnet, a yellow feather. - -“I’m a total stranger,” she had said. “Go on with your breakfast, Mr. -Gurney, I’ve had mine. I’ll watch you. Well, _I’ve heard_, and so I’ve -dropped in to see what I can do. You mustn’t mind me; trying to be a -mother to everyone’s my foible. Now, first of all, you can’t have that -boy in the house--boys are nice, but a nuisance. They’re noisy.” - -“But Teddy, I mean Theo, isn’t.” - -It was just like Jimmie Boy to call him Theo before a stranger and to -assume the rôle of a respected parent. - -Mrs. Sheerug refused to be contradicted. She was cheerful, but emphatic. -“If he never made a noise before, he will now. As soon as I’ve made Theo -comfortable, I’ll come back to take care of you.” - -Making Theo comfortable had consisted in leading him down the -old-fashioned, little-traveled street, on one side of which the river -ran, guarded by iron spikes like spears set up on end, and turning him -loose in the strange garden, where he had overheard a fat man accusing a -thin man of murderous intentions. - -Teddy looked round. The walls were too high to climb. If he shouted -for help he might rouse the men’s enmity. Neither of them seemed to -be annoyed with him at present, for neither of them had spoken to him. -There was no alternative--he must stick it out. That’s what his father -told Dearie to do when pictures weren’t selling and bills were pressing. -Already he had picked up the philosophy that life outlasts every -difficulty--every difficulty except death. - -Mr. Hughes, having supplied the bucket of mortar, was trying to make -himself useful in a new direction. The groan and coughing of a saw were -heard. The fat man dropped his trowel and turned. He watched Mr. Hughes -sorrowfully. - -“Mr. Ooze, that’s no way to make a job o’ that” For the first time he -addressed the little boy: “He’s as busy as a one-armed paper-’anger -with the itch this s’morning. Bless my soul, if he isn’t sawing more -ground than wood.” Then to Mr. Hughes: “’Ere, give me that. Now watch -me; this is the way to do it.” - -The fat man took the saw from the meek man’s unresisting hand. “You lay -it so,” he said. He laid the saw almost horizontal with the plank. The -thin man leant forward that he might profit by instruction, and nodded. - -“And now,” said the fat man, “you get all your weight be’ind it and -drive forward.” - -As he drove forward the blade slipped and jabbed Mr. Hughes’s leg. Mr. -Hughes sat down with a howl and drew up his trousers to inspect the -damage. When the fat man had examined the scratch and pronounced it not -serious, he proposed a rest and produced a pipe. “Nice smoke,” he said, -“is more comforting than any woman, only I wish I’d known it before I -married.” Then he became aware that he alone was smoking. - -“What, lost yours, Mr. Ooze? Just what one might expect! You’re the most -unlucky chap I ever met, yes, and careless. You bring your troubles on -yourself, Willie Ooze. First you go and lose a wife that you never ought -to ’ave ’ad, and now you lose something still more valuable.” - -“Ah, yes!” The thin man ceased from searching through his pockets and -heaved a sigh. “I lose everything. Suppose I’ll go on losing till the -grave shuts down on this body o’ me--and then I’ll lose that. My ’air -began to come out before I was twenty--tonics weren’t no good. Now I -always ’ave to wear a ’at--do it even in the ’ouse, unless I’m -reminded. And then, as you say, there was poor ’Enrietta. I’m always -wondering whether I really lost ’er, or whether----” - -“Expect she gave you the slip on purpose,” said the fat man. “Best -forget it; consider ’er as so much spilt milk.” - -“That’s just what I can’t do.” Mr. Hughes clasped his bony hands: “It -don’t seem respectful to what’s maybe dead.” - -As far as Teddy could make out from their conversation, ’Enrietta had -once been Mrs. Hughes. On a trip to Southend she had insisted on taking -a swing in a highflyer. To her great annoyance her husband had been too -timid to accompany her, and she had had to take it by herself. The last -he had seen of her was a flushed face and flapping skirt swooping in -daring semi-circles between the heavens and the ground. When the swing -had stopped and he pressed through the crowd to claim her, she had -vanished. - -Perhaps it was the blood on the thin man’s leg that prompted the fat -man’s observation. “It might ’ave been that.” - -“What?” - -The fat man drew his finger across his throat suggestively. “That.” He -repeated. “It might ’ave ’appened to your ’Enrietta.” - -“Often thought it myself.” Mr. Hughes spoke slowly. “But--but d’you -think anybody would suspect that I----?” - -“They might.” The fat man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It’s usually -chaps of your build that does it; as the lofty Mr. Shakespeare puts it, -’I ’ate those lean and ’ungry men.’” - -“Very true! Very true! Lefroy was lean and ’ungry. I know, ’cause I -once rode with ’im in the same railway carriage.” - -Teddy listened, fascinated and horror-stricken, to the fat and thin man -swapping anecdotes of murders past and present. For half an hour they -strove to outdo each other in ghastliness and minuteness of details. - -When they had returned to their work and Mr. Hughes was at a safe -distance, the fat man spoke beneath his breath to the little boy: “He’s -no good at anything. I keep him with me ’cause we both makes a ’obby -of ’omicide--that’s the doctor’s word for the kind o’ illness we -was talking about. Also,” here his voice became as refined as Teddy’s -father’s, “he amuses me with his Cockney dialect He says he’s unlucky -because he was born in a hansom-cab. Whenever I speak to him I call him -Ooze and drop my aitches. It’s another of my hobbies--that and keeping -pigeons. Pretending to be vulgar relieves my feelings. When one’s -married and as stout as I am, if one doesn’t relieve one’s feelings one -bursts.” - -For the same reason that one lavishes endearments on a dog of uncertain -temper, Teddy thought it wise to feign an interest in the fat man’s -hobbies. “It can’t be very nice for them,” he faltered. - -“For ’oo?” - -“The persons.” - -“What persons?” - -“The persons you do it to.” - -“Do it to! Do it to! You’re making me lose my temper, which is bad for -me ’ealth; that’s what you’re doing. Now, then, do what? Don’t beat -about. Out with it.” - -For answer the little boy drew a tremulous finger across his throat in -imitation of one of the fat man’s gestures. - -The fat man started laughing--laughing uproariously. His body shook like -a jelly and fell into dimples. He tried to speak, but couldn’t. At last -he shouted: “Mr. Ooze, come ’ere. This little boy--” - -Then he stopped laughing suddenly and dropped his rough way of talking. -The child’s face had gone desperately white. “Poor chap! Must have -frightened you! Here, steady.” - -“Now you’ve done it,” said Mr. Hughes, coming up from behind. “And when -your wife knows, won’t you catch it!” - - - - -CHAPTER II--THE FAERY-GODMOTHER - -There was nothing Mrs. Sheerug enjoyed better than an invalid. Illness -in a stranger’s house was her opportunity; in her own house it was her -glory. She loved to exaggerate the patient’s symptoms; the graver they -were, the more a recovery would redound to her credit. When she had -pushed her feet into old carpet-slippers, removed her bodice, put on her -plum-colored dressing-gown, and fastened her scant gray hair with one -pin into a tight little knob at the back of her head, she felt that she -had gone through a ritual which made her superior to all doctors. She -had remedies of her own invention which were calculated to grapple with -any crisis of ill-health. But she did not allow her ingenuity to be -fettered by past successes; each new case which fell into her hands -was a heaven-sent chance for experimenting. Whatever came into her head -first, went down her patient’s throat. - -When she turned her house into a hospital this little gray -balloon-shaped woman, with her rosy cheeks, her faded eyes and her -constant touch of absurdity, managed to garb herself in a solemn -awfulness. When “Mother went ’vetting,’” as Hal expressed it, even -her children viewed her with, temporary respect. They weren’t quite sure -that there wasn’t something in her witchcraft. So nobody complained -if meals were delayed while she stood over the fire stirring, tasting, -smelling and decocting. Contrary to what was usual in that unruly house, -she had only to open the door of the sickroom and whisper, “Hush,” to -obtain instant quiet. At such times she seemed a ridiculous angel into -whose hands God had thrust the tragic scales of life and death. - -If Teddy hadn’t fainted, he might have gone out of Orchid Lodge as -casually as he had entered--in which case his entire career would have -been different. By fainting he had put himself into the category of -the weak ones of the earth, and therefore was to be reckoned among Mrs. -Sheenes friends. A masterly stroke of luck! She at once decreed that he -must be put to bed. His pleadings that he was quite well didn’t cause -her to waver for a second. She knew boys. Boys didn’t faint when there -was nothing the matter with them. What he required, in her opinion, was -building up. A fire was lit in the spare-room. Hot-water bottles -were placed in the bed and Teddy beside them, arrayed in a kind of -christening-robe, the borrowed nightgown being much too long for him. - -He hadn’t intended to be happy, but---- He raised his head stealthily -from the pillow, so that his eyes and nose came just above the sheet. He -had been given a hot drink with strict instructions to keep covered. No -one was there; he sat up. What a secret room! Exactly the kind in which -a faery-godmother might be expected to work her spells! Two steps led -down into it. Across the door, to keep the draughts out, was hung a -needlework tapestry, depicting Absalom’s misfortune. A young gentleman, -of exceedingly Jewish countenance, was caught in a tree by his mustard -colored hair; a horse, which looked strangely like a sheep, was shabbily -walking away from under him. It would have served excellently as a -barber’s coat-of-arms. All it lacked was a suitable legend, “_The Risks -of Not Getting Your Hair Cut_.” - -Against an easel rested an uncompleted masterpiece in the same medium. -The right-hand half, which was done, revealed a negress heaving herself -out of a marble slab with her arms stretched longingly towards the half -which was only commenced. The subject was evidently that of Potiphar’s -wife and Joseph. Outlined on the canvas of the unfinished half was a -shrinking youth, bearing a faint resemblance to Mr. Hughes as he would -have dressed had he been born in a warmer climate. - -Encircling the backs of chairs were skeins of wool of various colors; -the balls, which had been wound from them, had rolled across the floor -and come to rest in a tangle against the fender. In the window, lending -a touch of romance, stood a gilded harp, through whose strings shone -the cold pale light of the December afternoon. In the grate a scarlet -fire crackled; perched upon it, like a long-necked bird, was a kettle -with a prodigiously long spout. It sang cheerfully and blew out white -clouds of steam which filled the room with the pungent fragrance of -eucalyptus. - -In days gone by, after listening to his father’s stories, he had often -climbed to the top of their house that he might spy into the garden of -Orchid Lodge. He had little thought in those days that he would ever -be Mrs. Sheerug’s prisoner. From the street a passer-by could learn -nothing. Orchid Lodge rose up flush with the pavement; the windows, -which looked out on Eden Row and the river, commenced on the second -story, so that the curiosity of the outside world was eternally -thwarted. He had fancied himself as ringing the bell and waiting just -long enough to glance in through the opening door before he took to his -heels and ran. - -Footsteps in the passage! Absalom swayed among the branches, making a -futile effort to free himself. The door behind the tapestry was being -opened. Teddy sank his head deep into the pillows, hoping that his -disobedience to orders would pass unobserved. - -She came down the steps on tiptoe. Her entire bearing was hushed and -concerned, as though the least noise or error on her part might produce -a catastrophe. She carried a brown stone coffee-pot in her hand and a -glass. From the coffee-pot came a disagreeable acrid odor, similar to -that of the home-made plasters which his mother applied to his face in -case of toothache. - -Mrs. Sheerug went over to the fireplace. Before setting the jug in the -hearth to keep warm she poured out a quantity of muddy looking fluid. -Suspecting that she had no intention of drinking it herself, Teddy shut -his eyes and tried to breathe heavily, as though he slept. She came and -stood beside him; bent over him and listened. - -“Little boy, you’re awake and pretending; what’s worse, you’ve been out -of bed.” - -The injustice of the last accusation took him off his guard. “If you -please, I haven’t. I sat up like this because I wanted to look at that.” - He pointed at the Jewish gentleman taking farewell of his horse. - -“At that! What made you look at that?” - -“I like it.” - -To his surprise she kissed him. “That’s what comes of being the son of -an artist. There aren’t many people who like it; you’re very nearly the -first. I’m doing all the big scenes from the Bible in woolwork; one day -they’ll be as famous as the Bayeux tapestries. But what am I talking -about? Of course you’re too young to have heard of them. Come, drink -this up before it gets cold; it’ll make you well.” - -“But I’m quite well, thank you.” - -“Come now, little boys mustn’t tell stories. You know you’re not. Smell -it. Isn’t it nice?” - -Teddy smelt it. It certainly was not nice. He shook his head. - -“Ah,” she coaxed, “but it tastes ever so much better than it smells. -It’ll make you perspire.” - -He did not doubt that it would make him perspire, but still he eyed it -with distrust. “What’s in it?” he questioned. - -“Something I made especially for you; I’ve never given it to anybody -else.” - -“But what’s in it?” he insisted with a touch of childish petulance at -her evasion. - -She patted his hand. “Butter, and brown sugar, and vinegar, and bay -leaves. There! It’ll make you sweat, Teddy--make you feel ever so much -better.” - -“But I’m quite----” - -He got no further. As he opened his mouth to assert his perfect health, -the glass was pressed against his lips and tilted. He had to swallow or -be deluged. - -“That’s a fine little fellow.” Mrs. Sheerug was generous in her hour of -conquest; she tried to give him credit for having taken it voluntarily. -“You feel better already, don’t you?” - -“I don’t think,” he commenced; then he capitulated, for he saw her eye -working round in the direction of the jug. “I expect I shall presently.” - -She tucked him up, leaving only his head, not even a bit of his neck, -showing. “If you don’t perspire soon, tell me,” she said, “and I’ll give -you some more.” - -It was a very big bed and unusually high. At each corner was a post, -supporting the canopy. From where he lay he could watch Mrs. Sheerug. -Having disentangled several balls of wool and balanced on the point of -her nose a pair of silver spectacles, she had seated herself before -the easel and was stitching a yellow chemise on to the timid figure of -Joseph. The yellow chemise ended above Joseph’s knees; Teddy wondered -whether she would give him a pair of stockings. - -“I’m getting wet.” - -The good little hump of a woman turned. She gazed at him searchingly -above her spectacles. “Really?” - -“Not quite really,” he owned; “but almost really. At least my toes are.” - -“That’s the hot water bottles,” she said. “If you don’t perspire soon -you must have some more medicine.” - -He did his best to perspire. He felt that she had left the choice -between perspiring and drinking more of the brown stuff in his hands. -Trying accomplished nothing, so he turned his thoughts to strategy. - -“Will they really be famous?” - -Again she twisted round, watching him curiously. “Why d’you ask?” - -“Because----” He wondered whether he dared tell her. - -Usually people laughed at him when he said it. “Because my father wants -his pictures to be famous and he’s afraid they never will be. And when -I’m a man, I want to be famous; and I’m sure I shall.” - -In the piping eagerness of his confession he had thrown back the clothes -and was sitting up in bed. She didn’t notice it What she noticed was the -brave poise of the head, the spun gold crushed against the young white -forehead, and the blue eyes, untired with effort, which looked out with -challenge on a wonder-freighted world. - -The fire crackled. The kettle hummed, “Pooh, famous! Be contented. Pooh, -famous! Be content.” - -At last she spoke. “It’s difficult to be famous, Teddy. So many of -us have been trying--wasting our time when we might have been doing -kindness. What makes a little boy like you so certain----?” - -“I just know,” he interrupted doggedly. - -Then she realized that he was sitting up in bed and pounced on him. Some -more of the brown stuff was forced down his throat and the clothes were -once more gathered tightly round his neck. - -His eyes were becoming heavy. He opened them with an effort By the easel -a shaded lamp had been kindled; the faery-godmother bent above her work. - - - - -CHAPTER III--VASHTI - -It seemed the last notes of a dream. He had been awake for some -minutes, but had feared to stir lest the voice should stop. Slowly he -unclosed his eyes. The voice went on. He had never heard such music; -it was deep and sweet and luring. It was like the golden hair of the -Princess Lettice lowered from her casement to her lover. It was like the -silver feet of laughter twinkling up a beanstalk ladder to the stars. -It was like spread wings, swooping and drifting over a fairyland of -castellated tree-tops. Now it wandered up the passage and seemed to halt -behind the tapestry of Absalom. Now it grew infinitely distant until it -was all but lost. - -He eased himself out of bed. Save for the pool of scarlet that weltered -across floor and ceiling from the hearth, the room was filled with -blackness. - -“Who’s there?” he whispered. - -No answer. He tiptoed up the steps and out into the passage. It was long -and gloomy; at the end of it a strip of light escaped from a door -which had been left ajar. It was from there that the voice was calling. -Steadying himself with his hand against the wall, he stole noiselessly -towards it Just as he reached the strip of light the singing abruptly -ended. - -“No, Hal. You shouldn’t do that. You do it too often. Please not any -more.” - -“Just once on your lips.” - -“If it’s only once. You promise?” - -“I promise.” - -The door creaked. When he saw them, their bodies were still close -together, but as they turned to glance across their shoulders their -heads had drawn a little apart. Her hands, resting on the keyboard, -were held captive by the man’s. Candles, flickering behind their heads, -scorched a hole in the dusk to frame them. - -The man’s face was boyish and clean-shaven, self-indulgent and almost -handsome. It was a pleasant face: the corners of the mouth turned up -with a hint of humor; the lips were full and kind; the eyes blue and -impatient His complexion was high and his hair flaxen; his bearing -sensitive and a little self-conscious. He was a man who could give -himself excessively to any one he loved and who consequently would be -always encountering new disappointments. - -And the woman--she was like her voice: remote and passionate; haunting -and unsatisfying; an instrument of romance for the awakening of -idealized desires. She was fashioned no less for the attracting of love -than for its repulse. Her forehead was intensely white; her brows were -like the shadow of wings, hovering and poised; her eyes now vague as -a sea-cloud, now flashing like sudden gleams of blue-gray sunlight Her -hair was the color of ancient bronze--dark in the hollows and burnished -at the edges. Her throat was her glory--full and young, throbbing like a -bird’s and slender as the stalk of a flower. It was her mouth that gave -the key to her character. It could be any shape that an emotion made -it: petulant and unreasonable; kind and gracious and adoring. She was a -darkened house when she was unresponsive; there was no stir in her--she -seemed uninhabited. In the street below her windows some chance traveler -of thought or affection halted; instantly all her windows blazed and the -people of her soul gazed out. - -The odd little figure, hesitating in the doorway, had worked this -miracle. Her eyes, which had been troubled when first they rested on -him, brightened. Her lips relaxed. Like a bubble rising from a still -depth, laughter rippled up her throat and broke across the scarlet -threshold of her mouth. - -“Oh, Hal, what a darling! Where did you get him? And what a dear, funny -nightgown!” - -She tore her hands free from the man’s. Running to the little boy, she -knelt beside him, bringing her face down to his level. As if to prevent -him from escaping, she looped her arms about his neck. - -“You are dear and funny,” she said. “Where d’you come from?” - -Teddy was abashed. He didn’t mind being called dear, but he strongly -objected to being called funny. He was terribly conscious of the pink -flannel garment which clothed him. It hung like a sack from his narrow -shoulders. If Mrs. Sheerug hadn’t safety-pinned a reef in at the neck, -there would have been danger of its slipping off him. He couldn’t see -his hands; they only reached to where his elbows ought to have been. He -couldn’t see his feet; a yard of pink stuff draped them. He had had -to kilt it to make his way along the passage. But the garment’s chief -offense, as he regarded it, was that it was a woman’s: a rather stout -middle-aged woman’s--the sort of woman who had given up trying to look -pretty and probably wore a nightcap. Teddy forgot that had he not been -press-ganged into sickness, the beautiful lady’s arms would not have -been about him. All he remembered was that he looked a caricature at a -moment when--he scarcely knew why--he wanted to appear most manly. Mrs. -Sheerug was responsible and he felt hotly resentful. - -“Where did you come from?” - -“Bed.” - -“But isn’t it rather early to be in bed? Perhaps you’re not well.” - -“I’m quite well.” He spoke stubbornly, looking aside and trying to keep -the tears back. “I’m quite well; it’s she who pretends I isn’t.” - -“_She!_ Ah, I understand. Poor old boy, never mind.” - -She drew him against her breast and kissed him. He thought she would -release him; but still she held him. He could feel the beating of her -heart and the slow movement of her breath. He didn’t want her to let him -go; but why did she still hold him? Shyly he raised his eyes. - -“Won’t you smile?” she said. “I’d like to see what you look like. And -now tell me, what made you come here?” - -“I heard you,” he whispered. “Please let me stay.” - -She glanced back at the man; he sat where she had left him, by the -piano, watching. She rather liked to make him jealous. Turning to the -child, she lowered her voice, “You’ll catch cold if you don’t get back -to bed and I’ll be blamed for it. If I come with you, will that be as -good as if I let you stay?” - -“Oh, better.” - -“Then kiss me.” - -As she rose from her knees she gathered him in her arms. The man -left his seat to follow. She paused in the doorway, gazing across her -shoulder. “No, Hal, it’s a time when you’re not wanted.” - -“But Vashti----” - -She laughed mischievously. “I said no. There’s some one else to-night -who wants me all to himself.” - -When Teddy became a man and looked back on that night there were two -things that he remembered: the first was his pride and sense of triumph -at hearing himself preferred to Hal; the second was that love, as an -inspiring and torturing reality, entered into his experience for the -first time. As she carried him into the darkness of the passage which -had been full of fears without her, her act seemed symbolic. Gazing -back from her arms, he saw the man--saw the perplexed humiliation of -his expression, his aloneness and instinctively his tragedy, yet without -pity and rather with contentment In later years all that happened to him -seemed a refinement of spiritual revenge for his childish callousness. -The solitary image of the man in the dim-lit room, his empty hands and -following eyes took a place in the gallery of memory as a Velasquezesque -masterpiece--a composition in brown and white of the St. Sebastian of a -love self-pierced by the arrows of its own too great desire. - - - - -CHAPTER IV--THE ROUSING OF THE GIANT - -She had picked up a quilt from the bed and wrapt it round him. Having -drawn a chair to the fire, she sat rocking with his head against her -shoulder. Since she had left the man, she had not spoken. Once the -tapestry, falling into place, rustled as though the door were being -opened. She turned gladly with a welcoming smile and remained staring -into the darkness long after the smile had vanished. A footstep came -along the passage. Again she turned, her lips parted in readiness to bid -him enter. The footstep slowed as it reached the bedroom, hesitated and -passed on. - -She had ceased expecting; Teddy knew that by her “Don’t care” shrug of -annoyance. Though she held him closely, she seemed not to notice him. -With her head bent forward and her mouth a little trembling, she watched -the dancing of the flames. He stirred against her. - -“Comfy?” she murmured. - -“Very.” - -She laughed softly. Her laughter had nothing to do with his answer; it -was the last retort in a bitter argument which had been waging in the -stillness of her mind. When she spoke it was as though she yawned, -rubbing unpleasant dreams from her eyes. “Well, little fellow, what are -you going to do with me?” - -The implied accusation that he had carried her off thrilled him. It was -the way she said it--the coaxing music of her voice: it told him that -she was asking for his adoration. His arms reached up and went about her -neck; his lips stole up to hers. Made shy by what he had done, he hid -his face against her breast. - -She rested her hand on his head, ruffling his hair and trying to -persuade him to look up. - -“And I don’t even know your name! What do they call you? And do you kiss -all strange ladies like that?” - -His throat was choking. He knew that the moment he heard his own voice -his eyes would brim over. But he was getting to an end of the list of -first things--getting to an age when it wasn’t manly to cry just because -the soul was stirred. So he bit his lip and kept silent. - -“Ah, well,” she shook her head mournfully, “I can see what would happen. -If we married, you would make an obstinate husband. You don’t really -love me.” - -Her despair sounded real. “Oh, it’s not that. It’s not that,” he cried, -dragging her face towards him with both hands. - -She took his hands away and held them. “Then, what Is it?” - -“You’re so beautiful. I can’t--can’t speak. I can’t tell you.” - -She clasped him closer. “Oh, I’m sorry. It was only my fun. I didn’t -mean to make you cry. You’re the second person I’ve hurt to-night. But -you--you’re only a little boy, and such a dear little boy! We were going -to be such good friends. I must be bad-hearted to hurt everybody.” - -“You’re not bad-hearted.” The fierceness with which he defended her made -her smile. “You’re not bad-hearted, and I do love you. And I want to -marry you only--only I’m so little, and you said it only in fun.” - -She mothered him till he had grown quiet Then, with her lips against his -forehead, “Don’t be ashamed of crying; I like you for it. I’m so very -glad we met to-night I think--almost think--you were sent. I hadn’t been -kind, and I wasn’t feeling happy. But I’d like to do something good now; -I think I’d like to make you smile. How ought I to set about it?” - -“Sing to me. Oh, please do.” - -In the firelit room she sang to him in a half-voice, her long throat -stretched out and throbbing like a bird’s as she stooped above him. She -sang lullabies, making him feel very helpless; and then of lords and -cruel ladies and knights. Shadows, sprawling across walls and ceiling, -took fantastic shapes: horsemen galloping from castles; men waving -swords and grappling in fight A footstep in the passage! He felt her -arms tighten. “Close your eyes,” she sang, “close your eyes.” - -She held up a hand as Mrs. Sheerug entered. “Shish!” - -“Asleep?” - -She nodded. - -Mrs. Sheerug came over to the fire and gazed down. He could feel that -she was gazing and was afraid that she would detect that he was awake. -It was a relief when he heard her whisper: “It’s too bad of you, Vashti; -he’d just reached the turning-point. You’re as irresponsible as a child -when your moods take you.” - -A second chair was drawn up. Vashti had made no reply. Mrs. Sheerug -commenced speaking again: “Hal----” - -“Hal’s gone out. I suppose you’ve been----” - -“Yes, quarreling. My fault, as usual.” - -The older woman’s tones became earnest “My dear, you’re not good to my -boy. How much longer is it going to last? You’re not--not a safe woman -for a man like Hal. He needs some one more loving; you could never make -him a good wife. Your profession--I wish you’d give him up.” Then, after -a pause, “Won’t you?” - -The little boy listened as eagerly as Hal’s mother for the reply. At -last it came, “I wish I could.” - -He sat up. She saw the reproach in his eyes, but she gave no sign. -“Hulloa! Wakened? Time you were in bed, old fellow.” - -He was conscious that she was using him as a barrier between herself -and further conversation. Rising, she carried him over to the high -four-poster bed. While she tucked him in, he could hear the clinking of -a glass, and knew that his tribulations had recommenced. Mrs. Sheerug -crossed from the fireplace: “Here’s another drink of the nice medicine.” - -He buried his face in the pillow. He didn’t want to get better. He -wanted to die and to make people sorry. - -“Teddy,” it was her voice, “Teddy, if you take it, I’ll sing to you. Do -it for my sake.” - -She turned to Mrs. Sheerug. “He will if I sing to him. You accompany me. -He says it’s a promise.” - -She stood beside the pillow holding his hand. Over by the window -the faery-godmother was taking her seat; stars peeped through the -harp-strings curiously. What happened next was like arms spread under -him, carrying him away and away. “Oh, rest in the Lord, wait patiently -for Him.” Her voice sprang up like a strong white bird; at every beat of -its wings the harp-strings hummed like the weak wings of smaller birds -following. “Oh, rest in the Lord”--the white bird rose higher with a -braver confidence and the little birds took courage, plunging deeper -into the grave and gentle stillness. “Oh, rest in the Lord”--it was like -a sigh of contentment traveling back from prepared places out of sight. -The room grew silent. - -It was Vashti who had moved. She bent over him, “I’m going.” He -stretched out his arms, but they failed to reach her. At the door Mrs. -Sheerug stood and stayed her. Vashti halted, very proud and sweet. -“What is it? You said I wasn’t safe. You can tell Hal he’s free--I won’t -trouble him.” - -Mrs. Sheerug caught her by the hands and tried to draw her to her. “I -was mistaken, Vashti; you’re good. You can always make me forgive you: -you could make any one love you when you’re singing.” - -Vashti shook her head. “I’m not good. I’m wicked.” The older woman tried -to reach up to kiss her. Again Vashti shook her head, “Not to-night.” - -The medicine had been taken. By the easel a shaded lamp had been -lighted--lighted for hours. It must be very late; the faery-godmother -still worked, sorting her wools and pushing her needle back and forth, -clothing Joseph in the presence of Potiphar’s wife. Every now and then -she sighed. Sometimes she turned and listened to catch the regular -breathing of the little boy whom she supposed to be sleeping. Presently -she rose and undressed. The lamp went out In the darkness Teddy could -hear her tossing; then she seemed to forget her troubles. - -But he lay and remembered. Vashti had asked him to marry her. Perhaps -she had not meant it. How long would it take to become a man? Did little -boys ever marry grown ladies? - - - - -CHAPTER V--THE GHOST BIRD OF ROMANCE - -When his father entered Teddy was eating his breakfast propped up in -bed, balancing a tray on his humped-up legs. - -“Well, shrimp, you seem to have had a lucky tumble. Can’t say there -seems to be much the matter.” - -A large bite of hot buttered toast threatened to impede conversation. -“It’s the brown stuff,” Teddy mumbled; “she wanted to see if it ’ud -make me wet.” - -“Kind of vivisection, eh? And did it?” - -“All over--like in a bath playing ship-wrecked sailors.” The excavation -of an egg absorbed the little boy’s attention. His father seated himself -on the edge of the bed. He was a large childish man, unconsciously -unconventional His brown velvet jacket smelt strongly of tobacco and -varnish. It was spotted with bright colors, especially on the left -sleeve between the wrist and elbow, where he had tested his paints -instead of on his palette. His trousers bagged at the knees from -neglect rather than from wear; their shabbiness was made up for by an -extravagant waistcoat, sprigged with lilac. Double-breasted and cut -low in a V shape, it exposed a soft silk shirt and a large red tie with -loosely flowing ends. His head was magnificent--the head of a rebel -enthusiast, too impatient to become a leader of men. It was broad in -the forehead and heavy with a mane of coal-black ringlets. His mouth -was handsome--a rare thing in a man. His nose was roughly molded, -Cromwellian, giving to his face a look of rude strength and purpose. A -tuft of hair immediately beneath his lower lip bore the same relation -to his mustache that a tail bears to a kite--it lent to his expression -balance. It was his eyes that astonished--they ought to have been -fiercely brown to be in keeping with the rest of his gypsy appearance; -instead they were a clear gray, as though with gazing into cloudy -distances, as are the eyes of men who live by seafaring. - -He had made repeated efforts to curb his picturesqueness; he knew that -it didn’t pay in an age when the ideal for males is to be undecorative. -He knew that his appearance appealed as affectation and bred distrust in -the minds of the escutcheoned tradesmen who are England’s art patrons. -When they came to confer a favor, they liked to find a gentlemanly -shopkeeper--not a Phoenician pirate, with a voice like a gale. His -untamedness impressed them as immorality. He always felt that they left -him thoroughly convinced that he and Dearie were not married. - -Whatever editors, art patrons and publishers might think about James -Gurney, Teddy followed in his mother’s footsteps: to him James Gurney -was Jimmie Boy, the biggest-hearted companion that a son ever had--a -father of whom to be inordinately proud. There was no one as great as -his father, no one as clever, no one as splendid to look at in the whole -wide world. When he walked down the street, holding his father’s hand, -he liked to fancy that people stared after him for his daring, just -as they would have stared had he walked with his hand in the mane of -a shaggy lion. It was wonderful to be friends with a father so fierce -looking. And then his father treated him as a brother artist and -borrowed notions from him--really did, without pretense; he’d seen the -notions carried out in illustrations. His father had come to borrow from -him now. - -“Any ideas this morning, partner--any ideas that you don’t want -yourself?” - -Teddy hitched himself upon the pillow, trying to look as grave and -important as if he wore spectacles. “Yes. A room like this, only lonely -with a fire burning and an old, old woman sitting over there.” He -pointed to the window and the gilded harp. “I’d let her be playing, -Daddy; and a big white bird, that you can see through, must be beating -its wings against the panes, trying and always trying to get out.” - -“A ghost bird?” his father suggested. - -“Don’t know--just a big white bird and a woman so old that she might be -dead.” - -“What’s the meaning of the bird, old chap? Dreams, or hopes, or -memories--something like that?” - -Teddy could find nothing more in the egg. “Don’t know; that’s the way I -saw it” He ceased to be elderly, took off his imaginary spectacles and -looked up like a dog who stands wagging his tail, waiting to be patted. -“Was that an idea, Daddy?” - -His father nodded. - -“A good idea?” - -“Quite a good idea. But, oh, while I remember it, Mr. Sheerug wanted -to see you. You and he must have struck up a great friendship. The -faery-godmother won’t let him--says you’re not well. He seems quite -upset.” - -Teddy was puzzled. “Mr. Sheerug!” - -“Yes, a big fat man with whom you have a secret. He followed me up the -stairs and asked me to thank you for not telling.” - -“Was that Mr. Sheerug?” Teddy’s eyes became large and round. “Why, he’s -the mur----I mean, the man who was in the garden.” - -“That’s right He carried you in when you fainted. What made you faint, -Teddy?” - -The little boy looked blank. If he were to tell, he would get the fat -man into trouble; an aggravated murderer, living only six doors removed, -would make an awkward neighbor. There was another reason why he looked -blank: were he to tell his father of Mr. Sheerug’s special hobby, he -would certainly be forbidden to enter Orchid Lodge, and then--why, then -he might never meet Vashti. He weighed his fear against his adoration, -and decided to keep silent. - -His father had fallen into a brown study. He had forgotten his inquiry -as to the cause of Teddy’s fainting. “Theo.” - -Something important was coming. To be called Theo was a warning. - -“Theo, it hasn’t happened. When it’s so difficult to earn a living, I -don’t know whether we ought to be sorry or glad.” - -“What hasn’t happened?” - -“There’s still only you and me and, thank God, Dearie.” - -“But--” the small brain was struggling to discover a meaning--“but could -there have been any one else?” - -The large man took the little boy’s hand. “You don’t understand. Yes, -there could have been several other people; but not now.” Rising, he -walked over to the window and stood there, looking out. “Perhaps it’s -just as well, with a fellow like me for your father, who spends all his -time in chasing clouds and won’t--can’t get on in the world.” - -Teddy couldn’t see his father’s face, but he thought he knew what was -the matter. If Dearie had been there, she would have slipped her arms -round the big man’s neck, calling him “Her Boy,” and would have -made everything happy in a second. In her absence Teddy borrowed her -comforting words--he had heard them so often. “Your work’s too good,” he -said emphatically. “Every great man has been neglected.” - -The phrase, uttered parrot-wise by the lips of a child, stirred the man -to a grim humor. He saw himself as that white bird, battering itself -into exhaustion against invisible panes that shut it out from the -heavens. Every time it ceased to struggle the dream music recommenced, -maddening it into aspiration; the old woman, so old that she might be -dead, who fingered the strings of the harp was Fate. - -He stared across the wintry gardens, blackened and impoverished -by frost; each one like a man’s life--curtailed, wall-surrounded, -monotonously similar, yet grandly roofed with eternity. Along the walls -cats crept like lean fears; trees, stripped of leaves, wove spiders’ -webs with their branches. So his work was too good and every great man -had been neglected! His boy said it confidently now; as he grew older he -might say it with less and less sincerity. - -He laughed quietly. “So you’ve picked up my polite excuse, Ted! Yes, -that’s what we all say of ourselves--we failures: ’My work’s too -good.’” - -“But it needn’t be an excuse, Mr. Gurney. It may be the truth. I often -use the same consolation.” - -Mrs. Sheerug stood, a burlesque figure of untidy optimism, smiling -severely in the doorway. She was clad in her muddled plum-colored -dressing-gown; her gray hair was disordered and sprayed about her neck; -her tired blue eyes, peering above the silver-rimmed spectacles, took in -the room with twinkling merriment. She came to the foot of the bed with -the ponderous dignity of a Cochin-China hen, important with feathers. - -“Yes, my dear sir,” she said, “you may not know it, but I, too, consider -myself a genius. I believe all my family to be geniuses--that’s why I -never interfere with the liberty of my children. Even my husband, he’s -a genius in his fashion--a stifled fashion, I tell him; I let him go his -own way in case it may develop. Genius must not be thwarted--so we all -live our lives separately in this house and--and, as I dare say you -know, run into debt. There’s a kind of righteousness about that--running -into debt; the present won’t acknowledge our greatness, so we make -it pay for our future. But, my dear sir, I caught you indulging in -self-pity. It’s the worst of all crimes. You men are always getting -sorry for yourselves. Look at me--I’ve not succeeded. I ask you, do I -show it?” - -“If to be always smiling---” Mr. Gurney broke off. - -“This is really a remarkable meeting, Mrs. Sheerug--three geniuses in -one room! Oh, yes, if Teddy’s not told you yet, he will soon: he’s quite -certain that he’s going to be a very big man. Aren’t you, Teddy?” - -The little boy wriggled his toes beneath the counterpane and watched -them working. “I have ideas,” he said seriously. - -“What did I tell you?” - -Mrs. Sheerug signified by the closing of her eyes that she considered -it injudicious to discuss little boys in their presence. When she opened -them again it was to discuss herself. - -“As between artists, Mr. Gurney, I want your frank opinion. If you don’t -like my work, say so.” - -“Your work!” He looked about. “Oh, this!” His eyes fell on the -unfinished woolwork picture on the easel. “It has--it has a kind -of power,” he said--“the power of amateurishness and oddity. You’re -familiar with the impelling crudity of Blake’s sketches? Well, it’s -something like that What I mean is this: your colors are all impossible, -your drawing’s all wrong and there’s no attempt at accuracy. And yet---- -The result is something so different from ordinary conceptions that it’s -almost impressive.” - -Mrs. Sheerug, not sure whether she was being praised or blamed, shook -her head with dignity. “You’re trying to let me down lightly, Mr. -Gurney.” - -“No, I’m not and I’ll prove it Joseph is supposed to be in the process -of being tempted. Well, he isn’t tempted in your picture; he’s simply -scared. I don’t know whether you intended it or whether it’s the -unconscious way in which your mind works, but your prize-fighting -negress, in the rôle of Mrs. Potiphar threatening a Cockney consumptive -in an abbreviated nightgown, is a distinctly original interpretation -of the Bible story; it achieves the success that Hogarth aimed at--the -effect of the grotesque. It’s the same with your Absalom. You were so -prejudiced against him that you even extended your prejudice to his -horse. Every time you stuck your needle in the canvas you must have -murmured, ’Serve him jolly well right. So perish all sons who fight -against their fathers.’ So, instead of remembering that he was a prince -of Israel, you’ve made him an old-clothes blood from Whitechapel who’s -got into difficulties on a hired nag at Hampstead. I think I catch your -idea: you’re a Dickens writing novels in woolwork. You’re Pickwickizing -the Old Testament. In its way the idea’s immense.” - -Mrs. Sheerug jerked her spectacles up the incline of her nose till they -covered her eyes. “If I have to leave you now, don’t think that I’m -offended.” - -Mrs. Sheerug went out of the room like a cottage-loaf on legs. The door -closed behind her trotting, kindly figure. - -Mr. Gurney turned helplessly to Teddy. “And I meant to flatter her. In -a worthless way they’re good. I was trying not to tell her the -worthless part of it. Believe I’ve hurt her feelings, and after all her -kindness---- I’m horribly sorry.” - -“Father, when people marry, must they live together always?” - -The irrelevancy of the question rather startled Mr. Gurney; Teddy’s -questions had a knack of being startling. “Eh! What’s that? Live -together always! Why, yes, it’s better. It’s usual.” - -“But must they begin from the moment they marry?” - -Mr. Gurney laughed. “If they didn’t, they wouldn’t marry. It’s because -they think that they’ll go on wanting to be every minute of their lives -together that they do it.” - -“Ah, yes.” Teddy sighed sentimentally. His sigh said plainly, “Whatever -else I don’t know, I know that.” He cushioned his face against the -pillow. “But what I meant,” he explained, “is supposing one hasn’t any -money, and one’s father can’t give one any, and one wants to be with -some one every minute, and--and very badly. Would they live together -then from the beginning?” - -Mr. Gurney gave up thinking about Mrs. Sheerug; Teddy’s questions grew -interesting. “If any one hadn’t any money and the lady hadn’t any money, -I don’t believe they’d marry. But the lady might have money.” - -Teddy gave himself away completely. “But to live on her money! Oh, I -don’t think I’d like that.” - -His father seated himself on the bed, with one leg curled under him. -“Hulloa, what’s this? Been losing your heart to Mrs. Sheerug? She’s got -a husband. It won’t do, old man.” - -“It isn’t Mrs. Sheerug. It’s just--just curiosity, I expect.” - -No encouragement could lure him into a more explicit confession. All -that day, after his father had left, he lay there with his face against -the pillow, endeavoring to dis-cover a plan whereby a little boy -might procure the money to marry a beautiful lady, of whom he knew -comparatively nothing. - - - - -CHAPTER VI--A STRATEGY THAT FAILED - -He had not seen her again. It was now four days since she had sung to -him. For her sake, in the hope of her returning, he had made himself -the accomplice of Mrs. Sheenes plans. By looking languid he invited the -terrors of her medicines. By restraining his appetite and allowing half -his meals to be carried away untasted, he gave to his supposed illness a -convincing appearance of reality. Even Mrs. Sheerug, whose knowledge -of boys was profound, was completely deceived by Teddy. It had never -occurred to her that there was a boy in the world who could resist good -food when he was hungry. - -“Is your head aching? Where is it that you don’t feel better?” - -“It’s just all over.” - -More physic would follow. He swallowed it gladly--was willing to swallow -any quantities, if it were the purchase price of at length seeing Vashti. -Every day gained was a respite to his hope, during which he could listen -for her coming. Perhaps her footstep in the passage would first warn -him--or would it be her voice? He liked to think that any moment she -might enter on tiptoe and lean across his pillow before he was aware. -When in later years the deluge of love swept over him, destroying that -it might recreate his world, he was astonished to find how faithfully it -had been foreshadowed by this embryo passion of his childhood. - -For three days Mrs. Sheerug had asked him where he ached most, and had -invariably received the same answer, “It’s just all over.” Her ingenuity -in prescribing had been sorely tested: she had never had such an -uncomplaining victim for her remedies. However unpleasantly she -experimented, she could always be sure of his murmured thanks. - -Under his gentleness she began to allow her fondness to show itself. -She held old-fashioned notions about children, believing that they were -spoilt by too much affection. Her kind heart was continually at war with -her Puritan standards of sternness; the twinkle in her eyes was always -contradicting the harsh theories which her lips propounded. Sitting by -her easel in the quiet room, she would carry on gossiping monologues -addressed to Teddy. He gathered that in her opinion all men were born -worthless; husbands were saved from the lowest depths of inferiority by -the splendid women they married. All women were naturally splendid, and -all bachelors so selfish as to be beneath contempt. She gave Teddy to -understand that women were the only really adult people in the world; -they pretended that their men were grown up as a mother plays a -nursery game with children. She quoted instances to Teddy to prove -her theories--indiscreet instances from her own experiences and the -experiences of her friends. - -“To hear me speak this way, you may wonder why I married, and why I -married Alonzo of all men. Even I wondered that on the day I said yes to -him, and I wondered it on the day I eloped with him, and I’ve not done -wondering yet Yes, little boy, you may look at me and wonder whether I’m -telling the truth, but my father was Lord Mayor of London and I could -once have married anybody. I was a very pretty girl--I didn’t know how -pretty then; and I had a host of suitors. I could have been a rich lady -to-day with a title--but I chose Alonzo.” - -“Alonzo sounds a fine name,” said Teddy. “Did he ride on a horse and -carry a sword in the Lord Mayor’s Show?” - -“Ride on a horse!” Mrs. Sheerug laughed gently; she was remembering. -“Ride on a horse! No, he didn’t, Teddy. You see, he was called Sheerug -as well as Alonzo. The Sheerug rather spoils the Alonzo, doesn’t it?” - -A STRATEGY THAT FAILED - -35 - -“Sheerug sounds kind and comfy,” murmured Teddy, trying to make the best -of a disappointment. - -Mrs. Sheerug smiled at him gratefully. “Yes, and just a little careless. -I ran away with him because he was kind and comfy, and because he needed -taking care of more than any man I ever met. He’s cost me more mothering -than any child I ever----” - -Teddy’s hands were tangled together; his words fell over one another -with excitement. “Oh, tell me about the running. Did they follow you? -And was it from the Lord Mayor’s house that you ran? And did they nearly -catch you?” - -Glancing above her spectacles disapprovingly, Mrs. Sheerug was recalled -to the tender years of her audience. As though blaming the little boy -for having listened, she said severely: “A silly old woman like myself -says many things that you mustn’t remember, Teddy.” - -On the morning of the fourth day she arrived at a new diagnosis of his -puzzling malady. He knew she had directly she entered: her gray hair was -combed back from her forehead and was quite orderly; she had abandoned -her plum-colored dressing-gown. She halted at the foot of the bed and -surveyed him. - -“You rather like me?” - -“Very much.” - -“And you didn’t at first?” - -He was too polite to acquiesce. - -“And you don’t want to leave me?” - -He looked confused. “Not unless you want---- Not until I’m well.” - -A little gurgling laugh escaped her; it seemed to have been forced up -under high pressure. - -“You’ve been playing the old soldier, young man. Took me in completely. -But I’m a woman, and I always, always find out.” - -She shook her finger at him and stood staring across the high wall that -was the foot of the bed. As she stared she kept on nodding, like the -wife of a mandarin who had picked up the habit from her husband. Two -fingers, spread apart, were pressed against the corners of her mouth to -prevent it from widening to a smile. - -“Humph!” she gave a jab to a hairpin which helped to fasten the knob -at the back of her head. “Humph! I’ve been nicely had.” Then to Teddy: -“We’ll get you well slowly. Now I’m going to fetch your clothes and -you’ve got to dress.” - -Clad as far as his shirt and knickerbockers, with a counterpane rolled -about him, he was carried downstairs. - -In the long dilapidated room that they entered the thin and the fat man -were playing cards. They were too absorbed to notice that any one had -entered. - -“What d’you bet?” demanded the fat man. - -“Ten thousand,” Mr. Hughes answered promptly. - -“I’ll see you and raise you ten thousand. What’ve you got?” - -Mr. Hughes threw down three aces; the fat man exposed a full house. -“You’re twenty thousand down, Mr. Ooze.” - -“Twenty thousand what?” asked Mrs. Sheerug contemptuously. - -“Pounds,” Mr. Hughes acknowledged sheepishly. “Twenty thousand pounds, -that’s wot I’ve lost--and it isn’t lunch time. ’urried into the -world--that’s wot I was--that’s ’ow my bad luck started. You couldn’t -h’expect nothing of a man ’oo was born in a ’ansom-cab.” - -“You babies!” Mrs. Sheerug shifted her spectacles higher up her nose. -“You know you never pay. It doesn’t matter whether you play for millions -or farthings. Why don’t you work?” - -When they had left, she made Teddy comfortable in a big armchair. Before -she went about her household duties, she bent down and whispered: “No -one shall ever know that you pretended. I’m--I’m even glad of it. Oh, we -women, how we like to be loved by you useless men!” - - - - -CHAPTER VII--“PASHUN” IN THE KITCHEN - -In the conducting of a first love-affair one inevitably bungles. When -the young gentleman in love happens to be older than the lady, his lack -of finesse may be forgiven by her still greater inexperience. When the -young gentleman is considerably less than half his fiancée’s years and, -moreover, she is an expert in courtship by reason of many suitors, the -case calls for the utmost delicacy. - -Teddy was keenly sensitive to the precariousness of his situation. He -was aware that, if he confessed himself, there wasn’t a living soul -would take him seriously. Even Dearie and Jimmie Boy, to whom he told -almost everything, would laugh at him. It made him feel very lonely; it -was bard to think that you had to be laughed at just because you were -young. Of course ordinary boys, who were going to be greengrocers or -policemen when they grew up, didn’t fall in love; but boys who already -felt the shadow of future greatness brooding over them might. In fact, -such boys were just the sort of boys to pine away and die if their love -went unrequited--the sort of fine-natured boys who, whether love came to -them at nine or twenty, could love only once. - -Here he was secretly engaged to Vashti and threatened by many unknown -rivals. He didn’t know her surname and he didn’t know her address. He -had to find her; when he found her he wasn’t sure what he ought to -do with her. But find her he must. Four days had passed since she had -accepted his hand. If he were not to lose her, he must certainly get -into communication with her. How? To make the most discreet inquiries -of so magic a person as Mrs. Sheerug would be to tell her everything. -If she knew everything, she might not want him in her house, for she -believed that he had feigned illness solely out of fondness for herself. -The only other person to whom he could turn was Mr. Sheerug, with whom -already he shared one guilty secret; but from this house of lightning -arrivals and departures Mr. Sheerug had vanished--vanished as completely -as if he had mounted on a broomstick and been whisked off into thin air. -Teddy did not discover this till lunch. - -Lunch was a typically Sheerugesque makeshift, consisting of boiled -Spanish onions, sardines and cream-puffs. It was served in a dark room, -like a Teniers’ interior, with plates lining the walls arranged on -shelves. There was a door at either end, one leading into the kitchen, -the other into the hall. When one of these doors banged, which it did -quite frequently, a plate fell down. Perhaps it was to economize on this -constant toll of breakages that Mrs. Sheerug used enamel-ware on her -table. The table had a frowsy appearance, as though the person who had -set the breakfast had forgotten to clear away the last night’s supper, -and the person who had set the lunch had been equally careless about the -breakfast. Mrs. Sheerug explained: “I always keep it set, my dear; -we’re so irregular and it saves worry when our friends drop in at odd -seasons.” - -This room, as was the case with half the rooms in the house, had steps -leading down to it, the floor of the hall being on a higher level. -Whether it was that the house had muddled itself into odd angles and -useless passages under the influence of Mrs. Sheerug’s tenancy, or that -the mazelike originality of its architecture had effected the pattern -of her character, there could be no doubt that Orchid Lodge, with its -rambling spaciousness, awkward comfort, and dusty hospitality, was the -exact replica in bricks and mortar of its mistress’s personality. - -“What’s the matter, Teddy? Don’t you like Spanish onions? You’ll have -to make yourself like them. They’re good for you. I’ve known them cure -consumption.” - -“I haven’t got consumption.” - -“But why don’t you eat them? You keep looking about you as if you’d lost -something.” - -“I was wondering whether Mr. Sheerug was coming.” - -She rested her fork on her plate, tapping with it and gazing at him. -“Well, I never! You’re a queer child for scattering your affections. -You’re the first little boy I ever knew to take a fancy to Alonzo. He’s -so silent and looks so gruff.” - -Teddy laughed. “But he talks to me. When shall I see him again?” - -“Upon my soul! What’s the man done to you? I don’t know, Teddy--I never -do know when I’m going to see him. He goes away to earn money--that’s -what men are made for--and he stays away sometimes for a week and -sometimes for months; it all depends on how long he takes to find it -There have been times,” she raised her voice with a note of pride, “when -my husband has come back a very rich man. Once, for almost a year, we -lived in West Kensington and kept our carriage. But there have been -times-----” She left the sentence unended and shook her head. “It’s ups -and downs, Teddy; and if we’re kind when we have money, the good Lord -provides for us when we haven’t. ’Tisn’t money, it’s the heart inside -us that makes us happy.” - -Teddy wasn’t paying attention to the faery-godmother’s philosophy; he -was thinking of Alonzo Sheerug, who had gone away to earn money. He -pictured him as a fat explorer, panting off into a wilderness with a -pail. When the pail was filled, and not until it was filled, he -would return to his wife. That was what men were made for--to be -fetch-and-carry persons. Teddy was thinking that if he could reach Mr. -Sheerug, he would ask him to carry an extra bucket. - -That an interval might elapse between his flow of questions, he finished -his Spanish onion. Then, “I’d like to write him a question if you’d send -it.” - -“Oh, come!” She patted his hand. “There’s no question that you could ask -him that I couldn’t answer. He’s only a man.” - -Teddy knew that he would have to ask her something; so he asked her _a_ -question, but not _the_ question. “Who is Hal?” - -“My son.” - -“Does he like the lady who sang in the bedroom?” - -“He----” She frowned. “You’re too curious, Teddy; you want to know too -much. See, here’s Harriet waiting to take the dishes and get on with her -work.” - -Mrs. Sheerug rose and trundled up the steps. Since it was she who had -invited his curiosity, Teddy felt a little crestfallen at the injustice -of her rebuff. He was preparing to follow her, when he caught the -red-headed giantess from the kitchen winking at him as though she would -squeeze her eye out of its socket. In her frantic efforts to attract -his notice her entire face was convulsed. As the swish of Mrs. Sheerug’s -skirts grew faint across the hall, the girl tiptoed over to Teddy and -stood staring at him with her fists planted firmly on the table. Slowly -she bent down--so slowly that he wondered what was coming. - -“Does ’e like ’er!” she whispered scornfully. “Why, ’e loves -’er, you little Gubbins. Wot on h’earth possessed yer ter go and -h’arsk ’is ’eart-sick ma a h’idiot quesching like that?” - -To be twice blamed for a fault which had not been of his own choosing -was too much. There was anger as well as a hint of tears in his voice -when he answered, “My name isn’t Gubbins. And it wasn’t an idiot -question. She made me ask her something, so I asked her that.” - -The girl wagged her head with an immense display of tragedy. His anger -seemed only to deepen her despondency. “H’it’s tumble,” she sighed, -“tumble, h’all this business abart love. ’Ere’s h’every one wantin’ -some one ter love ’em, and some of ’em is lovin’ the wrong pusson, -and some of ’em is bein’ loved by three or four, and some-some of h’us -ain’t got no one. H’it don’t look as though we h’ever shall ’ave. If I -wuz Gawd----” She checked herself, awed by the Irreverence of her -supposition. “If I wuz Gawd,” she repeated, lowering her voice, “I’d -come right darn from ’eaven and sort awt the proper couples. H’I -wouldn’t loll around with them there h’angels till h’every gal ’ad got -‘er feller. Gawd ought ter ’ave been a woman, I tell yer strite. If -’E wuz, things wouldn’t be in this ’ere muddle. A she-Gawd wouldn’t -let h’us maike such fools of h’ourselves, if you’ll h’excuse me strong -lang-widge.” - -Teddy stared at her. It wasn’t her “strong langwidge” that made him -stare; it was the confession that her words implied. “You’re--you’re in -love?” - -She jerked up her head defiantly. “In love! Yus, I’m in love. And ’oo -isn’t?” - -He watched her clearing the table; when that was done, he followed her -into the kitchen. The idea that she was suffering from his complaint -fascinated him. She of all persons should be able to tell him how to -proceed in the matter. - -She paused in her washing of the dishes; across her shoulder she had -caught him looking at her. “You may well stare,” she said. “H’I’m a -cureehosity, I h’am. I wuz _left_.” She nodded impressively. - -He didn’t understand, but he knew the information was supposed to be -staggering. “Left!” - -“Yus. I wuz left--left h’at a work’ouse and brought h’up in a -h’orphanage. P’raps I never wuz born. P’raps I never ’ad no parents. -There’s no one can say. I wuz found on a doorstep, all finely dressed -and tied h’up in a fish-basket--just left. H’I’m different from h’other -gals, h’I am. My ma may ’ave been a queen--there’s never no tellin’.” - -Harriet sank into a chair. Supporting her chin in her hand, she gazed -wistfully into the fire. “Wot is it that yer wants wiv me, Gubbins?” - -“Is it very difficult to get married?” he faltered. - -She nodded. “One ‘as ter ’ave money. If a man didn’t ’ave no money, -’is wife would ’ave ter go out charing. She wouldn’t like that.” - -“What’s the least a man ought to have?” - -She deliberated. “Depends on the lady. If it wuz me, I should want -five pounds. But look ’ere, wot maikes yer h’arsk so many queschings? -Surely a little chap like you ain’t in love?” - -He flushed. “Five pounds! But wouldn’t three be enough if two people -were very, very much in love?” - -“Five pounds, Gubbins.” She rose from her chair and went back to her -dishes. “Not a penny less. I knows wot I’m talkin’ abart My ma wuz a -queen, p’raps; ter h’offer a lady less would be a h’insult.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII--THE EXPENSE OF LOVING - -It happened in a comfortable room on the ground floor, looking out into -the garden. All afternoon he had been puzzling over what Harriet had -told him. Mrs. Sheerug sat by the fire knitting; he dared not question -her. - -Muted by garden walls and distance, a muffin-man passed up and down the -streets, ringing his bell and crying to the night like a troubadour in -search of romance. He crouched against the window, watching the winter -dusk come drifting down. While watching, he fell asleep. - -As though he had been coldly touched, he awoke startled, all his senses -on edge. On the other side of the glass, peering in, standing directly -over him, was a figure which he recognized as Harriet’s. At first he -thought that she was trying to attract his attention; then he saw that -she seemed unaware of him and that her attention was held by something -beyond. A voice broke the stillness. It must have been that same voice -that had roused him. - -“My God, I’m wretched! For years it’s been always the same: the -restlessness when I’m with her; the heartache when I’m without her. -She won’t send me away and she won’t have me, and--and I haven’t the -strength to go away myself. No, it isn’t strength. It’s something that I -can’t tell even to you. Something that keeps me tortured and binds me to -her.” - -Scarcely daring to stir, Teddy turned his eyes away from Harriet, and -stared into the darkness of the room. The air was tense with tragedy. In -the flickering half-circle of firelight a man was crouched against the -armchair--kneeling like a child with his head in the faery-godmother’s -lap. He was sobbing. Teddy had heard his mother cry; this was different. -There was shame in the man’s crying and the dry choking sound of a -horrible effort to regain self-mastery. The faery-godmother bent above -him. Teddy could see the glint of her spectacles. She was whispering -with her cheek against the flaxen head. The voice went on despairingly. - -“Sometimes I wonder whether I do love her. Sometimes I feel hard and -cold, so that I wouldn’t care if it were all ended. Sometimes I almost -hate her. I want to start afresh--but I haven’t the courage. I know -myself. If I were certain that I’d lost her, I should begin to idealize -her as I did at first. God, if I could only forget!” - -“My dear! My dear!” Mrs. Sheerug’s voice was broken. Her tired hands -wandered over him, patting and caressing. “My poor Hal! To think that -any woman should dare to use you so and that I can’t prevent it! Why, -Hal, if I could bear your burdens, and see you glad, and hear your -laughter in the house, I’d--I’d die for you, Hal, to have you young and -happy as you were. Doesn’t it mean anything to you that your mother can -love you like that?” - -He raised his face and put his arms about her neck. “I haven’t been good -to you, mother. It’s like you to say that I have; but I haven’t. I’ve -ignored you and given the best of myself to some one for whom it has -no value. I’ve been sharp and irritable to you. You’ve wanted to ask -questions--you had a right to ask questions; I’ve kept you at arm’s -length. You’ve wanted to do what you’re doing now--to hold me close and -show me that you cared; and I’ve--I’ve felt like striking you. That’s -the way with a man when he’s pitied. You know I have.” - -The gray head nodded. “But I’ve always understood, and--and you don’t -want to strike me any longer.” - -“You’re dearer than any woman in the world.” - -“Dearer, but not so much desired.” She drew back from him, holding his -face between her hands. “Hal, you’re my son, and you must listen to -me. Perhaps I’m only a prejudiced old woman, years behind the times and -jealous for my son’s happiness. Put it down to that, Hal; but let me -have my say out. When I was young, girls didn’t treat men as Vashti -treats you. If they loved a man, they married him. If they didn’t love -him, they told him. They didn’t play fast and loose with him, and take -presents from him, and keep him in suspense, and waste his power of -hoping. It’s the finest moment in a good girl’s life when a good man -puts his life in her hands. If a girl can’t appreciate that, there’s -something wrong with her--something so wrong that she can never make the -most persistent lover happy. Vashti’s beautiful on the outside and she’s -talented, but--but she’s not wholesome.” - -There was a pause full of unspoken pleadings and threatenings. The man -jerked sharply away from his mother. Her hands slipped from his face to -his shoulders. They stayed there clinging to him. His attitude was alert -with offense. - -“Shall I go on?” she asked tremulously. - -His answer came grimly. “Go on.” - -“It’s the truth I’m telling you, Hal--the truth, as any one can see it -except yourself. Beneath her charm she’s cold and selfish. Selfishness -is like frost; it kills everything. In time it would kill your passion. -She’s gracious till she gets a man in her power, then she’s capricious. -You haven’t told me what she’s done to you, my dear. I’m a woman; I can -guess--I can guess. She doesn’t love you. She loves to be loved; -she never thinks of loving in return. She’s kept you begging like a -dog--you, who are my son, of whom any girl might be proud. Perhaps -you think that, if she were your wife, it would make a difference. It -wouldn’t. You’d spend all your life sitting up like a dog, waiting for -her to find time to pet you. You’re my son--the best son a mother ever -had. It’s a woman’s business to worship her man, even though she blinds -herself to do it You shan’t be a vain woman’s plaything.” - -She waited for him to say something. She would have preferred the most -brutal anger to this silence. It struck her down. He knelt before her -rigid, breathing heavily, his face hard and set. - -She spoke again, slowly. “If ever Vashti were to accept you, it would be -the worst day’s work. The gods you worship are different. Hers are--hers -are worthless.” - -He sprang to his feet, pushing aside his mother’s hand. His voice was -low and stabbing. “Worthless! I won’t hear you say that. You don’t -know--don’t understand. I ought to have gone on keeping this to -myself--ought not to have spoken to you. No, don’t touch me. She’s -good, I tell you. It’s my fault if I’m such a fool that I can’t make her -care.” - -He spoke like a man in doubt, anxious to convince himself. - -“It’s not your fault, Hal. The finest years of life! Could any man give -more? You’re belittling yourself that you may defend her. You’re -the little baby I carried in my bosom. I watched you grow up. I know -you--all your strength and weakness. You’re the kind of man for whom -love is as necessary as bread. Where there’s no kindness, you flicker -out You lose your confidence with her and her friends; their flippancy -stifles you. I don’t even doubt that you appear a fool. She’s a -beautiful, heartless vampire; if she married you, she’d absorb your -personality and leave you shrunken--a nonentity. She’s no standards, -no religion, no sense of fairness; she wants luxury and a career and -independence--and she wants you as well. Doesn’t want you as a comrade, -but as an _et cetera_. She’s willing to accept all love’s privileges, -none of its duties. She has plenty of self-pity, but no tenderness. -Oh, my poor, poor Hal, what is it that you love in her? Is it her -unresponsiveness?” - -She seized both his hands, dragging herself up so that she leaned -against his breast. “Hal, I’m afraid for you.” She kissed his mouth. -“She’ll make you bad. She will. Oh, I know it. She’ll break your heart -and appear all the time to be good herself. Can’t you see what your life -would be with her?” - -“I can see what it would be without her,” he said dully. - -His mother’s voice fell flat “You can’t see that. God hides the future. -There are good girls in the world. Life for you with her would be -bitterness, while she went on smiling. She’s a woman who’ll always have -a man in love with her--always a different man. She’ll never mean any -harm, but every affection she breathes on will lose its freshness. She’s -given you your chance to free yourself.” - -She tried to draw him down to her. “Take it,” she urged. - -He stooped, smoothed back the gray hair and kissed her wrinkled -forehead. - -“You’re going to?” - -He loosed himself. “Mother, it’s shameful that we should speak so of a -girl.” - -Crossing the room, he opened the door and halted on the point of -departure. - -“Are you going to?” - -“I can’t There are things I haven’t told you.” - -As the door closed, she extended her arms to him, then buried her face -in her hands. When the sound of his footsteps had died out utterly, she -followed. - -Teddy turned from gazing into the darkened room. The window was empty. -The other silent witness had departed. - -As if coming to uphold him in his allegiance to romance, the Invincible -Armada of dreamers sailed out: cresting the sullen horizon of housetops, -the white moon swam into the heavens--the admiral ship of illusion, with -lesser moons of faint stars following. He remembered that through all -his years that white fleet of stars would be watching, riding steadily -at anchor. Nothing of bitterness could sink one ship of that celestial -armada. He clenched his hands. And nothing that he might hear of -bitterness should sink one hope of his great belief in the goodness and -kindness of the world. - - - - -CHAPTER IX--THE FOG - -His exit from Orchid Lodge came hurriedly. Mrs. Sheerug had received a -letter telling her that her daughter, Madge, and her younger son, Ruddy, -were returning from the visit they had been paying. Consequently, one -foggy winter’s afternoon with a tip of four shillings from Hal and -of half-a-crown from Mrs. Sheerug--six shillings and sixpence in all -towards the necessary five pounds--he was wrapped up and conducted the -six doors lower down in the charge of Harriet. - -It was as though a story-book had been snatched from his hands when he -was halfway through the adventure. There were so many things that he -wanted to know. It seemed to him that he had lost sight of Vashti for -ever. - -Jane, his own servant, admitted them. She was greatly excited, but not -by his advent. Drawing Harriet into the hall, she at once began to make -her her confidante. - -“It wasn’t as though they ’adn’t been ’appy,” Jane was saying. -“’Appy I They was that ’appy they got on my nerves. There was times -when it was fair sick’ning to listen to ’em. Give me the pip, that’s -wot it did. It was ’Dearie this’ and ’Jimmie Boy that,’ till it made -a unmarried girl that angry she wanted to knock their ‘eads. Silly, I -calls it, to be ’ave like that downstairs. Well, that’s ‘ow it was -till the missus takes ill, and wot we’d expected didn’t ‘appen. Master -Teddy goes ter stay with you; ‘is dear ma is safe in bed; and then _she_ -comes, this woman as says she wants to ’ave ‘er portrait painted. -’Er portrait painted!” - -Jane beat her hands and sniffed derisively. Catching Teddy’s eye, she -lowered her voice and bent nearer to Harriet “’Er portrait painted! It -was all me eye and Betty Martin. Direckly I saw ’er I knew that, and I -says to myself, ’Yer portrait painted! A fat lot you wants of that, my -fine lady.’ And so it’s turned out When I opened the door to ’er fust, -I nearly closed it in ’er face, she looked that daingerous. And -there’s the missus on ’er back upstairs as flat as a pancake. I can’t -tell ’er a thing of wot I suspeck.” - -“Men’s all alike,” sighed Harriet, as though speaking out of a bitter -marriage experience. “H’it’s always the newest skirt that attracks.” - -Jane looked up sharply. It seemed to her that Teddy had grown too -attentive. “‘Ere, Miss ’arriet, let’s go down to my kitching and talk -this over. More private,” she added significantly. Then to Teddy, who -was following, “No, you don’t, Master Theo. You stay ’ere till we -comes back.” - -High up in the darkness a door opened. Footsteps. They were descending. -Huddling himself into an angle of the wall, he waited. A strange -woman in a blue starched dress was coming down. As she passed him, he -stretched out his hand, “If you please----” - -She jumped away, startled and angry. “What a fright you did give me, -hiding and snatching at me like that.” - -“I’m sorry.” - -“Sorry! But who are you?” - -“I’m Teddy. Where’s--where’s mother?” - -The woman’s voice became quiet and professional. “She’s sleeping. When -she wakes, I’ll send for you. She’s not been well. I must go now.” - -He listened to her footsteps till they died out in the basement. He must -find his father. Cautiously he set to work, opening doors, peeping into -darkened rooms and whispering, “It’s only Teddy.” - -Indoors he had searched everywhere; only one other place was left - -The garden was a brooding sea of yellow mist, obscured and featureless. -Trees stood up vaguely stark, like cowled skeletons. - -He groped his way down the path. Once he strayed on to the lawn and lost -himself; it was only by feeling the gravel beneath his tread that he -could be sure of his direction. A light loomed out of the darkness--the -faintest blur, far above his head. It strengthened as he drew nearer. -Stretching out his hands, he touched ivy. Following the wall, he came to -a door, and raised the latch. - -Inside the stable he held his breath. Stacked against the stalls were -canvases: some of them blank; some of them the failures of finished -work; others big compositions which were set aside till the artist’s -enthusiasm should again be kindled. Leading out of the stable into the -converted loft was a rickety stairway and a trap-door. Teddy could not -see these things; through familiarity he was aware of their presence. - -Voices! One low and grumbling, the other fluty and high up. Then a -snatch of laughter. Was there any truth in what Jane had said? The -trap-door was heavy. Placing his hands beneath it, he pushed and flung -it back. It fell with a clatter. He stood white and trembling, dazzled -by the glare, only his head showing. - -“What on earth!” - -Some one rose from a chair so hurriedly that it toppled over. Then the -same voice exclaimed in a glad tone, “Why, it’s the shrimp!” - -His father’s arms were about him, lifting him up. Teddy buried his face -against the velvet jacket. Though he had been deaf and blind, he would -have recognized his father by the friendly smell of tobacco and varnish. -Because of that smell he felt that his father was unaltered. - -“Turned you out, old chap, did they? I didn’t know you were coming. -Perhaps Jane told me. I’ve been having one of my inspirations, -Teddy--hard at it every moment while the light lasted. I’d be at it now, -if this infernal fog hadn’t stopped me.” He tried to raise the boy’s -face from his shoulder. “Want to see what I’ve been doing?” - -Teddy felt himself a traitor. His father had had an inspiration--that -accounted for Jane’s suspicions and for anything awkward that had -occurred. It was always when his father’s soul groped nearest heaven -that his earthly manners were at their worst. Odd! Teddy couldn’t -understand it; a person like Jane, who wasn’t even related, could -understand it still less. But he had let himself sink to Jane’s level. -If he had wanted to confess, he couldn’t have told precisely what it was -that he had dreaded. So in reply to all coaxing he hid his face deeper -in the shoulder of the velvet jacket. Its smoky, varnishy, familiar -smell gave him comfort: it seemed to forgive him without words. - -“Frightened?” his father questioned. “You were always too sensitive, -weren’t you? I oughtn’t to have forgotten you like that. But--I say, -Teddy, look up, old man. I really had something to make me forget.” - -“I think he’ll look up for me.” - -At sound of that voice, before the sentence was ended, he had looked up. - -“There!” - -Her laughter rang through the raftered room like the shivering of silver -bells. - -Holding out his hands to her, Teddy struggled to free himself. When -force failed, he leaned his cheek against his father’s, “Jimmie Boy, -dear Jimmie Boy, let me down.” - -“Hulloal What’s this?” - -Combing his fingers through his curly black hair, his father looked on, -humorously perplexed by this frantic reunion of his son and the strange -lady. She bent tenderly, pressing his hands against her lips and holding -him to her breast. - -“I never, never thought I’d find you,” he was explaining, “never in the -world. I searched everywhere. I was always hoping you’d come back. When -you didn’t, I tried to ask Harriet, and I nearly asked Mrs. Sheerug.” - -“Ah, she wouldn’t tell you,” the lady said. - -“I know all about marriage now,” he whispered. - -“You do?” - -He clapped his hands. “Harriet told me.” - -His father interrupted. “How did you and Teddy come to meet, Miss -Jodrell?” - -Vashti glanced up; her eyes slanted and flashed mischief. It was quite -true; any woman would have shared Jane’s opinion--Vashti’s look was -“daingerous” when it dwelt on a man. It lured, beckoned and caressed. It -hinted at unspoken tenderness. It seemed to say gladly, “At last we are -together. I understand you as no other woman can.” It was especially -dangerous now, when the bronze hair shone beneath the gray breast of a -bird, the red lips were parted in kindness, and the white throat, like -a swan floating proudly, swayed delicately above ermine furs. In the -studio with its hint of the exotic, its canvases where pale figures -raced through woodlands, its infinite yearning after beauty, its red -fire burning, swinging lamps and gaping chairs, and against the window -the muffled silence, Vashti looked like the materialization of a man’s -desire. One arm was flung about the boy, her face leant against his -shoulder, brooding out across the narrow distance at the man’s. - -“How did we meet!” she echoed. “How does any one meet? In a fog, by -accident, after loneliness. Sometimes it’s for better; sometimes it’s -for worse. One never knows until the end.” She stood up and drew her -wraps about her, snuggling her chin against her furs. “I ought to be -going now; your wife must be needing you, Mr. Gurney---- Oh, well, if -you want to see me out.” - -She dropped to her knees beside Teddy. “Good-by, little champion. Some -day you and I will go away together and you must tell me all that you -learnt from Harriet about--about our secret.” - -When they had vanished through the hole in the floor, Teddy tiptoed over -to the trap-door and peered down. With a glance across his shoulder, his -father signaled to him not to follow. He ran to the window to get one -last glimpse of her, but the fog prevented; all he could see was -the moving of two disappearing shadows. He heard the sound of their -footsteps growing fainter, and less certain on the gravel. - -Left to himself, he pulled from his knickerbockers’ pocket a knotted -handkerchief. Undoing it, he counted its contents: Hal’s four shillings -and Mrs. Sheerug’s half-a-crown. He smiled seriously. Sitting down on -the floor, he spread out the coins to make sure that he hadn’t lost any -of them. Six-and-sixpence! To grown people it might not seem wealth; to -him it was the beginning of five pounds. - - - - -CHAPTER X--THE WIFE OF A GENIUS - - -But, my old pirate, who is she? - -The orderliness of the room had been carried to excess; it suggested the -austere orderliness of death. Life is untidy; it has no time for folded -hands. The room’s garnished aspect had the chill of unkind preparedness. - -From the window a bar of sunlight streamed across a woman lying on a -white, unruffled bed. Its brilliance revealed the deep hollows of her -eyes; they were like violets springing up in wells of ivory. Her arms, -withdrawn from the sheets, stretched straightly by her side; the fingers -were bloodless, as if molded from wax. Her head, which was narrow and -shapely, lay cushioned on a mass of chestnut hair. She had the purged -voluptuousness of one of Rossetti’s women who had turned saint. Her -valiant mouth was smiling. Only her eyes and mouth, of all her body, -seemed alive. She had spoken with effort. It was as though the bar of -gold, which fell across her breast, was pinning her to the bed. Some -such thought must have occurred to the man who was standing astraddle -and bowed before the fire. He crossed the room and commenced to pull -down the blind. - -“Don’t, please. There’s to be no lowering of blinds--not yet.” - -He paused rigid, as though he had been stabbed; then went slowly back to -his old position before the fire. - -“I didn’t mean to say it,” she whispered pleadingly. “I’m not going to -die, Jimmie Boy--not so long as you need me. If I were lying here dead -and you were to call, I--I should get up and come to you, Jimmie Boy. -’Dearie, I say unto thee arise’--that’s what you’d say, I expect, like -Christ to the daughter of Jairus--‘Dearie, I say unto thee arise.’” - -A third person, who had been sitting on the counterpane, playing with -her hand, looked up. “And would you if I said it?” - -“Perhaps, but I’m not going to give you the chance--not yet.” - -“I’m glad,” sighed the little boy, “’cause, you know, I might forget -the words.” - -The ghost of a laugh escaped the woman’s lips and quickly spent itself. -“Jimmie Boy’s glad too, only he’s such an old Awkward, he won’t tell. He -hates being laughed at, even by his wife.” - -The man raised his shaggy head. His voice sounded gruff and furious. “If -you want to know, Jimmie Boy’s doing his best not to cry.” - -His head jerked back upon his breast. - -The woman lay still, gazing at him with adoring eyes. He cared--he -was trying not to cry. She never quite knew what went on inside his -head--never quite knew how to take him. When others would have said -most, he was most silent He was noisy as a child over the little things -of life. He did everything differently from other men. It was a proof of -his genius. - -In the presence of her frailty he looked more robust, more of a -Phoenician pirate than ever. She gloried in his picturesque lawlessness, -in the unrestraint of his gestures, in his uncouth silences. What a -lover for a woman to have! As she lay there in her weakness she recalled -the passion of his arms about her: how he had often hurt her with his -kisses, and she had been glad. She wished that she might feel his arms -about her now. - -“Who is she?” she asked again. - -Her question went unanswered. She turned her head wearily to the little -boy. “Teddy, what’s my old pirate been doing? Who is she? You’ll tell.” - -Before Teddy could answer, her husband laughed loudly. “If you’re -jealous, you’re not going to die.” - -The riot of relief in his voice explained his undemonstrativeness. Tears -sprang into her eyes. How she had misjudged him! She rolled her head -luxuriously from side to side. “You funny boy--die! How could I, when -you’d be left?” - -Running across the room, he sprawled himself out on the edge of the bed. -Forgetting she was fragile, he leant across her breast and kissed her -heavily on the mouth. She raised herself up to prolong the joy and fell -back exhausted. “Oh, that was good!” she murmured. “The dear velvet -jacket and the smoky smell--all that’s you! All that’s life! I’m not -jealous any longer; but who is she?” - -He pulled the loose ends of his tie and shook his head. “Don’t know, -and that’s a fact. She just turned up and wanted to be painted. When -I’d smarted, I lost my head; couldn’t stop; got carried away. Don’t know -whether you’d like her, Dearie; she’s a wonderful person. Sings like a -bird--sets me thinking--inspires. Work! Why, I’ve not worked so steadily -since--I don’t know when. I was worried about you and glad to forget -Hard luck on you, Dearie; I’m a stupid fellow to show my sorrow by -stopping away. But as to who she is, seems to me that Teddy can tell you -best.” - -She squeezed the little boy’s hand. “Who is she, Teddy?” Teddy looked -blank. “Don’t know--not exactly. She was in Mrs. Sheerug’s house with -Hal, and--and then she came and sang to me in bed.” - -“She did that?” His mother smiled. “She must be a good woman to love -my little boy.” Then to her husband, after a moment’s reflection: “But -what’s the picture?” - -His face lit up with enthusiasm. “It’s going to do the trick this time. -It’ll make us famous. We’ll move into a big house. You’ll have breakfast -in bed with a boudoir cap, and all your gowns’ll come from Paris.” - -She stroked the sleeve of his jacket affectionately. “Yes, that’s sure -to happen. But what’s it all about?” - -He commenced reciting, “‘She feedeth among the lilies. A garden enclosed -is my sister: a spring shut up, a fountain sealed. Awake, O north wind, -and come thou south. Blow upon my garden that the spices thereof may -flow out.’ Catch the idea? It was mine; Teddy didn’t have a thing to do -with it See what I’m driving at?” - -He sat back from her to take in the effect. She drew him near again. “It -sounds beautiful; but I don’t quite see all of it yet.” - -He knotted his hands, trying to reduce his imagination to words. “It’s -the women who aren’t like you, Dearie--the women who love themselves. -They feed among lilies; the soul of love is in ’em, but they won’t let -it out They’re gardens enclosed, fountains sealed, springs shut up. Now -are you getting there? The symbolism of it caught me. There I have her, -just as she is in her bang-up modern dress, feeding among the lilies -of an Eastern garden. Everything’s heavy with fragrance, beautiful and -lonely; the hot sun’s shining and nothing stirs. The windows of the -harem are trellised and shut. From under clouds the north and south wind -are staring and puffing their cheeks as though they’d burst. Through a -locked gate in the garden you get a glimpse of an oriental street with -the dust scurrying; but in my sister’s garden the air hangs listless. -The fountain is dry; the well is boarded over. And here’s the last -touch: halting in the street, peering in through the bars of the gate -is the figure of Love. The woman doesn’t see him, though he’s whispering -and beckoning. Love’s got to be stark naked; that’s how he always comes. -Because he’s naked he looks the same in all ages. D’you get the contrast -between Love and the girl’s modern dress? There’s where I’ll need you, -Teddy.” - -Teddy blushed. He spoke woefully. “But--but I’m not going to undress -before her.” - -For answer his father laughed. - -“But can’t I have any clothes at all--not even my shirt?” - -“Not even your shirt. She won’t see you, old man; in the picture she’s -looking in the other direction. And as for the real live lady, we’ll -paint you when she’s not on hand.” - -“It’s roo-ude,” Teddy stammered. “Besides, it’s silly. Nobody eats -lilies; they’re for Easter and funerals, and they’re too expensive. -And--and can’t I wear just my trousers?” - -His father frowned in mock displeasure. “For a boy of ideas and the son -of an artist you’re surprisingly modest. Now if you were Jane I could -understand it. Love would always put on trousers when he went to visit -her. But you’re Dearie’s son. I’m disappointed in you, Teddy; you really -ought to know more about love.” - -“But I do know about love.” Teddy screwed up his mouth. “I’ve learnt -from Harriet.” - -“And who’s Harriet?” - -“A kind of princess.” - -“Pooh!” His father turned to Dearie. “What d’you think of ‘_A Garden -Enclosed Is My Sister’_?” - -Dearie kissed his hand. “Splendid! But does the lady expect to be -painted like that?” - -He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m not -telling her.” - -The violet eyes met his. “Dear old glorious Impractical. Perhaps she’s -like Jane and’ll want her love in trousers.” Jimmie wagged his head -from side to side in negation. “If I’m any judge of character, she isn’t -easily shocked.” He rose and stood staring out of the window. His shadow -blotted out the bar of sunlight and lay across her breast He turned. -“This light’s too good to lose. I must get back to my work.” - -She clung to his lips. Until he had completely vanished her eyes -followed. - -“Teddy, is she beautiful?” Her whisper came sharply. “The most -beautiful--after you, mother, she’s the most beautiful person in the -world.” - -She closed her eyes and smiled. “After me! I’m glad you put me first.” - She stretched out her hand and drew him to her. “Now I’m ill, he’s -lonely. He’s got no one to care for him. Don’t let him be by himself.” - -“Not at all, Mummie?” - -“Not for a moment. You’d better go to him now.” - -He was on his way to the door when she beckoned him back. “What’s she -called, Teddy?” - -“Vashti.” - -“Vashti.” She repeated the word. - -“Don’t let him be lonely, Teddy--not for a moment alone with her. -Good-by, darling. Go to him now.” - - - - -CHAPTER XI--THE LITTLE GOD LOVE - -On the wall a clock was ticking; that and the rustling of the fire as -the coals sank lower were the only sounds. Like a white satin mantle -that had drifted from God’s shoulders, the snow lay across the world. -The sun flashed down; the studio was flooded with glory. - -About the snow and how it came Jimmie Boy had been inventing stories. -It was the angels’ washing day up there and some of their wings had blown -off the clothes line. No, wa it wasn’t. This was how the snow really -happened. The impatient little children who were waiting to be born had -had a pillow-fight, and had burst their pillows. - -But his father hadn’t spoken for a long time. The fire was going out. -Vashti might arrive at almost any moment And, alas, Teddy was naked. -He was posing for the figure of Love, peering in forlornly through the -fast-locked gate. He hadn’t wanted to do it; even now he was filled with -shame. But Jimmie Boy had offered him money--and he needed money; and -Dearie had begged him not to leave Jimmie Boy for a single second. When -he had crept up to her room to visit her, she had seized his hands and -whispered reproachfully, “Go back to him. Go back.” The best way to be -always with his father had been to pose for him. - -And there was another reason: by making himself necessary to the picture -he had been able to see Vashti. Day after day he had sat in the studio, -mouse-quiet, watching her. At night he had made haste to go to sleep -that the next day might come more quickly. In the morning, when he had -wakened, his first thoughts had been of her; as he dressed, he had -told himself, “I shall see her in three hours.” Vashti hadn’t seen -her portrait yet; she had been promised that this time she should see -it--that this time it should be done. The promise had been made before, -but now it was to be kept. So to-day was the last day. - -“Please, mayn’t I move?” - -“Not yet That’s the sixth time you’ve asked me. I’d have finished if -you’d kept quiet.” - -“But--but I’m all aches and shivers.” - -“Nonsense! You can’t be cold with that great fire.” His father was too -absorbed; he hadn’t noticed that the fire had gone out “I know what’s -the matter with you, Teddy: you’re afraid she’ll be here before you’re -dressed. Pooh! What of it? Now stop just as you are for ten minutes, and -then----” - -He left his sentence unended and fell to work again with concentrated -energy. His mind was aflame with the fury of his imagination. He was -far away from reality. It wasn’t Teddy he was painting; it was Love, -famished by indifference and tantalized by yearning--Love, bruising his -face against the bars which forever shut him out. This wasn’t a London -studio, ignobly contrived above a stable; it was a spice-fragrant garden -of the East, stared at by the ravishing eye of the sun, where a lady of -dreams stooped feeding among tall lilies. - -“When am I to see it?” Teddy questioned. - -“When she sees it.” - -“Not till then?” - -“Be still, and don’t ask so many questions.” - -“I wanted to see it before her,” explained Teddy, “because I’m hoping I -don’t show too much.” - -His father wiped a brush on the sleeve of his jacket and wriggled his -eyebrows. “Take my word for it, sonny, you look much better as you are -now. It’s a shame that we ever have to cover you up.” He laid aside his -palette. “There, that’s the last touch. It’s done. By Mohammed, it’s -splendid. Jump into your duds, you shrimp. I’m going to tell Dearie -before Miss Jodrell comes.” - -The wild head vanished through the hole in the floor. Teddy heard his -father laughing as he passed through the stable. Creeping to the window, -he watched him cut across flower-beds towards the house, kicking up the -snow as he ran. - -_It was done_. The great exhilaration was ended. Tomorrow, when he -awoke, it would be no good saying, “I shall see her again in three -hours.” At night he would gain nothing by going to sleep quickly; the -new day when it came would bring him nothing. The studio without -her would seem empty and dull. If only he had been fortified by the -possession of five pounds, he would have boldly reminded her of her -promise. Six-and-sixpence was the sum total of his wealth; it was hidden -away in an old cigar box which he had labeled MARRIAGE. If a husband -didn’t have at least five pounds, his wife would have to go out charing. -He couldn’t imagine Vashti doing that. - -Shivering with cold, yet drenched in sunlight he stood hesitating by the -window. His body gleamed white and lithe; behind him, tall as manhood, -stretched his shadow. Clasping his hands in a silent argument he stepped -back and glanced towards the easel. Her face was there, hidden from him -behind the canvas. Only his father had seen it yet; but he, too, wanted -to see it--he had more right than any one in the world. - -He tiptoed a few steps nearer, his bare feet making no sound; halted -doubtfully, then stole swiftly forward, lured on by irresistible desire. - -He drew back amazed. What had his father done? It was intoxicating. The -breath of the lilies drifted out; he could feel their listlessness. -An atmosphere of satiety brooded over the garden--a sense of too much -sweetness, too much beauty, too much loneliness. The skies, for all -their blueness, sagged exhausted. The winds puffed their cheeks in vain, -hurrying strength from the north and south. They could not rouse the -garden from its contentment. It stifled. - -Centermost a woman drooped above the lilies, an enchantress who was -herself enchanted. Dreamy with contemplation, she gazed out sideways at -the little boy. Her eyes slanted and beckoned, but they failed to read -his eyes. Her lips, aloof with indifference, were wistful and scarlet as -poppies. - -The face was Vashti’s--a striking interpretation; but---- - -Some latent hint of expression had been over-emphasized. One searched -for the difference and found it in the smile that hovered indolently -about the edges of her mouth. It wounded and fascinated; it did not -satisfy. It seemed to say, “To you I will be everything; to me you shall -be nothing.” - -Clenching his fists, Teddy stared at her. Tears sprang into his eyes. He -was little, but he loved her. She called to him; even while she called, -it was as though she shook her head in perpetual denial. Naked in the -street outside the garden he saw himself. He was whispering to her, -striving to awake her from the trance of the flowers. His face was -pressed between the bars and drawn with impatience. - -Slowly he bent forward, tiptoeing up, his arms spread back and balanced -like wings. His lips touched hers. Hers moved under them. He dashed his -fingers across his mouth; they came away blood-colored. He trembled with -fear, knowing what he had done. - -A rush of footsteps behind him. He was caught in her embrace. It was as -though she had leapt out from the picture. She was kneeling beside him, -her arms about him, kissing the warm ivory of his body. His sense of -shame was overpowered by his sense of wonder. - -“The poor little god!” she whispered. “That woman won’t look at him. But -when you are Love, Teddy, I open the gate.” - -Some one was in the stable; feet were ascending. Shame took the place of -wonder at being found naked in her presence. - -“Quick. Run behind the curtain and dress,” she muttered. - -From his place of hiding he heard his father enter. - -“Hulloa! So you got here and saw it without me! Why, what’s this?” And -then, “Your lip’s bleeding, Miss Jodrell. Ah, I see now. Vanity! Been -kissing yourself; didn’t know the paint was wet. Jove, that’s odd!” - He was bending to examine. “The blurring of the lips has altered the -expression. There’s something in the face that I never intended.” - -“It makes me look kinder, don’t you think?” - -James Gurney stood up; he was still intent upon his original conception. -“I’ll put that right with half-an-hour’s work.” - -“You won’t; it’s my picture. It’s more like me, and I like it better.” - She spoke with settled defiance; her voice altered to a tone of taunting -slyness. “You’re immensely clever, Mr. Gurney, but you don’t know -everything about women.” - -She liked it better! Teddy couldn’t confess that his lips had carried -the redness from the picture to her mouth. There was a sense of gladness -in his guilt. Because of this he believed her irrevocably pledged to -him. - - - - -CHAPTER XII--DOUBTS - -It was the early morning of the last day of the year. Staring out into -the street, Teddy flattened his nose against the window. He was doing -his best to make himself inconspicuous; neither Jane nor his father had -yet noticed that he was wearing his Eton suit on a week-day. That his -father hadn’t noticed was not surprising. For Jane’s blindness there was -a reason. - -Jane’s method of clearing the table would have told him that last night -had been her night out. She would be like this all day. Dustpans would -fall on the landings. Brooms would slide bumpity-bump down the stairs. -The front-door bell would ring maddeningly, till an exasperated voice -called not too loudly, “Jane, Jane. Are you deaf? Aren’t you ever -going?” It was so that Vashti might not be kept waiting that Teddy was -pressing his nose against the window. - -This was to be his great day, when matters were to be brought to a -crisis. In his secret heart he was wondering what marriage would be -like. He was convinced he would enjoy it. Who wouldn’t enjoy living -forever and forever alone with Vashti? Of course, at first he would miss -his mother and father--he would miss them dreadfully; but then he could -invite them to stay with him quite often. He was amused to remember that -he was the only person in the world who knew that this was to be his -wedding day. Even Vashti didn’t know it. He was saving the news to -surprise her. - -At each new outburst of noise his thoughts kept turning back to -speculations as to what might have caused this terrific upsetting of -Jane. She herself would tell him presently; she always did, and he would -do his best to look politely sympathetic. Perhaps her middle-aged suitor -from the country had pounced on her while out walking with her new young -man. He might have struck him--might have killed him. Love brought her -nothing but tragedy. It seemed silly of her to continue her adventures -in loving. - -Crash! He spun round. The tray had slipped from Jane’s hands. In a mood -of penitence she stood gaping at the wreckage. His father lowered his -paper and gazed at her with an air of complete self-mastery. He was -always angriest when he appeared most quiet “Go on,” he encouraged. -“Stamp on them. Don’t leave anything. You can do better than that.” - -“If I don’t give satisfackshun----” Jane lifted her apron and dabbed at -her eyes. “If I don’t give satisfackshun-----” - -Teddy heard his father strike a match and settle back into his chair. In -the quiet that followed, Teddy’s thoughts returned to the channels out -of which they had been diverted. - -Funny! Love was the happiest thing in the world, and yet--yet it hadn’t -made the people whom he knew happy. - -Harriet was in love; and Hal with Vashti; and Vashti---- - -He remembered another sequence of people who hadn’t been made happy by -love. Mrs. Sheerug hadn’t, even though she was the daughter of a Lord -Mayor of London and had run away with Alonzo to get him. Mr. Hughes -hadn’t, for his Henrietta had gone up in a swing-boat and had failed -to come down. Most distinctly Jane hadn’t. And his mother and his -father--concerning them his memories contradicted one another. Was -Dearie afraid of the ladies who came to have their portraits painted? -Why should she be, when Jimmie Boy was already her husband? - -He shifted his nose to a new place on the window; the old place was -getting wet. - -And then there was Mr. Yaffon. Mr. Yaffon lived next door and seemed to -sum up the entire problem in a nutshell. - -His neighbors accounted for his oddities by saying that long ago he had -had an unfortunate heart affair. - -He had a squeaky voice, was thin as a beanpole and very shabby. His legs -caved in at the knees and his shoulders looked crushed, as if a heavy -weight was perpetually pressing on his head. He didn’t go to business -or paint pictures like other people. In winter he locked himself in a -backroom and studied something called philosophy; the summers he spent -in his garden, planting things and then digging them up. He was rarely -seen in the street; when he did go out his chief object seemed to be to -avoid attracting attention. By instinct he chose the side which was in -shadow. Hugging the wall, he would creep along the pavement, wearily -searching for something. At an interval of a dozen paces a fox terrier -of immense age followed. Teddy had discovered the dog’s name by accident -He had stopped to stroke it, saying, “He’s nearly blind, poor old -fellow.” Mr. Yaffon had corrected him with squeaky severity: “Alice is -not a fellow; she’s a lady-dog.” That was the only conversation he and -Mr. Yaffon had ever held. Since then, without knowing why, he had taken -it for granted that the adored one of the unfortunate heart affair had -been named Alice. He accounted for their separation by supposing that -Mr. Yaffon’s voice had done it. The reason for this supposition was the -green parrot. - -The green parrot was a reprobate-looking bird with broken tail-feathers -and white eyelids which, when closed, gave him a sanctimonious -expression. When open, they revealed Satanic black eyes which darted -evilly in every direction. During the winter he disappeared entirely; -but with the first day of spring he was brought out into the garden and -lived there for the best part of the summer. From the bedroom windows -Teddy could watch him rattling his chain and jigging up and down on -his perch. He would make noises like a cork coming out of a bottle and -follow them up with a fizzing sound; then he would lower his white lids -in a pious manner and say, deep down in his throat, “Let us pray.” He -seemed to be trying to create the impression that, whatever his master -was now, there had been a time when he had been something of a hypocrite -and a good deal of a devil. - -But the parrot’s great moment came when his master pottered -inoffensively up the path towards him. The bird would wait until he got -opposite; then he would scream in a squeaky voice, an exact imitation of -Mr. Yaffon’s, “But I love you. I love you.” The old gentleman would grow -red and shuffle into the house, leaving the bird turning somersaults on -his perch and flapping his wings in paroxysms of laughter. - -That was why, whatever calamity had occurred, Teddy supposed that Mr. -Yaffon’s voice had done it Try as he would, whichever way he turned, he -could find no proof that love made people happy. That didn’t persuade -him that love couldn’t. It only meant that grown people were stupid. In -his experience they often were. - -The bell of the front door rang. It rang a second time. - -“Who is it?” asked his father. - -Teddy turned; his face was glowing with excitement. “It’s Vashti.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIII--SHUT OUT. - - -It’s to be our day, Teddy.” - -The gate swung to behind them with a clang. He looked back and saw his -father, framed in the window; then the palings of the next-door garden -shut him out He was alone with her. It was as though with the clanging -of the gate he had said “good-by” to childish things forever. - -The world shone forth to meet them, romantic with frost and lacquered -with ice. It was as though the sky had rained molten glass which, -spreading out across trees, houses and pavements, had covered them with -a skin of burning glory. Eden Row sparkled quaint and old-fashioned as -a Christmas card. The river, which followed its length, gleamed like a -bared saber. Windows, in the cliff-line of crooked houses, were jewels -which glittered smoothly in the sunlight In the park, beyond the river, -black boughs of trees were hieroglyphics carved on glaciers of -cloud. Chimneys were top-hatted sentinels, crouching above smoldering -camp-fires. Overhead the golden gong of the sun hung silent At any -moment it seemed that a cloud must strike it and the brittle boom of the -impact would mutter through the heavens. It was a world transformed--no -longer a prison swung out into the void in which men and women -struggled, and misunderstood, and loved and, in their loving, died. - -Vashti felt for his hand. He wanted to take it and yet---- If he did, -people who didn’t understand would think him nothing but a little boy. -What he really wanted was to take her arm; he couldn’t reach up to that -“Don’t you want to hold it?” - -He laughed shyly and slipped his fingers softly into hers. - -As they passed Orchid Lodge, standing flush with the pavement, she -glanced up at the second story, where the line of windows commenced. - -“The people who live there hate me. They’ll hate me more presently. I -can’t blame them.” - -She hurried her steps. Drawing a breath of relief, she whispered, “Look -back and tell me whether anybody saw us.” - -He looked back. Two figures were emerging from the doorway--one -excessively fat, the other so lean that he looked like a straight line. - -“Only the murd---- I mean Mr. Sheerug and Mr. Hughes. I don’t think they -saw us.” - -“That’s all right.” - -She laughed merrily--not on one note as most people laugh, but all up -and down the scale. The sparkle of morning was in her voice. Like a -flash out of a happy dream she moved through the ice-cold world. People -turned to gaze after her. A policeman, stamping his feet on the look-out -for some attractive housemaid, touched his helmet She nodded. - -“D’you know him?” - -“Never clapped eyes on him in my life. A pretty woman belongs to the -whole world, Teddy.” - -Butcher boys, hopping down from carts, stood thunderstruck. After she -had passed they whistled, giving vent to their approbation. Teddy had -the satisfaction of knowing that he was envied; he snuggled his hand -more closely into hers. Even Mr. Yaffon, the man who was as faded as a -memory, raised dim eyes and shrunk against the wall, stung into painful -life. His little dog waddled ahead, doing her best to coax him to come -on, trying to say, “None of that, Master. You’ve done it once; please -not a second time.” - -Was it only Teddy’s fancy--the fancy of every lover since the world was -created--that everything, animate and inanimate, was jealous of him? -Streets seemed to blaze at her coming. Sparrows flew down and chirped -noisily in the gutters, as though they felt that where she was there -should be singing. Famished trees shivered and broke their silence, -mumbling hoarse apologies: “It isn’t our fault Winter’s given us colds -in the head. If we had our way, we’d be leafy for you.” - -Years later Teddy looked back and questioned, was it love that the -little boy felt that winter’s morning? He had experienced what the grown -world calls real love by then, and yet he couldn’t see the difference, -except that real love is more afraid, thinks more of itself and is more -exacting. If love be a divine uplifting, a desirable madness, a mirage -of fine deception which exists only in the lover’s brain, then he -felt it that morning. And he felt it in all its goodness, without the -manifold doubts as to ulterior motives, without the unstable tenderness -which so swiftly changes to utterest cruelty, and without the need to -crush in order to make certain. In his love of Vashti he came nearer -to the white standards of chivalry than was ever again to be his lot In -later years he asked himself, was she really so incredibly beautiful? -Did her step have the lightness, her face the bewitching power, her -voice the gentleness he had imagined? By that time he had learnt the -cynical wisdom which wonders, “What is this hand that I hold so fast, -more than any other hand? What are these lips? Flesh---there are others -as warm and beautiful Is this meeting love or is it chance?” - -He was far from that blighting caution yet Merely to be allowed to serve -her, if it could help her to be allowed to die for her, to be allowed -to give his all--he asked no more. He carried his all in an ill-wrapped -parcel beneath his arm. She observed it. - -“Holloa! Brought your luggage?” - -“Not my luggage.” - -“Then what?” - -He flushed. “Can’t tell you yet.” - -“Oh, but tell me!” - -“I--I couldn’t here--not where every one’s passing.” - -“Something for me?” she guessed. - -He nodded. - -Higher up the street, outside a public house, a hansom cab was standing. - -“I must know,” she laughed. “Can’t wait another second. We’ll be alone -in that.” - -“Where to?” asked the cabby, peering through the trap. - -“Anywhere. Piccadilly Circus.” - -The doors closed as if folded by invisible hands. The window lowered. -They were in a little house which fled across main thoroughfares, up -side streets, round corners. He was more alone with her than ever. He -could feel the warmth of her furs. He could hear her draw her breath. - -“Well?” she asked. - -As he placed it in her lap the parcel jingled. “I saved it,” he -explained, “for us--for you and me, because of what somebody told me.” - -She tore the paper off. In her hands was a wooden box with MARRIAGE -inked across it. - -“Marriage!” She raised it to her ear and shook it “Money!” - -Teddy gazed straight before him. The pounding of the horse’s hoofs -seemed no louder than the pounding of his heart. ’Harriet said -that five pounds were the least that a lady would expect. “And so--and -so---- There’s five pounds.” - -He wasn’t looking at her. He didn’t dare to look at her. And so he -couldn’t be sure whether she had sighed or laughed. A horrible fear -struck him: she might be wondering how so young a person could come -honestly by so large a fortune. He spoke quickly. “It’s mine, all of it -I asked for money for Christmas. Jimmie Boy paid me for going into his -picture; and Hal and Mrs. Sheerug--they gave me----” - -“And it’s for me?” - -“Why, of course.” - -“And it’s all you’ve got--everything you have in the world?” Her arm -slipped about him. “You’re the little god Love, Teddy; that’s what you -are.” - -Traffic was growing thick about them. They came to a crossing where -a policeman held up his hand. Through the panes misted over by their -breath, they watched the crawling caravan of carts and buses. In the -sudden cessation from motion it seemed to Teddy that the eyes of the -world were gazing in on them. “A little boy and a grown lady!” they were -saying. “He wants to be her husband!” And then they laughed. Not till -they were traveling again did he pick up his courage. - -“Can we--can we----” - -“Can we what?” - -“Be married to-day? You said ‘some day’ when you promised.” - -For her it was a strange situation, as absurd as it was pathetic. For a -moment she tried not to take him seriously, then she glanced down at the -eager face, the Eton suit, the clasped hands. In his childish world -the make-believe was real. For him the faery tale, enacted for her own -diversion, had been a promise. She felt angry with herself--as angry as -a sportsman who, intending to miss, has brought down a songbird. Playing -at love was her recreation. She couldn’t help it--it was in her blood: -her approach to everything masculine was by way of fascination. She -felt herself a goddess; it was life to her to be worshiped. All men’s -friendships had to be love affairs or else they were insipid; on her -side she pledged herself to no more than friendship. Not to be adored -piqued her. - -But to have flirted with a child! To have filled him with dreams and -to have broken down his shyness! As she sat there with his box, labeled -MARRIAGE, in her lap, she wondered what was best to be done. If she -told him it was a jest, she would rub the dust off the moth-wings of -his faith forever. There was only one thing: to continue the extravagant -pretense. - -“It’s splendid of you, Teddy, to have saved so much.” - -“Is it much? Really much?” - -“Well, isn’t it?” - -His high spirits came back. He laughed and leant his head against her -shoulder. “I don’t know. I’m not very old yet.” - -“It’s because of that----” She knitted her brows, puzzling how she could -break the news to him most gently. In the back of her mind she smiled -to remember how much this consideration would have meant to some of her -lovers. “It’s because you’re not so very old yet, that I think we ought -to wait a year.” - -“A year!” He sat up and stared. “But a year’s a whole twelve months!” - -She patted his hand. “You wouldn’t like to have people laugh at me, -would you? A year would give you time to grow up. And besides, before I -marry, there are so many things to be done. I haven’t told you, but I’m -going to America almost directly--going to sing there. Five pounds is -a terrific lot of money in England, but in America it would soon get -spent. Even though you were my husband, you wouldn’t be able to come. -You’d have to stay here alone in our new house, and that wouldn’t be -very jolly.” - -He saw his dream crumbling and tried to be a man; but his lip trembled. -“I don’t think---- Perhaps you never meant your promise.” - -The trap-door in the roof opened. The hoarse voice of the cabby -intruded. “’Ere we are. Piccadilly Circus.” - -Vashti felt for her purse in her muff. It wasn’t there. She thought for -a minute, then gave the man an address and told him to drive on. - -“But I did mean my promise,” she assured Teddy. “Why, a year’s not long. -Cheer up. Think of all the fun we’ll have writing letters. Harriet can’t -have told you properly about marriage. One has to be very careful. One -has to get a house and buy things for it. There are heaps of things to -be bought when one gets married.” - -“And wouldn’t five pounds be enough?” - -She shook her head sorrowfully. “Not quite enough. But don’t let’s think -about it. This is our day, Teddy, and we’re going to be happy. Guess -where I’m taking you; it proves that I meant my promise.” - -When he couldn’t guess, she bent over him and whispered. He clapped his -hands. “To see a house!” - -“To see our house,” she corrected, smiling mysteriously. “I always knew -that some day I’d meet the little god Love; and so I got a house ready -for him. It’s a faery house, Teddy; only you and I can see it. If you -were ever to tell any one, especially Mrs. Sheerug, it would vanish.” - -“I’ll never, never tell. I won’t even tell Dearie. And does nobody, -nobody but you and me, know about it?” - -She hesitated; then, “Nobody,” she answered. - -To have a secret with her which no one else shared, almost made up for -the disappointment of not being married. Holding her hand, he watched -eagerly the flying rows of houses, trying to guess which was the one. - -“It’s in nearly the next street, Teddy.” - -“This one?” - -“Not this one. Ours has a little white gate and a garden; it’s ever so -much cosier.” - -They had left the traffic where the snow was churned into mud. Once -more it was a world of spun glass, of whiteness and quiet, that they -traversed. To Teddy it seemed that the cab was magic; it knew its way -out of ugliness to the places where dreams grow up. - -The cab halted; the window flew back and the doors opened of themselves. -They stepped out on to the pavement. The little white gate was there, -just as Vashti had said. A path led up, through snow as soft as -cotton-wool, to a red-brick nest of a house. A look of warmth lay behind -its windows. Plants, leaning forward to catch the light, pressed against -the panes. A canary fluttered in a gilded cage like a captured ray of -sun. - -A maid in cap and apron answered the bell. She was not at all like Jane, -who never looked tidy till after lunch. - -“Lost my purse, Pauline,” Vashti pouted. “I couldn’t pay my fare, so -had to drive home. The cabman’s waiting.” Pauline had been watching -the strange little boy with unfriendly eyes. “If you please, mam, -he’s here.” She sank her voice. Teddy caught the last words, “In the -drawing-room, playing with Miss Desire.” - -Vashti frowned. She looked at Teddy as Pauline had done. He felt at once -that a mistake had been made, that there was something that he must -not see and that, because of the person in the drawing-room, he was not -wanted. - -“What shall I do? Stupid of me!” Turning to the maid, Vashti spoke in -a lowered voice, “Go up to my room quietly and bring me down my money. -We’ll be sitting in the cab and you can bring it out---- No. That won’t -do. He might think that I hadn’t wanted to see him. There’d be a fuss. -What am I to do, Pauline? For heaven’s sake suggest something.” - -“Couldn’t the little boy go and sit in the cab, while you----” - -Vashti had her hand on the latch to let Teddy out when shrill laughter -rang through the house. A door in the hall burst open and a small girl -ran out, pursued by a man on his hands and knees. He had a rug flung -over his head and shoulders, and was roaring loudly like a lion. The -little girl was too excited to notice where she was going or who were -present. - -She ran on, glancing backward, till she charged full tilt into Teddy. -“Save me,” she cried, clinging to him and trying to hide herself behind -him. He put his arms about her and faced the lion. - -Balked of his prey, the lion halted. No one spoke. In the -unaccounted-for silence the lion lost his fierceness. Throwing back the -rug, he looked up. Teddy found himself gazing into a face he recognized. - -“Of all the----” - -Hal rose to his feet and dusted his knees. He glanced meaningly from -Teddy to Vashti. “Is this wise?” - -“Shish!” Her lips did scarcely more than frame the warning. “Hal, I -never told you,” she said gayly, “Teddy’s in love with me and one day -we’re going to be married. That’s why I brought him to see the house. -He’s promised never to breathe a word of what he sees, because it’s a -faery house and, if he does, it’ll vanish.” - -Hal tried to look very serious. “Oh, yes, most certainly it’s a faery -house. I’m only allowed here because I’m your champion.” - -The boy’s quick instinct told him that an attempt was being made to -deceive him. He wondered why. Who was the little girl who had nestled -against him? Finding that he was a stranger she had become shy. He -looked at her. She was younger than himself. Long curls, the color of -Vashti’s, fell upon her tiny shoulders. She was exquisitely slight Her -frock was a pale blue to match her eyes, and very short above her knees. -She looked like a spring flower, made to nod and nod in the sunshine and -to last only for a little while. More spirit than body had gone to her -making; a puff of wind would send her dancing out of sight. - -“Desire, come here, darling. Say thank you to the boy for saving you -from the lion.” - -Kneeling, Vashti took the little girl’s reluctant hand and held it out -to Teddy. Desire snatched it away and began to cry. A knocking at the -door caused a diversion; it was the cabman demanding his fare and asking -how much longer they expected him to wait Hal paid; Teddy noticed that -Vashti let him pay as if it were his right. - -He was mystified; the house and what happened in it were so different -from anything he had expected. Vashti had been so emphatic that no one -but herself and himself were to know about it, and here were Hal and -Pauline and the little girl who knew about it already. Hal’s expression, -when he had thrown the rug from his shoulders, had been that of a man -who was found out. But his eyes, when they had met Vashti’s, had -become daring with gladness. Teddy was aware that he had been brought -unintentionally to the edge of a big secret which he could not -understand. - -The cabman had been gone for a long time. Teddy had been left to amuse -himself in the room where the canary hopped in its cage and the plants -leant forward to catch the sunlight. It was a long room, running from -the front of the house to the back and was divided by an archway. In -the back part a fire burned and a couch was drawn up before the fire. -He hadn’t the heart to go to it, but stood gazing out between the plants -into the street in the exact spot where Vashti had left him. Every -now and then the canary twittered, as if trying to draw him into -conversation; sometimes it dropped seeds on his head. He didn’t know -quite what it was he feared or why. On an easel in the archway he espied -_The Garden Enclosed_, which his father had painted. The little god was -still peering in through the gate. Teddy had hoped that by now he -might have entered the garden. Like the little god he waited, with ears -attentive to catch any sound in the quiet He seemed to have been waiting -for ages. - -A door in the back half of the room opened. Hal and Vashti came in, -walking near together. Vashti looked round Hal’s shoulder and called to -Teddy, “Not much longer now. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Then they -both seemed to forget him. - -Seated on the couch before the fire, their heads nearly touching, they -spoke earnestly. Perhaps they didn’t know how far their voices carried. -Perhaps they were too self-absorbed to notice. Perhaps they didn’t -care. Hal held her hand, opening and closing the fingers, and stooping -sometimes to kiss the tips of them. - -“I’d come to the breaking point,” he whispered; “I either had to have -you altogether or to do without you. It was the shilly-shallying, the -neither one thing nor the other, that broke me down.” He laughed and -caught his breath. “I tried to do without you, Vashti; there were times -when I almost hated you. You seemed not to trouble that I was going out -of your life. But now---- Well, if you must keep your freedom, we’ll at -least have all the happiness we can. I’ll do what you like. I’m not -going to urge you any more, but I still hope for Desire’s sake that some -day we’ll----” - -“Poor boy, you still want to own me. But tell me, was it hearing that I -was going to America that brought you back?” - -“Brought me back!” He pressed her open palm against his mouth. “To you, -dearest, wherever you were, I should always be coming back. How could I -help it? Hulloa! That’s fine.” His eyes had caught the picture. “Where -did you----” - -“All the while you were angry with me I was having it painted for you. -But I shan’t be giving it to you now.” She glanced sideways at him with -mocking tenderness. “You won’t need it. It was to be a farewell present -to some one who had changed his mind.” - -He drew her face down. “My darling, my mind will never change.” - -Suddenly she broke from his embrace and glanced back into the room, -raising her voice. “You know it’s Teddy that I’m going to marry, if ever -I do marry. Why, we almost thought we’d get married this morning. -Come here, my littlest lover. Don’t look so downhearted. Champions are -allowed to kiss their ladies’ hands. Didn’t Hal tell you? Well, they -are, and you may if you like.” - -Teddy didn’t kiss her hand. He cuddled down on the hearthrug with -his head against her knees, feeling himself like Love in the picture, -forever shut out. The soul had vanished from his glorious day. He was -hoping that Hal would go; she didn’t seem to belong to him while -he stayed. Lunch went by, tea came, and still he stayed. A blind -forlornness filled his mind that he couldn’t be a man. In spite of her -caresses he felt in his heart that all her promises had been pretense. - -Not until night had fallen and she got into the cab to take him home did -he have her to himself. The lamps stared out on the snow like two great -eyes. Once again it was a faery world of mysterious hints and shadows. - -She drew him to her. She realized the dull hopelessness of the child and -wondered what would be his estimate of her, if he remembered, when he -became a man. Would he think that he had been tampered with and made the -plaything of a foolish woman’s idleness? She wanted to provide against -that. She wanted him always to think well of her. She felt almost humble -in the presence of his accusing silence. She had a strange longing to -apologize. - -“It hasn’t--hasn’t been quite our day, Teddy--not quite the day we’d -planned. I’m dreadfully sorry; I wouldn’t have had it happen this way -for the world.” - -He didn’t stir--didn’t say a word. She made her voice sound as if she -were crying; he wasn’t certain that she wasn’t crying. - -“You’re not angry with me, are you? It’s so difficult being grown up. -Sooner or later every one gets angry, even Hal. But I thought that my -littlest lover would be different--that, though he didn’t understand, -he’d still like me and believe that I’d tried----” - -His arms shot up and clasped her neck. In the flashlight of the passing -street lamps she saw his face, quivering and tear wet. She couldn’t -account for it, why she, a woman, should be so deeply moved. She had -conjured dreams of a man who would one day gaze into her eyes like that, -believing only the best that was in her and, because of that belief, -making the best permanent. She had experimented with the world and knew -that she would never meet the man; love lit passion in men’s eyes. But -for a moment she had found that faith in the face of a little child. -The fickleness and wildness died down in her blood; the moment held a -purifying silence. Taking his face between her hands, she kissed his -lips. - -“I’m going away,” she whispered. “Whatever you hear, even when you’ve -become a man, believe always that I wanted to be good. Believe that, -whatever happens. Promise me, Teddy. It--it’ll help.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIV--BELIEVING HER GOOD - -For a week he had no news of her. Then his father said to him -one morning, “Oh, by the way, _The Garden Enclosed_ is going to be -exhibited. I asked Miss Jodrell to lend it to me.” - -“Will--will she bring it herself?” he asked, trying to disguise his -anxiety. - -“Herself! No. She’s rather an important person. She’s gone to America.” - -Then the news leaked out that Hal had gone too. - -Some nights later he was driving back down Eden Row with his father. -They had been to the gallery where the picture was hanging. Without -warning the cab pulled up with a jerk; he found himself clinging to the -dashboard. His eyes were staring into the gas-lit gloom of Eden Row. - -Almost touching the horse’s nose, two men, a fat and a lean one, -had darted out from the shadow of the pavement They were shouting at -something that sat balanced, humped like a sack, on the spiked palings -which divided the river from the road. They had all but reached it; -it screamed, shot erect, and jumped. There was a sullen splash, then -silence and the gurgling of the river as the ripples closed slowly over -it. - -The silhouette of the fat man bent double; the silhouette of the lean -man, using it as a stepping stone, climbed the palings and dived into -the blackness. It would have been a dumb charade, if the fat man hadn’t -said, “Um! Um!” when he felt the lean man’s foot digging into his back. - -Teddy was hauled out into the road by his father. Grampus puffings were -coming from the river, splashings and groanings. The cabman was standing -up in his seat, profanely expressing his emotions. A police-whistle -called near at hand. A hundred yards away another answered. Through the -emptiness of night the pounding of feet sounded. - -In an instant, as though it had sprung out of the ground, a crowd had -gathered. People started to strike matches, which they held out through -the palings in a futile endeavor to see what was happening. - -A policeman came up, elbowing and shoving. He caught the horse’s head -and whisked the cab round so that its lamps shone down on the river. -They revealed Mr. Hughes, his bowler hat smashed over his forehead, -swimming desperately with one hand and towing a bundle towards the bank. - -Men swarmed over the palings and dragged him safe to land. Clearing his -throat, he commenced explaining to the policeman, “As I was walkin’ with -my friend, I sees ’er climbin’ over. I says to ’im, That’s queer. -That ain’t allowed.’ And at that moment----” - -Teddy lost the rest. Letting go his father’s hand, he was wriggling his -way to the front through the legs of the crowd. He reached the palings -and peered through. - -Stretched limply on the bank, her hair broken loose, the policeman’s -bull’s-eye glaring down on her, was Harriet. - -Vashti’s name was never mentioned in connection with the attempted -suicide, but he quickly knew that in some mysterious way she was held -responsible. When he asked his mother, “Was it because Hal went to -America?” she answered him evasively, “Harriet’s a curious girl--not -quite normal. That may have had something to do with it.” - -For many months, as far as Orchid Lodge was concerned, Vashti’s memory -was a hand clapped over the mouth of laughter. Harriet broke dishes now -only by accident and never in temper. She went about her work without -singing. Mrs. Sheerug put away her gay green mantle; after Hal left, she -dressed in black. She spoke less about men being shiftless creatures. -If she caught herself doing it from habit, she stopped sharply, fearing -lest she should be suspected of accusing some one man. Her great theme -nowadays was the blighting influence of selfishness. She was always on -the look-out for signs of selfishness in Teddy. Once, at parting with -him, she refrained from the usual gift of money, saying, “My dear, -beware of selfishness. I’m afraid you come here not because you love me, -but for what you can get” She spent much of her time in covering page -after page of foreign notepaper in the spare-room where the gilded harp -stood against the window. She did it in the spare-room because, if it so -happened that she wanted to cry, no one could see her there. Questioned -by careless persons about Hal, she would answer, “He’s gone to America. -He’s doing splendidly. He’ll be back some time. No, I can’t say when.” - -Her other two children, Ruddy and Madge, didn’t interest her -particularly. Ruddy was redheaded and always pulling things to pieces -to see how they worked. Madge was twenty, a cross girl who loved animals -and pretended to hate men. - -When at the end of two months the portrait came back from the gallery, -a dispute arose which brought home to Teddy the way in which Vashti was -regarded. She had written none of the promised letters, so Jimmie Boy -didn’t know her address. He might have asked Mrs. Sheerug, but the -matter was too delicate. He made up his mind to hang the picture in his -house and had set about doing so, when Dearie put her foot down. - -“I won’t have it.” - -“But it’s my best work. What’s got into your head, Dearie, to make you -so prudish? You might as well object to all Romney’s Lady Hamiltons -because she----” - -“Lady Hamilton’s dead. Romney wasn’t my husband, and Nelson’s mother -wasn’t my friend.” - -Dearie was obstinate and so, as though it were something shameful, -Vashti’s portrait was carried down to the stable. There, among the dust -and cobwebs, with its face to the wall like a naughty child, _The Garden -Enclosed_ was forbidden the sunlight. Only Teddy gave it a respite from -its penance when, having made certain that he was unobserved, he lifted -it out to gaze at it. But because she never wrote to him, he went to -gaze at it less and less. Little by little she became a beautiful and -doubtful memory. He learnt to smile at his wistful faery story, as only -a child can smile at his former childishness. - -New interests sprang up to claim his attention; the chief of these was -a gift from Mr. Sheerug of a pair of pigeons. In giving them to him he -explained to Teddy, “My friend, Mr. Ooze--he’s a rum customer--drops -his aitches and was born in a hansom cab, but he knows more about pigeons -than any man in London. Trains mine for me--goes out into the country -and throws ’em up. That’s where he’s gone now. When he lost his -precious Henrietta he nearly went off his head. His hobby saved him. A -hobby’s a kind of life-preserver--it keeps you afloat when your ship’s -gone down.” - -His pigeons, more than anything else, helped him to forget Vashti. His -soul went with them on their flights through wide clean spaces. The -sense gradually grew up within him that she had betrayed him; this was -partly due to the hostile way in which she was regarded by others. At -the time when she had tampered with his power of dreaming he had been -without consciousness of sex; but as sex began to stir, he felt a tardy -resentment. This was brought to a climax by Mr. Yaffon. - -Looking from his bedroom window one morning across the neighbors’ -walled-in strips of greenness, where crocuses bubbled and young leaves -shuddered, he noticed that in Mr. Yaffon’s garden the parrot had been -brought out. It was a sure sign that at last the spring had come. As he -watched, Mr. Yaffon pottered into the sunlight to make an inspection of -his bulbs. Several times he passed near the perch; each time the parrot -jigged up and down more violently, screaming, “But I love you. I love -you.” - -As if unaware that he was being taunted, the old gentleman took no -notice. But the parrot had been accustomed to measure success by the -fear he inspired. When his master tried neither to appease nor escape -him he redoubled his efforts, making still more public his shameful -imitation of a falsetto voice declaring love. - -Mr. Yaffon rose from examining a bed of tulips; blinking his dim eyes, -he stood listening, with his head against his shoulder. Deliberately, -without any show of anger, he sauntered up to the parrot, caught him by -the neck and wrung it. It was so coolly done that it seemed to have -been long premeditated. It looked like murder. The gurgling of that thin -voice, so like Mr. Yaffon’s, protesting as it sank into the silence, -“But I love you. I love you,” gave Teddy the shudders. - -Mr. Yaffon got a spade, dug a hole, and buried the parrot. When he -had patted down the mold, he went into the house and returned in a few -minutes with a basketful of letters. With the same unhurried purpose, -he walked down the path towards his tool-shed, made a pile of dead -branches, and set a bonfire going. A breeze which was blowing in gusts -rescued one of the papers and led Mr. Yaffon a chase across lawns and -flower beds. Just as he was on the point of capturing it, the wind -lifted it spitefully over the wall into Mr. Gurney’s garden. - -Teddy, who had watched these doings with all his curiosity aroused, lost -no time in hurrying down from the bedroom. In a lilac bush he found -the lost paper. It was a letter, yellowed by age, charred with fire and -written in a fine Italian hand--a woman’s. It read: - -_My dear Penny-Whistles, - -You don’t like me calling you Penny-Whistles, do you? You mustn’t be -angry with me for laughing at your voice: I can laugh and still like -you. But can I laugh and still marry you? That’s the question. I’m -afraid my sense of humor----_ - -Teddy stopped. He realized that he was spying. He knew at last what -Mr. Yaffon had been doing: burning up his dead regrets. The letter had -already slipped from his hand, when the ivy behind him commenced to -rustle. The top of a ladder appeared above the wall, followed by Mr. -Yaffon’s head. It sounded as though the parrot had come to life. - -“Little boy,” he said, in his squeaky voice, “a very important letter -has---- Ah, there it is. To be sure! Right at your feet, boy. Make -yourself tall and I’ll lean down for it. There, we’ve managed it. Thank -you.” - -When the head and the ladder had vanished, Teddy stood in the sunshine -pondering. The spring was stirring. Everything was beginning afresh. -Then he, too, lit a fire. When it was crackling merrily, he ran indoors -to a cupboard. Standing on a chair, he dragged from a corner a box -across whose lid was scrawled the one word MARRIAGE. Tucking it under -his jacket, he escaped into the garden and rammed the box well down into -the embers. As he watched it perish, he whispered to himself: “Silly -kid--that’s what I was.” - -No doubt Mr. Yaffon was telling himself the same thing, only in -different language. - -Then the child, on his side of the wall, strolled away to dream of -pigeons; and the older child, on the other side, stooped above his -flowers. - - - - -CHAPTER XV--THE FAERY TALE BEGINS AGAIN - -The memories of a man are of the past. A child has no past; his -memories are of the imagined future. His soul, in its haste for new -experience, rushes on, outdistancing life. - -After his false awakening by Vashti, the world which Teddy annexed for -himself was composed of sky and pigeons. Often as he watched his birds -rise into the air, he would make his mind the companion of their flight. -It seemed to him that his body was left behind and that the earth lay -far below him, an unfolding carpet of dwarfed trees and houses as small -as pebbles. By day his thoughts were of wings. By night, gazing from his -bedroom window when the coast-line of the clouds had grown blurred, he -would watch the Invincible Armada of the stars, plunging onward and ever -onward through the heavens. The little he had learnt of life had pained -him; so he took Mr. Sheerug’s advice and remade the world with a hobby. -When the stars winked, he believed they were telling him that they knew -that one day he would be great. - -His pigeons and the wide clean thoughts they gave him, kept his mind -from morbid physical inquiries. The school he attended in Eden Row was -conducted by an old Quaker, a man whose gentle religion shamed the boys -of shameful conversations. - -The inklings of life which he had gained through Vashti, made him re-act -against further knowledge. Love in her case had begun with beauty, -but it had ended with the wretched face of a woman and a policeman’s -bull’s-eye staring down on it. Perhaps love always ended that way, -causing pain to others and ugliness. He shrank from it. Like a tortoise -when its head has been touched, he withdrew into his shell and stayed -there. He was content to be young and to remain incurious as to the -meaning of his growing manhood. The days slipped by while he lived his -realities in books and pigeons, and in his father’s paintings. Not until -he was fifteen did he again awaken, when the door unexpectedly opened, -leading into a new experience. - -It was an afternoon in July, the last day of the summer term. The school -had broken up. The playground was growing empty. With the last of the -boys he came out of the gate and stood saying “Good-by.” They had told -him where they were going--all their plans for the green and leafy -future. They were going to farmhouses in the country and to cottages by -the sea. Some of them were not returning to school; they were going to -the city to become men and to earn money. He watched them saunter -away down Eden Row, joking and aiming blows at one another with their -satchels. - -From across the river, softened by distance, came laughter and the -pitter-pat of tennis. In the golden spaces between trees of the park, -girls advanced and retreated, volleying with their racquets. Their hair -rose and fell upon their shoulders as they twisted and darted. They were -as unintelligible to Teddy as if they had spoken a different language. - -What was it that he wanted? It was something for which he never found -a name--something which continually eluded his grasp. He was haunted by -desire for an intenser beauty. All kinds of things, totally unrelated, -would stab him into yearning: sometimes a passage in a book; sometimes -the freedom of a bird in flight; and now the music of girlish laughter. -He was burdened with the sense that life would not wait for him--would -not last; that it was escaping like water through his fingers. He wanted -to live it fully. He wanted to be wise, and happy, and splendid. And yet -he was afraid--afraid of disillusion. He feared that if he saw anything -too closely, it would lose its fascination. Those girls, if he were to -be with them, he could not laugh as they laughed; he would have nothing -to say. And yet, he knew of boys---- - -Hitching the strap of his satchel higher, he smiled. These thoughts were -foolish; they had come to him because he had been saying good-by. They -always came when he felt the hand of Change upon his shoulder. - -Before his home a cab was standing. On entering the hall he heard the -murmurous sound of voices. A door opened. His mother slipped out to him -with the air of mystery that betokened visitors. - -“How late you are, darling! Run and get tidy. Some one’s been waiting -for you for hours.” - -As he made a hasty schoolboy toilet he wondered who it could be. His -mother had seemed flustered and excited. No one ever came to see him; to -him nothing ever happened. Other boys went away for summer holidays; -he knew of one who had been to France. But to stir out of Eden Row was -expensive; all his journeys had to be of the imagination. When one had a -genius for a father, even though he was unacknowledged, one ought to -be proud of poverty. To be allowed to sacrifice for such a father was a -privilege. That was what Dearie was always telling him. - -The room in which the visitor was waiting was at the back of the house. -It had folding windows, which were open, and steps leading down into -the garden. Evening fragrances drifted in from flowers. In the waning -sunlight the garden became twice peopled--by its old inhabitants and by -their shadows. On the lawn a sprinkler was revolving, throwing up a mist -which sank upon the turf with the rustle of falling rain. - -A man rose from the couch as he entered--a fair, thin man with blue -impatient eyes and a worn, wistful expression. He looked as though he -had been always trying to clasp something and was going through life -with his arms forever empty. He placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders, -gazing at him intently. - -“Taller, but not much older. In all the time I’ve been away you’ve -scarcely altered. Do you know me?” - -“Why, of course. It’s Mr. Hal.” - -“No, just Hal. You didn’t used to call me ‘Mister.’ You can’t guess -why I’ve come. I’ve told your mother, and she’s consented, if you are -willing. I want your help.” Teddy glanced at his mother. Her eyes were -shining; she had been almost crying. What could Hal have said to make -her unhappy? How could he, a boy, help a man? In the silence he heard -the sprinkler in the garden mimicking the sound of rain. - -Hal’s voice grew low and embarrassed. “I want your help about a little -girl. She’s lonely. I call her little, but in many ways she’s older than -you are. She’s living in a house in the country, and she wants some one -to play with. I’ve been so long out of England that I’d forgotten how -tall you’d been getting. But, perhaps, you won’t mind, even though she’s -a girl. It’s a pretty place, this house in the country, with cows and -wild flowers and a river. You’d enjoy it, and--and you’d be helping me -and her.” - -“Sounds jolly,” said Teddy; “I’d like to go most awfully, only--only -what makes you and mother so sad?” - -Hal tried to appear more cheerful. “I’m not sad. I was worried. Thought -you wouldn’t come when you heard it was to play with a girl.” - -“He’s not sad,” said Dearie; “it’s only that, if you go, we mustn’t tell -anybody--not even Mrs. Sheerug; at least, not yet.” - -Teddy chuckled. At last something was going to happen. “That’ll be fun. -But how glad Mrs. Sheerug must be to have you back.” - -Hal rose to his feet. “She isn’t That’s another of the things she -doesn’t know yet. I must be going. Your mother says she can have you -ready to-morrow, so I’ll call for you.” - -Teddy noticed how he dashed across the pavement to his cab. He felt -certain that his reason was not lack of time, but fear lest he might be -observed. He questioned his mother. She screwed her lips together: “Dear -old boy, I’m not allowed to tell.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI--A WONDERFUL WORLD - -During the train journey Hal kept his face well hidden behind a -newspaper. It wasn’t that he was interested in its contents, for he had -turned only one page in half an hour. Teddy glanced at him occasionally. -Funny! Why was it? Grown people seemed to enjoy themselves by being sad. - -The train halted in a quiet station. An old farmer with screwed-up, -merry eyes, white whiskers like a horse-collar about his neck, and -creaking leather gaiters, approached them. - -“Mornin’, mister. I was on the lookout for ’ee. I’ve brought the -wagonette; it’s waitin’ outside. Jump in, while I get the luggage.” When -he came back carrying the bags, his eyes winked meaningly both together -at Teddy: “The little missie, she war that excited, I could scarce -persuade her from comin’.” - -He lumbered to his seat and tugged at the reins. The horse whisked its -tail and set off at a jog-trot through the sleepy town. Houses grew -fewer; the country swam up, spreading out between trees like a green -swollen river. - -As they passed by gates and over bridges, it was as though doors flew -open on stealthy stretches of distance where shadows crouched like -fantastic cattle. - -Hal was speaking. He turned to him. “I was saying that we rather tricked -you, Vashti and I. What did you think of us? We often wondered.” - -Teddy laughed. “I was little then. I was angry. You see, I believed -everything; and she said so positively that we were going to be married. -I must have been a queer kid to have believed a thing like that.” - -The old horse jogged on, whisking his tail. The farmer sat hunched, with -the reins sagging. Hal felt for his case and drew out a cigarette. As -he stooped to light it, he asked casually, “Do you ever think about -her--ever wonder what’s become of her?” - -The boy flushed. It was Vashti, always Vashti, when Hal spoke to him. - -“I think of her only as a faery story. It’s silly of me. I don’t think -about her more often than I can help.” - -“Than you can help!” Hal leant forward with a strained expression. “You -can’t help. You always remember. That’s the curse of it. The doors of -the past won’t keep shut; they slam and they slam. They wake you up in -the night; you can’t rest. You’re always creeping down the stairs and -finding yourself in the rooms of old memories. Would you know her again -if you saw her?” - -Teddy looked up at the question. “I’d know her voice anywhere.” Then, -with an excitement which he could not fathom, “Am I going to----?” - -Hal shook his head. “I asked you because, if you do see her, you must -send me word.” - -They turned in at a gate off the highroad. It was scarcely more than -a field-track that they followed. Ahead a wood grew up, which they -entered. On the other side of it, remote from everything, lay a red -farmhouse. A big yard was in front of it, with stacks standing yellow in -the sun and horses wandering aimlessly about. Cocks were crowing and on -the thatch, like flakes of snow, white fan-tails fluttered. At the sound -of wheels, an old lady, in a large sunbonnet, came out and shaded her -eyes, peering through her spectacles. - -“Hulloa, Sarie!” cried the farmer. “Where’s the missie? We’ve brought -’er a young man.” - -Sarie folded her hands beneath her apron. “She’s in the garden, as she -always is, Joseph.” - -Teddy entered the cool farmhouse, with its low rafters and spotlessness. -Everything was old-fashioned, even the vague perfume of roses which hung -about it. - -Hal touched him on the arm. “Let’s go to her. She’ll be shy with you at -first Even though we called, she wouldn’t come.” - -He led the way through a passage into a garden at the back. It lay -like a deep green well, wall-surrounded and content in the shade of -fruit-trees. The trees were so twisted that they had to be held up -like cripples on crutches. Paths, red-tiled and moss-grown, ran off in -various directions. The borders of box had grown so high that they gave -to the whole a mazelike aspect. - -“She’s here somewhere,” Hal whispered, with suppressed excitement. “Step -gently and don’t pretend you’re looking.” - -They sauntered to and fro, halting now and then to listen. They came to -a little brook that dived beneath the wall and ran through the garden -chattering. Hal was beginning to look worried. “I wish she wouldn’t be -like this. Perhaps she’s crept round us and got into the house without -our knowing.” - -At that moment, quite near them, they heard a sound of laughter. It was -soft and elfin, and was followed by the clear voice of a child. - -“You’re a darling. You’re more beautiful than any one in the world.” - -A turn in the path brought them within sight of a ruined fountain. In -the center, on a pedestal, stood the statue of a boy, emptying an urn -from which nothing fell. In the gray stone basin that went about the -pedestal was a pool of water, lying glassy and untroubled. Through a -hole in the trees sunlight slanted. Kneeling beside the edge of the -basin was a little girl, stooping to kiss her own reflection. - -“Desire.” - -She started to her feet with the swiftness of a wild thing. She would -have escaped if Hal had not caught her. Across his shoulder she gazed -indignantly at Teddy. - -“He saw me do that,” she said slowly. - -Teddy gazed back at her and smiled. He wanted to laugh, but he was -stayed by her immense seriousness. - -“I’m sorry,” he said. - -“You’re not one bit,” she retorted. - -She struggled down from Hal’s arms. “You may shake hands with me if you -like.” - -Very formally he shook hands with the little girl. - -In the old garden Hal lost his sadness. It was late in the afternoon, -when he was leaving, that she asked the question that brought it back, -“When is mother coming?” - -“Presently. Presently,” he said quickly. - -As he climbed into the wagonette, he signed to Teddy. - -Bending down he whispered: “If you should see her----You know whom I -mean? I’ll be stopping at Orchid Lodge; you can reach me there.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII--DESIRE - -Next morning he was up so early that the farmhouse was still asleep -when he tiptoed down the creaking stairs. As he opened the door into the -orchard, a puppy squirmed from under the currant bushes and approached -him with timid tail-waggings. He had the easily damped enthusiasm -of most puppies; he was by no means certain that he might not be -in disgrace for something. Nature had originally intended him for a -bull-terrier; before finishing her work, she had changed her mind -and decided that he should be a greyhound. The result was an ungainly -object, white in color, too high on the legs, with red-rimmed eyes which -blinked continually. Teddy knelt down and cuddled him, after which they -were friends. - -How still the world was! Now that no one was about, the garden seemed no -longer a dumb thing, but a moving fluttering personality. Dew sparkled -on the red-tiled paths. It glistened in spider-webs. It put tears into -the eyes of flowers. A slow wind, cool with the memory of night, rustled -the tree-tops; it sounded like an unseen woman turning languidly in bed. -Through leaves the sunlight filtered and fell in patches. A sense of -possession came upon the boy--it was all his, this early morning world. - -The puppy kept lagging behind, collapsing on his awkward haunches, and -turning his head to gaze back at the house. Teddy became curious to see -what he wanted and let him choose the direction. Under a window in the -thatch to which the roses climbed, he laid himself down. - -“So you’re thinking of her, too?” he whispered. - -They watched together. The sun climbed higher. Inside the farmhouse -sounds began to stir. - -When she appeared at breakfast, she chose to be haughty. After she -had stalked away with Fanner Joseph, Mrs. Sarie explained to Teddy his -breach of etiquette: he had failed to address her as “Princess.” - -“She’s full o’ fancies,” said Mrs. Sarie, clearing away the dishes; -“full o’ fancies. I’ve ’ad ten children in my time, but not one of -’em like ’er. She won’t let none of us be what we are; she makes us -play every day that we’re something different. She’s a captive Princess -to-day, and Joseph’s a giant and I’m a giantess.” - -Peering through the curtain which hung before the window, he saw Desire, -seated astride an ancient horse, which plodded round and round in the -farmyard drawing water from a well. - -He smiled. He knew little about feminine perversity. Picking up a book, -he went into the orchard and threw himself down where the brook ran -singing to itself. - -Footsteps! She came walking sedately, pretending that she did not know -that he was there. He buried his nose in his book. She went by, waited, -came back. He heard a swishing sound behind him and glanced across his -shoulder. She was standing with a twig in her hand, her face flushed -with anger, striking at some scarlet poppies. “Hulloa! What are you -doing?” - -“They’re people who don’t love me. They’re beasts, and I’m cutting off -their heads.” - -“I wouldn’t do that. They’re so pretty, and they don’t have long to -live, anyhow. Besides, you’re making the puppy frightened.” - -The puppy was escaping, his tail quivering like an eel between his legs. -Directly her attention was called to his terror, she threw the stick -aside. - -“Poor old Bones, she didn’t mean to frighten him. She wouldn’t do -anything to hurt him for the world.” - -She gathered him into her arms, and sat herself down beside the brook -about a yard away from Teddy. - -“Bones does love me; but some people don’t. We call him Bones ’cause -he’s got hardly any flesh.” - -She glanced shyly at Teddy to see whether he was taking her remarks -impersonally or as addressed to himself. - -He was smiling, so she edged a little nearer and smiled back. - -“People aren’t kind to Bones,” she said; “they throw things at him. He’s -such a coward; people only respect dogs when they bite. You shouldn’t -be so nice; you really shouldn’t, Bones.” And then, significantly: “If -you’re too nice to strangers at first, you aren’t valued.” - -Teddy laughed softly. “So that was why you bit me this morning, -Princess, after I’d got up so early and waited for you?” - -She tossed her curls and lowered her eyes. “Did I bite? For the fun of -it, I’m always being cross like that. I’m even cross to my mother--my -beautiful mother. She’s the darlingest mother in the world.” - -Teddy closed his book and leant out, bridging the distance. “Is she? -Where is she now?” - -“I don’t know, only--only I know I want her. Don’t get afraid; I never -cry. P’raps she’s in America. He says that she’ll come to me here, but I -don’t believe him.” Suddenly with a gesture that was all tenderness, she -slipped out her hand. “I was so lonely till you came. Together we may -find her. I’m going to have a little girl myself one day, and I know I -should cry and cry if I lost her.” - -“You’d have to get married first. When I was very little, I once----” - -She interrupted. “Oh, no! Ladies don’t have to. When they want babies, -they speak to God about it. I know because---- Is your mother married?” - -“Yes, my mother’s married. My father paints pictures.” - -“Is it nice to have a father?” - -“Very nice. Just as nice as to have a mother, only in another way.” - -“Do--do all boys have fathers?” - -“Why, yes. And all girls.” - -“They don’t. I’ve asked my beautiful mother about it so often, because -I----” - -She fell silent, gazing straight before her with the cloud of thought -in her eyes. Bones, sprawling across her lap, licked her hand to attract -her attention; she drew her hand away, but took no other notice. The -brook bubbled past her feet; its murmurous monologue emphasized her -silence. Through lichened trees the farmhouse glowed red. In and out the -shadows the sunshine danced like a gold-haired child. - -“If fathers are really nice,” she sighed wistfully, “p’raps I ought to -have a father for my little girl. When we’re both growed up, I might ask -you. Would you be her father, per--perhaps?” - -Stretched at her side, he glanced up to see the mischief creep about the -edges of her mouth. But her face was no longer elfin; it was earnest and -troubled with things beyond her knowledge. When she looked like that she -seemed older than twelve--almost the same age as himself; there were so -many things that he, too, could not understand. He reflected that they -both were very like Bones with their easily damped enthusiasm. A wave of -pity swept through him; she was so slight, so dainty, so unprotected. -He forgot his pigeons; he forgot everything that had happened before -meeting her. He felt that of all things in the world, were he given the -choice, he would ask that she might be his sister. Stooping his head, he -kissed the white petal of a hand where it lay unfolded in the grass. - -She looked down at him quietly. “My darling mother would say, ’You -mustn’t let boys do that.’ But I expect she would let you do it. Do -you--do you think I’m an odd child? Every one says I am.” - -He laughed with a thrill of excitement; she made him feel so much -younger than his yesterday self. “I couldn’t tell you, Princess. I’ve -never known any girls. But you’re beautiful, and you’re dear, and -you’re----” - -“Let’s be tremenjous friends,” she whispered. - -Through the long summer days that followed they lived in a world of -self-created magic--a world which, because they had made it, belonged -wholly to themselves. Its chief delight was that they alone could see -it. No one else knew that the brook was a girl and that the mountain-ash -that grew beside it was her lover. The boy turned back from his dreams -of manhood to meet the childhood of the little girl; it was one last -glorious flash of innocence before the curtain fell But in the presence -of Farmer Joseph and Sarie, and of Hal when he came to visit them, he -was shy of his friendship with Desire. - -“You’re ashamed of me because I’m a girl and little,” she said. “But I -know more than you do about--oh, lots of things!” - -She did. She knew that gentlemen when they were in love with ladies, -gave their ladies flowers. She knew much about lovers’ secret ways. When -asked how she knew, she shook her curls and looked exceedingly wise. She -could be impishly coquettish when she liked. There were times when she -refused to let Teddy touch her because she would become ordinary to him, -if it were always allowed. And there were times when she would creep -into his breast like a little tired bird, and let him tell her stories -by the hour. She tried to tantalize him into jealousy; Bones was usually -the rival for her affections. When she did that, she only amused him, -making him remember that he was older than herself. But when he made her -feel that he was older, she would stamp her feet with rage. “You’ll be -sorry when I wear long frocks,” she would threaten. “I shall pretend to -despise you. I shall walk past you with my head held high.” - -When she showed him how she would do it, creating the picture by -puckering her nose and mincing her steps, she would only increase his -merriment Then suddenly her wounded vanity would break and she would fly -at him with all her puny strength. “You shan’t laugh at me. You shan’t I -can’t bear it Oh, please say you forgive me and like me.” - -In the lumber-room, which was across the passage from where she slept, -they spent most of their rainy days. It was dirty and it was dusty, -but it had something which compensated for dust and dirt--a box full of -old-fashioned clothes and largely flowered muslins. Nothing pleased her -better than to dress herself up and perform, while he played audience. -She would go through passionate scenes, making up a tune and singing -words. At the end of them she would explain, “My mamma does that.” - And then: “Oh, I wish she would come. When I ask him, he always says, -’Presently. Presently.’ Can’t you take me to her, Teddy?” - -It was in the lumber-room that she confided to Teddy how she came to -leave America. “It was one day when mother was out. He came. He hadn’t -come for a long while before that. He was very fond of me and brought me -things; so I was very glad. We drove about all day and when it was -time for me to go home to bed, he took me to a big ship--oh, a most -’normous ship. Next day, when I woke up, it was all water everywhere -and he said I’d see my mamma when we got to land. But we got to land, -and I didn’t. And then he said I’d see her here; but I didn’t. And now -he says, ‘Presently. Presently.’ Oh, Teddy, you won’t leave me? I may -never see her again.” And then, after he had quieted her: “If we stay -here till we’re quite growed up, you’ll escape with me, won’t you, and -help me to find her?” - -She invariably spoke of Hal as _he_; she never gave him a name. Teddy -felt that it would not be honorable to question her, but he kept his -eyes wide for any clew that would solve the mystery. In Hal’s absence -he would become bitter towards him, because he had dared to hurt Desire. -But when he came to the farm with his arms full of presents, so hungry -to win her love, he felt that somewhere there had been a big mistake and -that whoever had been cruel, Hal was not the person. - -It was Hal who, having heard them speak of knights and sorcerers, -brought them _The Idylls of the King_. Many a golden day they spent -reading aloud, while the sunlight dripped from leaves overhead, dappling -the pages. - -“I like Sir Launcelot best.” - --“But you mustn’t,” said Teddy; “King Arthur was the good one. If Sir -Launcelot hadn’t done wrong, everything would have been happy always.” - -“Yes, but if everything had been happy always, there wouldn’t have -been any story,” she objected. She made bars of her fingers before her -mischievous eyes; it was a warning that she was going to be impish. “I -expect, when I grow up, I shall be like that story; very interesting and -very bad.” - -Teddy’s shocked appearance surpassed her expectations. Gapping her -hands, she rose into a kneeling position and mocked him. “Teddy doesn’t -like that. He doesn’t like my loving Sir Launcelot best. And I know why. -It’s because he’s a King Arthur himself.” - -All that day she irritated him by calling him King Arthur. They had -quarreled hopelessly by supper-time. She went to bed without saying -“Good-night,” and he wandered out into the dusky silence. He felt angry -with her. Why had he ever liked her? So girls could be spite-full The -worst of it was that it was true what she had said. He _was_ a proper -person. He would always be a proper person; and proper persons weren’t -exciting. He felt like doing something desperate just to prove that he -could be bad. Then his superiority in years came to his consolation. -Why should he worry himself about a little girl who was younger than -himself? When next Hal came to the farm, he would tell him that he was -leaving. - -It was in his bedroom, where the moonlight fell softly, that memories of -her sweetness tiptoed back. He remembered the provocative tenderness of -her laughter, the velvet softness of her tiny hands, and the way she had -wreathed him with flowers, pretending that he was her knight. Life would -never be the same without her. Romance walked into his day only when she -had passed down the stairs. Not having had a sister, he supposed that -these were the emotions of all brothers. She had conquered him at last: -though he was in the right, he would ask her forgiveness to-morrow. She -had been trying to make him do that from the first morning when he had -failed to call her “Princess”--trying to make him bow to her prerogative -of forgiving for having done wrong herself. He fell asleep smiling, but -he was not happy. - -He awoke with a start The house was still as death. The moon hung snared -in a tree; his window was in shadow. Between the long intervals of -silence he heard the sound of stifled sobbing. - -“Who are you? What is it?” he whispered. - -In the doorway he made out a blur of whiteness. Slipping from his bed, -he stole towards it. Stooping, he touched it. - -“You!” - -Her arms flew up and tugged at him passionately. Her tears were on his -cheeks. For the first time she kissed him. - -“You’re cold, darling little girl.” - -And then for the first time he kissed her mouth. - -“Oh, I don’t want you to think that I’m bad. I’m not bad, Teddy. And I -like you to be King Arthur or Sir Launcelot, or--or anybody.” - -He fetched his counterpane and wrapt it round her, coaxing, her just -inside the doorway so that they might not be heard. Together, crouched -against the wall, with their arms about each other’s necks, they huddled -in the darkness. - -“I didn’t mind--not really.” Since she had kissed him, he was fully -persuaded of the untruth himself. “I shouldn’t really mind whatever you -called me. Little Desire, I thought you never cried. You do believe me, -don’t you?” - -“Oh, I do want my mother so,” she whispered, drawing deep sobs between -her words. “If you was to help me to escape to your mother, I’m sure we -could find her. And then, you could come and stay with us, and I could -come and stay with you. And we should be always and always together.” - -In defiance of Hal, he promised to help her at the first opportunity. -To-morrow? Perhaps. He saw her safely back to her room, kissing her in -the darkness on the threshold. - -But to-morrow held its own surprise. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII--ESCAPING - -Farmer Joseph’s place was empty at breakfast next morning. It was -market-day, and he had made an early start for town. Teddy pressed -Desire’s foot beneath the table; when Mrs. Sarie wasn’t looking, he -nodded towards the window and his lips formed the word, “To-day.” - -The opportunity had come sooner than he had expected. It was quite -necessary that, when he helped her to escape, Fanner Joseph’s back -should be turned. The old man with’ the merry screwed-up eyes and the -white horse-collar of whiskers round his neck, was always watching. He -seemed to know by instinct every time that they wandered out of sight -of the farmhouse. Sooner or later, as they sat in a field reading or -telling stories, his face would peer above the hedge. - -In the passage he caught Desire’s hand. “Run upstairs. Get your hat and -jacket.--No, wait Mrs. Sarie might see them. Drop them out of the window -to me in the garden.” He felt immensely excited. If he could get her -to the station undetected, they would travel up to London. When it was -evening he would smuggle her past Orchid Lodge, and then---- He supposed -she would spend the night at his father’s, and all the other days and -nights till her mother was found. But why had Hal stolen her? “Here, -catch.” - -The hat and jacket tumbled down. He caught a glimpse of the laughing -face in the thatch. It was going to be a tremendous lark--almost as good -as a King Arthur legend. The next moment she rejoined him. - -“Sir Teddy, what are we going to do now?” She clung to his arm, jumping -with excitement. - -“Hulloa!” he exclaimed, “the babies have come into your eyes.” He told -her that the babies came into her eyes when they became especially gray -and round. - -They tiptoed out of the garden into the passage of the house. All the -downstair rooms were quiet; Mrs. Sarie’s footsteps overhead and the -smacks she gave the pillow were the only sounds. They crossed the -farmyard, walking unhurriedly as though nothing were the matter. From -the gateway they glanced back. The white fan-tails fluttered and cooed -on the thatch. The curtains blew in and out the open windows. Gaining -the path which led across the meadows, they ran--ran till they were -breathless. - -Across the fields, with his nose to the ground, came another fugitive. -As he caught sight of them, he expressed his joy in a series of sharp -yaps. - -“I say, this’ll never do. He’ll give us away before we know it Go back, -bad dog. Go back.” - -Bones came a little nearer, crawling on his stomach, making abject -apologies, but positively refusing to go back. - -They walked on together, the white cur following at their heels till -lapse of time should have made him certain that his permission to follow -was irrevocable. - -They had been walking along the main-road, on the alert to scramble into -the hedge at the first sign of any one approaching. It was just such a -day as the one on which he had arrived, only dog-roses were fuller blown -and blackberries were growing ripe. The wheat was yellowing to a deeper -gold and the misty fragrance of meadow-sweet was in the air. - -“Ha! Here’s one at last.” - -It was a post with three fingers pointing. - -“Yes, we’re all right. This one, sticking out the way we’re going, -says To Ware; but it says that it’s nine miles. D’you think, with those -little legs, you can manage it, Princess?” - -She lowered her head, looking up through her lashes. - -“They’re very strong little legs, and if you talk to me and talk to me, -so that I forget---- If I get very tired, I’ll let you carry me.” - -They struck into fields again, clambering through hedges and over gates, -judging their direction by the road. Teddy was afraid to keep to the -road lest they should meet Farmer Joseph coming back from market, or -lest Mrs. Sarie, when she missed them, should send some one driving -after them to bring them back. - -It was pleasant in the fields. Rambling along, they almost lost their -sense of danger and forgot they were escaping. Everything living seemed -so friendly. Crickets in the grass chirped cheerily. Birds jumped out -of their houses, leaving their doors wide open, Teddy said, to see -them pass. He invented stories about the things they saw to prevent the -little legs from thinking of their tiredness. Only the cows suspected -them of escaping; they whisked their tails and blinked their eyes -disapprovingly, like grandmothers who had had too many calves to be -deceived by a pair of children. - -Lunch time came and they grew hungry, but to buy food at a farmhouse -was too risky.. They quenched their thirst at a stream and pictured to -themselves the enormous meal they would eat when they got to London. - -“Tired?” - -“No. I’m not tired.” - -“Let’s pretend I’m your war-horse,” he suggested. - -The finger went up to her mouth. “That’ll be just playing; it won’t be -the same as saying that I’m tired.” - -He assured her that it wouldn’t; so she consented to straddle his neck, -clasping his forehead with her sticky little hands while he held her -legs to help her keep her balance. - -Bones ran ahead with his ridiculous red tongue flapping, barking at -whatever interested him and paying no attention when he was told to -stop. Towards evening, as the sun’s rays were shortening and trees were -lengthening their shadows, he made the great discovery of his puppyhood. -It was in a field of long grass, the other side of a gate, well ahead -of the children. With quick excited yelps and pawings, springing back in -fear and jumping forward with clumsy boldness, he commenced to advertise -his adventure. - -Desire, riding shoulder-high, could see further than Teddy. “Oh, hurry. -Be quick. He’s killing something. Let me down.” - -When they had climbed the gate, they found themselves in a narrow -pasture, hedge-surrounded, at the far end of which the road ran. Bones -was rolling a cage over and over, in which a bird fluttered. It was a -decoy placed there by bird-catchers, for in a net near by wild birds -struggled. They dragged the puppy off and cuffed him. He slunk into -the background and squatted, blinking reproachfully with his red-rimmed -eyes. His noblest intentions perpetually ended in misunderstandings. - -“Oh, the poor darlings! How cruel! Teddy, you do it; they peck my -fingers.” - -Teddy looked across the field growing vague with shadows. No one was in -sight. Going down on his knees, with Desire bending eagerly across his -shoulder, he set to work to free the prisoners. - -They were so engrossed that they did not notice a rough-looking man who -crept towards them. The first thing they knew was the howl of Bones as -he shot up, lifted by a heavy boot; the next, when Desire was grabbed -from behind and her mouth was silenced against a dirty coat. - -Teddy sprang to his feet, clenching his fists. “You put her down.” His -voice was low and unsteady. - -“And wot abart my burds?” retorted the man, in jeering anger. “Yer’ll -’ave ter pay me for every damned one of ’em before I lets ’er go. -I don’t know as I’ll let her go then--taken a kind o’ fancy to ’er, I -’ave. I’ll put ’er in a cage and keep ’er, that’s wot I’ll do. Now -then, all yer money. ’And over that watch. Fork h’out.” - -“Put her down.” - -He looked round wildly. Hal’s warnings of danger then, they hadn’t -been all inventions! Far off, at the end of the field, he-saw the real -culprit, Bones, slipping through the hedge into the road. Along the road -something was passing; he made out the top of a cart above the brambles. -He thought of shouting; if he did, the man might kill Desire. At that -moment she freed her mouth: “Teddy! Oh, Teddy!” - -He threw himself upon the ruffian, kicking and punching. The man let her -go and turned upon the boy. - -“Yer’ve brought this on yerself, my son, and now yer go in’ ter ’ave -it.” - -He stepped up furiously, his hand stretched out to seize him by the -throat. The fingers were on the point of touching; there was a thud. The -thick arm hesitated and fell limply. On the man’s forehead a red wound -spread. - -“My-Gawd!” - -His body crumpled. It sank into the grass and lay without a motion. “Is -he dead?” Desire whispered. - -“No fear. It ’ud take more than a stone to kill him. Come on, you -kids, let’s run for it.” - -They turned. Standing behind them in the evening quiet was a Puck-like -figure. He was broad, and short, and grinning, and cocky. He wore a -midshipman’s suit with brass buttons, which looked dusty and spotty. He -had red hair, and was a miniature edition of Mrs. Sheerug. - -“Why, Ruddy,” gasped Teddy, “where did you spring from?” - -“Where didn’t I spring from? Ha! Get away from him and I’ll tell you. -He’s stirring.” - -The bird-catcher was struggling into a sitting position. He glared -evilly at the children. “You just wait till I get yer,” he muttered. -“Skin yer, that’s wot I’ll do. Boil yer. Tear every----” - -They didn’t wait to hear more of what he would do. Each taking a hand -of the little girl, they started to run--ran on and on across twilit -meadows, till the staggering figure of the man who followed and the -sound of his threats had utterly died out. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX--THE HIGH HORSE OF ROMANCE - - -You’re a kind of Bible boy, aren’t you? - -They were resting on the edge of a wood, half hidden in bracken, -recovering their breath. Oak-trees, overhanging them, made an archway. -Behind, down green fern-carpeted aisles, mysterious paths led into the -unknown. In front a vague sea of meadows stretched, with wild flowers -for foam and wheat-fields for sands. In the misty distance the window of -a cottage caught the sunset and glowed like the red lamp of a ship which -rode at anchor. - -“A Bible boy! Not if I know it.” Ruddy grinned, and frowned, and -scratched his leg. He was embarrassed in the presence of feminine -beauty. If anything but feminine beauty had called him “a Bible boy,” he -would certainly have punched its head. “Not if I know it,” he said. -“I’m no little Samuel-Here-Am-I, praying all over the shop in a white -night-shirt.” - -Again he scratched his leg; he wished that feminine beauty didn’t make -him itch so. - -The little girl rested her white petal of a hand on his grubby paw. “I -didn’t mean anything horrid, only--just that it was so like David and -Goliath, the way you made the stone sink into his forehead.” - -“Yah!” He swelled with a sense of valor, now that his prowess was -acknowledged. “I did catch ’em a whopper, didn’t I? If I hadn’t, you -kids would be dead.” - -Desire drew herself up with childish dignity. “It was nice of you, Boy; -Teddy and I both thank you. But--but you mustn’t call me ’kid.’ Teddy -always calls me ’Princess.’” - -Ruddy’s good-humored, freckled face grew puzzled. “Princess? But, look -here, are you?” - -Teddy was wondering whether he ought to confide in Ruddy, when Desire -took the matter out of his hands. “I expect I am. I’m a little girl who -was stolen from America. We were ’scaping when you found us.--What’s -in that box you’re carrying?” - -Her eyes had been on it from the first. It was full of holes; inside -something live kept moving. - -“Teddy knows. It’s one of Pa’s pigeons. Didn’t think I’d get home -to-night when I came to look for you, so I brought it to let ’em know -not to expect me.” - -“When you came to look for us!” Teddy leant forward. “Did you come to -look for us? Who sent you?” - -Ruddy winked knowingly. He was enjoying the mystery, and prolonged the -ecstasy of suspense. Pulling a packet of Wild Woodbines from his pocket, -he lit one and offered one to Teddy; but Teddy shook his head. - -“Ma doesn’t know I do it,” he explained. “I chew parsley and peppermints -so she shan’t smell my breath. Bible kids don’t do that. I’m a real bad -boy--a detective.” - -“But tell us--tell us. Did you know we were here? Did you come by -accident?” - -Ruddy pushed his midshipman’s cap back from his forehead. “It wasn’t by -accident,” he said solemnly. “Since Hal’s come home, he’s been funny. -It’s been worryin’ Ma; I’ve heard her talk about it. He’s brought dolls -and silly things like that; and then he’s gone away with the dolls, -without saying where he was going, and come back without ’em. He’s -been acting kind o’ stealthy; we wouldn’t even have known they were -dolls except for Harriet She looked among his socks and found ’em. -I read ha’penny-bloods about detectives; one day I’m goin’ to be the -greatest detective in the world. So I said to myself, ’I’ll clear up -this mystingry and put Ma’s mind at rest’ I looked in Hal’s pockets and -found a letter from a Farmer Joseph, posted at Ware. There you are! All -the rest was easy.” - -“But what were you doing on the road?” - -Ruddy blew a cloud of smoke through his nose to let Desire see that he -could do it. “Pooh! It was Farmer Joseph’s cart that I was following -when the dog came running through the hedge.” He threw away his -cigarette. “Going to toss up the pigeon while there’s some light left.” - -To Desire this was the crowning marvel--that a boy could tie a message -to a bird and tell it where to go. She watched Ruddy scrawl on the thin -slip of paper and tiptoed to see the slate-blue wings beat high and -higher towards the clouds. When it was no more than a speck, the -Pucklike figure started laughing. - -“What’s the matter?” asked Teddy. - -“I was picturing Ma’s face when Pa comes in and shows her.” - -“What did you write?” - -“That I wouldn’t be home and that I’d found Hal’s princess.” - -“But you didn’t tell her where we are, or anything like that?” - -“I gave her Farmer Joseph’s address; it was written on the cart.” - -“You ass! Hal may catch us because of that.” - -Ruddy looked crestfallen; then he brightened. “No fear. Ma won’t tell -Hal till she’s come to see for herself.” - -Desire had sunk back upon the bed of bracken. “Oh, dear, I’m so hungry. -My shoes is full of stockings and I can’t go any further. Poor Teddy’s -tired, too; and I wouldn’t let a strange boy carry me. It wouldn’t be -modest.” - -Her escort drew away to consult in whispers as to what was to be done -for her. - -“Good egg!” Ruddy tossed his cap into the air. “I’ve got it. I’ve always -wanted to do it. It’s a warm night and it won’t hint her. Let’s camp -out. I’ll go and buy some grub--be back inside of an hour.” - -Desire clapped her hands. “Just like knights and fair ladies in a -forest! Oh, Teddy, it’ll be grand!” - -There was nothing else to do. Farmer Joseph would soon be out searching. -Ware seemed an interminable distance. The boys counted their money, and -the red-headed rescuer tramped off sturdily to purchase food. Long after -he had disappeared, they could hear his jaunty whistling. - -“Teddy, let me cuddle closer. You weren’t jealous, were you?” - -“Jealous!” - -“Of the boy who threw the stone.” - -“Of course I wasn’t.” - -She laughed secretly, and pressed her face against his shoulder. “Oh, -you! You were, just the same as you were jealous of Bones.” - -“Bones was a dog. How silly you are, Princess.” - -“Not silly.” Her voice sounded far away and elfin. “You want me to like -only you. You wish he hadn’t come; now don’t you?” - -It was Teddy’s turn to laugh. Was it true? He didn’t know. “It is nicer, -isn’t it, to be just by our two selves?” - -“Heaps nicer,” she whispered. “But, oh, I am hungry. Let’s talk to make -me forget.” - -“You talk,” he said. “Tell me about your mother. She must be very good -to have a little girl like you.” - -“My beautiful mother!” She clasped her hands against her throat. - -From across misty fields came a low whistle. A stumpy dwarf-like figure -crawled through the hedge and darted forward, crouching beneath -the twilight and glancing back for an enemy in the most approved -penny-dreadful manner. Rabbits, nibbling at the cool wet turf, sat up -and stared before they scattered, mistaking him at first for an enlarged -edition of themselves. - -“My eye,” he panted, “but they’re looking for you.” - -“Really or just pretence?” asked Teddy. - -Ruddy scratched his red head. “More than pretence. I met Fanner Joseph -on the road, and he stopped his horse and questioned me. Come on. Catch -hold of some of the grub. Let’s be runaway slaves with bloodhounds after -us.” - -They waded through bracken dew-wet, clinging and shoulder-high. Above -them trees grew gnarled and dense, shutting out the sky. At each step -the world grew more hushed and quiet. The sleepy calling of birds faded -on the night Dank fragrances of earth and moss and bark made the air -heavy. Little hands touched them; the hands of foxgloves and ferns and -trailing vines. They seemed to pat them more in welcome than affright. - -In a narrow space where a tree had fallen, they lit a fire and nestled. -As the flames leapt up, they revealed the whole wood moving, tiptoeing -nearer, so that trees and foxgloves and ferns sprang back every time the -flames jumped higher. - -A green moon-drenched, imaginative night! As they sat round the -sparkling embers and munched, they spoke in whispers. What were they -not? They were never themselves for one moment. They were sailors, -marooned on a. desert island. They were Robin Hoods. Ruddy’s fancies -proved too violent for Desire--they savored too much of blood; so at -last it was agreed that they should be knights from Camelot and that -Desire should be the great lady they had rescued. - -“I’m so cosy,” she whispered. “So happy. You won’t let anything bad get -me, will you, Teddy?” - -He put his arms about her. “Nothing.” - -He thought she had drowsed off, when she drew his head down to her. “I -forgot. I haven’t said my prayers.” - -The sleepier she grew, the more she seemed a dear little weary bird. Her -caprice went from her, her fine airs and her love of being admired. Even -when her eyes were fast locked and her breath was coming softly, her -fingers twitched and tightened about her boy-protector’s hand. - - - - -CHAPTER XX--THE POND IN THE WOODLAND - - -Some one was kicking his foot He awoke to find Ruddy, hands in pockets, -grinning down on him. - -“Been op for hoars,” he whispered; “been exploring. Found a ripping pool -Want to swim in it?” - -Teddy eased his arm from under the little girl and nodded. “Let’s light -a fire first. She’ll know then that we’re not far away, and won’t be -nervous.” - -The blur of foliage quivered with mysteries of a myriad coinings and -goings. Everywhere unseen paths were being traveled to unseen houses. -Within sight, yet sounding distant, a woodpecker, like a postman going -his rounds, was tap-tap-tapping. - -Ruddy knelt and struck a match; tongues of scarlet spurted. The -camp-fire became a beating heart in this citadel of gray-green -loneliness. - -Desire lay curled among withered leaves, her face flushed with sleep, -her lips parted. At sound of the fire snapping and cracking, she stirred -and opened her eyes slowly. - -“Oh, don’t leave me. Where are you going?” - -“To have a swim,” they told her. - -“But mayn’t I come? I promise to sit with my back turned. I promise not -to look, honestly.” - -Behind a holly, within sight of the pond, they left her. “Oh, dear, I -wish I were a boy,” she pouted. “Boys have fathers and they can bathe -and--and they can do almost everything.” - -While they undressed, she kept on talking. - -“It’s the same as if you weren’t there, when I can’t see you. Splash -loud when you get into the water.” - -As she heard them enter, “Splash louder,” she commanded. “Girls don’t -have to be truthful. If you don’t make a noise I’ll look round.” - -“Pooh! Look round. Who cares!” cried Ruddy. - -“No, don’t--not yet,” shouted Teddy. - -Then the sound of their laughter came to her, of the long cool stretch -of arms plunging deep and panting growing always more distant. - -She couldn’t resist. The babies came into her eyes and her finger went -up to her mouth. She turned and saw two sleek heads, bobbing and diving -among anchored lilies. Beneath the water’s surface, as though buried -beneath a sheet of glass, the ghost of the wood lay shrouded. Trees -crowded down to the mossy edge to gaze timidly at the wonder of their -own reflection. Across the pond flies zigzagged, leaving a narrow wake -behind them. A fish leapt joyously and curved in a streak of silver. -With his chin resting in the highest branches, the sun stared roundly -and smiled a challenge. - -“I will be a boy,” she whispered rebelliously. - -Her arms flew up and circled about her neck. Lest her daring should go -from her, she commenced unbuttoning in a tremendous hurry. - -“Hi, Princess, what are you doing?” - -She was busy drawing off her stockings. - -“I say, but you can’t do that.” - -“No, you can’t do that.” - -The scandalized duet of protests continued. Her knight-errants watched -her aghast. - -Sullen gray eyes glared defiance at them; yet they weren’t altogether -sullen, for a glint of mischief hid in their depths. - -“I am doing it. You daren’t come out to stop me.” - -“We’ll come out if you’ll promise to turn round. We’ll do anything, -Princess. You can have the pond all to yourself.” - -“Don’t want the pond all to myself, stupids.” - -She began to slip off her petticoat. Two shocked backs were turned on -her. As the boys retreated further into the lilies, their pleadings -reached her in spasms. Their agony at the thought of violated -conventions made her relentless. - -She was tired of being a girl; tired of being without a father. “I’ll be -a boy,” she whispered, “and wear knickerbockers and have a father, like -Teddy.” She really thought that, in some occult way, her outrageous -conduct would accomplish that. It was all a matter of dress. She -chuckled at imagining her mother’s amazement. The still sheet of water -was a Pool of Siloam that would heal a little girl of her sex. - -“When she’s once got in,” whispered Ruddy, “it won’t be so bad. We -can----” - -Teddy grabbed his shoulder fiercely. “You shan’t see her. We’ll stay -just as far away as----” - -A scream startled the air. They swung about. Knee-deep in the pool, at -bay and pale as a wood-nymph, was Desire. - -“I won’t come out,” she was shouting, “and I’m not a naughty girl.” - -Leaning out from the bank, trying to hook her with an umbrella, was a -balloon-shaped old lady. - -Behind her, peering above the bushes, was the face of Farmer Joseph, his -merry eyes screwed up with amusement. - -“But you’ll catch cold, darling,” Mrs. Sheerug coaxed. “Oh, dear, oh, -dear! What shall I do? Please do come out.” - -“I shan’t catch cold either. And if I do come out you’ll only be cross -with me.” - -“I won’t be cross with you, darling. I’m too glad to find you for that.” - -“Did my beautiful mother send you?” - -With what guile Mrs. Sheerug answered the boys could only guess by the -effect. - -“Well, then,” came the piping little voice, “tell Farmer Joseph to stop -looking, and you stop poking at me. I don’t like your umbrella.” - -They saw her wade out, drops of water falling from her elfin whiteness -like jewels; then saw her folded in the bat-like wings of the -faery-godmother’s ample mantle. The glade emptied. The wood grew silent -They dared to swim to land. - -Ruddy was the first to say anything. “Ma--Ma’s a wonder. I oughtn’t to -have sent that pigeon till this s’moming.” Then, in a burst of penitence -for his zeal, “I’m afraid I’ve spoiled---- I say, I’m beastly sorry.” - -He had spoiled everything; there was no denying it There would be no -more camp-fires, no more slaying of bird-catchers, no more pretending -you were a war-horse with a rescued Princess from Goblinland riding on -your back. Teddy was too unhappy to blame or forgive Ruddy. He pulled on -his shirt and indulged in reflections. - -“Wonder how they found us?” muttered Ruddy. “Must have seen the smoke of -our fire. That wasn’t my fault anyhow; you did agree to lighting that.” - -“Oh, be quiet,” growled Teddy. “What does anything matter? Who cares now -how they found out?” - -Ruddy stole away to see what was happening, thinking that he might prove -more acceptable elsewhere. - -Teddy stared at the pool. Birds flew across its quiet breast; fish -leaped; the sun smiled grandly. Everything was as it had been, yet he -was altered. They would take her away from him; of that he was certain. -Perhaps they would put her on another ship and send her traveling again -across the world. There would be other boys who had never had a sister. -He hated them. Because he was young, he would have to stay just where he -had been always--in Eden Row, where nothing ever happened. The tyranny -of it! - -He was roused by hearing his name called softly. She was tiptoeing down -the glade, dragging Mrs. Sheerug by the hand. Mrs. Sheerug’s other hand -still clasped her umbrella. - -As he turned, the child ran forward and flung her arms about his neck. -“Oh, Teddy, this person says perhaps she’ll help us to find her.” Then, -in a whisper, bringing her face so dose that the thistledown of her hair -brushed his forehead and his whole world sank into two gray eyes, “The -Princess wasn’t very nice this morning--not modest, so this person says. -But you don’t mind--say you don’t I did so want to be like you and to do -everything that boys do,” and then, long drawn out, when he thought her -apology was ended, “Teddy.” - -Mrs. Sheerug trundled up, her hands folded beneath her mantle, and -looked down at them benevolently. - -“Boys aren’t to be trusted; they shouldn’t be left alone with girls, -_shouldn’t_.” Having uttered the moral she felt necessary, she allowed -herself to smile through her shiny spectacles. “She’s fond of you, -Teddy--a dear little maid. Ah, well! We must be getting back with Farmer -Joseph to breakfast.” - -In the wagonette, as they drove through the golden morning, few words -were said. Mrs. Sheerug sat with Desire cuddled to her, kissing her -again and again with a tender worship. Teddy-couldn’t divine why she -should do it, since she had never seen her until that morning. He -was conscious of a jealousy in Mrs. Sheerug’s attitude--a protective -jealousy which made her want to keep touching Desire, the way Hal did, -to realize her presence. It was as though they both shared his own dread -that at any moment they might lose her. - -It was in the late afternoon when Mrs. Sheerug left. Before going -she led him aside. “I want to talk to you.” Her cheeks quivered with -earnestness. “You did very wrong, my dear, very wrong. Just how wrong -you didn’t know. Something terrible might have happened. That little -girl’s in great danger. You must keep her in the garden where no one can -see her. Promise me you will. I’d take her back to London to-night, only -Hal doesn’t know I’ve found out I want to give him the news gently.” She -broke off, wringing her hands and speaking to herself, “Why, oh why, was -he so foolish? Why did he keep it from me?” Then, recovering, “Either -Hal or I will come and fetch her to-morrow. Don’t look so down-hearted, -my dear. If the good Lord remembers us, everything may turn out well. If -it does, I’ll let you come and see her. Perhaps,” her dim eyes flickered -with excitement, “I shall be able to keep her always and make sure that -she grows into a good woman. Perhaps.” - -She caught the boy to her breast. She was trembling all over and on -the verge of tears. When she had climbed into the wagonette, with Ruddy -seated beside her, and had lumbered slowly out of the farmyard, she left -Teddy wondering: Why had she said “a good woman”? As though there was -any doubt that little Desire would grow up good! - - - - -CHAPTER XXI--VANISHED - -HE had searched the farmhouse, calling her name softly. He had peered -into the lumber-room, where shadows were gathering. He had looked -everywhere indoors. Now he stepped into the orchard and called more -loudly, “Desire. Desire. Princess.” - -Leaves shuddered. Across moss-grown paths slugs crawled. Everything -betokened rain; all live things were hurrying for shelter. Behind high -red walls, where peach-trees hung crucified, the end of day smoldered. -The west was a vivid saffron. To the southward black clouds wheeled -like vultures. The beauty of the garden shone intense. The greenness of -apple-trees had deepened. Nasturtiums blazed like fire in the borders of -box. The air was full of poignant fragrances: of lavender, of roses, and -of cool, dean earth. - -To-morrow night all that he was at present feeling would have become a -memory. He called her name again and renewed his search. To-morrow -night would she, too, have become a memory? How loud the whisper of -his footsteps sounded I And if she had become a memory, would she -forget--would the future prove faithless to the past? - -The garden would not remember. The brook would babble no less -contentedly because he was gone. All these flowers which shone so -bravely--within a week they, too, would have vanished. The birds in -the early morning would Scarcely notice his absence. In the autumn they -would fly away; in the spring, when they returned, they would think no -more of the boy who had parted the leaves so gently that a little girl -might peep into their nests. And would the little girl remember? Even -now, when he called, she did not answer. - -In an angle of the garden, most remote from the farmhouse, he espied -her. Something in her attitude made him halt Her head was thrown back; -she was staring into a chestnut which tumbled its boughs across the -wall. Her lips were moving. She seemed to be, talking; nothing -reached him of what was said. At first he supposed she was acting a -conversation. - -“Desire,” he shouted. “Princess.” - -She glanced across her shoulder and distinctly gave a warning. The -chestnut quivered. He was certain some one was climbing down. She kissed -her hand. The bough was still trembling when he reached her. - -“Who was it?” - -She pressed a finger to her lips. - -“Was it Ruddy? But it couldn’t have been Ruddy unless----” - -Beyond the wall he heard the sound of footsteps. They were stealing away -through grass. - -When he turned to her, she was smiling with mysterious tenderness. - -“Who was it?” - -She slipped her hand into his. “I _am_ fond of you, dear Teddy, but I -mustn’t, mustn’t tell.” - -They walked in silence. Rain began to patter. They could hear it hiss as -it splashed against the sunset. - -“Best be getting indoors,” he said. - -In the lumber-room, where so many happy hours had been spent, they sat -with their faces pressed against the window. - -“Do you want to play?” - -He shook his head. - -“You’re not sulky with me, Teddy, are you? It would be unkind if you -were. I’m so happy.” She flung her arms about his neck, coaxing him to -look at her. “What shall I do to make you glad? Shall I make the babies -come into my eyes?” - -He brushed his face against her carls. “It isn’t that. It’s not that -I’m sulky.” Her hands fluttered to his lips that he might kiss them. -“It’s--it’s only that I want you, and I’m afraid I may lose you.” - -She laughed softly. “But I wouldn’t lose you. I wouldn’t let anybody, -not even my beautiful mother, make me lose you. I would worry and worry -and worry, till she brought me back.” She lowered her face and looked -up at him slantingly. “I can make people do most anything when I worry -badly.” - -He smiled at her exact self-knowledge. She knew that she was forgiven -and wriggled into his arms. “Why do you want me? I’m so little and not -nice always.” - -“I don’t know why I want you, unless----” - -“Unless?” she whispered. - -“Unless it’s because I’ve been always lonely.” - -She frowned, so he hastened to add, “But I know I do want you.” - -“When I’m a big lady do you think you’ll still want me?” - -“Ah!” He tried to imagine her as a big lady. “You’ll be proud then, I -expect. I once knew a big lady and she wasn’t--wasn’t very kind. I think -I like you little best.” Outside it was growing dark. The rain beat -against the window. The musty smell of old finery in boxes fitted with -the melancholy of the sound. - -“I’m glad you like me little best, because,” she drew her fingers down -his cheek, “because, you see, I’m little now. But when I’m a big lady, I -shall want you to like me best as I am then.” - -He laughed. “I wonder whether you will--whether you’ll care.” - -“You say all the wrong things.” She struggled to free herself. “You’re -making me sad.” - -“D’you know what you’ll be when you grow up?” - -She ceased struggling; she was tremendously interested in herself. - -“What?” - -“A flirt.” - -“What is a flirt?” she asked earnestly. - -“A flirt’s a----” He puzzled to find words. “A flirt’s a very beautiful -woman who makes every one love her especially, and loves nobody in -particular herself.” - -She clapped her hands. “Oh, I hope I shall.” - -Outside her bedroom at parting she stopped laughing. “I _am_ fond of -you, dear Teddy.” - -“Of course you are.” - -She pouted. “Oh, no, not of course. I’m not fond of everybody.” - -He had set too low a value on her graciousness. He had often done it -wilfully before for the fun of seeing her give herself airs. “I didn’t -mean ‘of course’ like that,” he apologized; “I meant I didn’t doubt it.” - -“But--but,” she sighed, “you don’t say the right things, Teddy--no, -never. You don’t understand.” - -What did she want him to say, this little girl who was alternately a -baby and a woman? When he had puzzled his brain and had failed to guess, -he stooped to kiss her good-night She turned her face away petulantly; -the next moment she had turned it back and was clinging to him -desperately. “I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to leave you.” - -“You shan’t.” He had caught something of her passion. “Mrs. Sheerug -has promised. She lives quite near our house, and you’ll be my little -sister. You shall come and feed my pigeons, and see my father paint -pictures. My mother’s called Dearie--did I tell you that? Don’t be -frightened; I’ll lie awake all to-night in case you call.” - -“No, sleep.” She drew her fingers down his face caressingly. “Sleep for -my sake, Teddy.” - -He tried to keep awake, but his eyes grew heavy. Farmer Joseph and -Mrs. Sarie came creaking up the stairs. The house was left to shadows. -Several times he slipped from his bed and tiptoed to the door. More -than once he fancied he heard sounds. They always stopped the second he -stirred. The monotonous dripping of rain lulled him. It was like an -army of footsteps which advanced and halted, advanced and halted. Even -through his sleep they followed. - -It seemed the last notes of a dream. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. -Where was he? In his thoughts he had gone back years. He ought to have -been in Mrs. Sheerug’s bedroom, with the harp standing thinly against -the panes and the kettle purring on the fire. He was confused at finding -that the room was different. While that voice sang on, he had no time for -puzzling. - -It came from outside in the darkness, where trees knelt beneath the -sky like camels. Sometimes it seemed very far away, and sometimes just -beneath his window. It made him think of faeries dancing by moonlight -It was like the golden hair of the Princess Lettice lowered from her -casement to her lover. It was like the silver feet of laughter twinkling -up a Beanstalk ladder to the stars. It was like spread wings, swooping -and drifting over a faery-land of castellated tree-tops. It grew -infinitely distant. He strained his ears; it was almost lost It kept -calling and calling to his heart. - -Something was moving. A shadow stole across his doorway. It was gone in -an instant--gone so quickly that, between sleeping and waking, it might -have been imagined. His heart was pounding. - -In her room he saw the white blur of her bed. Timid lest he should -disturb her, he groped his hand across her pillow. It was still warm. - -As he ran down the passage a cold draught met him. The door into the -farmyard was open. He hesitated on the threshold, straining his -eyes into the dusk of moonlight that leaked from under clouds. As he -listened, he heard Desire’s laugh, low and secret, and the whisper of -departing footsteps. Barefooted he followed. In the road, the horses’ -beads turned towards the wood, a carriage was standing with its lamps -extinguished. The door opened; there was the sound of people entering; -then it slammed. - -“Desire! Desire!” - -The driver humped his shoulders, tugged at the reins, and lashed -furiously; the horses leapt forward and broke into a gallop. From -the window Vashti leant out. A child’s hand fluttered. He ran on -breathlessly. - -Under the roof of the woods all was blackness. The sounds of travel grew -fainter. When he reached the meadows beyond, there was nothing but the -mist of moonlight on still shadows--he heard nothing but the sullen -weeping of rain-wet trees and grass. He threw himself down beside the -road, clenching his hands and sobbing. - -Next day Hal arrived to fetch him back to London. The wagonette was -already standing at the door. He thought that he had said all his -farewells, fixed everything indelibly on his memory, when he remembered -the lumber-room. Without explanation, he dashed into the house and -climbed the stairs. - -Pushing open the door, he entered gently. It was here, if anywhere, -that he might expect to find her--the last place in which they had -been together. Old’ finery, dragged from boxes by her hands, lay -strewn about. The very sunshine, groping across the floor, seemed to be -searching for her. He was going over to the place by the window where -they had sat, when he halted, bending forward. Scrawled dimly in the -dust upon the panes, in childish writing, were the words, “I love you.” - And again, lower down, “I love you.” - -His heart gave a bound. That was what she had been trying to make him -say last night, “I love you.” He hadn’t said it--hadn’t realized or -thought it possible that two children could love like that. He knew now -what she had meant, “You don’t say the right things, Teddy--no, never. -You don’t understand.” He knew now that from the first he had loved her; -his boyish fear of ridicule had forbidden him to own it. There on the -panes, like a message from the dead, soon to be overlaid with dust, was -her confession. - -Voices called to him, bidding him hurry. Footsteps were ascending. Some -one was coming along the passage. The writing was sacred. It was meant -for his eyes alone. No one should see it but himself. He stooped his -lips to the pane. When Hal entered the writing had vanished. - -“You--you played here,” he said. All day he had been white and silent -“I’m sorry, but we really must be going now, old chap.” - -On the stairs, where it was dark, he laid an arm on the boy’s shoulder. - -“You got to be very fond of her? We were both fond of her and--and we’ve -both lost her. I think I understand.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII--THE FEAR OF KNOWLEDGE - -The journey back to London was like the waking moments of a dream. He -gazed out of the carriage window. He couldn’t bear to look at Hal; -his eyes seemed dead, as though all the mind behind them was full of -darkened passages. It wasn’t easy to be brave just now, so he turned his -face away from him. - -“Teddy.” There was no one in the carriage but themselves. “Did she ever -say anything about me?” - -“She said that you were fond of her.” - -“Ah, yes, but I don’t mean that. Did she ever say how she felt herself?” - -“About you?” - -“About me.” - -There was hunger in Hal’s voice--hunger in the way he listened for the -answer. - -“Not--not exactly. But she liked you immensely. She really did, Hal. She -looked forward most awfully to your coming.” - -“Any child would have done that when a man brought her presents. Then -she didn’t say she loved me? No, she wouldn’t say that.” - -Hal spoke bitterly. Teddy felt that Desire was being accused and sprang -to her defense. “I don’t see how you could expect her to love you after -what you had done.” The man looked up sharply. “After what I had done! -D’you mean kidnaping her, or something further back?” - -“I mean taking her away from her mother.” - -Hal laughed gloomily. “No, as you say, a person with no claims on her -couldn’t expect her to love him after that.” - -Sinking his head forward, he relapsed into silence and sat staring at -the seat opposite. When the train was galloping through the outskirts of -London, he spoke again. - -“I’ve dragged you into something that you don’t understand. Don’t try -to understand it; but there’s something I want to say to you. If ever -you’re tempted to do wrong, remember me. If ever you’re tempted to get -love the wrong way, be strong enough to do without it. It isn’t worth -having. You have to lie and cheat to get it at first, and you have to -lie and cheat to keep some of it when it’s ended.” He turned his face -away, speaking shamefully and hurriedly. “I sinned once, a long while -ago--I don’t know whether you’ve guessed. I’m still paying for it. -You’re paying for it. One day that little girl may have to pay the -biggest price of any of us. I was trying to save her from that.” - -Through the window shabby rows of cabs showed up. A porter jumped on the -step, asking if there was any luggage. Hal waved him back. Turning to -Teddy, he said, “When you’ve sinned, you never know where the paying -ends. It touches a thousand lives with its selfishness. Remember me one -day, and be careful.” - -Driving home in the hansom, he referred but once to the subject “I’ve -made you suffer. I don’t know how much--boys never tell. I owed you -something; that’s why I spoke to you just now.” - -Teddy’s arrival home scattered the last mists of his dream-world. As the -cab drew up before the house, the door flew open and his father burst -out, bundling a mildly protesting old gentleman down the steps. - -“No, I don’t paint little pigs,” he was shouting, “and I don’t paint -little girls sucking their thumbs and cooing, ‘I’m baby.’ You’ve come to -the wrong shop, old man; no offense. I’m an artist; the man you’re -looking for is a sign-painter. Good evening.” - -The door banged in the old gentleman’s face. Jimmie Boy was so enjoying -his anger that he didn’t notice that in closing the door he was shutting -out his son. - -When Teddy had been admitted by Jane, he heard his mother’s -voice dodging through his father’s laughter like a child through a -crowd. - -“You needn’t have been so sharp with him, Jimmie. He only wanted to -buy the kind of pictures you don’t paint You can’t expect every one to -understand. Now he’ll go the rounds and talk about you, and you’ll have -another enemy. Why do you do it, my silly old pirate?” - -The old pirate pretended to become suspicious that his wife was trying -to lower his standards--trying to persuade him to paint the rubbish that -would sell She protested her innocence. Long after Teddy had made -his presence known the argument continued, half in banter, half in -seriousness. Then it took the familiar turning which led to a discussion -of finance. - -He stole away. The impatient world had swept him back into its maelstrom -of realities. It had taken away his breath and staggered his courage. -Hal’s harangue on the consequences of sin had made him see sin -everywhere. He saw his father as sinning when he indulged his genius by -pushing would-be purchasers down his steps. Hal was right--he and Dearie -would have to pay for that; all their lives they had been paying for his -father’s temperament. They had had to go short of everything because he -would insist on trying to exchange his dreams for money. - -He wandered out into the garden where his pigeons were flying. -Instinctively his steps led him to the stable. From the stalls he -dragged out _The Garden Enclosed_, which was to have made his father -famous. He gazed at it; as he gazed, the world seemed better. The world -must be a happy place so long as there were women in it like that. -People said that his father hadn’t succeeded; but he had by being true -to what he knew to be best. - -He climbed the ladder to the studio where, through long years of -discouragement, his father had refused to stoop below himself. Leaning -from the window, he gazed into the garden. The dusty smell of the ivy -came to him. - -There in the darkness his mother found him. Coming in quietly, she -crouched beside him, taking his hands. - -“Mother, you’re very beautiful.” - -Her heart quickened. “Something’s happened. Once you wouldn’t have said -that.” - -“I’ve been thinking about so many things,” he whispered, “about how it -must have helped a man to have had some one like you always to himself.” - -“You were thinking,” she brushed his cheek with hers, “you were thinking -about yourself--about the long, long future.” - -“Yes.” His voice scarcely reached her. “I was growing frightened because -of Hal. I was feeling kind of lonely. Then I thought of you and Jimmie -Boy. It would be fearful to grow up like Hal.” - -“You won’t, Teddy.” - -There was a long silence. They could hear each other’s thoughts ticking. -At last he whispered, “Desire said she never had a father.” - -“Poor little girl! You must have guessed?” - -“Hal?” - -Choking back her tears, she nodded. - -“Things like that----” He broke off, staring into the darkness. “Things -like that make a boy frightened, when first they’re told him.” She drew -his head down to her shoulder. He lay there without speaking, feeling -sheltered for the moment. All the threats of manhood, the fears that he -might fail, the terror lest he might miss the highest things like Hal, -drew away into the distance. - -In the night, when he awoke and they returned, he drove them off with a -new purpose. The pity and white chivalry of his boyhood were aflame -with what he had learnt. Until he met her again, he would keep himself -spotless. She should be to him what the Holy Grail was to Sir Gala-had. -He would fight to be good and great not for his own sake--that would be -lonely; but that he might be strong, when he became a man, to pay the -price for Desire that Hal’s sin had imposed on her. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII--TEDDY AND RUDDY - - -Fear is a form of loneliness; it was Ruddy who cured Teddy of that. - -For years they had met in Orchid Lodge and up and down Eden Row, nodding -to each other with the contemptuous tolerance of boys whose parents are -friends. It was the shared memory of the adventure in the woodland that -brought them together. - -Two days after his return from the farm he stole out into Eden Row as -night was falling. In the park, across the river, the bell for closing -time was ringing. On tennis courts, between slumbering chestnuts, men -in flannels were putting on their coats and gathering their shoes -and rackets, while slim wraiths of girls waited for them. They swept -together and drifted away through the daffodil-tinted dusk. Clear -laughter floated across the river and the whisper of reluctantly -departing footsteps. Park keepers, like angels in Eden, marched along -shadowy paths, herding the lovers and driving them before them, shouting -in melancholy tones, “All out. All out.” They seemed to be proclaiming -that nothing could last. - -“Hulloa!” - -Teddy turned to find the sturdy figure in the midshipman’s suit leaning -against the railings beside him. - -“Must be rather jolly to be like that.” - -“Like what?” - -“Oh, don’t be a sausage.” Ruddy smiled imperturbably. “To be like -them--old enough to put your arm round a girl without making people -laugh.” - -“Yes.” - -Ruddy sank his voice. “Wonder where they all come from. Suppose they -look quite proper by daylight, as though they’d never speak to a chap.” - -The crowd was pouring out from the gates and melting away by twos and -twos. Each couple seemed to walk in its own separate world, walled in by -memories of tender things done and said. As they passed beneath lamps, -the girls drew a little apart from their companions; but as they entered -long intervals of twilit gloom their propriety relaxed. - -Turning away from the river, the boys followed the crowd at random. Once -Ruddy hurried forward to peer into a girl’s face as she passed beneath a -lamp. She had flaxen hair which broke in waves about her shoulders. - -Teddy flushed. He had wanted to do it himself, but something had -restrained him. Secretly he admired Ruddy’s boldness. “Don’t do that,” - he whispered. - -“She looked pretty from the back,” Ruddy explained. “Wanted to see by -her face whether her boy had been kissing her. You are a funny chap.” - -They got tired of wandering. On the edge of a low garden wall, with -their backs against the railing, they seated themselves. It was in a -road of small villas, dotted with golden windows and shadowy with the -foam of foliage. - -Ruddy pulled out a cigarette. “I liked her most awfully. Us’ally I don’t -like girls.” - -“Desire?” Teddy’s heart bounded at being able to speak her name so -frankly. - -“Desire. Yes. I’ve got an idea that she’s a sort of relation. Ma won’t -tell a thing about her. I can’t ask Hal--he’s too cut up. When I speak -to Harriet, she says ‘Hush.’ There’s a mystingry.” - -For a week Ruddy opened his heart wider and wider, till he had all -but confessed that he was in love with Desire. Then one day, with the -depressed air of a conspirator, he inveigled Teddy into the shrubbery of -Orchid Lodge. - -“Want to ask you something. You think I’m in love with that kid, Desire, -don’t you? Well, I’m not.” - -“I’m glad you’re not, because--you oughtn’t to be. Why you oughtn’t to -be, I can’t tell you.” - -“But I never was.” - -“Oh, weren’t you?” Teddy shrugged his shoulders. - -Up went Ruddy’s fists. His face grew red and his eyes became -suspiciously wet. “You’re the only one who knows it. You’ve got to say I -wasn’t. If you don’t, I’ll fight you.” - -“But you’ve just said that I’m the only one who knows it. You silly -chump, you’ve owned that you were in love.” - -Ruddy stood hesitant; his fists fell “Don’t know what God’ll do to me. -I’ve been in love with my----” He gulped. “I’m her uncle.” - -For a fortnight he posed as a figure of guilt and hinted darkly at -suicide. But the world at fifteen is too adventurous a place for even a -boy who has been in love with his niece to remain long tragic. It was -on this dark secret of his unclehood, that his momentous friendship with -Teddy was founded. Mrs. Sheerug approved of it; she did all that she -could to encourage it. She sent him to Mr. Quickly’s school in Eden Row -which Teddy attended. From that moment the boys’ great days began. - -It was Ruddy who invented one of their most exciting games, _Enemies or -Friends_. This consisted in picking out some inoffensive boy from among -their school-fellows and overwhelming him with flatteries. He was made -the recipient of presents and invited to tea on half-holidays, till -his suspicions of evil intentions were quite laid to rest. Then one -afternoon, when school was over, he was lured into Orchid Lodge to look -at the pigeons. Once within the garden walls, Orchid Lodge became a -brigand’s castle, the boy a captive, and Ruddy and Teddy his captors. -The boy was locked up in the tool-shed for an hour and made to promise -by the most fearful threats not to divulge to his mother what had -delayed him. Intended victims of this game knew quite well what fate was -in store for them; a rumor of the brigands’ perfidy had leaked out. The -chief sport in its playing lay in the Machiavellian methods employed -to persuade the latest favorite that, whatever had happened to his -predecessors, he was the great exception, beloved only for himself. - -Opportunity for revenge arrived when Teddy’s first attempt at authorship -was published. Mr. Quickly, the Quaker headmaster, brought out -a magazine each Christmas to which his students were invited to -contribute. Teddy’s contribution was entitled _The Angel’s Sin_. Perhaps -it was inspired by remorse for his misdoings. Dearie nearly cried her -eyes out when she read it, she was so impressed by its piety. But it -moved his school-fellows to ridicule--especially the much-wronged -boys who had spent an hour in the tool-shed. They recited it in chorus -between classes; they followed him home reciting it; they stood outside -the windows of his house and bawled it at him through the railings. -“Heaven was silent, for one had sinned. Before the throne of God a -prostrate figure lay. But the throne was wrapped in clouds. A voice rang -out,” etc. - -“They have no souls,” his mother whispered comfortingly. - -_The Angel’s Sin_ cost the brigands many bruises and their mothers much -repairing of torn clothing. Teddy’s mother declared that it was all -worth it--she had spent her life in paying the price for having genius -in her family; Mrs. Sheerug was doubtful Ruddy was loyal in his public -defense of Teddy, but secretly disapproving. “Stupid ass! Why did you -do it? Why didn’t you write about pirates? Might have known we’d get -ragged.” - -Teddy shook his head. He was quite as much puzzled as Ruddy. “Don’t -know. It just came to me. I had to do it.” - -The Christmas holidays brought a joyous week. Teddy had a cold and was -kept in bed. The light was too bad for painting, so his father came and -sat with him. - -“You’re younger than you were, chappie--more like what I used to be at -your age. That young ruffian’s doing you good. What d’you play at?” - -When penny dreadfuls were mentioned, Jimmie Boy closed one eye and -squinted at his son humorously. “That’s not much of a diet--not much in -keeping with _The Ange’s Sin_ and a boy who’s going to be a genius. Tell -you what I’ll do; let’s have Ruddy in and I’ll reform you.” - -Then began a magic chain of nights and days. As soon as the -breakfast-tray had been carried down, Jimmie Boy would commence his -reading. It was _Margaret of Valois_ that he chose as being the nearest -thing in literature to a penny dreadful. Teddy, lying cosily between -sheets, would listen to the booming voice, which rumbled like a gale -about the pale walls of the bedroom. Seated in a great armchair, with -his pipe going like a furnace and his knees spread apart before the -fire, his rebel father acted out with his free hand all the glorious -love scenes and stabbings. Ruddy, stretched like a dog upon the floor, -his elbows digging into the carpet, gazed up at Jimmie Boy adoringly. -For a week they kept company with kings and queens, listening to the -clash of swords and witnessing the intrigue of stolen kisses. They -wandered down moonlit streets of Paris, were present at the massacre -of St. Batholomew’s Eve, and saw the Duchess of Guise, having rescued -Coconnas from the blades of the Huguenots, hide him, dripping with -blood, in her secret closet. - -When _Margaret of Valois_ was ended, _Hereward the Wake_ followed, and -then _Rienzi_. - -“And that’s literature,” Jimmie Boy told them. “How about your penny -dreadfuls now?” - -In the afternoons Dearie would join them. “You three boys,” she called -them. She always made a pretense that she was intruding, till she had -been entreated in flowery romance language to enter. Then, sitting on -the bed like a tall white queen, her hand clasped in Teddy’s, she would -watch dreamily, with those violet eyes of hers, the shaggy head of -Jimmie Boy tossing in a melody of words. - -It was this week, with its delving into ancient stories, that taught him -what his parents’ love really meant--it was a rampart thrown up by the -soul against calamity. They had been poor and harassed and disappointed. -There had been times when they had spoken crossly. But in their hearts -they still stood hand-in-hand, always guarding a royal place in which -they could be happy. - -“I say,” whispered Ruddy, “your people--they’re toppers. Let’s go slow -on the penny dreadfuls.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV--DUKE NINEVEH ENTERS - -As the years passed the two boys grew into explorers of the -undiscovered countries that lie behind the tail-treed reticence of -people’s minds. Their sole equipment for these gallant raids was a -daring sort of kindness. - -Ruddy’s actions were inspired by good nature and high spirits; Teddy’s -by introspection and a determination to inquire. He was possessed by a -relentless curiosity to find out how things worked. - -By a dramatic turn of luck their faculty for curious friendships flung -the whole Sheerug household, and Jimmie Boy with it, high up on the -strand of what Mrs. Sheerug would have termed “a secure nincome.” - -At the time when this happened Teddy was already getting his hand in by -helping his father with the letter-press for his illustrated volumes. -Ruddy, much to Mrs. Sheerug’s disgust, had announced his intention of -“going on the sands,” by which he meant becoming a pierrot. - -One sparkling morning in June they were setting out for Brighton. Ruddy -had heard of a troupe who were playing there and was anxious to add to -his store of pierrot-knowledge. At the last moment, as the train -was moving, a distinguished looking man who had been dawdling on the -platform seemed to make up his mind to travel by it Paying no heed to -the warning shouts of porters, as coolly as if he had been catching -a passing bus, he leapt on the step of the boys’ third-class smoker, -unlocked the door and entered. - -“Handy things to keep about you,” he said, “keys to Tallway carriages. -Oh, a third! Thought it was a first. Too bad. Make the best of it.” - -There was a cheerful insolence about the way in which he sniffed, “Oh, a -third!” addressing nobody in particular and thinking his thoughts aloud. -He had a fine, rolling baritone. His aristocratic, drawling way of -talking set up an immediate barrier between himself and the world--a -barrier which he evidently expected the world to recognize. - -Ruddy raised a democratic foot and tapped him on the shin. “Your -ticket’s a third. It’s in your hand.” - -The distinguished looking man leant down and flapped his trousers with -his glove where the democratic foot had touched it Then he fixed Ruddy -with a haughty stare. “Ah! So it is. Chap must have given it me in -error.” - -He settled himself in a corner, paying the utmost attention to his -comfort, screwed a monocle in his eye and spread a copy of _The Pink -’Un_ before him. - -The boys threw inquiring glances at each other. Why should this ducal -looking individual, with his complete self-assurance and patronizing -vastness, have worried himself to try to make them believe that he was -traveling third-class by accident? Was he an escaping criminal or a -lunatic? Had the porters who had shouted warnings at him been disguised -detectives? Was there any chance of his becoming violent when they -entered the Box Hill Tunnel? - -They scrutinized him carefully. He was probably nearing forty; he wore -a straw hat, a black flannel suit with a thin white stripe running down -it, patent-leather shoes and canvas spats. Everything about him was of -expensive cut and bore the stamp of fashion. His face was wrinkled like -a bloodhound’s, his hair sleek and tawny, his complexion brick-red with -good living. His nose was slightly Roman, his eyes a sleepy gray; -his attitude towards the world one of fastidious boredom. He was a -large-framed man and would pass for handsome. - -Ruddy was not easily awed. Reaching under the seat, he drew out one of -the boxes which Mr. Hughes had entrusted to him. - -“What message shall we send? The usual?” - -On a narrow strip of paper he wrote, “_We have just completed another -murder_.” As the train slowed down at Red Hill, he leant out of the -window and tossed the pigeon up. - -“Never trouble trouble, till trouble troubles you.” - -The distinguished looking person had laid aside his paper. - -“Excuse me,” he said, and with that he drew off his patent-leather shoes -and rested his feet on the window ledge to air them. - -“Tight?” suggested Teddy politely. - -“Very,” said the distinguished looking person. “To tell the truth, -they’re not mine. I’m too kind-hearted.” - -He picked up his paper and wriggled his toes in his silk socks. It -was difficult to trace the connection between wearing tight shoes and -kind-heartedness. - -“A mystingry,” whispered Ruddy. - -“Eh! What’s that?” The Roman nose appeared for an instant above _The -Pink ’Un_ and the lazy gray eyes twinkled. “I’m wearing ’em easy out -of affection for a dear friend. No splendor without pain. I take the -pain and leave him the splendor.” - -Both boys nodded as though his explanation had made his conduct, which -had at first seemed unusual, entirely conventional. Teddy drew a pencil -from his pocket and commenced to make a surreptitious sketch. If the -imposing stranger were anything that he ought not to be, it might come -in useful. - -“What are you doing?” The paper was tossed aside. “Humph! Colossal! If I -may, I’ll keep it I’m a black-and-white artist myself.” He narrowed his -eyes as if to hide their real expression. “You won’t know my name. I’m -what you might call a professional amateur. Could make a fortune at it, -but won’t be bothered with the vulgarity of selling.” And then, with an -airy wave of his hand, flicking the ash off his cigarette: “Of course I -don’t need to.” - -“Of course not,” said Teddy, with winning frankness. - -“Of course not,” echoed Ruddy, with a sly intonation, winking at the -patent-leather shoes. - -The stranger, who had been using the seat as a couch, shifted his -position and glanced at Ruddy. “My dee-ar boy, I meant that. If you have -very affectionate friends and enough of them, you never need to earn -money. It was only when I was young--about as young as you are--that I -was fool enough to labor.” He pronounced it “laybore.” - -“Well, I’ve not been fool enough to ’laybore’ yet,” said Ruddy, -with sham indignation, as though defending himself from a shameful -accusation. - -“If you do what I do, there’ll be no necessity.” The stranger closed -his eyes. “If you cater to the world’s vanity you can live well and -do nothing. There’s nothing--absolute--” he yawned widely, “--lutely -nothing to prevent you.” - -They waited for his eyes to open. If he wasn’t mad, he was the possessor -of a secret--a secret after which all the world was groping: nothing -more nor less than how to fare sumptuously and not to work. But his eyes -remained shut. Ruddy spoke. “I wish you’d tell us how.” - -The stranger didn’t answer; he appeared to be sleeping--sleeping, -however, with considerate care not to crumple the beautiful flannel suit -The train raced on. A clear, sea-look was appearing above the Sussex -Downs, like the bright reflection of a mirror flashing. It was -exasperating. They would soon be at Brighton and this man would escape -them with his valuable knowledge. - -On the second message they sent back to Mr. Hughes they wrote, “_A -mystingry_.” On the third, “_The mystingry deepens_.” - -Brakes began to grind, slowing down the train as they neared their -destination. The man sat up. “Best be putting on my shoes.” - -Ruddy seized his last opportunity. “Look here, it ’ud be awfully -decent of you if you’d tell us.” - -“Tell you?” - -“How to cater to people’s vanities. How to live without doing a stroke -of work. My father’s been trying for years--he’s a promoter. You might -tell us.” - -“So your father’s a promoter!” The man was pulling on his spats. “Well, -I’ll give you a hint and let you reason the rest out There are more -women in the world than men, aren’t there? The women are always trying -to win the men’s affection. The way in which they think they can do it -is by being beautiful. There!” - -“That’s a long stoop,” said Ruddy; “let me button them for you.” - -By the time the spats were buttoned they had come to a halt in the -station. - -The man stood up. “Here’s my card. We may meet again.” - -He jumped out of the carriage, leaving Ruddy turning his card over. It -bore no address, only a name, _Duke Ninevah_. - -“Not _the Duke of_,” whispered Teddy, peering over his shoulder, “so it -can’t be a title.” - -“Here, come on,” said Ruddy. “Let’s follow him.” - -Further down the platform they saw Duke Ninevah helping a lady from a -first-class carriage. She was slight and extremely stylish; even at that -distance they guessed she must be beautiful. They had begun to follow -when they remembered that they had left the empty pigeon boxes behind. -They dashed back to find them; when they again looked up and down the -platform, Duke Ninevah and his lady had vanished. - -“Must be traceable,” said Ruddy. “Here, let’s leave these things at the -parcel-room and clear for action. Now then, let’s use our intellecks. -What does one come to the seaside for? To see the sea. We’ll find him -either in it or beside it Why does one bring a lady to Brighton? To make -love to her, and to make love one needs to be private. We’ve to find a -private place by the sea, and then he’s cornered.” - -“And what about the pierrots?” - -“Let ’em wait. Humph!” - -As they came down on to the promenade the waves heliographed to them. A -warm south wind flapped against their faces. The air was full of voices, -rising and falling and blending: ice-cream men shouting their wares; -cabmen inviting hire; an evangelist, balancing on a chair and screaming -“Redemption! Redemption!”; a comedian, dressed like a sultan and -bawling breathlessly, “I’m the Emperor of Sahara, Tarara, Tarara”; the -under-current chatter of conversation, and the laughing screams of girls -as they stepped down from bathing huts and felt the first chill of the -bubbling surf. Wriggling out like sea-serpents, their tails tethered -to the land, were piers with swarms of insect-looking objects creeping -along their backs. Gayety everywhere, and somewhere the man who knew how -pleasure could be had without working! “By the sea with privacy,” Ruddy -kept murmuring; the more remote their chances grew of finding him, -the more certain they became that Duke Ninevah had a secret worth the -knowing. - -They had searched everywhere. It was afternoon and soon they would have -to be returning. “Why not try the piers,” suggested Teddy; “if I wanted -to gaze at the sea and make love to anybody----” - -“Good idea. So would I.” - -They passed through the turnstile and recommenced their quest On -approaching a shelter, halfway down the pier, their attention was -arrested by a slight and lonely figure. She was crouched in a corner with -her head sunk forward. - -“Hulloa! Left his girl. Let’s present his card and talk with her.” - -But when they had walked round the glass shield of the shelter, they saw -that she was sleeping. She must be sleeping soundly, for the insistent -yapping of a Pomeranian did not seem to disturb her. Her hands lay -loosely folded in her lap; in one of them a crumpled hankerchief was -clutched. It was plain that she had been crying. - -“She’s pretty!” They stole nearer. Then, “Jumping Jehosaphat!” - -The tears had washed the color from her cheeks in places; they still -hung sparkling on her painted lashes. With the sagging of her head her -hat had slipped, and with it her wig, so that a scanty lock of white -hair escaped across her forehead. But none of these things had called -for the exclamation; they were apprehended at the same moment by -something far more startling. - -The lady’s head had came forward with a jerk; her mouth opened; her -girlish beauty became convulsed, and then crumbled. As though a living -creature were forcing an exit, something white and gleaming shot from -her mouth. A complete set of excellent false teeth were only prevented -from falling into the sea by the excited Pomeranian, who pounced on them -and raced away, as though it were in expectation of precisely this event -that he had been waiting. - -In a flash the boys gave chase, leaving the distressed, scarcely -awakened lady gazing after them and clasping imploring hands. - -“Here’s a go!” panted Ruddy as they dodged through the crowd. “She’ll -lose ’em for a cert. Why, I could have been in love with her myself if -this hadn’t---- What a rumpage!” - -They were nearing the turnstile. Above the turmoil of their pursuit they -heard the comedian on the sands still declaring, “I’m the Emperor of -Sahara, Tarara, Tarara.” Probably he was. In Brighton anything was -possible. To Teddy it seemed a mad romance, a wild topsy-turvy, a staged -burlesque in which Arthurian knights rescued ladies’ teeth instead -of their virtue. Of the two, in Brighton, false teeth were the more -precious. - -The day was hot The Pomeranian was fat Perhaps in Pomerania false teeth -are more nutritious. He was beginning to have doubts as to their value, -for he had twice turned his head, wondering whether peace might be -patched up with honor. He was turning for a third time when he blundered -full tilt into a nursemaid’s skirts. He was so startled by the weight of -the child she dropped on him that he abandoned his loot and fled. Of -the two pursuers Teddy was the first to arrive. Snatching up the teeth, -before they could be trampled by the crowd which the child’s screams -were attracting, he wrapped them in his pocket-handkerchief, hiding them -from public view, and strolled back unconcernedly. But what to do next? -How to return them? How to put the lady to least shame? - -“Well, they _are_ hers,” Ruddy argued. “She knows that we know she -wears ’em. They’re no good to us; and we shouldn’t have chased the -dog unless we’d thought that she’d like to have ’em. You’re too -delicate-minded.” - -Seen from a distance as they approached her, she looked slight as a -schoolgirl. Is was impossible to believe that she was really an old -woman. She came hurrying towards them with one hand held out and -the other pressed against her mouth. Not a word was said as her lost -property was returned. The moment she had it, she walked to the side of -the pier and gazed seawards, while both boys turned their backs. She was -closing her vanity-case when she called to them. - -They stared. The powder-puff and mirror had done their work. To the not -too observing eye she was a girl. - -“I want to thank you.” She gave them each a small gloved hand. “I’d like -to send you a reward if you’ll give me your address. May I?” - -They shook their heads. Ruddy acted spokesman. “No. But let us stay till -Mr. Nineveh comes back.” - -“Duke! You know him?” - -She had a charming, flute-like note in her voice when she asked a -question. - -“We’ve been hunting him all day.” - -“Why?” - -“He said he knew how to get pleasure without,” Ruddy’s face puckered -with genial impertinence, “without ’laybore’.” - -The lady laughed. “I think I could tell you how he does it. You’ll never -guess what the naughty man did to me. He brought me down here for one -dear little day to our two selves and then,” she raised her shoulders -ever so slightly, “he saw a pretty face and left me in the shelter to -wait for him. I’ve waited; I’ve not had any lunch.” - -“Had no lunch!” Teddy spoke in the tones of one to whom a missed meal -spelled tragedy. - -“You see, he carries my purse,” she explained. - -The boys asked each other questions with their eyes, jingled the coins -in their pockets and nodded. - -“If you wouldn’t mind coming with us----” - -She looked at them, this young girl, who was old enough to be their -grandmother. “You’re very kind.” She smiled mysteriously. “Yes, I’ll let -you treat me.” - -They took her to the confectioner’s in a side street where they had had -their midday meal. It was inexpensive. Seated at a marble-topped table, -while trippers came in and out for buns, she looked strangely and -exotically elegant. - -She noticed that they weren’t eating. “Aren’t you having anything -yourselves?” - -“Not hungry.” - -She guessed their shortage of funds. “You’re kinder than I thought First -you prevent me from--well, from becoming seventy and then you take -care of me with the last of your money. I’ve known a good many boys and -men--they were all greedy, especially the men. But there’s something -still more wonderful--something you haven’t done. You didn’t laugh at -me when---- I’m always losing them one way or another. I’m in constant -dread that Duke’ll see me without them. I know you won’t tell.” - -“Has your husband got your ticket?” asked Teddy. He was wondering how -they could get her to London. - -She looked puzzled. “My husband?” She gave a comic little smile. “My -husband--oh, yes! We can meet him at the station. I know the train by -which he’ll travel.” - -Then she commenced to coquette with them till they blushed. “I’m a silly -old woman trying to be young, but you like it all the same.” - -They did, for when she bent towards them laughing, fluttering her gay -little hands, they forgot the strand of white hair and the way in which -they had seen her beauty crumble. - -“Ah, but when I was a girl, really a girl, not a painted husk, how -you would have loved me! All the men loved me--so many that I can’t -remember. What a life I’ve had! And you--you have all your lives before -you.” - -She made them feel that--this unaccountable old woman--made them throb -to the wonder of having all their lives before them. She told them -stories of herself to illustrate what that meant--_risqué_ stories which -failed of being utterly improper by ending abruptly. It was done with -the gravest innocence. - -They wandered out on to the promenade. The sun was going down. The waves -were tipped with a flamingo redness. It was as though scarlet birds were -darting so swiftly that they could not see their bodies. - -“Let me be old,” she whispered, “what I am, before I see him. It’s such -a rest.” - -From frivolity she grew confessional. It seemed as though her false -youth fell away from her and only the tell-tale paint was left “If I’d -been wiser, I’d have had two boys like you for grandsons. But I’ve not -been wise, my dears. I’ve always wanted to be loved; I’ve broken hearts, -and now---- When a woman gets to my age, she’s left to do all the -loving. I’m condemned to be always, always young. I’d like best, if I -could choose, to be just a simple old woman. I’d like to wear a lace cap -and no, corsets, and to sit rocking by a window, watching for you boys -to come and tell me your hopes and troubles. You must have very dear -mothers. I wonder---- If I asked you to visit me--not the me I look now, -but the real me--would you come?” - -At the station they were climbing into a third, when Duke Nineveh came -breezily up. - -“Ha! How d’you manage that? Made friends with Madame Josephine, have -you?” Then to Madame Josephine, “I say, it’ll hurt business if you’re -seen traveling third. Appearances, appearances, my dear--they’ve got to -be kept up.” - -“Oh, Duke, for once I’m not caring.” - -She sat herself down between the two boys, like the little old lady she -was, holding a hand of each in her lap. Duke Nineveh waited till her -head was nodding, then drew off his shoes softly. “They’ve hurt most -confoundedly all day.” He turned to Ruddy. “So your father’s a promoter! -Is he any good at it?” - -“Good at it! Phew! A regular steam-engine when he gets started.” - -“Does he promote everything? I mean, he’s not too particular about what -he handles?” - -The description Ruddy gave of his father’s capacities would have -compelled hair to grow on Mr. Ooze’s head, especially that it might -stand up. - -“Humph!” Mr. Nineveh rubbed his chin. “Here’s my address. If he cares to -call on me, we might make each other’s fortunes.” - -As the train was thundering between the walls of London, Madame -Josephine woke up. Drawing out her vanity-case, she renewed her -complexion. It was so elaborate an undertaking that it was scarcely -completed when they came to a halt in the station. “We’re going to meet -again,” she said. - -As they watched her drive away in the brougham that was waiting for -her, accompanied by the man who never had to work, they could scarcely -believe that she was not what she looked at that distance--a girl of -little more than twenty. - -“A fine old world!” Ruddy stuck his hands in his trousers pockets. -“One’s always walkin’ round the corner and findin’ something. It’s the -walkin’ round the corner that does it.” - -“Seems so,” Teddy assented. - -They climbed on a bus and drove back through the evening primroses of -street-lamps to Eden Row. After all, in spite of Mr. Yaffon, Mr. Ooze, -Hal, and all the other disappointed persons, it must be a fine old world -when it allowed boys to be so young. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV--LUCK - -“Not a word to your mother,” Mr. Sheerug had warned Ruddy after his -first interview with Duke Nineveh. “She wouldn’t understand--not yet. -Um! Um!” - -What he had meant was she would have understood too well. Ruddy -communicated this urgent need for secrecy to Teddy. “Can’t make it -out--what he’s up to.” - -They watched carefully, feeling that whatever Mr. Sheerug was up to, it -was something in which they also were concerned. - -The first thing they noticed was that a proud-boy look was creeping over -him--what Ruddy called an I-ate-the-canary look. For all his fatness he -began to bustle. He began to make fusses if the meals weren’t punctual, -to insist on his boots being properly blacked and to behave himself in -general as though he were head of his household. He spoke vaguely of -meetings in the city--meetings which it was vital that he should attend -“punkchully.” - -“If I’m not punkchull,” he said, “everything may go up the spout.” He -didn’t explain what _everything_ was; he was inviting his wife to ask a -question. - -She knew it--sensible woman. “Meetings in the city,” she thought to -herself; “meetings in the city, indeed. Pooh! Men are all babies. If he -thinks that he’s going to get me worked up----” - -She had shared too many of his ups and downs to allow her excitement to -show itself. She denied to herself that she was excited. These little -flares of good fortune had deceived her faith too many times. So she -treated her Alonzo like a big spoilt child, humoring his whims and -feigning to be discreetly unobserving. She forbade the display -of curiosity on the part of any of her family. “If you go asking -questions,” she said, “you’ll drive him to it.” - -She had seen him driven to it before--_it_ was the moment when the dam -of piled-up ambitions burst and they scrambled to save what they could -from the whirlpool of collapsed speculations. The end of _it_ had -usually been a hasty retreat to a less expensive house. - -Every day brought some new improvement in his dress. Within a fortnight -he was looking exceedingly plump in a frock-coat and top-hat He hadn’t -been so gorgeous in a dozen years--not since he had kept a carriage in -Kensington. Each morning, shortly after nine, he left Orchid Lodge -and marched down Eden Row, swinging his cane with a Mammon-like air of -prosperity. When he came back in the evening, as frequently as not he -had a flower blazing in his button-hole. - -There were times when he strove to revive husbandly gallantries--little -acts of forethought and gestures of tenderness. He had grown too fat -and had been too long out of practice to do it graciously, and Mrs. -Sheerug--she blinked at him with a happiness which tried in vain to -conceal itself. They were Rip Van Winkles waking up to an altered -world--a world in which a husband need no longer fear his wife, and in -which there were more important occupations than talking Cockney to Mr. -Ooze as an escape from dullness. - -It took just three months for the suppressed expectations of Orchid -Lodge to reach their climax. It was reached when Alonzo, of his own -accord, without a helping hint or the least sign of necessity, offered -his wife money. It happened one September evening, in the room with the -French windows which opened into the garden. It was impossible for a -natively inquisitive woman to refuse this bait to her curiosity. - -“A hund--a hundred pounds! Why, Alonzo!” - -Teddy and Ruddy were seated on the steps. At the sound of her gasping -cry, they turned to gaze into the shabby comfort of the room. She stood -tiptoeing against him, clinging to his hand and scanning his face with -her faded eyes. Her gray hair straggled across her wrinkled forehead; -her lips trembled. Her weary, worn-out, kindly appearance made her -strangely pathetic in the presence of his plump self-assertiveness. - -“Struck it,” he said gruffly, almost defiantly. “Going to do a splash. -All of us. Um! Um! Those boys helped.” - -“Ah!” She shuddered. “Ah, my dear, my splashing days are ended. Even if -it’s true, I’m too old for that.” - -“Too old!” For the first time that Ruddy could remember, his father took -the withered face between his hands. “Too old! Not a bit of it! Going to -make a splash, I tell you. Going to be Lord Mayor of London. Going to be -a duke, maybe an earl. Beauty forever. Appeals to women’s vanity. Going -up like a rocket till I bust. Only I shan’t bust Um! Um! Going up this -time never to come down.” - -“Never to come down,” she whispered, “_never_.” The words seemed the -sweetest music. She laughed softly to make him think that she did not -take him seriously. - -They strolled out into the evening redness and sat beside the boys on -the steps. Sparrows were rustling in the ivy. The drone of London, like -a mill-wheel turning, came to them across the walls. In the garden there -was a sense of rest Mr. Sheerug’s portly glory looked out of place and -disturbing in its old-fashioned quiet He must have felt that, for he -stood up and removed his frock-coat, loosened his waistcoat buttons, -and sat down in his shirt-sleeves. He looked less like Mr. Sheerug, the -conqueror, who had eaten the canary, and more like the pigeon-flying Mr. -Sheerug now. - -With unwieldly awkwardness he put his arm about her shoulder and drew -her gray head nearer. “Don’t mind, do you?” His voice was husky. “Can’t -do it, somehow--never could unless I was making money. Oughtn’t to have -married you. Uml Um! Often thought it Dragged you down. Well----” - -And then he told them. He began with Duke Nineveh. “He’s a chap who -introduces outsiders to something that he says is society. Tells ’em -where to buy their clothes and all that. Gets tipped for it. Calls -himself a black-and-white artist. Maybe he is--I don’t know: but he’s -a man of ideas. His great idea is Madame Josephine--she’s in love with -him.” - -At mention of Madame Josephine Mrs. Sheerug fluttered. “But Alonzo, she -can’t be the same Madame Josephine----” - -“The same,” he said. - -“The woman who used to dance at----?” - -He nodded. “A long time ago.” - -“Who caused such a scandal with the Marquis of ----------?” She -whispered behind her hand. “And was the mistress of------------?” Again -she whispered. - -“That’s who she is,” he acknowledged. “But don’t you see that all that -helps? It’s an advertisement. She’s the best preserved woman of seventy -in London.” - -“She’s a notorious character,” Mrs. Sheerug said firmly. “Alonzo, you’ll -have nothing to do with her.” - -His arm slipped from her shoulder. She stood up and reentered the -window. Before she vanished, she came back and patted him kindly. “You -won’t, Alonzo. You know you won’t.” - -The mill-wheel of London droned on, turning and always turning. The -sparrows grew silent in the ivy; shadows stole out Soon a light sprang -up in the spare-room. They could hear the harp fingered gently; it -brought memories of the ghost-bird of romance, beating its wings against -the panes, struggling vainly to get out. - -“Too righteous,” Mr. Sheerug muttered. “Not a business woman.” And then, -as though stoking up his courage, “Won’t I? I shall.” - -He heaved him up from the steps and wandered off in the direction of the -shrubbery to find comfort with his pigeons. - -It was Duke Nineveh, with his knowledge of human vanity, who won Mrs. -Sheerug. He spoke to her as an artist to an artist, and asked permission -to see her tapestries. He spent an entire afternoon, peering at them -through his monocle. Next day he returned. - -“Colossal! A shame the world shouldn’t know about them! It’s genius--a -lost art recovered. Now, when we’ve built our Beauty Palace, if we could -give an exhibition----” - -So Beauty Incorporated was launched without Mrs. Sheerug’s opposition. -Almost over night the slender white turrets of the Beauty Palace floated -up. Madame Josephine began to appear in the West End, looking no more -than twenty as seen through the traffic. She drove in a white coach, -drawn by white horses, with a powdered coachman and lackeys. The street -stopped to watch her. People went to St. James’s to catch a glimpse of -her as she flashed down The Mall. She became one of the sights of London -and was talked about. - -Hints concerning her romantic career crept into the press. Old scandals -were remembered, always followed by accounts of her beauty discoveries. -Her discoveries, with her portrait for trade-mark, became a part of -the stock-in-trade of every chemist: Madame Josephine’s Hair Restorer; -Madame Josephine’s Face Cream; Madame Josephine’s Nail Polish. At -breakfast when you glanced through your paper, her face gazed out at -you, saying, “YOU Can Be Always Young.” It was on the hoardings, on -the buses, in your theatre program. It was as impossible to escape as -conscience. From morning till night it followed you, always saying, -“YOU Can Be Always Young.” The world became self-conscious. It took to -examining its complexion. It went to The Beauty Palace out of curiosity, -and stayed to spend money. Madame Josephine became the rage: a theme for -dinner conversations--a Personage. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI--DREAMING OF LOVE - -The immediate outcome of this was money--more money than Eden Row had -ever imagined. Mrs. Sheerug refused to leave Orchid Lodge. - -“I’ll help you splash,” she told Alonzo, “but I won’t move out of Orchid -Lodge.” - -As a compromise, Orchid Lodge was re-decorated in violent colors, and a -carriage and pair waited before it. Mrs. Sheerug used her carriage for -hunting up invalids that she might dose them with medicines of her own -invention. She inclined to the garish in her method of dress, wearing -yellow feathers and green plush, as in the old days when Jimmie Boy had -dashed to the window to make sketches of her for the faery-godmother. -And to him she was a faery-godmother, for she bought his pictures and -insisted on having an exhibition of them at The Beauty Palace. - -“Ah, my dear,” she would say, crossing her hands, “God sends us poverty -that we may be kind when our money comes.” - -Was she happy? Teddy wondered. Sometimes he fancied that she coveted -the days of careless uncertainty and happy-go-lucky comfort. One of her -chief hobbies had been taken from her: it was no longer possible to get -into debt And her gifts didn’t mean so much, now that her giving could -be endless. It would be absurd for the wife of the great Alonzo Sheerug -to produce black bottles from under her mantle and thrust them at people -with the information that the contents would “build you up.” She had -to send whole cases of wine now, and there wasn’t the same personal -pleasure. - -She had saved the spare-room from the imagination of the decorators. -More than once Teddy caught her there, shuffling about in her woolen -slippers and plum-colored dressing-gown. She seemed more natural like -that It was so that he loved her best. - -For him the success of Beauty Incorporated brought two results: an -income and a friend. Mr. Sheerug had rewarded his escapade at Brighton -by allotting him shares in the company. The boom increased their value -beyond all expectations; he found himself possessed of over three -hundred pounds per annum. But the more valuable result was the knowledge -of life which he gained from his friendship with Madame Josephine. - -To the world in general she was a notorious woman who had sinned -splendidly and with discretion. She seemed to deny the advantages of -virtue. Was she not beautiful? Was she not young? Hadn’t she wealth? -Teddy had come to an age when youth tests the conventions; it was Madame -Josephine who answered his doubts on the subject. - -The Madame Josephine he knew was a white-haired old lady who liked him -to treat her as a grandmother. She would talk to him by the hour about -books and dead people, and sometimes about love. - -There was an adventure in going to see her, for she only dared to be old -in his presence--to the rest of the world it was her profession to be -young. As Duke Nineveh was always telling her, appearances had to be -kept up. - -She had a secret room at the top of her house to which Teddy alone -was admitted. The servants were ignorant of what went on there. They -invented legends. - -He had to speak his name distinctly; then a chair would be pushed back, -footsteps would sound, and the key would turn. The moment he was across -the threshold, the lock grated behind him. And there, after all these -mysteries, was an old lady, sweet-featured and wistful-looking--an old -lady who an hour before had been admired for her youth by the London -crowds. - -Hanging from the ceiling was a cage with a canary. On the sill were -flower-boxes. From the window, across trees, one could catch a glimpse -of Kensington Gardens and the blown petals of children. It was an old -lady’s room, filled with memories. On the walls were faded photographs -with spidery signatures; on the table a work-basket; beside the table a -rocking chair. - -“Here’s where my soul lives,” she said. “The other person, phew!” Her -hands opened expressively. “She’s the husk. Those who live to please, -must please to live, Teddy. It’s a terrible thing to have to go on -shamming when you’re seventy--shamming you’re gay, shamming you’re -flippant, shamming you’re wicked. So few things matter when you’re -seventy. Money doesn’t.” - -She caught the question in his eyes. “Ah, my dear, but when all your -life has been lived for adoration, you miss it The poison’s in the -blood. At my age one has to pay a long price even for what looks like -love.” - -That was the nearest she ever came to explaining her relations with -Duke Nineveh. She liked to forget him when Teddy was present. It was the -ideality of the boy that appealed to her. She wanted to give wisdom -to his sentiment, to forewarn his courage and to save him from -disappointment It was a strange task for a woman with her record--a -woman who had lived garishly, and was remembered for the careers she -had ruined. Little by little she drew from him the story of Vashti, and -later of Desire. - -He looked up at her smiling, trying to treat his confession lightly. -“Curious how people come into your life and make your dreams for you.” - -She bent over him, taking his hands gently. “Curious! Not curious. -People are the most real dreams we have.” - -“Yes, but----” He hesitated. “Desire’s not as I remember her any longer. -She’s growing up. I wonder what she’s like. If I met her, I might not -recognize her. We might pass in the street, my dream and I. And yet----” - -He lifted his face to hers. “You know I still think of her--of the -price. It’s idiotic, because,” his voice fell, “I know nothing about -girls.” - -She drew him closer. “D’you know what women need most in this world? -Kindness. Good men, like you’ll be,” she seemed to remember, “they’re -harsh sometimes. They make women frightened. A good man’s always better -than the best woman--that’s a truth that few people own to themselves. -If you do find her or any one else, don’t judge--try to understand.” And -later, “Never try to be fair to a woman, Teddy; when a good man tries to -be fair, he’s unjust.” - -From time to time, as they sat together in that locked room, she told -him of herself. She gave him glimpses of passion and the despair of its -ending. “It doesn’t pay. It doesn’t pay,” was the burden of what she -said. One night, it was four years since he had known her, they forgot -to turn on the light. Across the ceiling, like a phantom butterfly, the -flare from the street-lamps fluttered. - -“None of those others that I have told you about were love,” she -whispered. “There was a good man in my life once. Whenever you see a -woman like me, you may be sure of that. It’s the good men who make us -women bad; they expect too much--build their dreams too high. There was -a man----” She fell silent “You’re like him. That’s why.” - -When he was leaving, she put her arms about him. “When you find her, -don’t try to change her. Women long to be trusted. Be content to love.” - -For the time being he tried to satisfy his heart-with work. His passion -to be famous connected itself with his passion to love. He had an -instinct that he must win fame first, and that all the rest would -follow. - -Much of what Madame Josephine told him about women he applied to Vashti. -It made him look on all women with new eyes--the eyes of pity for their -frailty. And all these emotions he wove about the figure of Desire. - -In the writing of his first book--the book which brought him immediate -success, _Life Till Twenty-one_--was un-cannily conscious of her -presence. He would find himself leaving off in a sentence to sketch her -face for one of those quaint little marginal drawings. It was as though -she had come into the room; by listening intently, he would be able -to hear her breathe. Working late at night, he would glance across -his shoulder, half expecting to find her. He told himself that she was -always standing behind him; why he never saw her was because she dodged -in front when he turned his head. It was the old game that she had -played in the farmhouse garden, when she had hidden in the bushes at the -sound of his coming. He explained these fancies by telling himself that -somewhere, out there in the world, she was remembering, and that her -thoughts, flying across the distance, had touched him. - - - - - -BOOK II--THE BOOK OF REVELATION - - - - -CHAPTER I--THE ISLAND VALLEY - -It was a golden summer’s evening. In his little temperamental car -he was chugging through the Quantock Hills. His car was temperamental -chiefly because he had picked it up as a bargain second hand. In his -wanderings of the last month he had established a friendship with it -which was almost human, as a man does with a piece of machinery when he -is lonely. - -When the tour had first been planned it had included Ruddy; but at the -last moment Ruddy had joined a pierrot-troupe, leaving Teddy to set off -by himself. That vacant place at his side reproached him; a two-seater -is so obviously meant for two persons. He had told himself faery-tales -about how he might fill it. Sometimes he had invented a companion -for himself--a girl with gray eyes and bronze-black hair. She seemed -especially real to him when night had fallen and the timid shadows of -lovers pressed back into the hedges as his lamps discovered them on the -road ahead. - -For the past month his mind had been ablaze with an uplifted sense of -beauty. He had come down from London by lazy stages, halting here a -day and there a day to sketch. Every mile of the way the air had been -summer-freighted; the freedom of it had got into his blood. Everywhere -that he had gone he had encountered new surprises--gray cathedral -cities, sleepy villages, the blue sea of Devon; places and things of -which he had only heard, and others which he hadn’t known existed. -Dreams were materializing and stepping out to meet him. Eden Row, with -its recluse atmosphere, was ceasing to be all his world. His emotions -gathered themselves up into an urgent longing--to be young, to live -intensely, to miss nothing. - -To-day he had crossed Exmoor, black with peat and purple with heather, -and was proposing to spend the night at Nether Stowey. He had chosen -Nether Stowey because Coleridge had lived there. He had sent word to -his mother that it was one of the points to which letters could -be forwarded. When he had written his name in the hotel book, the -proprietress looked up. “Oh, so you’re the gentleman!” - -“Why? Have you got such stacks of letters for me?” - -“No. A telegram.” - -He tore it open and read, “_However late, push on to-night to The -Pilgrims? Inn, Glastonbury_.” The signature was “Madame Josephine.” - -He looked to see at what time it had been received. It had arrived at -three o’clock; so it had been waiting for him five hours. - -“I’m sorry I shan’t need that room,” he said. “How far is it to -Glastonbury?” - -“About twenty-three miles. I suppose you’ll stay to dinner, sir? It’s -being served.” - -“I’m afraid not.” - -Without loss of time, he cranked up his engine, jumped into his car and -started. - -“_However late, push on to-night to Glastonbury_.” Why on earth? What -interest could Madame Josephine have in his going to Glastonbury, and -why to-night so especially? He had planned to go there to-morrow--to -make a dream-day of it, full of memories of King Arthur and -reconstructions of chivalrous history and legend. He had intended -reading _The Idyls of the King_ that evening to key himself up to the -proper pitch of enthusiasm. It seemed entirely too modern and not quite -decent, to go racing at the bidding of an unexplained telegram into “The -Island Valley of Avilion, where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow.” - -As he hummed along through the green-gold country he gave himself up to -the mood of enchantment. In the transforming light of the fading sunset -it seemed certain that a bend in the road would bring to view champions -of The Round Table riding together. - -He smiled and shook his head at himself; he hadn’t grown much older -since those old days at Ware. It was this sight that he and Desire had -expected--the sight of knights in clanking armor and ladies with flowing -raiment, sauntering together in a magic world. It had seemed to them -that the enraptured land which their hearts-imagined, must lie just -a little further beyond the hills and hedges. To find it, it was only -necessary to go on and on. - -He recalled how he had read to her those legends as they had lain side -by side, hidden in tall meadow-grasses from Fanner Joseph. He remembered -how they had quarreled when she had said, “I like Sir Launcelot best.” - -“But you mustn’t. King Arthur was the good one. If Sir Launcelot hadn’t -done wrong, everything would have been happy always.” - -“Yes, but if everything had been happy always, there wouldn’t have been -any story, Teddy. I know why you don’t like my loving Sir Launcelot: -it’s because you’re a King Arthur yourself.” - -He laughed. How hurt he had felt at her accusation that he was a proper -person! - -And there was another memory: how, after playing at knights and ladies, -she had tried to make him declare that she was beautiful. “Do you think -I’m beautiful, Teddy?” And he, intent on keeping her vanity hungry, “You -have beautiful hands.” - -He had always promised himself that some day, if they ever met, one of -the first places they would visit should be Glastonbury. It would add a -last chapter to those chivalrous games which they had played together as -children. - -Far away in the orchard valley lights were springing up. Out of the -misty distance came the lowing of cattle. Like a cowled monk, with -peaceful melancholy, the gloaming crept across the meadows. - -As he approached the town, it came as something of a shock to notice -that its outskirts bore signs of newness. But as he drove into the -heart of it, medieval buildings loomed up: gray, night-shrouded towers; -stooping houses with leaded windows; the dusky fragrance of ivy, and -narrow lanes which turned off into the darkness abruptly. Somewhere -in the shadows was Chalice Hill, where the cup of the Last Supper lay -buried. Not far distant, within the Abbey walls, the coffin of King -Arthur was said to have been found. His imagination thrilled to the -antiquity of the legend. - -With reluctance he swung his mind back to the present. Pulling up -outside The Pilgrims’ Inn, he left his car and entered. - -“If you please, has any one been inquiring for me? My name’s Gurney.” - -The landlady inspected him through the office-window. She was a -kind-faced, motherly woman; the result of her inspection pleased her. -She laid down her pen. - -“Gurney! No. Not that I remember.” - -“Puzzling!” He took her into his confidence, handing her the telegram. -“I received that at Nether Stowey. I was going to have stayed there, and -should have come on here to-morrow. But you see what it says, ’However -late, push on to-night to The Pilgrims’ Inn, Glastonbury.’ So--so I -pushed on.” He laughed. - -“This Madame Josephine who signs it,” the landlady was turning the -telegram over, “d’you know her?” - -“Oh, yes. I know her.” - -“I asked because---- Well, ladies do play jokes cm gentlemen. And we’ve -a lot of actor-folk in Glastonbury at present--larky kind of people. -I don’t take much stock in them myself. Shouldn’t think you did by the -look of you.” - -“I don’t.” - -The landlady put her elbows on the desk and crouched her face in her -hands. “I didn’t think you would. These people, they’ve been here a week -for the Arthurian pageant Some of them stay with me; I’ve seen all I -want of ’em. Too free in their manners, that’s what I say. It don’t -seem right for girls and men to be so friendly. I wasn’t brought up that -way. It puts false notions into girls’ heads, that’s what I say. I -suppose you’ve dined already?” - -“I haven’t. I hope it won’t put you to too much trouble.” - -She led the way through the low-ceilinged hostel, explaining its history -as she went. How in the middle-ages it had been the guest-house of the -Abbey and the pilgrims had stayed there at the Abbot’s expense. How they -had two haunted rooms upstairs, in one of which Anne Boleyn had slept. -How the walls were tunneled with secret stairways which led down to -subterranean passages. When the meal had been spread she left him, -promising to let him know if there were any inquiries. - -Odd! All through dinner he kept thinking about it. To have found out -where to reach him Madame Josephine must have inconvenienced herself. -Probably she’d had to send to Orchid Lodge, and Orchid Lodge had had to -send to his mother. She wouldn’t have done all that unless her reason -had been important. - -He went down to the office. “Has any one called yet?” - -“Not yet.” - -He glanced at the clock; it was ten. Nobody would come now. He walked -out into the High Street to garage his car and to take a stroll before -turning in to bed. - -The town lay silent. Here and there a faint light, drifting from a -street-lamp or from behind a curtained window, streaked the darkness. No -people were about. Stars, wheeling high above embattled house-tops, were -the only traffic. - -“The Island Valley of Avilion, where falls not hail, or rain, or any -snow.” The words sang themselves over as he wandered. What if the -telegram had been a bait to lure him back into the past? What if the -door of forgotten ages had opened to him and closed behind him, as in -William Morris’s romance of _The Hollow Land?_ - -He played with the fancy, embroidering its extravagance. To-morrow he -would awake in the ancient hostel to find that the landlady had changed -into a fat old abbot. Pilgrims would be passing to and fro below his -window; ladies on palfreys and palmers whose sandaled feet had brought -them home from the Holy Land. What if he should remain a captive to the -past and never find his way into the present? - -He drew up sharply. Wailing music came to him, made by instruments that -he had never heard before. It rose into a clamor and sank away sobbing. -He tried to follow it, but it seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all in -the same moment It lost itself in the echoing of overhanging walls. At -last, turning down a passage, he traced it to a barnlike building. As he -got there the doors were flung wide and people came pouring out. - -He was amused; he had almost been persuaded that he had stumbled on -the supernatural. Glancing in, he saw the orchestra gathering up their -old-fashioned horns and wind-instruments. The curtain bad been partly -raised; slipping from under it the performers, still in costume, were -climbing down and mingling with the thinning audience. For the moment -the audience seemed the unreal people and the performers the people of -his world. - -He went out into the darkness and stood back a little from the passage -that he might retain the medieval illusion as they passed. He made -guesses at their characters. Here came Sir Galahad in silver armor, -joking with Merlin, who carried his beard across his arm to prevent it -from sweeping the ground. King Arthur, with his sword rattling between -his legs, was running to catch up with Sir Launcelot. The girls were -more difficult to identify; in their long robes, with their bare arms -and plaited hair, there was nothing to distinguish them. As he watched, -he saw one with a crown upon her head. The stones in it glinted as she -approached. Queen Guinevere, he thought. - -She was supple and slight and tall. She walked unhurriedly, with an -air of pride, as though she had not yet shaken off her part. A man -accompanied her. He was speaking earnestly; she gazed straight before -her, taking little notice of what he said. Her hair was brushed back -from her forehead to reveal the curve of her ears and the gleam of her -shoulders. Her garment was of green and gold, caught in at the waist -with a golden girdle; on her feet were golden sandals, which twinkled. -The white intensity of her face and throat shone in the darkness. There -was an ardency about her that arrested attention. - -“It can’t be helped,” she spoke shortly, “so there’s no use talking. -I’ve got to get there, whatever happens.” - -Teddy followed her down the street. At the sound of her voice his heart -had quickened. He wished she would turn her head beneath a lamp that he -might see her clearly. Before The Pilgrims’ Inn there was a crowd; when -he came up to it she had vanished. - -On entering, he found a scene which might have walked out of the brain -of Chaucer, so utterly were the costumes in keeping with the hostel. He -cast his eyes about, seeking for Queen Guinevere. - -As he stood hesitating between pursuing his fancy further or going to -bed, the landlady came out from her office. Catching sight of him, she -elbowed her way towards him. - -“News for me?” he asked. - -“Not exactly.” She frowned slightly. “I thought you said you didn’t know -any of these actor-folk?” - -“I don’t.” - -“Well, there’s one of them in there,” pointing back into the office, -“who’s got a telegram. She says you’re the man she’s expecting, though -she wouldn’t know you from Adam. She says she’s sure you’re the man -because you’ve got a car.” - -“I don’t think I am. But I’ll go and find out.” - -The landlady smiled disapprovingly: “I begin to have my doubts about -you, sir.” - -In the office the girl who had played the part of Guinevere was -standing. The moment he caught her eyes he was certain. Excitement ran -through him like a sword. - -He felt himself trembling. He wanted to rush forward and claim her. He -wanted to go down on his knees to her. Most of all, he wanted to see her -recognize him. But she stood there smilingly distant and gracious. - -“I’m so sorry to trouble you,” she said. “I’m afraid our introduction’s -a trifle unconventional, but I’m in rather a pickle. You see, I want to -go to London to-night. In fact, I must go to London, and there are no -trains till to-morrow. I have a friend who’s---- But there, read my -telegram. It’ll save explan---- to London to-night. In fact, I must go to -London, and there are no trains till to-morrow. I have a friend -who’s---- But there, read my telegram. It’ll save explanations.” - -He took it from her hand and read: - -“_Dear little D.--Got to sail New York to-morrow. Train leaves Euston -at twelve. Have booked your berth. Ask for a man at Pilgrims’ Inn with -telegram signed Madame Josephine. Madame Josephine says, if you ask him -nicely, he’ll bring you to London in his car. Tell him she suggested. -Awful sorry to rush you. Real reason Horace too pressing. My excuse -engagement with Freelevy. Love and kisses. Fluffy._” - -As he reached the end, she came close and took it from him. He could -hear the circlet about her waist jingle; her breath touched him. - -“Your hand’s trembling most awfully.” she laughed. “Is it too much of -a shock?” And then, before he could answer: “Madame Josephine keeps The -Beauty Palace. We go there to be glorified. You know Madame Josephine, -don’t you?” - -“Yes.” His voice hardly came above a whisper. - -“Then, you are the man?” - -Was he the man? He wanted to tell her. He had planned this meeting so -often--staged it with such wealth of romance and tenderness. And this -was how it had happened! - -“Then, you are the man?” - -Perhaps his nod didn’t carry sufficient enthusiasm. She began to explain -and apologize. She made the babies come into her gray eyes, the way she -used to as a child when she wanted anything. “I know it’s a lot to ask -of a stranger, robbing him of his night’s rest and all. But you see I -can’t help it. My friend, Fluffy, is an actress and---- Well, you know -what actresses are--she’s very temperamental Of course that part about -Freelevy may be true. He’s the great American producer. She wouldn’t -tell a downright fib, I’m sure. But the part about Horace is truer; I -expect he’s wanting to marry her and--and the only way she can think -of escaping him and not hurting his feelings---- You understand what I -mean, don’t you? As for me, I have a beautiful mother in America who let -me come abroad with Fluffy; so of course I have to go back with her. You -see, I’m not an actress yet--I’m only an amateur.” She rounded her eyes -and made them very appealing. “If I don’t sail to-morrow, I’ll have to -go back unchaperoned, and that---- Well, it wouldn’t be quite proper for -a young girl. So you will take me to London to-night, won’t you?” - -He burst out laughing. If this wasn’t Desire, it was some one -extraordinarily like her--some one who knew how to use the same dear -inconsequent coaxing arguments. Who but Desire would urge the propriety -of a night ride to London with an unknown man to save the impropriety of -an unchaperoned trip across the Atlantic? - -She spread her fingers against the comers of her mouth to prevent her -lips from smiling. “Why do you laugh? I rather like you when you laugh.” - -He wasn’t going to tell her--at least, not yet. “I thought I’d strike a -bargain with you. If you’ll promise not to change that dress, I’ll take -you.” - -“But why this dress?” - -He hunched his shoulders. “A whim, perhaps.” - -“All right. I’ll go up and pack.” - -She walked slowly out of the office, her brows drawn together with -thought. At the door she turned: - -“You remind me of some one I once knew. I can’t remember who it was. He -used to screw up his shoulders just like that.” - -Before he could make up his mind whether or not to assist her memory, -she was gone. - - - - -CHAPTER II--A SUMMER’S NIGHT - -He had hurried so as not to keep her waiting. By the time he had -brought his car round to the hotel the clocks were striking eleven. He -throttled down his engine; it didn’t seem worth while shutting it off, -since she might appear at any moment. Its muffled throbbing in the -shadowy street seemed the panting of his heart How impatient he was to -see her! Running up the steps, he peered into the hall. - -The landlady approached him with a severe expression. “She sent word -for me to tell you she’d be down directly. These--these are strange -goings-on. Dangerous vagaries, I call them. It’s none of my business--me -not being your mother nor related; but I do hope you know what you’re -doing, young gentleman.” - -The young gentleman laughed. “We shan’t come to any harm,” he assured -her. - -The company was breaking up. The vaulted hall and passages echoed with -laughter, the jingling of armor and snatches of songs. Knights and -ladies were bidding each other extravagant farewells, enacting the -gallantries which went with their parts. Men dropped to one knee and -pressed their lips to slender hands. Flower faces drooped above them -mockingly--and not so mockingly after all, perhaps; for when the Pied -Piper of Love makes his music, any heart that is hungry may follow. -Those of them who were stopping at the inn caught up their lighted -candles. By twos and threes, with backward glances, casting long shadows -on the wall, they drifted up the wide carved stairs. Others, who had -cheaper quarters, sauntered out into the summer stillness. The porter, -like a relentless guardian of morals, stood with his hand upon the door, -waiting sourly for the last of them to be gone. - -Teddy followed them out. As the girls passed beneath the hotel windows, -they dragged on their escorts’ arms, raising their faces and calling -one final good-night to their friends who were getting into bed. Heads -popped out, and stared down between the stars and the pavement. All -kinds of heads. Heads with helmets on. Close-cropped ordinary heads. -Heads which floated in a mist of trailing locks. Some one struck up -a song; there, in the medieval moonlit street, these romance people -danced. Away through the shadows they danced, the booming accompaniment -of the men’s voices growing fainter, fainter, fainter, till at last even -the clear eagerness of the girls’ singing was lost. - -When Teddy turned to reenter the inn, the porter had barred the door. -From the steep wall of windows which rose sheer to the stars all the -different kinds of heads had been withdrawn. The only sound was the -throb-throb-throbbing of the engine like the thump-thump-thumping of his -heart. - -He sat down on the steps to wait for her. She was a terribly long while -in coming. It was nearly half-past eleven. Thirty minutes ago she had -sent him word that she would be down “directly.” - -“Of course,” he told himself, “there’s no need for hurry. It’s about a -hundred and forty miles to London, and we’ve all the night before us.” - -He was trying to decide to ring the bell, when the door opened noisily, -and the porter stumbled out, bringing her luggage. As he helped Teddy -strap it on the back of the car, he answered his questions gruffly: -“Doin’! I don’t know wot she’s doin’. Said she’d be down direckly, which -means whenever she chooses. The inkinsideration of these actresses beats -all. Hurry ’er! Me hurry ’er! No, mister, she’s not the hurryin’ -sort; she hurries other folk instead. I don’t know wot the world’s -comin’ to, I’m sure. Thank you, sir.” He slipped the half-crown into his -pocket “She’s a ’andsome lady; I will say that for ’er.” - -And then she appeared, standing framed in the doorway, with the weak -light from the hall throwing a golden mist about her. Over her head a -hood was drawn, shadowing her features. Her cloak was gathered round -her, so that beneath its folds she was recognizable only by her -slightness. He felt that, however she had disguised herself, there would -have been something in her presence that would have called to him. - -“Have I kept you waiting long?” In the old days her apologies had always -taken the interrogative form; now, as then, she hurried on, not risking -an answer: “You see, I had to say ’good-by’ to everybody. It wouldn’t -have been kind to have slipped off and left them. I felt sure you’d -understand. And I did send down messages. You’re not cross?” - -Cross! She spoke the word caressingly. Her voice sank into a trembling -laugh, as though she herself was aware of the absurdity of such a -question. Her explanation was totally inadequate, and yet how adorable -in its childlike eagerness to conciliate and to avoid unpleasantness! - -“Cross! Why, of course not. I was only anxious--a tiny bit afraid that -you weren’t coming.” - -He sounded so friendly that he convinced her. She sighed contentedly. -“Has it seemed _very_ long?” - -He looked up from inspecting his lamps. She had come down the steps to -the pavement. The porter had entered the hotel; inside he was shooting -the last bolt into its socket. - -He held his breath. In the moon-washed street after all these years he -was alone with her. - -“Without you, waiting would always seem long.” - -She started. Glanced back across her shoulder. The sounds on the other -side of the door had stopped. There was no retreat. Turning to him with -girlish dignity, she said: “It’s very kind of you to have offered to -help me, but---- I don’t want you to say things like that. We’ll enjoy -ourselves much better if we’re sensible.” - -He felt a sudden shame, as though she had accused him of taking -advantage of her defenselessness. All the things he had been on the -point of telling her--he must postpone them. Presently she would -remember; her own heart would tell her. - -“It was foolish of me,” he said humbly. - -She laughed softly and shook back her head. Her hair lay upon her -shoulders like a schoolgirl’s. “There now, we understand each other. -Why do men always spoil things before they’re started by making stupid -love?” - -“Do they?” - -“Well, don’t they?” She smiled tolerantly. “Let’s be friends. If we’re -sensible, we can have such a jolly trip to London--such a lark. No more -sentimentals--promise---- Shake hands on it.” - -As she held out both her hands, the cloak fell open, revealing her -pageant costume. She noticed that his eyes rested on it. “Yes, I kept my -bargain--even to the sandals.” The glimmer of her feet peeped out for a -second beneath the hem of her skirt. “Now, how about making a start?” - -He helped her into the seat which, up to now, had reproached him with -its emptiness. He didn’t have to imagine any longer. - -He climbed in beside her. “Are you warm?” - -“Very comfy.” - -“What time do you want to get there? I can get you there by seven or -eight, doing twenty an hour--that’s to say, if nothing goes wrong.” - -“Do me splendidly. I ought to tell you while I remember: I think this is -awfully decent of you.” - -“Not decent at all” He hesitated. “It’s not decent because--well, -because I always told myself that I’d do something like this some day.” - -“Remember your promise.” She held up a warning finger. - -“You didn’t let me finish. What I meant to say was that, ever since I -was a little kid, I’ve played at rescuing princesses.” - -She looked up at him searchingly, then bit her lip to keep back her -thoughts. “What a queer game to play!” That was all. - -Like a robber bee, seeking honey while the garden of the world slept, -the car sped humming through the silver town. Gray, shuttered houses -faded upon the darkness like a dream that was spent. They were in the -open country now, the white road before them, trees and hedges leaping -to attention like lazy sentinels as the lamps flared on them, and -throwing themselves down to rest again before the droning of the engine -was gone. - -“‘The Island Valley of Avilion, where falls not hail, or rain, or any -snow.’ Know that?” - -She nodded. “It sounds so peaceful, doesn’t it? Like a cold hand laid on -an aching forehead. That’s the way those words have felt to me sometimes -in the glare and bustle of New York. They’ve come to me when I’ve been -walking up Fifth Avenue, and it’s been like a door opening into a green -still orchard, somewhere inside my head.” - -“You’re sorry to leave it? Why should we leave it? Let’s turn back.” - -He slowed down the car. - -“Oh, you foolish! I’ve got to catch my boat to-morrow. And besides----” - She paused and reflected. “Besides, I’m never so very sorry to leave -anything. I’m an odd girl” (The same old phrase, “D’you think I’m an odd -child, Teddy?”) “I’m never too sorry to say good-by. I want to push on -and on. I’m always looking ahead.” - -“To what?” - -“Things.” She glanced away into the vagueness of the ghostly meadows. -“The kind of things that people do look forward to.” - -He wanted to get her to talk about herself--about her past. He could -make sure, then, and tell her--tell her everything without frightening -her. So he said: “I don’t mean people. I mean girls. What kind of things -do girls look forward to?” - -Had she shared his hours of remembering? Had it really been her thoughts -that had touched him in that little room in Eden Row? He stooped his -head nearer to listen. It seemed to him that, above the throbbing of the -engine, he could hear the blood dripping in his heart. - -She stared into his eyes with her old suspicion--the veiled stare, half -hostile, which a girl gives a man when she fears that he is going to -kiss her. - -“Girls look forward to--what kind of things?” she echoed. “I can’t tell. -The same kind of things that men look forward to, I expect. The surprise -things, and--yes, the excitements, most of all.” - -“Like our meeting--it was a surprise thing, wasn’t it?” - -“I suppose so.” She slipped back her cloak from her white shoulders. -“Heaps of things are surprise things like that.” - -It was as though she had said, “This meeting of ours--it’s of no -importance.” He loved her for the way she was treating him. He knew -now why she had dared to risk herself with a man who, so far as her -knowledge went, was a complete stranger. - -They both fell silent. He felt that there was only one thing that he -could talk about, and he didn’t know when or where to start. He wanted -above all things to say nothing only to take her in his arms; to kiss -her lips, her hair, her hands and to kneel to the little sandaled feet -that peeped out from below her queenly robe. He hardly dared to look at -her lest, then and there, he should leave the wheel and do it. All that -his heart asked was to be allowed to touch and reverence her. - -As he stared between the rushing eyes of the car, watching the road -ahead, his imagination painted pictures on the darkness. He saw her -lifting her arms about his neck. He saw her lying close against his -breast. He heard her whispering broken phrases--words which said so much -by leaving so much unsaid. But whenever he stole a glance at her, he saw -her gray eyes closed like a statue’s and her white hands folded. - -He was wasting time--it would so soon be morning. She was going to -America. She must not go, and yet he was helping her. If he could only -find words to tell her. He had never thought it would be so difficult. -Ah, but then he had imagined a child-Desire, just grown a little taller. -But this Desire was different--so self-possessed and calm, with so many -new interests and unknown friends estranging her from the faery-Desire -of the farmhouse garden. - -They passed through Wells, where the cathedral lay like a gigantic -coffin beneath the stars. Having panted up the steep ascent beyond the -town, they commenced the twenty-mile downhill run to Bath. - -He heard a stirring beside him. Her eyes were open, quite near to his -and shining with friendliness. - -“What’s the matter? We’ve both gone silent.” - -“I thought you were tired, so I didn’t disturb you.” - -“Tired! Perhaps I was. But I’m all right now. Isn’t it magic with all -the stars, and the mist and the being away from every one? Don’t you -want to smoke? Here, I’ll hold the wheel while you light a cigarette. -Yes, I know how.” - -She leant across him to do it, her shoulder resting against his arm. The -wind of their going fluttered her hair against his cheek. For a moment -he was possessed with a mad longing to crush her to him. - -“Haven’t you a match?” - -She seemed utterly unconscious of her power to charm; yet instinctively -she used it. - -“All right?” she asked. “I wonder whether you’d mind----” Her finger -went up to her mouth and her gray eyes coaxed him. - -“I shouldn’t mind anything.” - -She shook her head emphatically. “No. I won’t do it. People remember -first impressions. You’d think me fast.” - -“I shouldn’t I couldn’t ever think that.” - -“Are you sure? Well, may I----?” She made a gesture imitative of -withdrawing a cigarette from her lips. “I don’t smoke often--only when I -feel like it. And, oh, I do feel so happy to-night.” - -She lit her cigarette from his, steadying herself with her hand on his -shoulder. Then she lay back, staring up at the fleecy sky where the moon -tipped clouds to a silver glory. She began to sing softly between her -puffs: - - The night has a thousand eyes, - - And the day but one; - - Yet the light of a whole world dies - - With the dying sun.” - -She sang the same verse over three times, pausing between each singing -as if she were repeating a question. - -“Don’t you know the second verse?” he asked unsteadily. - -“Yes, I know it.” - -“Won’t you sing it? The whole meaning of life and everything is in the -last two Unes.” - -“D’you really want me to? I don’t care for it so much because it’s about -love. I don’t think love ever made anybody happy.” - -For a moment he was tempted to argue this heresy. “But sing it,” he -urged. - -In a soft sleepy voice she sang: - - “The mind has a thousand eyes, - - And the heart but one; - - Yet the light of a whole world dies - - When love is done.” - -He waited for her to repeat it When she remained silent, he stopped the -car. She turned to him lazily: “Something gone wrong with the engine?” - -He was certain she knew what had gone wrong, and was equally certain -that she was wilfully pretending to misunderstand him. Far below in the -valley, like a faeryring, the lights of Bath winked and twinkled. The -silence, after the sound of their going, breathed across the country -like a prolonged sighing. How should he tell her? How did men speak -to the women they loved? He turned aside from his purpose and -procrastinated. “Sing it again,” he pleaded, “the last verse. Now, that -everything’s quiet.” - -“No.” She sat up determinedly. “It’s very beautiful; especially that -part about light dying when love is done. But it isn’t true. People -love heaps of times, and each new time they get more sensible. It’s like -climbing a ladder: you see more as you go higher. Besides, that last -verse makes me cry.” - -“Love makes people happy.” His voice was low and trembling. “You -shouldn’t pretend to be a cynic. You’re too beautiful.” - -“Oh, well, perhaps you are right, but----” She threw away her cigarette. -“Please be nice. You don’t know what things I’ve had done to me to make -me talk like that” She touched him on the arm ever so lightly: “When -we’re traveling, we talk so much better. Hadn’t we better be going?” And -then, when they were again humming down the long hill, with the white -lamps scything the shadows: “This really is fun. It’ll be something to -remember.” - -“Something to talk about together,” he said. - -She cuddled herself down into the seat. “Not much time for that with -me sailing for America. But you’ve not told me what you think of my -telegram. Wasn’t it a quaint, jumpy message? That’s just like Fluffy -to decide a problem in five minutes that other people would take five -months over. If she finds that anything’s worrying her, she moves away -from it This Horace, he’s Horace Overbridge, the playwright, and he’s -in love with her. Ever since we landed in April they’ve been going about -together, having motor-trips into the country and picnics on the river, -and--oh, so many good times. Of course I’ve been there, too, to take -care of her. But the trouble is he wants to marry her and, if he did, -he’d never let her do what she likes. He can’t understand that it -means just as much to her to be an actress as it does to him to be a -playwright Men aren’t very understanding. Of course, while they’re not -even engaged, he raves about her acting and helps her all he can. But -she knows perfectly well that all that would end with marriage. And then -she doesn’t love him. So you see----” - -“But you said she’d let him take her about and give her good times.” - -“Why, certainly. If a man chooses to do that it’s his own affair. And -then Fluffy’s very dear and beautiful, and she wouldn’t let many men be -in love with her. You did sound shocked when you said ‘But!’” - -“I was thinking that she hadn’t played fair. She must have led him on. -You don’t think that’s fair, do you?” - -“Fair!” She pursed her lips. “He enjoyed himself while it lasted, and -it’s his own fault if he’s spoilt it.” She threw back her head and -trilled gayly. “Oh, I can see her stamping her little foot and saying, -’No. No. No, Horace.’ And then, I expect, she jumped straight into -a cab and booked our berths on the very first ship that was sailing. -You--you don’t approve of her?” - -“I don’t know her. It wasn’t very thoughtful of her to give you such -short notice.” - -“But if I don’t mind--you see, it’s my business.” - -He shrugged his shoulders. “Then I have no right to mind. But I’m -wondering where you’d have been if I hadn’t turned up.” - -“I! Oh, I’d have hired a car, I suppose, and Fluffy’d have had to pay -for it, or Horace, or somebody.--I wish I could remember who it was -shrugged his shoulders the way you do.” - -“Perhaps it was----” - -He glanced at her and broke off. This didn’t seem the propitious time -to assist her memory. She was frowning. He had displeased her. The -flippancy of Fluffy’s way of loving had cheapened all passion for the -moment. - -They were coming into Bath, with its narrow streets and wide spaces, its -fluted columns and Georgian mansions. - -“When we get into the country on the other side,” he thought, “I’ll tell -her.” - -But on the other side he found that her eyes were shut She lay curled -up, with her child’s face turned towards him and her cheek pillowed -against her hand. - -“Desire,” he whispered. “Desire.” - -She sighed, but her eyes did not open. - -“It’s Teddy. Don’t you remember?” - -She did not stir. - -Very tenderly, lest he should wake her, he tucked her cloak closer, and -buttoned it across her breast. By degrees he pulled the hood up over -her ears and forehead. He stooped to kiss her, but drew back at the last -moment To kiss her, sleeping, seemed too much like theft; “I love you, -dearest,” he whispered. “I love you.” - -She made no answer. - -He drove on, dreaming, through the summer night. - - - - -CHAPTER III--A SUMMER’S MORNING - -Stars were weakening in their shining. He wished she would wake up. It -was still night, but almost imperceptibly a paleness was spreading. The -sky looked mottled. As he passed through an anonymous, shrouded village -a clock was striking. One, two, three! If he kept up this pace, they -would be in London, at the latest, by seven. - -He began to calculate his respite. The boat-train left Euston at noon; -if she allowed him to stay with her to the very last moment, he had--how -much? About nine hours more of her company. - -But probably she wouldn’t let him stay with her. She’d have packing -to do. This Fluffy person would want to carry her off and gossip about -Horace--what he had said to her and what she had said to him, and how -thoroughly justified she was in her treatment of him. And so--he -widened his mouth bitterly--and so she would blow out of his life like -thistledown. This splendid meeting, which had been the dream of -his boyhood, would be wasted--cold-shouldered into oblivion by. -trivialities. - -In his desperation he invented a dozen mad schemes for detaining her. It -was on the cards that his car might break down. Unfortunately it showed -every healthy sign of living beyond its reputation. Well, if it didn’t -do it voluntarily, he might help it--might lose a spark-plug or loosen -something. _He might_, but it wasn’t in him to do it. The moment he met -her truthful gray eyes he’d be sure to shrive his conscience--then she’d -detest him. No, if he was going to be a young Lochinvar, he had far -better play the game boldly--swing off into side-roads and, when she -wakened, explain to her laughingly: “You won’t catch your boat now, -little Desire. I’ve made you lose it on purpose because--because I love -you.” - -Humph! And she’d be amiable, wouldn’t she? Some men might be able to -carry that off. He couldn’t. He’d feel a cur; he’d look it. So he drove -on through the darkness, cursing at every new mile-stone because it -brought him nearer to the hour of parting. - -He wished to heaven she would wake up. While he fumed and fretted, he -built topply air-castles. Couldn’t he marry her--propose clean off the -bat and get it over? Such things had happened. The idea allured him. He -began to reckon his finances to see whether he could afford it. He had -saved seven hundred pounds from his Beauty Incorporated dividends; every -year there would be three hundred more. Then he had his future. His -work was in demand. Several commissions had been offered him. -No fiction-writer since Du Maurier, so the critics told him, had -illustrated his own stories quite so happily. His next book was going -to make him famous--he was sure of it. Oh, yes, so far as money went, he -was eligible. - -From somewhere at the back of his mind a wise voice kept warning: “You -have to live all your life with a woman; marrying’s the least part of -marriage. Go slowly. How d’you know that she isn’t another Fluffy?” - -It was just as though Mrs. Sheerug were talking. He argued angrily -against her disillusions. “But she’s not selfish like Vashti; and, -anyway, you weren’t fair to Vashti. You wouldn’t believe that she was -good--you wouldn’t even let Hal believe it. That was why he lost her.” - -Then Madame Josephine took a hand: “When you find her, don’t try to -change her. Women long to be trusted. Be content to love.” - -He gasped. What a lot Madame Josephine knew about men and women. He was -doing what all men did--and he had promised himself so faithfully to be -the exception. Already he was wanting to change Desire: wanting to make -her give up such friends as Fluffy; wishing she didn’t smoke cigarettes, -though so long as she wasn’t married to him he found it rather -fascinating; feeling shocked that she had trusted a strange man -so carelessly, though, when he happened to be her chance-selected -companion, he had been glad to profit by her carelessness. - -And then--he didn’t like to own it--he felt piqued by her lack of -curiosity. She had taken him so quietly for granted. She hadn’t asked -who he was, or why he, of all men, had been sent to her rescue. Any man -would have done, provided he had had a car. It was A Man with A Car -that she had wanted. When the emergency was ended and he had served his -purpose, she would dismiss him with a polite “Thank you,” and put him -out of her memory. Thistledown--that was what she was. - -He bent over her. Still sleeping! Her red lips were parted, the glint -of her white teeth showing. One hand was beneath her cheek, the other -against her breast like a crumpled petal. Below her eyes the long lashes -made shadows. How sweet she was, how fragile, how trusting--how like -the child-Desire who had snuggled into his arms in the woodland! With a -sudden revulsion he despised his fault-finding. Chivalry and tenderness -leapt up. He must make it a law with himself to believe the highest of -her, whatever happened or had happened. - -He longed to waken her. He imagined how her eyes would tremble on him if -she awoke to find him bent above her hands. But would they? Because he -wasn’t sure, he cursed his inherited reticence. - -Out of the east, driving his misty sheep before him, the shepherd of the -dawn came walking. Like a mischievous dog, with his red tongue lolling, -the sun sprang up and scattered the flock through many pastures. - -Still she slept. - -Outside Reading the engine went wrong. For a moment he hoped---- But, -no, it was nothing serious. In making adjustments he made much more -noise than was necessary. She did not rouse. - -Nearly five o’clock! Other people would claim her in two hours. For -the next forty minutes that thought, that other people would claim her, -provided him with exquisite torture. Some of those other people would be -men--how could any man be near her without loving her? - -He reached Maidenhead and came to the bridge--came to the river winding -like a silver pathway between nose-gays of gayly painted houseboats. - -“Ho-ho!” - -Jamming on the brakes in the middle of the bridge, he brought the car -to a halt. Her hand fluttered up to her mouth in a pretty pretense at -checking the yawn. She rubbed her eyes. “Morning! Didn’t I choose a good -place to wake up? Where are we?” She sat upright. “My, but I am cramped. -And, oh, look at my dress! It’ll embarrass you most horribly when we get -to London. The police’ll think you’re eloping with a faery.” - -He crouched above the wheel, clutching it tightly, fearing what he might -do with his hands. Her casual cheerfulness stifled his words. It was -like a blow across his lips. What he had intended to say was so serious. -His eyes felt hot. He had a vision of himself as a wild unkempt -being, almost primeval, who struggled and panted. He was filled with -a sickening sense of self-despising and dreaded lest at any moment he -might hear her laughing. - -“What a shame!” She stroked his sleeve gently. Her voice was concerned. -“I am a little beast. You’ve been at it all night while I’ve been----” - She rippled into laughter. “Do tell me whether I snored. Why don’t you -say something? You’ll get me frightened; you look most awfully strange -and funny.” And then, softly: “Poor you! You’re very tired.” - -He was like a man turned to stone. She listened for any sound of -footsteps; she might need help. Except for the sunshine, the lapping of -the river and the careless singing of birds, the whole world was empty. - -She swept the hair back from her forehead and gazed away from him. She -mustn’t let him know that he’d upset her. - -“The river! Isn’t it splendid? And all the little curly mists. Why, this -must be Maidenhead. Yes, there’s the place where we hired the boat when -I came here with Horace and Fluffy. I hate to leave it, but---- We’d -better be getting on to London, hadn’t we?” - -He didn’t answer. Slowly she turned and regarded him. Was he sulky, or -ill, or----? - -“I’m doing my best to be pleasant.” There was a hint of tears in the -way she said it. “You won’t let me help you--won’t tell me what’s the -matter. I suppose that’s because I look untidy and ugly.” - -“Princess!” - -Tremblingly he seized her hands. She drew back from him: “Oh, please! -You’re hurting.” - -His eyes had touched hers for a second, penetrating their cloudiness. He -let her slip from his grasp. “I’m sorry. I thought--I thought you were -some one else.” - -He was on the point of starting when she rose and jumped out - -“I’m stiff. Let’s say ’Good-by’ to the dear old Thames. It won’t take -a minute.” And then, over her shoulder, as she leant across the parapet: -“You thought I was some one else. Who knows? Perhaps I am.” - -All that he could see of her was her slight figure and the back of her -pretty head. He went and stood near her, within arm-stretch. - -Without looking at him she asked a question. “Why do you beat about the -bush? Last night you had something on your mind that you wouldn’t tell. -This morning it’s worse. What makes you so timid? I’m only a girl.” - -“Because----” - -“Go on.” - -“Because it’s something that would offend you if you weren’t----” - -She shook her head. “I’m never offended. I’m too understanding. -Perhaps---- Were you fond of this some one?” - -“Fond, I?” The river grew blurred “It was years ago. I was a boy and she -was only a little girl. It’s like a story--like some one I read about, -and then went out to try and discover.” - -A market-cart rumbled across the bridge, mountain-high with vegetables. -When the sound of its going had died out, she moved closer. - -“I knew a boy once who called me ’Princess.’ He used to tell me--it -was a queer, dear thing to tell me--he used to tell me that the babies -came into my eyes when I was happy. But that was only when I’d been -awfully nice to him.” When he stared at her, she nodded. “Really. He -did. I’m not joking.” - -How long had she recognized him? Had she been cruel on purpose? Had she -kept him on tenter-hooks for her own diversion? He laughed softly. It -wasn’t quite the rushing together of two souls that imagination had -painted. And yet, there were compensations: the sleeping houses with -their blinds discreetly lowered; the sparkling river; the spray of -plunging clouds; on the bridge, suspended between sky and river, -this pale queenly sprite of a girl. The golden girdle about her waist -jingled. He took no notice the first time and the second; but the third -it seemed a challenge. He reached out his arm. - -Tossing back her hair, she slipped from him. “Not allowed. You go too -fast; you were too slow at first. Why on earth didn’t you tell me last -night, instead of---- Think what a splendid time we might have had. And -now we’ve only a few hours.” - -He seized her hands and held them, palm to palm. This time she made no -complaint that he hurt. “You’re not going.” He was breathing quickly. -“You’re never going unless----” - -Her half-closed eyes mocked him with their old impishness. “But you -mustn’t hold me like that. It isn’t done in the best families--not in -public, anyway--even by the oldest friends.” - -She broke from him and stepped into the car. “Let’s be nice to each -other. We haven’t been very nice yet.” - -Very nice! He’d sat up all night and tossed his holiday plans to the -winds for her. He grinned to himself as he cranked the engine. This was -the same Desire with a vengeance--the old Desire who had tried to make -people ask pardon when she was the offender. - -They were traveling again. His hands were occupied; he could make love -to her with nothing more alarming than words. She felt safe to lower her -defenses. - -“You were just a little judging last night.” - -“Was I?” - -“Just a little. About Fluffy. You don’t even know her We were stupid to -quarrel.” - -“It wasn’t as bad as that.” - -“It was. You were, oh, so extremely righteous. But I’d have been just -as angry in your defense, or any one else’s whom I liked. I make a loyal -little friend.” - -“Would you truly quarrel in my defense?” - -She patted his hand where it rested on the wheel “Of course I would. But -last night you hurt me so much that---- I wonder if I dare tell you. You -see, it hurt all the more because we’d only just met. I pretended----” - -He finished her sentence: “To be asleep.” - -She bit her lip. “Yes.” - -“Then you heard?” - -“Heard what?” - -“What I said when I buttoned your cloak about you?” She made her eyes -innocently wide. “Did you do that? That was kind.” - -She was dodging him. He knew it; yet he wondered. Had she heard him -whisper that he loved her? If she had---- He glanced sideways; all he -saw was the gleam of her throat through her blowy hair. - -His mind went back across the years. How much he had lost of her--a -child then, a woman now! If they were to bridge the gulf, it would be -wiser to start with memories. - -“I found what you’d written on the window--found it next morning, after -you’d left.” - -“Did I write anything? It’s so long ago. How wonderful that you should -have remembered!” - -“Not wonderful at all. If you’d meant it, you’d remember.” - -She had gone too far with her evasions. Snuggling closer, their -shoulders touching, she bent across him till their eyes met. - -“I did mean it then. But you shouldn’t expect a girl to own it. I can -prove to you that I meant it. I wrote, ’I love you,’ and then, lower -down, ’I love you.’ I’ve--I’ve often thought about you, and about---- -What times we had! D’you remember the bird-catcher and Bones? Poor -Bones! How jealous you were of him, and I expect he’s dead.” She -laughed: “So you needn’t be jealous any longer. And d’you remember how -I would bathe? Shocking, wasn’t it? I thought it would change me from -a girl to a boy. And how I called you King Arthur once, and made you -angry? I think---- No, you won’t like me to say that.” - -He urged her. - -“I think you’re still a King Arthur or else--you wouldn’t have objected -to Fluffy, and you wouldn’t have made such a mess about recognizing me.” - -Stung by the old taunt he grew reckless. “I did tell you. You heard what -I said, but you tricked me by pretending you were sleeping.” - -“A Sir Launcelot wouldn’t have, been put off by pretense. He’d have -shaken me by the shoulders. Oh, don’t look hurt. Let’s talk of something -else. What d’you suppose I’ve been doing with myself?” - -As they drove through the morning country, between hedges cool with dew -and fragrant with opening flowers, she told him. - -“After my father had kidnaped me” (so she knew that Hal was her father!) -“my beautiful mother took me to America. Sometimes we traveled in -Europe, but she was afraid to bring me to England so long as I was -little. This summer’s the first time I’ve been back. She let me come -with Fluffy. I’m going to be an actress--going to start next fall in New -York, I expect, if my mother allows me. Fluffy’s promised to help. She’s -a star. Janice Audrey’s her real name. You must have heard of her. No! -Oh, well, she’s quite famous, even if you haven’t. So you see why it’s -so important for me to sail with her.” - -“You’re not going to sail with her.” - -“I am.” She caught her breath and gazed at him wonderingly. “How -foolish of you! That’s why we’ve driven all night, and----” - -“You’re not going to now.” - -She threw herself back in the seat a little contemptuously. “It’s -nonsense to discuss it. I’d like to know what makes you say it.” - -“Because----- It’s difficult to tell you. Because I couldn’t bear to -lose you the moment we’ve met. I don’t think--well, of course, you can’t -understand what you’ve been in my life. Don’t laugh, Desire; I’m not -flirting--not exaggerating. I’ve always believed that I’d find you. I’ve -lived for that. I’ve worked, and tried to be famous and worthy so -that--so that you’d like me. I had an idea that somewhere, far out in -the world, you were thinking of me and waiting for me.” He glanced at -her shyly. “Were you?” - -She was sitting motionless, staring ahead. - -“Were you?” - -Tears came into her eyes. “It’s very beautiful--what you’ve told me. It -makes me feel---- Oh, I don’t know--that I wish I were better. You see, -you’ve thought of me as a dream-person, as some one very wonderful. I’m -only a reality--an ordinary girl with a little cleverness, who wants to -be an actress. Yes, I’ve thought about you sometimes. Mother and I have -often talked about you--but not in the way you mean, I expect.” - -He thrilled. She had thought about him. She owned it “You couldn’t be -better than you are,” he whispered. - -She shook her head. “You haven’t known me long enough. I’m -disappointing.” - -He smiled incredulously. - -“But I am,” she pouted, with a touch of petulance. “Then I’ll have -to know you long enough. You’ll have to give me the chance to be -disillusioned; that’s only fair. All the while you were sleeping I was -planning a way to keep you from going. At first I hoped the car would -break down. When it didn’t, I was tempted to loosen something so that -we’d get stuck on the road. Not at all a King Arthur trick, that! But -I couldn’t bring myself to do it after you’d trusted me. Then I thought -I’d run off with you--let you wake up in Devon, miles from any railway, -with no time to get back. Somehow, from what I remembered of you, -I didn’t think that that would make you pleasant. Then I had a mad -notion.” - -“What was it?” - -“You won’t laugh at me?” - -“Honest Injun. I promise.” - -“I thought I’d propose to you the moment you woke and we’d get married.” - -“You thought of that all by your little self!” Her voice rose in a -clear carol of music. “You quaint, funny person.” Catching her humor, -he joined in her laughing. “It seemed tremendously possible while you -slept. I even reckoned up my bank-account. But I’ve a real scheme now. -When we ran away from Fanner Joseph, I was going to take you to my -mother. D’you remember?” - -“Well?” - -“Let’s pick up our adventure where we dropped it. I’ll take you to her.” - -“Dreamer! What about my sailing, and my mother waiting for me, and -Fluffy?” - -“Oh, hang Fluffy! She’s always intruding.” - -“That’s not kind. Besides, I don’t want Fluffy hanged. If she were, she -couldn’t help me to be an actress.” - -“But you’re not going to be an actress. I’d hate to think of you being -stared at by any one who could pay the money. An actress marries the -public, but you---- Look here, I’m serious.” - -“You think you are. I never met any one like you. You weave magic cloaks -in your imagination and try to make live people wear them. If the magic -cloaks don’t fit, you’ll be angry. So don’t weave one for me; I warn -you. What’s the time? Then in less than seven hours I sail for America.” - -He felt like a kite, straining toward the clouds, which the hand of a -child was dragging down to earth. Her voice uttered prose, but her eyes -smiled poetry. She seemed to be repeating disenchanted phrases which -she had borrowed without comprehending. Every time he looked at her she -inspired him to flights; but she refused to follow him herself. Because -of that he fell silent. - -Streets commenced. The smoke of freshly kindled fires boiled and bubbled -against the sky. Frowsy maids knelt whitening doorsteps, as though -saying their prayers. Blinds shot up at second-story windows. The world -was getting dressed. It was the hour when dreams ended. - -Desire drew her cloak closer, hiding the green and gold of her romance -attire. - -“I didn’t mean to be horrid. Don’t think that I don’t appreciate----” - -Whatever it was she said was lost in the clatter of a passing tram. - -“You weren’t horrid.” He spoke quietly. “Even if you had been, I -deserved it. I’ve been,” he hesitated and shrugged his shoulders -expressively, “just a little mad. What’s the address? Where am I to -drive you?” - -They had entered Regent’s Park. For a moment the spell of the country -returned. In fields, beyond the canal, sheep were grazing. - -“Can’t we go more slowly?” She touched his arm gently. - -“We can. But, if we do, I’ll have more time to make a fool of myself, -and I’ve done that pretty thoroughly.” - -“I don’t think so.” - -“But I have and I owe you an apology. You see, all my life you’ve been -an inspiration. I’ve imagined you so intensely that I couldn’t treat you -politely as a stranger--as what you call a ’real’ person.” - -Her face trembled. All the mischief had gone out of it. Her hands moved -distressfully as though they wanted to caress him, but didn’t dare. She -crouched her chin against her shoulder and gazed away through the sun -and shadows of the park. - -“I don’t want you to be polite to me,” she faltered. “I don’t think you -understand how difficult it is to be a girl. We neither of us know quite -what we want.” She looked at him wistfully. “Disappointed in me already! -Didn’t I warn you? And yet, if you’d take the trouble to know me, you’d -find that I’m not--not so bad and heartless.” - -“Little Desire, I never thought you were bad and heartless--never for -one moment.” - -The babies came into her eyes and her finger went childishly to her -mouth. “No, you wouldn’t have the right to; but I’m ever so much nicer -than you suspect.” - -He slowed down the engine. His face had gone white beneath its tan. They -were both stirred; they seemed to listen to the beating of each other’s -heart “Give me another chance,” he urged unsteadily. - -“But how? I must sail.” She gazed at him forlornly. “Here we are. You -were going past it.” - -They drew up before a tall, buff-colored house, standing in a terrace. -As though glad to escape from their emotional suspense, she jumped out -the moment they had stopped, ran up the steps and rang the bell. While -she waited for her ring to be answered, she kept her back towards him. -The door was opened by a maid in a white cap and apron. - -“Hulloa, Ethel! So you see I’ve got back. How’s Miss Janice? Busy -packing?” - -“Still in bed, Miss Desire. I was just going up to help her dress.” - -“Out last night with Mr. Horace?” - -“Yes. He’s to be here to breakfast He’s going to the station to see you -off.” - -“All right. I’ll be in in a moment You needn’t stop.” - -She came tripping down the steps to Teddy. He had got out of the car -and had been standing watching her. He had feared that she would glance -across her shoulder and dismiss him with a nod. - -She rested her hand upon his arm and looked up at him timidly with an -expression that was more than pity. The leaves of the park fluttered and -the flakes of sunlight fell. - -“If I wasn’t going----” The rumble of London shook the heavy summer -stillness, hinting at adventures awaiting their exploring. “If only I -wasn’t going---- I’m beginning to like you most awfully, the way I did -once when---- But I must go. I can’t help it You’ll stay to breakfast, -won’t you? Then we can drive to the station together.” - -“I’d like to. But would they like it?” - -“Who? Fluffy and Horace? I don’t suppose so.” - -“Then breakfast with me somewhere else?” - -She played with the temptation, raising his expectations. Then, “No. -I’ve too much to do--packing and all sorts of things. Perhaps you’re -right We’d be awkward with each other before them. We’d better say -’Good-by’ now.” - -But she didn’t say it. Her hand still rested on his arm and the -gold-green leaves of the park fluttered. - -“I can’t let you go like this,” he whispered hoarsely. - -“No. I know it. But what can we do? Poor you! I’m so sorry.” - -Her mood changed swiftly. “Oh, how stupid we are! Give me a pencil and -some paper. Now put your foot on the step of the car and make a table -for me.” - -As she stooped to his knee to write, her hair fell back, exposing the -whiteness of her neck. The familiarity with which she was filling these -last moments sent all his dreams soaring. The daintiness, the slimness, -the elfin beauty of her quickened his longing. His instinct told him -that she was hoping that he would kiss her; but he guessed that, if he -did, she would repulse him. “You go too fast for me,” she had said. -Once again his imagination wove a magic garment and flung it about her -shoulders. There was no one like her. She was called Desire because she -was desired. If love could compel love, she should come into his life. -He vowed to himself that he would win her. - -“There.” - -As he took the paper from her, their fingers touched and clung together. -“What’s this? Your New York address? You mean that we can write to each -other?” - -Her eyes mocked his trouble with tenderness. “That wasn’t what I meant.” - -“Then what?” - -“That you’ll know where to find me when you come to America.” - -“But I can’t I----” - -She broke from him and ran up the steps. As she crossed the threshold -she let her cloak slip from her. He saw again for one fleeting moment -her sandaled feet and her pageant costume. - -The door was closing. Before it shut she kissed the tips of her fingers -to him. - -“You can if you really care.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV--HAUNTED - -He eyed the windows furtively, hoping to catch her peering out. He -commenced to tinker with his engine to give himself an excuse for -delaying. Why hadn’t he accepted her breakfast invitation? Without her -he felt utterly desolate. - -Perhaps, if he stayed there long enough, she would come to him. The -door would open and he would hear her saying shyly, “Ha! So it did break -down!” Of course the sensible thing to do would be to walk boldly up the -steps and ask for her. But love prefers strategy. - -A man came strolling along the terrace. He was in gray flannels, wore a -straw hat and was swinging a cane jauntily. He had a distinct waist-line -and humorous blue eyes. He was the kind of man who keeps a valet. - -“Hulloa! Something wrong?” - -Teddy unstooped his shoulders. “Nothing much. Nothing that I can’t put -right.” - -“Well, I’m going in here.” The man glanced across his shoulder at the -house. “If it’s water you want or anything like that, or if you’d care -to use the phone----” - -Teddy flushed scarlet beneath his tan. So this cheerful looking person -was Horace who, cooperating with Fluffy, had set an example that had -cheapened all love’s values? - -“I won’t trouble you. Thanks all the same.” - -Had he dared, he would have accepted the proffered assistance. But -Desire would guess; they all would guess that he had acted a lie to -gain an entrance. Contempt for the foolishness of his situation made him -hurry. The car made a miraculous recovery--so miraculous that the blue -eyes twinkled with dawning knowledge. - -“Come a long way to judge from the dust! From Glastonbury, perhaps?” - -Teddy jumped to the seat and seized the wheel. “Yes, from Glastonbury,” - he said hastily. - -As he drove away he muttered, “Played me like a trout! He’s no cause to -laugh when he’s been refused himself.” - -From the end of the terrace, he glanced back. The man, with leisurely -self-possession, was entering the house. He felt for him the impotent -envy that Dives in torment felt, when he saw Lazarus lying on Abraham’s -bosom. He tried to jeer himself out of his melancholy. “I’m very young,” - he kept saying. But when he imagined the party of three at breakfast, he -could have wept. - -Now that she had vanished, he remembered only her allurement. Her faults -became attractions: her coldness was modesty; her defense of Fluffy, -loyalty; her unreasonable request that he should come to America, love. -What girl would expect a man to do that unless she loved him? - -The reality of his predicament began to grow upon him. This wasn’t a -romance or a dream he had invented; it had happened. - -In a shadowed spot, overlooking the canal, he halted the car. He must -think matters out--must get a grip on himself before he went further. -Water-carts were going up and down. Well-groomed men were walking -briskly through the park on their way to business. Boys and girls on -bicycles passed him, going out by way of Hampstead for a day in the -country. The absolute normality of life, its level orderliness, thrust -itself upon him. He looked at the sedate rows of houses, showing up -substantially behind sun-drenched branches. He saw their window-boxes, -their whitened doorsteps, their general appearance of permanency. The -men who lived in those houses wouldn’t say to a girl, “I love you,” in -the first half-dozen hours of acquaintance. But neither would the girls -say to a seven-hour-old lover, “Come to America”; they wouldn’t even -say, “Run down to Southend,” for fear of being thought forward. - -How distorted the views seemed to him now that he had held on the -journey up from Glastonbury! They were the result of moonlight and of -the pageant emotions stirred by a medieval world. How preposterously he -had acted! - -He tried to put himself in Desire’s place that he might judge her -fairly. Irresponsible friends send her a telegram, saying that a man -is coming to fetch her. Of course she believes that the man is to be -trusted; but the first thing he does is to make love. In spite of that, -she has to go with him; he is her one chance of getting to London. He -at once commences to take advantage of her; she gets frightened and -pretends to go to sleep in order to escape him. In the morning she -discovers that he’s an old friend, but there’s too little time to -replace the bad impression. At the last moment she feels sorry for -him--begins to feel that she really does care for him; so she says the -only thing possible under the circumstances, “Come to America.” - -Obviously she wasn’t going to give herself away all at once. In that -she had been wise, for, though he had wanted her to, he knew that if she -had, she would have lowered her value. - -But he wished she had shown more curiosity. She’d talked all about -herself and hadn’t asked him a single question. She hadn’t even called -him by his name--not once. - -Then the cloud of his depression lifted. The truth came home to him in -a flash: all these complaints and this unhappiness were proofs positive -that at last he was in love. The splendor of the thought thrilled -him--in love. The curtain had gone up. His long period of lonely waiting -was ended. For him the greatest drama that two souls can stage had -begun. Whither it would lead he could not guess. Everything was a blank -except the present, and that was filled with an aching happiness. She -was going from him. Already she was out of sight and sound; in a few -hours he would be cut off from all communication with her. Yet he was -happy in the knowledge that, however uncertain he might be of her, he -belonged to her irrevocably. He longed to give himself to her service in -complete self-surrender. His work, his ambitions, everything he was or -could be, must be a gift for her. But how to make her understand this, -while there was yet time? - -He drove out of the park, passing by her house. Of her there was no -sign. He wondered what they were doing in there. Was the man with the -blue eyes taking his place and helping to strap her trunks? Or was -he making love to Fluffy, while Desire looked on wistfully and -wished--wished what he himself was wishing? - -“You were a little judging?” - -Yes, he had been judging. It had all taken place so differently from -anything that he had conjectured. She herself was so different from the -Desire he had imagined. All these years he had been preparing for her -coming, but to her his coming had been an accident. That had hurt--hurt -his pride, to have to acknowledge that she had almost forgotten the old -kindnesses. And then she had tantalized him---had taken a pleasure in -treating him lightly. Perhaps all girls did that; it might be their way -of defending themselves. Probably she hadn’t meant one half of what she -had said, and had been trying to shock him. He couldn’t bear that she -should think him narrow or censorious. The more he condemned himself, -the more he longed to convince her of his breadth and generosity. - -He found a florist’s and ordered a quantity of flowers. - -“Shall I enclose your card, sir?” - -“It doesn’t matter.” - -He was afraid that, if she knew for certain they were from him, she -might not accept them. - -“The lady’s leaving Euston on the boat-train for Liverpool, so you must -get them to her at once.” - -“You shall see the boy start, sir. Going on a liner, is the lady, sir?” - -“Yes, to America.” - -“Then, may I make a suggestion?” Desire would have said that the florist -was very understanding; he rubbed his hands and looked out of the window -to avoid any needless causing of embarrassment. “If I might make a -suggestion, sir, I would say it would be very nice to send the lady -seven bouquets--one for every day of the voyage.” - -“But can it be done? I mean, will the flowers keep fresh?” - -“Oh, yes, sir. It’s quite the regular thing. We pack them in seven boxes -and we mark each box for the day on which it’s to be opened. We send -instructions with them for the lady to give to the purser, to keep -them on ice. Usually we slip five shillings into the envelope with the -instructions. Then the lady finds her bouquet waiting for her on her -plate each morning with her breakfast. The idea is that she’ll think -of the gentleman who sent them.” This florist understood too much. He -treated love as a thing that happened every day, which, of course, it -didn’t. Teddy assumed an off-hand manner. “If it won’t take too long to -make up the bouquets, I’ll have them as well.” - -“As well as the cut flowers?” - -“Yes.” - -He helped to select the rosebuds, orchids and violets that were to lie -against her breast It gave him a comforting sense of nearness to her. -When the man’s back was turned he stooped to catch their fragrance and -brushed his lips against their petals. Perhaps she might do the same, -and her lips would touch the flowers where his had touched. By subtler -words than language they would explain to her his love. When she landed -in that far-away New York, he would be with her, for the flowers would -have kept his memory fresh. - -“Certain you won’t send your card, sir? It’s quite etiquette, I assure -you.” - -He shook his head irritably. The man took the hint and became absorbed -in his own affairs. The boxes were tied up, the bill settled. Teddy -watched the boy bicycle away on his errand and envied him the privilege -of ringing her door-bell. - -Breakfast! He hadn’t had any. He was too excited to feel hungry. He -didn’t want to go home yet; he’d have to explain the abrupt ending of -his holiday. He was trying to make up his mind to go to the station -to see her off. As he drove about, killing time, he came to Trafalgar -Square. That made him think of Cockspur Street and the shipping offices. -He pulled up at Ocean House to find out what boats were sailing on that -day. There were three of them, any one of which might be hers. A mad -whim took him. Of course it was out of the question that he should go to -America. How could he explain such a voyage to his parents? He couldn’t -say, “I met Desire for a handful of hours and I’m in love.” Besides, he -would never let any one suspect that he was in love. He wouldn’t even be -able to mention his night ride from Glastonbury. It would sound improper -to people who weren’t romance-people. He could see the pained look -that would steal into his mother’s eyes if he told her. Nevertheless, -although it was quite impossible, he asked for a list of sailings and -made inquiries as to fares. - -Then he drove to Gatti’s for breakfast and a general tidy-up. Something -was the matter with the mirrors this morning. He saw himself with humble -displeasure. Until he had met Desire, he had felt perfectly contented -with his appearance; he had found nothing in it at which to take -offense. But now he began to have a growing sense of injury against the -Almighty. As he sat in the mirrored room, waiting for his meal to be -served, his reflections watched him from half-a-dozen angles. They -seemed to be saying to him, “Poor chap! May as well face up to the fact. -This is how you look; and you expect her to love you.” - -He compared himself with her. He thought of her eyes, her lips, her -hair, the grace of her figure, the wonderful smallness of her hands. Her -voice came back to him--the sultry, emotional, coaxing way she had of -using it The arch self-composure of her manner came back--the glances -half-mocking, half-tender which she knew how to dart from under her long -lashes. She was more elf than woman. - -All her actions and speech were unconsciously calculated to win -affection. Her beauty was without blemish; the memory of her filled him -with self-ridicule. He regarded himself in the mirrors with sorrowful -despising. His face was too long, his eyes too hollow, his mouth too -sensitive--nothing was right. How could she ever bring herself to love -him? How monstrous it seemed to him now that he should have dared to -criticize her! There was only one way to win her approbation--to make -her admire his talent A thought struck him. Leaving his meal untasted, -he ran out in search of a bookshop. - -“A copy of _Life Till Twenty-One_. Yes, by Theodore Gurney. Can you -deliver it?... No, that’s too late. It’s got to be there by eleven. If -you can send a boy now, I’ll give him half-a-crown for his trouble. I’ll -drive him in my car to within a hundred yards of the house. It’s most -important. The people who want it are sailing for America.” - -As the shopman wrapped it up, he remarked, “You were in luck to get a -copy. There’s been a run on it. The publishers are out of stock. This is -our last one.” - -Once again he came within sight of her house. At a discreet distance he -set his messenger down and saw the book delivered. His heart fluttered -as the door opened; she might--it was just possible--she might come out. -But no, all he had was a fleeting glimpse of the maid in the white cap -and apron. - -The moment the deed was done, he was assailed by trepidations. It might -seem egotistical to her, bad taste, vaunting. He could almost hear her -laughing. Oh, well, if she troubled to read it--and surely she would do -that out of curiosity--she would learn exactly how much she had meant -to him. She would see her own face looking out from the pen-and-ink -drawings that dodged up and down the margins. - -Within the next hour he sent her three telegrams. The first simply gave -his address in Eden Row. The second said, “Please write to me.” The -third was a bold optimism, “Perhaps coming.” After that he had to stop, -for the time was approaching when she would be leaving for the station. -The signing of the telegrams gave him much difficulty. The first bore -his signature in full, “Theodore Gurney”; the next was less formal, -“Theodore”; the last touched the chord of memory, “Teddy.” His -difficulty had arisen because he couldn’t remember that she had called -him anything. - -She lived in his thoughts as a phantom--too little as a creature of -flesh and blood. Within the brief space that had elapsed since he had -touched her, she had become again a faery’s child. The sound of her -laughter was in his ears. He imagined how her finger had gone up to her -mouth and the babies had come into her eyes, each time the bell had rung -and something fresh had been handed in to her. “Very queer and dear of -him,” she had said--something like that. - -It was nearly twelve. He was torn between his anxiety to see her and his -shyness at intruding. If he had had only her to face, he would have gone -to Euston; but she’d be surrounded by friends. When it was too late, he -cursed his lack of enterprise. - -Perhaps she had sent him an answer to his telegrams. He hurried back -to Eden Row. As he came in sight of the tree-shadowed street, with the -river gleaming along its length and the staid, sleepy houses lining its -pavement, the calm normality of an orderly world again accused him. To -have suggested to Eden Row a trip to America merely to see a girl would -have sounded like an affront to its sanity. As he passed by Orchid -Lodge, the carriage-and-pair was waiting for Mrs. Sheerug to come out. -For fifteen years she had been going through the same curriculum of -self-imposed duties--playing her harp, working at her tapestries, -scattering her philanthropies. How could he say to her, “I’m going to -America,” without stating an adequate reason? - -His mother met him in the hall. “Why, Teddy, back! What’s the matter? -You didn’t send us warning.” - -“I got tired of roving,” he said. “Has anything come?” - -“Come! No. I forwarded your last letters to Glastonbury. I thought you -were to be there this morning.” - -“So I was to have been, but--I changed my mind suddenly.” - -“You look awfully tired.” - -“I am.” He forced a laugh. “I haven’t slept. I drove all night for -the fun of it. I think I’ll go and lie down.” In the room where he had -passed his boyhood dreaming of her, he sat down to wait for her message. -He looked out of the window. How unaltered everything was, and yet how -different! The pigeons fluttered. In the studio at the bottom of the -garden he could make out the figure of his father, standing before his -easel. Across the wall, Mr. Yaffon carried cans of water back and forth -among his flowers. He remembered the great dread he had had that nothing -would ever happen. And now it had happened--money, reputation, and at -last Desire. He ought to be feeling immensely glad; he was in love--the -make-believe passions of childhood on which he had fed his imagination -were ended. The real thing had come. If he could only have one sign from -her that she cared---- - -He listened. Every time he heard the bell ring he went out on to the -landing and called, “Anything for me? What is it?” - -Afternoon lengthened out. He manufactured reasons for her silence. She -had probably intended to telegraph him from Euston, but had been rushed -at the last minute. She would do it from Liverpool before she sailed. -That would mean that he would hear from her by seven. Anyway she had his -flowers and she had his book--so many things to remind her of him. He -pictured her curled up in a corner of the railway-carriage, blind to the -flying country, deaf to what was going on about her, smiling over the -pages of _Life Till Twenty-One_, and recognizing what poetry he had -brought to his loving of her. She wouldn’t be hard on him any longer for -his behavior on the ride from Glastonbury. She would understand why he -hadn’t liked her to speak of love as though it were flirtation. Perhaps -already she was feeling a little proud of him--nearly as proud as he -felt of her. - -Seven struck on the clock downstairs. Eight, nine, ten! No message would -come till morning now; but he would not let himself believe that she had -not sent one. Probably she had given it to Horace, and he had slipped -it into his pocket and forgotten. Something like that! Or else, being a -girl and afraid to appear forward, she would write a letter on the ship -and send it ashore by the pilot. A letter would seem to her so much less -important than a telegram. - -His mother looked in on her way to bed. “Still up? You’ve been hiding -all evening. What have you been doing? Working?” - -She slipped her arm about his neck and laid her face against his cheek. -She was trying to sympathize--trying to draw him out. What did she -suspect? Instinctively he barricaded his privacy. He felt a cruel -shame that his secret should be guessed. Why he should feel ashamed of -love--of love which was so beautiful--he could not tell. “What have you -been doing, Teddy?” - -He smiled cheerfully. “Doing! I’ve had an idea. A good one. I’ve been -thinking it out.” - -“For your next book?” - -“Perhaps.” - -When she was gone, he turned out his light. He knew she would be -watching for its glow against the trees. If she did not see it, she -would believe him sleeping and her mind would be at rest. Then he seated -himself by the open window in the darkness. - -He thought of Vashti, who had not married Hal. Did Desire know that her -mother had not married? He remembered the horror he had felt when he had -learnt that fact--the chivalrous pity for Desire it had aroused. It -was then that he had planned, when he became a man, to help her in the -paying of the price. And now---- - -He smiled frowningly. She didn’t seem to need his help. She was the -happiest, most radiant person he had ever met. She had found the -intenser world, for which he had always been searching--the world which -is forever somewhere else. His world--his poor little world, which he -had tried to make so fine that he might offer it to her--his world -seemed dull in comparison. - -“Come to America,” she had said, as though the people she knew were -those lucky persons who are at all times free to travel, and never need -to trouble about expense. It hadn’t seemed to enter her head that he -might have obligations or a living to earn. She hadn’t even inquired; -she had just said, “Come to America,” as another might say, “If you care -to call, you’ll find me at home on Fridays.” - -He adored her the more, as is the way with lovers, for the magnificent -inconsequence of her request. It was the standard she set for his need -of her--the proof she required. The more he thought, the more certain he -was of that. - -Next morning brought neither telegram nor letter. All day he stayed -at home, fearing that, if he went out, something might arrive in his -absence. Her silence drove him to distraction. Could it be that she was -offended? Was she annoyed because he had put her into a book? Had she -expected him to turn up at Euston for a final farewell? He must get some -word to her. There were three ships, any one of which might be carrying -her. He went out that evening and addressed a wireless message to her on -each of them: “Thinking of you. Longing to hear from you. Love.” He felt -very discomforted when the clerk, before accepting them, insisted on -reading them over aloud. Again he hoped vainly that she might guess his -suspense--perhaps gauge his by her own--and return a wireless. Nothing. - -The next three weeks were the longest in his memory. He became an expert -on transatlantic sailings. Every day he covered several pages to her. -He filled them with sketches; he put into them all the emotion and -cleverness of which he was capable. He said all the tender and witty -things he had intended to say to her when they met. - -He burlesqued his own shyness. He recalled happenings of the old -farmhouse days which even he had all but forgotten. As an artist he knew -that he was outdoing himself. His letters were masterpieces. He laughed -and cried over some of the passages in the same breath. They couldn’t -fail to move her. When three weeks had elapsed he began to look for an -answer. None came. It was as though she mocked him, saying: “Come to -America if you really care.” - -He grew hurt. For a month he tried the effect of not writing. Then he -tried to forget her, and did his best to become absorbed in his work. -But the old habits of industry had lost their attraction; every day was -a gray emptiness. His quietness seemed irrecoverable. She haunted him. -Sometimes the wind was in her hair and her face was turned from him. -Sometimes her gray eyes watched him cloudily, and her warm red lips -pouted with tender melancholy. He saw her advancing through the starlit -streets of Glastonbury, walking proudly in her queen’s attire. He -saw her in a thousand ways; every one was sweet, and every one was -torturing. - -“This is love,” he told himself; “love which all the inspired people of -the world have painted and described and sung.” - -The odd thing was that, much as it made him suffer, he would not have -been without it. - -His mother noticed his restlessness and would have coaxed hi$ secret -from him, but his lips were obstinately sealed. He could not bring -himself to confess. He resorted to evasions which he felt to be -unworthy. - -Gradually the determination grew up in him to go to America. He sought -for an excuse that would disguise his real purpose. It came to him in a -letter from a New York editor, offering prices, which sounded fabulous -by English standards, for a series of illustrated reminiscences of -childhood similar to those contained in _Life Till Twenty-one_. - -He read the letter aloud at the breakfast table. “I’m going,” he said, -“to talk it over.” - -“Going where?” his father questioned. - -“To America.” - -“Oh, nonsense!” - -He let the subject drop for the time being; but a few days later he -walked out of Ocean House and whistled his way down Cockspur Street -to Trafalgar Square. He halted in the drowsy August sun and pulled -the ticket from his pocket to examine it. He could scarcely credit the -reckless length to which his infatuation had carried him. - -He seemed to see her again, standing on the threshold in her -green-and-gold pageant costume, whispering tauntingly, “Come to America -if you really care.” - -She would have to acknowledge now how much she meant to him. He couldn’t -wait to tell her. Crossing the street to Charing Cross Telegraph Office, -he cabled her the date of his arrival, the ship on which he was sailing -and the one word, “Coming.” Then he turned thoughtfully homeward, to -break the news to Eden Row. - -Her masterly faculty for silence had conquered. - - - - -CHAPTER V--SUSPENSE - -Not until the shores of England had faded behind him did he realize -the decisiveness of the step he had taken. Divorced from his familiar -surroundings, in the No-Man’s-Land of shipboard, he had an opportunity -of taking an outsider’s view of his actions. Now that there was no going -back, a fatalistic calm settled down on him. During the past weeks he -had lived in a tempest of speculations, of wild hopes and unreasonable -doubts. He had had to hide his emotions, and yet had dreaded lest they -were suspected. The fear of ridicule had been heavy upon him. He had -walked on tiptoe, always listening for a voice which never answered. Now -at last he regained self-possession. - -Lying lazily in his steamer-chair, with the sun-dazzled vacancy of ocean -before him, the bigness of life came acutely home to him. Looking back -over his few years, he saw that the supreme need for great living is -charity--to be content to love, as Madame Josephine would put it. He saw -something else: that life has amazing recuperative powers and that no -single defeat is overwhelming. Disappointment only becomes overwhelming -when it is used for bitterness, as it was used by Hal. - -“Life’s an eternal picking one’s self up and going forward,” he told -himself. - -And so, if the unthinkable were to befall him, and he were to fail to -make Desire love him---- He couldn’t believe that love could ever fail -to awaken love--not the kind of love he had for her; but, lest that -disaster should happen and that he might prevent it from crushing -him, he tried not to take the purpose of his voyage too seriously. He -pretended to regard it cavalierly as an adventure. He schooled himself -in the knowledge that he might not be wanted. Except for her having -said, “Come to America if you really care,” he had no grounds for -supposing that she would want him. Why should he be anything to her? She -was only something to him because, by reason of her parentage, she -had appealed powerfully to his imagination at the chivalrous period of -adolescence. He had woven his dreams about her memory, clothed it with -affection and brought it with him up to manhood; then, by pure accident, -he had met her. She herself had warned him that he did not love the -actual Desire, but the magic cloak in which he had enfolded her. -Perhaps most men did that--worshiped a fantastic ideal, till they became -sufficiently humble to set out in search of reality. - -It didn’t follow that, because the child-Desire had cared for him, the -Desire of twenty was still fond of him. It was that supposition that had -made him so precipitate in his own actions, and so unreasonable in his -expectations of hers. She had cared for him so little that she had been -in England since April and hadn’t troubled to discover him. Well, if he -found that she didn’t care for him now, he would make his business the -excuse for his voyage and return directly it was ended. He wasn’t going -to repeat Hal’s humiliating performance and give himself hopelessly. He -couldn’t, if he would. He knew that ultimately, if a woman didn’t choose -to make herself important, his work would take him from her. That, at -least, was his compensation for being an artist and over-sensitive: -when reality had made him suffer, his dreams would again claim him. So, -having assured himself many times that he was calm, he came to believe -that he was fortified against disillusion and would remain unshaken by -it. - -He was living up to her test by coming to America--proving to her beyond -a doubt that he really did care. A few days would be sufficient to let -him know precisely how much that meant to her. At worst, he would have -enriched himself by an experience. And at best--at best, he would have -gained the thing which in all the world was most precious to him. - -Thus armed with the cardboard weapons of a sham cynicism, he allowed -himself to wander, like a knight-errant, still deeper into the haunted -forest of his imagination. And there, as is the way with knight-errants, -he grew impatient with his caution. Why should he strive so desperately -to rein in his passion with doubts--this strange and wonderful passion -that was so new to him? Of course she had wanted him. At this very -moment she was thinking of him--ticking off the hours till they should -be together. If she hadn’t written, hadn’t cabled, had ignored him -entirely, it was because---- Perhaps because in the early stages women -show their love by hiding it, just as men show theirs by displaying it -A man’s excitement is to win; a woman’s to be won. Perhaps! He smiled -humorously; he had invented so many motives for her silence. The obvious -motive he had overlooked--that it was her silence that was compelling -him to her. - -Probably his ardor had frightened her. Their introduction had been so -unusual that it afforded no basis for correspondence, though he had shut -his eyes to that. If Desire were here, and he were to ask her why she -hadn’t written, she would probably crouch her chin against her shoulder -and tell him, “It isn’t done in the best families.” - -It wasn’t. But in New York conditions would be different. Vashti would -be there. Vashti for whom he had saved his marriage-box. Vashti who -could make Mrs. Sheerug believe that she was good only when she sang. -Vashti whose voice was like a beanstalk ladder by which lovers might -escape to the stars. Did she remember _The Garden Enclosed_, and how his -boyish kiss had changed her painted lips from an expression of brooding -to one of kindness? Odd to think of her as Desire’s mother! “My -beautiful mother!” Vashti would be generous; already he was counting on -her alliance. When Desire had her mother’s consent, she would no longer -want to conceal her affection. - -His optimism caught fire. It was a wonderful world to which he was -sailing--a world of enchantment.- She might be on the dock to meet him. -Would she look very altered with her hair done like a woman’s? How would -a modern dress suit her? What fun it would be to go wandering through a -strange city at her side! - -His thoughts ran madly ahead. Marriage!’ Where would they live? Would -Vashti want them to stay in America? Anyway, they’d go back to Eden Row -for their honeymoon. Hal would be happy at last In time he might meet -Vashti. They might learn to love each other afresh, and then---- - -He drew up sharply, assuring himself gravely that all these peeps into -the future were highly problematic. The chances were that in two weeks’ -time he’d be sailing on the return-journey, doing his best to forget -that he had ever believed himself in love. - -The blue trackless days passed quickly, while his mood alternated -between precautionary coldness and passionate anticipation. His thoughts -spread their wings, beating up into the unknown in broad flights of -fancy. - -The last morning. He had scarcely slept. The throb of the engines -was slower. Overhead he could hear the creaking of pulleys, and the -commotion of trunks being raised from the hold and piled upon the deck. -He rose with the first flush of dawn to see the wraith of land stealing -nearer. He had the feeling that, in so doing, he was proving his -loyalty. Somewhere, over there to the westward, her eyes were closed and -she was dreaming of him. It was his old idea that their thoughts could -reach out and touch. - -His heart was in his throat. He paced up and down in a vain endeavor to -keep it quiet. Gulls, skimming the foam with shrill cries, seemed -her messengers. Through the pearl-colored haze white shipping passed -noiselessly. The sun streamed a welcome. - -As they crept up the harbor, he could no longer disguise his excitement. -It nearly choked him. He seemed disembodied; he was a pair of eyes. His -soul ran out before him. He felt sure she would be waiting for him. -He saw nothing of the panting little tugs, which pulled and shoved the -liner to her moorings. He hardly noticed the man-made precipices of New -York, rising like altar-steps to a shrine of turquoise. He was straining -his eyes toward the gaps in the dock-shed, white with clustered -indistinguishable faces. One of them must be hers. It seemed wrong that, -even at this distance, he should not be able to pick her out As they -moved slowly alongside, he kept persuading himself that he had found her -and waved furiously--only to realize that he had been mistaken. - -He passed down the gang-plank with eager eyes, asking himself: “How -shall I greet her? What will she expect me to say to her?” On every -side, friends were darting forward, shaking hands, clasping each other -and not caring who witnessed their emotional gladness. At any minute he -might see her pressing through the crowd. - -He had been searching for her for half-an-hour. “If your friends have -come to meet you,” an official told him, “they’ll look for you where -your baggage is examined. What’s your name? Gurney. Well, they’ll be -waiting for you under the letter G., if they’re waiting anywhere.” - -His luggage had been passed by the inspector. The crowd was thinning. -The only people left were a few flustered passengers who were -having trouble with the customs. His hope was ebbing; after his high -anticipations he was suffering from reaction. Loitering disconsolately -by his trunks, he clutched obstinately at the skirts of his vanishing -optimism. His brain was fertile in producing excuses for why she had not -met him. The news that the ship had docked might not have reached her, -or it might have reached her too late. Perhaps at this very moment she -was hurrying to him, sharing his suspense. - -He wouldn’t leave yet. It would seem as though he blamed her, didn’t -trust her, if she should arrive to find him gone. - -Two hours had elapsed since he had landed. It wasn’t likely that she -would come now. As he drove to the Brevoort, he tried to explain the -situation to himself so that it might appear in its bravest aspect. She -must know that he had landed to-day; if his cable, telling her of his -coming, had failed to be delivered, he would have been notified. And if, -when she had received it, she hadn’t wanted him, she would have replied. -Therefore, she both wanted him and knew that he had landed. He came to -the conclusion that he had hoped for too much in expecting her to meet -him. Until he had got excited, he hadn’t really expected that. It was -only at the last minute that he had persuaded himself she would be -there. To have had to welcome him in public, knowing the purpose of his -voyage and knowing so little about him, would have been embarrassing. -She was waiting for him to go to her home where their meeting would be -private. - -At the Brevoort, the telephone-clerk found the phone-number of her -address. He was trembling as he slipped into the booth. He was going -to hear her voice. What would she say to him--to his daring at having -accepted her challenge; and what would he say to her? He took up the -receiver. - -“I’ve come, Desire. Who’s this? Can’t you guess? It’s the person you -used to call Teddy.” - -He listened. There was a pause. “Hulloa! Are you there?” - -Muffled and metallic the answer came back: “Yes.--But Miss Desire’s not -at home. This is Madame Jodrell’s maid speaking.--No. Madame Jodrell’s -gone out. She won’t be home to lunch. She didn’t say when I was to -expect her.--Has she gone to the dock to meet some one? No. I’m sure she -hasn’t. Will you leave a message?” - -He repeated his name and gave her his address. - -“I’ll tell whichever of them gets home first,” the distant voice assured -him; then he heard the click of the receiver hung up. - -He was bewildered. Things grew more and more discouraging. Desire must -have mistaken the day of his arrival. If not, however pressing her -engagement, she would have left him some word of welcome. - -He had a lonely lunch at a table looking out on Fifth Avenue. From -where he sat he caught a glimpse of Washington Square--a glimpse which -suggested both Paris and London. He was inclined to feel angry; the next -moment he was amused at his petulance. A lover was always in haste. He -wouldn’t let himself feel angry. It would be time enough for that if he -found that she’d led him on a wild-goose chase. Then anger would help -him to forget. In the meanwhile he must take Madame Josephine’s advice -and be content to love. “Women long to be trusted.” Perhaps all this -apparent indifference was a part of Desire’s test; she was trying to -discover how far he would trust her. When he thought of her cloudy gray -eyes, he felt certain that any seeming unkindness wasn’t intended. “I’m -far nicer than you suspect,” she had told him. - -Then, from anger he became all tenderness. What did a little -postponement matter? It would make their meeting all the finer. He -wouldn’t ask her a single accusing question..That was the kind of -thing Hal would have done, spoiling available happiness by a remembered -grievance. Love, if it was worth anything, was a rivalry between two -people to be generous. The man had to set the example; the girl didn’t -dare. - -As he passed out of the hotel, his eye caught a florist’s tucked away -behind the doorway. He ordered some lilies of the valley to be sent to -her. This time he inclosed his card. He smiled. If he took to sending -her presents at the rate he had in London, she’d have no excuse for not -knowing that he had landed. - -“She feedeth among the lilies.” Where had he heard that? As he sauntered -up Fifth Avenue in the ripe September sunlight, the scene drew from -out the shadows of his memory: a little boy standing naked in a -stable-studio, while a piratical-looking wild-haired father worked upon -a canvas and chanted, “‘She feedeth among the lilies. She looketh forth -in the morning, fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as -an army with banners. If a man give all his substance for love he -cannot...’” He remembered how his father had wagged his head at him: -“No, he cannot, Teddy. Yet many waters cannot quench love.” - -“She feedeth among the lilies!” He wished he had sent her a different -kind of flower. - -The magic of the streets took his interest--the elation of being in a -new country. He was conscious of a height, a daring, a vigor which were -novel in his experience. Mountains of concrete and steel met his gaze. -What kind of a people was this who raised soaring palaces, bigger than -cathedrals, and used them as offices? To get to the top must be a day’s -journey. The people who inhabited the highest stories must live among -the clouds and come down for week-ends. He watched the eagerness of -the keen alert faces which hurried past him on the pavements--the quick -tripping step of the girls, and the thin racing look of everybody. The -types of the faces were cosmopolitan, but their expression was one: they -all had the high-wrought look of athletes who were rushing to a future -which would not wait for them. He felt himself caught up, daunted, stung -into vitality, and whirled forward by a wave of monstrous endeavor. - -That afternoon he visited the editor who was the excuse for his journey. -All the while, as he sat talking to him, he kept thinking: “The flowers -will have arrived by now. She’ll know that I have come.” - -He talked prices which should have astounded him; but the only thought -he had was how much this influx of money and reputation would enable him -to do for her. When he had arranged the nature of his contributions, he -was on edge for his interview to end. The moment it was over, he dashed -to the elevator, found the nearest telephone and rang up his hotel. - -“This is Mr. Gurney. Has a message been left for me?” - -“None.” - -Strange. There must be some reason. She would tell him when they met. -Should he call her up? Or go to her house and camp till she came back? -He shook his head. His pride warned him that that wouldn’t be policy. -The next sign must come from her. And then he wondered, was it right -to have either pride or policy when you were in love? It was pride and -policy that had made him waste his chances on that night drive from -Glastonbury. - -He went to see his publisher, who was astonished by his youth and -had had no idea that he was in America. He found himself treated as a -personality--a man to be reckoned with. It was exhilarating, flattering; -but all that it meant to him was something to tell Desire to make her -glad. That was all that any success meant now. - -It was five o’clock when he returned to his hotel. He went to the desk. - -“Any message?” - -The clerk glanced down the row of pigeon-holes and drew out a slip of -paper. - -“A lady called you up.” - -With nervous fingers he took it from him and read: - -“Come to dinner seven forty-five. Vashti Jodrell.” - -From Desire nothing! - - - - -CHAPTER VI--DESIRE’S MOTHER - -The address which Desire had given him was on Riverside Drive. Shortly -after seven he left the Brevoort and climbed to the roof of a passing -bus. The polished asphalt of Fifth Avenue gleamed like a waterway. Round -and unwinking, like tethered moons, arc-lights shone in endless -lines. As he passed through Madison Square, he had a glimpse of -carnival--trolleys streaming like comets, and Broadway seething in a -blaze of light. Then, as though velvet curtains had fallen, again the -quiet. - -With the secret magic and passivity of night, the city had undergone -a change. It had lost its haste. It went on tiptoe now. Tall buildings -stood silent as tombs, quarried from the granite of the dusk. Streets -had become orientalized. A spirit of poetry was abroad. Over the turrets -of this Babylon of a day the wings of Time brooded, shadowing its modern -glare with the pomp of a sombre and mysterious austerity. It had become -a metropolis of dreamers, as fitting a stage as Florence for any tale -that love might choose to tell. - -Vashti! It was a far cry from this September night to the spare-bedroom -at Orchid Lodge, with the red winking eye of the winter’s fire, the -tapestry of Absalom swinging by his hair and the little boy sitting up -in bed, spellbound by the enchantment of a woman’s voice. A far cry to -the marriage-box, to the wistful consultations with Harriet and to that -same ecstasy of love, unfulfillable then, that he was dreaming now! -He wondered how much of his passion for Desire was the outcome of that -ghostly passion for her mother. It was like a faery-story which, with -pauses and diversions, had been telling itself throughout his life. -Vashti had been the enchantress who, by lifting her voice, had created -his hopes and his despairs. Her voice had lured Desire from him in the -darkened silence of the farmhouse. And now, with starry eyes, he was -going to her that she might give him back Desire. - -The coolness and rustling of trees! To his left a river black and silent -To his right a rampart of houses, honey-combed with fire. Flitting on -speedy errands, cars darted through the shadows with staring eyes. He -caught glimpses of women, and of men who sat beside them. Men and women -always and everywhere together! Where were they going? What did they -talk about? With them lovers’ ways were an old story, but with him---- - -The conductor called from the top of the steps and pointed to an -apartment-house. While his name was being telephoned up, he took in his -surroundings. All this was familiar to her. He compared it with Eden -Row, and was filled with hesitations. Everywhere his eye detected -luxury. She might be wealthy. He had never thought of that; he had only -thought of what he could give her. Their ways of life must be utterly -divergent. What had he to offer? And he had come to America to marry -her! - -He was told he was expected. The elevator shot up and halted; the boy -directed him to a door in the passage. As he stood waiting, he heard the -sound of a piano played softly. The moment he was admitted, the playing -stopped. - -In a luxurious room illumined by a solitary shaded lamp, a woman was -seated with her hands upon the keyboard. The window was open and a -breeze rustled the curtains. Distant across the river in the abyss of -night lights twinkled like stars in an inverted firmament. The air was -filled with a summer fragrance: it drifted from a bowl of lilies of the -valley which had been placed on the piano beneath the lamp. - -The woman turned her head slightly; he could just begin to see her -profile. Her voice reached him softly: - -“Don’t speak. I was remembering. It pains, and yet it’s good to -remember--sometimes, Teddy.” - -Her hands commenced to wander, picking out chords, starting little airs, -leaving them abruptly and starting them afresh. - -“I wonder what you look like, and I’m afraid to find out. I’ve always -thought of you as still a little chap, and I don’t want to undeceive -myself. You used to be the faery-tale I told my little girl. ’Tell me -more about Teddy,’ she used to say. And then I’d invent such wonderful -stories. You were our dream-person.--She wouldn’t let you know that for -worlds; you mustn’t let her guess that you know. She’s like that--an odd -girl: she feels far more than she’ll ever express--goes out of her -way to make people misunderstand, to make them think she’s cold and -careless. It’s because---- Can you guess? It’s because she’s afraid -to love too much. Her mother let love have power over her and--she got -hurt. Oh, well!” She shrugged her white shoulders. “No use regretting. -Ah, this brings memories!” - -In a half-voice, like a lark beating up into the clouds, she commenced -to hum to the accompaniment; then took up the words. In the dim-lit -room, with the blackness of night peering in at the window and the -lilies breathing out their exotic fragrance, all the wistful past came -trooping back. He forgot New York, forgot his anxiety and loneliness. -Pictures formed and melted under the spell of her singing. He remembered -his childish elation, when she had carried him back to the tapestried -bedroom, making him believe that she preferred him to Hal. He saw again -the tenderness in her face as she had bent over him by the firelight, -listening expectantly for Hal’s footstep in the passage. He felt again -the despair of his first disillusion, when the great day had been spoilt -and she had driven home with him through the lamp-smirched London night, -begging him to believe that she was good--that she was good whatever -happened. After all these years the memory of that childish tragedy -burnt again intensely. - -Had love hurt her? A strange complaint to hear from Vashti! Hadn’t she -rather hurt herself? Her fatal sweetness must have proved cruel to many -men. - -His mother, Mrs. Sheerug, every one had doubted her. Even Hal doubted -her now--Hal who had promised to follow her through the dark wood that -few women had dared to tread. What had happened to her in the dark wood? -Teddy could only guess; but because she was Desire’s mother, and still -more at this moment because she was singing, he could not help but think -that she was good. At last, after all these years of following, he had -come up with her. Did she need his help? Was she trying to tell him? - -She swung round with a rippling laugh which had tears in it. “Have you -forgiven me, Teddy? A sentimental question! Of all the big sins I’ve -done, that’s the one that I’ve most regretted.--Ah, you’ll not say that -you havel Boys don’t forget things like that.” - -He was filled with an immense compassion for her. Beneath her forced -gayety he suspected heart-hunger. She looked a proud woman, with just -that touch of distinction and mystery that makes for lurement. Her smile -was a mask, rather than a means of self-expression. She would impress a -stranger as being courteously on the defensive, yet anxiously ready for -the excitement of attack. “A woman of experience!” one would say. “A -proficient man-tamer! She fears nothing.” - -Her face was made up; her lips too scarlet. Teddy could see that even in -the half-light. Her figure was finer than in the old days--more rounded -and gracious, but still sinuous in its lines. She possessed to an even -greater extent her dangerous power to fascinate. By a trick of kindness, -which might mean nothing, by a hint of restrained tenderness, she could -quicken the blood and set a man dreaming of goddesses in a riot of -blue seas, and the throb of Pan’s pipes heard distantly in sun-smitten -woodlands. Her eyes spoke of other things to Teddy. They had lost their -old contentment. He recognized in them the questing melancholy that he -had seen in Hal’s. - -She was beautiful--in some ways more beautiful: haunting and -unsatisfying: an instrument for romance; a shuttered house from behind -whose windows there was a continual sense of watching. - -Her forehead was intensely cold and white, contradicting the eagerness -of the rest of her expression. Her brows were like spread wings, -hovering and poised; her eyes vague as sea-clouds till they smiled, -when they flashed with gleams of blue-gray sunlight. Again he wondered -whether his love for Desire was an outcome of this earlier ghostly -passion. They were more than ordinarily alike, even to their gestures. -The hair of both was the color of ancient bronze, dark in the hollows -and burnished at the edges. The mouth of each gave the key to her -character, becoming any shape that an emotion made it: petulant and -unreasonable; kind and gracious and adoring. But there was this great -difference: Desire’s beauty had youth’s conscious certainty of conquest; -in Vashti’s there was the pathetic appeal to be allowed to conquer. Her -throat was still her glory, throbbing like a bird’s and slender as a -flower. Rising from her low-cut gown, it showed in its full perfection. - -She clapped her hands, as Desire would have done, and laughed softly at -the impression she had created. “Nearly old enough to be your mother; -but still vain and pleased because you like me. I dressed especially for -you, my littlest lover. And now--now that I’ve seen you, I’m not sorry -that you’ve grown up.” She stretched out both her hands and drew him -to her. “You’re nice. You’re even nicer. So tall! So brave-looking! And -you’re still a dreamer, Teddy--a little god Love, peering in through the -gate.” - -Suddenly she reached up her arms. “There! Why, you’re blushing, you dear -boy. We’re going to be great friends, you and I and Desire.” - -He wanted to ask about Desire, but he couldn’t bring himself to frame -the question. He listened intently to catch the rustle of her approach. -He expected every minute to see her through the darkness, across the -threshold. Why didn’t Vashti tell him? Was her kindness a subtle way -of apologizing foe Desire’s absence? He had found hidden meanings in -everything that had been said: “She feels far more than she’ll ever -express--goes out of her way to make people misunderstand.” And then: -“We’re going to be great friends, you and I and Desire.” - -Vashti touched his hand gently. “You’ve something on your mind.” - -Would she never be frank with him? - -“On my mind! No, really. It’s only seeing you and finding myself a man. -Last time,” he laughed into her eyes, “it was you that I thought I was -going to marry.” - -“And wouldn’t you now? No, you wouldn’t. I can see that.” - -A gong tinkled faintly. She slipped an arm through his. On the -right-hand side of the passage doors led off. He watched for one of them -to open. When they reached the small paneled dining-room at the far end, -his heart sank: only two places had been set. - -“Let’s make it our day--the day that I promised you. Now tell me -everything. What brought you over?” - -He glanced sharply across the table. Was she poking sly fun at him? -“Brought me over?” - -“Yes. That’s not such an unreasonable question. You can’t persuade me -that you came just to see me, Teddy.” - -“And yet,” he said, “it was partly that.” - -“And the rest?” - -“Work. I’m a writer. I’ve had a little success. Don’t you remember how -I always said I was going to be famous? But aren’t you playing with me? -D’you really mean that you didn’t expect me?” - -Vashti met his eyes quietly. “My baby-girl told me something. But how -did you discover our address?” - -While he answered, he watched her narrowly to catch the flicker of any -tell-tale expression. “When she was in London this summer, she visited -Madame Josephine’s Beauty Parlors. Madame Josephine’s my friend. I’ve -told her a good many things about myself; amongst others---- You spoke -about dream-persons. I’ve had my dream-person for years--ever since I -was at the farmhouse. So there----! She spotted Desire directly.” - -Vashti raised her glass: “To our dream-persons; and may they not -disappoint us when they become realities.” There was a pause. He -trembled on the brink of a confession. The maid entered to change the -dishes. When she had gone, he leant towards Vashti. His voice was husky. -“When shall I see her?” - -Vashti closed her eyes and caught her breath in a quick laugh. “That -depends--depends on how late you stay. Desire’s out at Long Island, -taking part in some amateur theatricals. She may ’phone me up -presently to say she’s stopping the night If she comes back, she’ll have -to get some man to drive her, She won’t arrive till after twelve.” - -He had a curious feeling of impropriety in discussing Desire with her -mother. It was a stupid feeling to have just because, long ago, he had -given Vashti his boyish affection. Yet instinctively he felt that he -might rouse her jealousy if he laid too much stress on his change of -homage. Was that why she was evading him? How much did she know of what -had happened? He began to skirmish for information. - -Speaking carelessly, he said, “So she’s not gone on the stage yet?” - -Vashti betrayed surprise. “She wants to--but, how did you know?” Then, -finding her own explanation: “Madame Josephine again, I suppose. Desire -talks about her ambitions to every one.” - -“You don’t want her to be an actress?” - -“She’ll do what she likes. I shan’t thwart her. I’d much rather---- It’s -funny that I should tell you, Teddy. I’d much rather that she should -marry some nice boy, and have heaps of children. I’d like her to have -all the wholesome things that her mother hasn’t had--the really good -things--not the shams. It’s lonely to be forty and to have no one to -protect you. Unfortunately we don’t find that out till we’re forty, and -we can’t hand on our experience. She’s very young.--Tell me about -yourself. How’s that big father with the bushy head?” - -While they talked of the past a closer sense of comradeship grew up -between them. He told her about Madame Josephine and Duke Nineveh, and -how the wonderful change in their fortunes had occurred. - -“And Mrs. Sheerug,” she asked, “does she still wear green plush and -yellow feathers?” - -“She still wears green plush and yellow feathers. But she does a bit of -splashing now--drives about in a carriage-and-pair. I don’t think she -likes it; she wants to please her Alonzo.--It is good to be able to -speak of Eden Row. Why, I don’t feel a bit homesick now.” - -“Homesick!” She pushed back her chair and rose languidly. Her hand went -slowly to her heart. “My home’s hidden here; it’s an imagined place, -Teddy. I’ve lived always swinging on a perch. How I envy your being able -to feel homesick!--It’s seeing you that’s done it. I want to be young, -young, young again to-night.” - -With the reflected light from the table drifting up across her breast -and her eyes brooding on him through the shadows, she looked both -gorgeous and tragic. He couldn’t think of anything to say; he had -always pictured her as wandering from happiness to happiness. While he -struggled with his silence, a sob escaped her; she hurried from him. - -He followed her into the other room, where the shaded lamp shone softly -on the lilies. Ever since he had entered the apartment, he had had the -sense of a thinness of atmosphere, a temporary quality, a consciousness -of something lacking. He knew what it was that he had missed now; these -rooms were tenanted only by women. - -She was beside the window, with one knee upon the couch, staring out to -where night yawned above the river and lights twinkled, like stars in an -inverted firmament. - -“_Come_.” She slipped her arm about his shoulder. “Wouldn’t you have -loved me once for doing that? Am I terribly older--not quite what you -expected? No, don’t tell me. Don’t lie to me. Life! It goes from us. -When a woman’s lived merely to be beautiful, she’s reached the fag-end -at forty. Seeing you so brave and tall, has brought that home to me. -I’ll have to live whatever life I have left, through the beauty of -Desire now. A little hard for a selfish woman! I trusted to my beauty to -do everything. And I _was_ beautiful when first you knew me.” - -“And you’re still beautiful.” - -“Dear of you to say so! Still beautiful! In a way, yes. But,” she -laughed scornfully, “with an effort--with such an effort. How I’d -love to see myself the way I was when your father painted me. A garden -enclosed, he called me, a spring shut up, a fountain sealed. You see, I -remember. It was my remoteness that attracted then. All the men were at -my feet, even your father. Oh, yes, he was; your mother knew it. -Common men in the street, and little boys like you, and--and poor old -Hal--they’d do anything for me if I raised an eyelash.” - -The maid brought in coffee. - -“Let’s sit down. No, not so far away--quite near to me, for old times’ -sake, my littlest lover. D’you mind if I smoke a cigarette? Mrs. -Sheerug, dear old Mrs. Sheerug, she wouldn’t approve of it. I always -loved her and wanted her to think well of me. She’d never believe that. -You’re a bit shocked yourself. I don’t often do it before my baby-girl. -But tell me,” she sank her voice, “what about Hal?” - -He tried to think of things to tell her. What was there to tell? Good -fortune had worked no change in Hal. Money hadn’t made him happier. He -was a man thrust forward by the years, but always with his face turned -back. - -“Ah,” she whispered, “I know. Don’t go any further. He would be like -that. He lives remembering.” Her grip on Teddy’s hands tightened. “Learn -a lesson. Don’t be kind to women, Teddy. You’ll get no thanks. A woman’s -mean-hearted. If a man’s too good to her, she doesn’t try to be nobly -good in return; she takes advantage. She plays pranks with him--wants to -see how much he’ll forgive her; if he’s still magnanimous, she despises -him. It takes a good woman to appreciate a good man; few women are both -good and beautiful. It wasn’t till Mary Magdalene had lost her looks -that she broke the alabaster box of ointment. What I mean is that -beautiful women are cruel; God gives them too much power. Oh, yes, it’s -true. Desire’s like that--sweetly ungrateful. I can see myself in her. A -man’ll have to be a brute to make her love him.--Ah, you almost hate me! -I wish she could make you hate her so that you’d go home to Eden Row, -and--oh, do big work and marry another Dearie. I’m fond of you, Teddy.” - She let go his hands. “When we’re forty, we beautiful women learn to be -gentle, and--and you thank us, don’t you?” - -She got up and buried her face in the lilies. “Sent them to her, eh? -Hoped you’d find her wearing them.” - -She seated herself at the piano, looking back across her shoulder -and playing while she spoke, as though her hands were a separate -personality. - -“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. There was a garden enclosed--the gates all -locked, and Love gazed in at it! But there came a time when Love grew -tired. While he had waited, the garden had taken no notice. But when he -had gone, all the lilies, and sunflowers, and roses rushed to the gates -and clamored to follow him. But the locks had grown rusty. The garden -which had enclosed itself against Love, found itself shut out from Love. -Tra-la-la! Yea, verily.” - -Her hands lay idle in her lap for a moment. “You mustn’t mind me. It’s -a luxury to indulge in self-pity. I shall be so gay to-morrow you -won’t know me. But just at present I’m wishing,” she mocked her own -melancholy, slanting her eyes at him, “rather wishing I were Mrs. Hal -Sheerug--wishing I were any good domestic woman instead of Vashti, the -singer. And if I were Mrs. Hal, I’d be as much of a curiosity as Eden -Row set down on Broadway.” - -Again she took up her playing. “And yet--and yet life would be tedious -without love. We’re so afraid that love will never come to us, aren’t -we, Teddy? Afraid that our latest chance will be our last. You see, I’m -like that, too; I know all about it. You’re asleep. Perhaps we’re both -asleep--both dreaming of something more splendid than reality. Don’t -let’s wake up--we’ll be unhappy. Let’s go on dreaming together.” - -She ceased speaking, but her hands wandered from melody to melody. She -played very softly. From far below in the darkness the hum of speeding -cars was like the drowsy trumpeting of gnats in an English garden. -Through half-closed eyes he watched her, trying to make himself believe -she was Desire. - -Why had she so deliberately filled his mind with doubts? And Desire--why -had she gone away without mentioning him on the very day that he had -landed? Was it carelessness, or a young girl’s way of impressing him -with her value? “She feels far more than she’ll ever express.” It might -be that--a paradoxical way of showing affection. - -Vashti gazed towards him and nodded, as much as to say, “I know what -thoughts are passing.” She struck three chords. - -What happened next was like arms spread under him, carrying him away and -away from every trouble. “Oh, rest in the Lord, wait patiently for Him.” - Her voice sprang up like a strong white bird; at every beat of its -wings the accompaniment fluttered like the weak wings of small birds -following. “Oh; rest in the Lord”--the white bird rose higher with a -braver confidence and the little birds took courage, plunging deeper -into the grave and gentle stillness. “Oh, rest in the Lord”--it was like -a sigh of contentment traveling back from prepared places. The room grew -silent. - -She was kneeling beside him--kneeling the way his mother would have -knelt, with her arms about him and her face almost touching. - -“I’m really religious, Teddy. Won’t you trust me? Don’t you think that -there must be some good in me when I can sing like that?” It was like a -little child pleading with him. “I’ve tried to turn you back. Desire’s -too young and I don’t think---- But you won’t be turned back; so let me -help you. I don’t know much of what’s happened between you, but----” - -In the hall a key grated. The sound of the door opening. A gust of -laughter--a man’s and a girl’s. - -“Shish! It’s tee-rrifically late.--My goodness, Tom, but you were -reckless! I thought every moment we’d upset.” - -“Some driving, wasn’t it? You oughtn’t to complain. You liked it.” - -“Liked it! I should say so. But Twinkles didn’t like it Poor Twinkles -was mos’ awf’lly scared. Wasn’t ’oo, Twinkles?--Wonder if mother’s in -bed.” - -“Coming. I have a visitor.” - -After Vashti had left him, their voices sank to a whisper. - -So she’d been out with another man! While he had been waiting, almost -counting the seconds, she’d been out with another man! They’d been -driving through the darkness together. Perhaps they’d been making love. -No wonder she hadn’t answered his letters or cables. “Come to America -if you really care.” She had said it lightly and forgotten. It had meant -nothing to her. And here he’d been finding delicate excuses to explain -what was no more than indifference. - -A Pekinese lap-dog waddled in; catching sight of him, it sniffed -contemptuously. It was followed by a boy who had the perky air of -an impudent fox-terrier. He stared at Teddy with an amused gleam of -challenge. - -“Here, all this evening! Oh, what a shame and me out!” It was Desire’s -piping voice. “Get out of the way, Tom, you’re blocking up everything.” - -He saw her--her piquant face alight with welcome. She tripped across the -room, extending both her hands. Her eyes begged him to keep their secret -“It is good of you to visit us so promptly,” she said. “Fancy your -remembering! I didn’t think we’d see you till to-morrow at earliest.” - -She waited for him to help her. Then: “Mother says you’re over on -business. Are you going to be here long?” His sense of injury died down. -He saw only the small penitent face, with its gray eyes and quivering -childish mouth. - -“That depends.” - -“Well, we’ll see heaps of you, won’t we?” - -He couldn’t endure this pretending. He pushed aside her question. “What -are you doing to-morrow?” he asked abruptly. - -“To-morrow! To-morrow!” - -She gazed vaguely round. Her mother came to her rescue. “My baby-girl -never knows what she’s doing tomorrow. She never plans ahead. Better -call her up, Teddy.” - -“Not too early,” Desire smiled poutingly. “I’m awfully tired. And -Twinkles is tired. Isn’t ’oo, Twinkles darling?” She stooped down and -touched the dog’s nose with the tip of her finger. “We shan’t get up -till----” - -“Call up at eleven,” said Vashti. “Before you go, I may as well -introduce you two men. If I don’t, you’ll glower at each other all the -way down in the elevator.” - -He was passing out; Desire touched him on the arm possessingly. -“I couldn’t help it,” she whispered. “We’ll have all to-morrow to -ourselves. You’re not angry?” Angry! As though he’d come all the way to -America to be angry. - -“Couldn’t ever be angry with you,” he whispered back. - - - - -CHAPTER VII--LOVING DESIRE - -During the past two hours since he had breakfasted, he had watched the -telephone as though it were a live thing--as though it were her lips -which might speak to him at any moment He felt that she was there in the -room with him, obstinately keeping silent. - -She had told him not to disturb her till eleven, but he had persuaded -himself that he would hear from her long before that--at nine, perhaps; -at ten, at latest. She had tried to appear offhand in arranging the -appointment because another man had been present He pretended to think -it rather decent of her to have let the chap down so lightly. - -During every minute of the last two hours, he had been expecting to hear -the shrill tinkle of her summons. As he bent above his writing his heart -was in his throat He kept glancing up, telling himself that his sixth -sense had warned him that her voice was already asking its way across -the wires. Though previous premonitions had proved unwarranted, he was -confident that his latest was truly psychic. - -Surely a girl who knew that she was loved wouldn’t sleep away the -freshness of a blue September morning! Curiosity, if nothing better, -would rouse her. It didn’t often happen that a man came three thousand -miles to do his courting. She’d kept him waiting so long. If she felt -one-tenth part of his impatience---- - -He finished his letter to his mother. It was all about his voyage and -the interviews of yesterday. He ought to tell her more--but how, without -telling her too much? - -He scrawled a postscript, “By the way, yesterday I met Vashti”; then -sealed the envelope. By the time an inquiry could be returned, he would -know everything. He would know for certain whether Desire loved him. He -pulled out his watch. A few minutes past ten! To keep his nerves quiet -he made a pretense at working. He would outline the first of his series -of articles. - -But his thoughts wandered. There was no room in his mind for anything -save her. She possessed him. The birdlike inflexions of her voice piped -in his memory; he could hear her laughter, the murmur of her footsteps, -the rustle of her dress. The subtle fragrance of her presence was all -about him. In the silence of his brain she pleaded with him, taunted -him, explained her omissions of consideration. “You don’t know what -things have done to me--don’t know what things have done to me.” - -It was useless; he gave up his attempt. All he had accomplished was to -fill a page with sketches of her face. Here she was as he had seen her -last night, fashionably attired, with her hair like a crown of bronze -upon her forehead. And here as the Guinevere of that bewildering drive, -mystic as the dawn in a web of shadows. And here as the coaxing, elusive -sprite, who had scribbled her heart upon the dusty panes of childhood. - -Would he ever be able to work again, ever be able to pursue any ambition -or any dream in which she did not share? - -He rose restlessly and fumbled for his watch. A minute to eleven! He -stepped across to the telephone. While the boy at the switchboard was -getting his number, he tapped with his foot, consumed with impatience. - -“Madame Jodrell’s apartment?--I want to speak to Miss Desire.--Oh, no, -I’m sure she’s not sleeping. You’re mistaken.” He laughed nervously. -“This is Mr. Gurney. She asked me to ring her up at eleven.” - -Silence. A long wait. “She’ll speak to you, sir.” The clicking of a -new connection. He heard the receiver taken down at the other end and a -curious sound which, after puzzling over, he decided must be the running -of bathwater. - -“Are you there?” - -He listened. - -“Is that you, Desire?” - -No answer. - -Then she gave herself away. Across the wire came to him a stifled yawn, -followed by a bubbling little laugh. - -“Yes, it’s Desire. What a lot of time you’re wasting. A whole -minute! Time enough to decide the destiny of nations. And weren’t you -punctual!--Can you come at once! Certainly not. Can’t you guess where I -am? I shan’t be ready till twelve.--Oh, well, if you don’t mind waiting, -I’ll expect you.” - -He had intended to say more, but she rang off. - -Streets were gilded with sunlight The sky was a smooth shell-like blue, -without a cloud. It seemed much more distant than any sky he had seen in -London. Over London the sky broods companionably; from London streets, -even at their merriest the hint of melancholy is never absent But here, -in New York, he was conscious of an invigorating reckless valor, a -magnificent and lonely daring. It was every man for himself. There was -no friendship between the city and the heavens; as ladders of stone were -set up higher against the blue, the heavens receded in challenge. - -There was a tang of autumn in the air. Leaves on trees began to have -a brittle look. Everything shone: trolley-lines, windows, the slender -height of sky-scrapers. It was a wide day--just the day for adventures. - -As he passed further uptown, he noticed that people walked more -leisurely; men’s faces grew rarer. He had a glimpse of the Park, a -green valley of coolness between the quarried, sun-dazzled crags of -the metropolis. Presently he turned off to the left, down one of -those tunnels hewn between apartment-houses and sacred to the morning -promenades of yapping dogs--proud little useless dogs like Twinkles, -led on leashes by lately-risen mistresses. Then, in a flash, he saw the -Hudson, going from one great quietness to another, sweeping down to the -ocean full-bosomed and maternal from its sanctuary in the hills. - -The elevator-boy seemed to have been warned of his coming; when he gave -his name, he was taken up without suspicious preliminaries. - -“Miss Desire hasn’t finished dressing yet,” the maid told, him. “If -you’ll wait in here, she’ll be with you presently.” - -He was shown into the room in which Vashti had played to him. He hadn’t -taken much notice of it on his previous visit Now, as he tiptoed about -he saw that it was expressive of its occupants’ personalities. It had -a gay, delicate, insubstantial air. It didn’t look lived in. Everything -could be packed up within an hour. It wasn’t a home; it was what Vashti -had called a “perch.” - -The furniture was slight and dainty, as though there for appearance -rather than for use. The sofa by the window seemed the only piece meant -to be sat on. On the table a dwarf Japanese garden was growing. Beside -it lay a copy of _Wisdom and Destiny_, opened and turned face down. -The books within sight were few, for the most part plays and the latest -fiction. They were strewn about with a calculated carelessness. On the -walls was a water-color of the Grand Canal and another of the Bay of -Naples. The rest of the pictures were elaborate photos of actresses, -with spidery signatures scrawled across them. One face predominated: -the face of a beautiful woman, with a vague smile upon her childish, -self-indulgent mouth and a soft mass of hair swathed about her head. She -was taken in a variety of poses, but always with the same vague -smile and always with her face stooping, as though she were trying to -hypnotize the onlooker. One might have supposed that this was the den -of a man who was in love with her. Scratched hurriedly in the corner of -each of her portraits, prefaced by some extravagant sentiment, was the -name “Fluffy.” - -On the piano stood the photo of the only man in the collection, signed -“To my dearest Girl.” - -Teddy paused before it. He recognized the man who had brought Desire -home last night--the man who had kept her from him. “To my -dearest Girl.” He read and re-read it. Was that the secret of her -indifference--that she was in love already? But wouldn’t Vashti have -warned him? He stared his defiance. The more inaccessible she became to -him, the more he felt the need of her. Something of the valor and bright -hardness of the day had entered into his soul. He was like those tall -buildings, climbing more recklessly into the blue every time the sky -receded from them. He didn’t care who claimed her. He was glad that he -would have to fight. She was his by the divine right of the dreamer, -and had been his for years. At whatever sacrifice he would win her. -Inconsistently, the more difficult she became to him, the more certain -he grew of success. - -“Hulloa, King Arthur! Getting impatient? I’ll soon be> with you.” - -He stepped to the door and looked out into the passage. “Impatient! Of -course I’m impatient. Where are you?” - -Her laugh floated back. “Where you’re not allowed to come. You can’t -complain; I told you I wouldn’t be dressed till twelve.” - -“It’s nearer one by now.” - -“Is it? But you’ve nothing to do. If you hunt about, you’ll find some -cigarettes. Make yourself happy.” - -He had hoped she would continue the conversation; but her voice grew -secret as she whispered to her maid. He heard cupboards and drawers -being opened and shut, a snatch of song, and, every now and then, the -infectious gayety of her laughter. - -He came back into the room and smiled at the photo on the piano. “She -mayn’t be in love with me yet, but she’s certainly not in love with -you,” he thought. Then he stood gazing at his unresponsive rival, -wondering how much he could tell. - -He was still intent upon the portrait when she danced across the -threshold, swinging her gloves. - -“Taking a look at Tom? Be careful; you’ll make him jealous.” She slipped -her small hand into his. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you.” - -“D’you mean that--that you’re really glad?” - -Her eyes sparkled with mischief, but she said demurely: “Why shouldn’t -I mean it? I’m always glad to see my friends.--And now, don’t you think -you’ve held my hand long enough? See how lonely it looks, just as if it -were asking me to put on its glove.” - -She tripped over to the window and gazed out. “Isn’t it glorious?--And I -feel so happy--so full of life, so young.” Her back was towards him; she -felt him drawing nearer. “I ought to tell you about my hands before -we know each other better. They have names. The right one is Miss -Self-Reliance, and the left Miss Independence. They’re both of them very -ambitious and--” she swung round, lowering her eyes--“and they don’t -like being held.” He glanced at the photo on the piano. “Did no one ever -hold them?” - -“Hardly any one, truth and honest” She finished the last button and -winked at him solemnly. “Here have I been ready since eleven, sending -you cables and whole gardens of flowers.” She burst out laughing: “I’m -glad you don’t drizzle. Come on, I’m hungry for the sun.” - -As they shot down in the elevator he asked her: “Drizzle! That’s a new -word. What do you mean by it?” - -“You’ll know soon enough.” She nodded. “Sooner or later all men do it. -Tom drizzles most awfully. He drizzled last night, when I didn’t want -him to come up because I thought you’d be in the apartment.” - -“Then you did think that? You hadn’t forgotten that it was the day I -landed?” - -“Forgotten after you’d cabled me! You must think me callous.” - -She gave her shoulders a haughty shrug and ran down the steps into the -sunlight. He followed, inwardly laughing. Already she had taught him one -way of stealing a march on the rest of her suitors. All the other men -grew gloomy--“drizzled,” as she called it--when they fancied that she -had hurt their feelings. He decided, then and there, that under no -provocation whatsoever would he drizzle. She might do what she liked to -him, he would always meet her smiling. _Amor Omnia Vincit_ should be the -legend written on his banner. - -“What shall we do?” She clasped her hands against her throat in a -gesture of ecstasy. - -“Anything you like.” - -“Anything! Really anything? Even something quite expensive?” - -“Hang the expense.” - -“Then come on.” - -He had no idea where she was taking him, and he didn’t care. All places -were alike, so long as he was alone with her. They walked shoulder to -shoulder, their arms just touching. Sometimes in crossing a road they -drew apart and then, as if to apologize for their brief aloofness, -came together with a little bump on the farther pavement. They were -embarrassed, and glad to be embarrassed. When their silences had lasted -too long, they stole furtive glances at each other; when their eyes met, -they smiled archly. - -They had passed through the tunnels where the dogs take their morning -walks, and had come out on to Broadway. Suddenly she stopped and -regarded him with an expression of unutterable calamity. - -“I’ve got to go back.” - -“No, don’t--please.” - -“I must.” - -He scented tragedy--a previous engagement, perhaps. “But why--why, when -we’ve only just met?” - -“I’ve forgotten your lilies. I was going to wear them as--as an -apology.” - -He laughed his relief. “Pooh! There are heaps more.” - -“But it isn’t that. I wouldn’t accept any more. It’s the dear old ones -that I want--the ones you sent me almost the minute you landed.” - -He glanced round sharply; a few doors off he saw a florist’s. “Don’t -go back,” he pleaded. And then, with a frankness which he feared might -offend her: “If you did go back, we might meet other people. I want you -all to myself to-day; I can’t spare a second of you to other persons. -Promise to stop here for me.” - -“But I--perhaps I don’t want to lose a second of you to other persons.” - She rested her hand on his arm lightly. “Where are you going?” - -“Be back before you can say Jack Robinson.” - -He darted off. As he entered the shop, he caught her slow smile of -intelligence forbidding him. - -While the flowers were being arranged, he kept his eyes turned to where -she hovered on the pavement; the anxiety that she might escape him was -not quite gone. He saw her hail a taxi. For a moment he thought---- But, -no, she was having an earnest conversation. - -“It’s all arranged, brother. We’re going to drive down - -“Don’t tell me.” He banged the door and settled himself beside her. -“Life’s much more surprising when you don’t know where you’re going.” He -laid the flowers in her lap. “For you. You won’t refuse them?” - -She bent over them curiously, as though she hadn’t the least idea what -he had been purchasing. As she stripped the paper from them and the -white cup of the blossoms began to appear, she frowned severely. - -“Lilies of the valley! You’re too good. You spoil me. And now you’ll -think that I was asking for them. No. I won’t wear them.” - -Having registered her protest, she at once rewarded him with her -fluttering delight as she turned back her coatee and tried several -effects before finally deciding where to fasten them. - -While he had walked at her side, he had been too embarrassed to take -much notice of how she was dressed. - -Now that her attention was occupied, he grew bold to examine her toilet. - -Her beauty was a subtle, intoxicating perfume, like incense suggesting -the spirit of worship. She was different from his mother--different even -from Vashti, and from any woman that he had known. Her difference might -not be the result of virtues--might even be due to omitted qualities. -He did not stop to analyze; to him the very newness of her type was a -fascination. - -Nothing that she wore was useful. It was perishable as a spring garden. -A shower of rain, and it would be eternally ruined. None of it could be -employed as second-best when its first freshness was gone. It couldn’t -even be given to the poor: her attire was too modish--it bespoke luxury -and marked the wearer’s class in society. Her clothes were the whim of -the moment--utterly uneconomic. If Mrs. Sheerug had had to pass judgment -on them, she would have said that they weren’t sensible. - -In the exact sense they weren’t even clothing; they were adornments, -planned with a view to exposing quite as much as to concealing the -person. To enhance the effect of beauty was their sole purpose. - -The skirt was a creamy shade of muslin, with small green and blue -flowers dotted over it. It was thin and blowy, and so modeled as to -pronounce rather than to hide the lines of the figure. A pair of pretty -feet peeped from under; the kind of feet that demand a carriage and are -not meant for walking. They were clad in gossamer silk-stockings; the -shoes seemed to have been designed for dancing and were absurdly high -in the heel. Both shoes and stockings exactly matched the creamy tint of -the muslin. Teddy thought with joy that any one who wore them would be -in constant need of a man’s protection. There would be many puddles in -life over which, with such shoes, she would require to be carried. - -The coatee was of apple-green satin, turned back from the neck and -belted in at the waist, revealing a gauzy blouse cut into a low V-shape, -so as to display the gentle breathing of the throat and breast. - -His eyes stole up to her face. It was shadowed by a broad hat of limp -straw, trimmed with dog-roses and trailing cherry-colored ribbon. On -her fresh young cheeks was the faintest dust of powder, giving to them -a false bloom and smoothness. He wondered why she did that, when her -unaided complexion would have been so much more attractive. Below her -left eye was a beauty-patch. Behind her left ear hung a tremulous curl, -which added a touch of demure quaintness. In appearance she was like -to one of Lely’s portraits of the beauties of the Cavalier period--to a -Nell Gwynn, whose very aspect of innocence made her latent naughtiness -the more provocative. - -Though he was exceptionally ignorant of the feminine arts and familiar -only with domestic types of women, Teddy thought that he now understood -why she had taken two hours to dress. For his sake she had made herself -a work of art. It was as though she had told him, “I want you to like -me better than any girl in the world, Teddy”--only, for some unexplained -reason, she had avoided calling him Teddy as yet. - -He sat watching her as she pinned the lilies against her breast How -pretty her hair was, with its reddish tinge like specks of gold shining -through its blackness! And her ears--they were like pale petals enmeshed -within her tresses. - -He couldn’t blame her if other men had loved her first; but he wished -they hadn’t. The knowledge had come as a shock. - -“Been inspecting me for quite some time! Do I meet with monsieur’s -approval?” She leant her head at a perky angle and glanced up at him. - -“Approval! My mind was made up before I started. I didn’t come to -America to----” - -“No, I know.” She cut him short. “Mother told me: you’re a gree-at -success. You came on business.--Please don’t interrupt; I’ve something -most important to tell you. I do want you to approve of me to-day-- -to-day most especially. That’s why I didn’t get up till eleven.” She saw -the smile creeping round the edges of his mouth. “I didn’t mean that the -way you thought. You’re looking sarcastic and--and I hate sarcastic -persons. I stayed in bed to get rested that I might look my prettiest, -because----- Presently I’ll tell you. I’ve done something terrible; No, -I won’t tell you now--later. But promise you’ll forgive me.” - -“Forgive you!” His voice trembled. Had he dared, he would have slipped -his arm about her; but she had huddled herself closer into her corner. -“I’ll forgive you anything, if you’ll do one thing to please me.” - -He waited for her to ask him what it was; but her strategic faculty for -silence again asserted itself. She sat, not looking at him, with her -eyes shaded. - -It was a childish longing that prompted him to make his request. “I want -to see your hands,” he whispered. “They’re so beautiful. It’s a shame -to keep them covered. On my word of honor,” he sank his voice, “I -won’t--won’t take advantage.” - -She considered poutingly whether she would grant the favor. - -“The first I’ve ever asked,” he urged. - -The smile came like sunshine flashing through cloud. “That kind is -rarely the last.” - -She pulled off the glove from her right-hand, Miss Self-Reliance, -because it was furthest from him. - -“When I was very little,” she said, “I used to ask you whether I was -pretty. You used to drizzle in those days; all you’d tell me was, ’You -have beautiful hands.’ Then Bones and I would steal away and cry in the -currant-bushes. D’you remember?” - -“I must have been a grudging little beast.” - -“No, you were a nice boy when you weren’t quite horrid. But if I were to -ask you now, ’Do you think I’m pretty?’ Please don’t answer. I’m not -asking. But because of all that--the times we used to have--let’s be -good playfellows while it lasts. We won’t say silly things or do silly -things. Let’s be tremendously sensible. There! That’s a bargain.” - -It wasn’t. If being in love wasn’t sensible, the last thing he wanted -was to be sensible. He hadn’t come to America to be sensible in her -meaning of the word. But the swiftness with which she took his consent -for granted left no room for argument. She might mistake his arguing -for drizzling--the fault which she held the most in contempt. So he kept -both his tongue and his hands quiet, doing his best to forget all the -ardent scenes which his imagination had conjured. - -The lonely distance in the taxi between his corner and hers seemed to -have widened. They passed over a long cat’s-cradle of girders, spanning -the East River. She didn’t speak. She sat with her ungloved hand before -her eyes and her face averted. Any stranger who had glanced in on them -at that moment would have said they had quarreled. It felt very much -like it to Teddy. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII--FAITH RENEWS ITSELF - -They had traveled for fully twenty minutes in silence; to Teddy it -had seemed as many hours. The patches of waste-land with hoardings, -advertising chewing-gums and New York plays, were growing less frequent. -A sea-look was softening the blueness of the sky. The greenness by the -roadside remained unmarred for longer and longer stretches. They skirted -a little bay, where power-boats lay tethered to buoys and a white-winged -yacht was spreading sail. They panted through a town of scattered wooden -houses, cool with lawns and shadowy with trees. Then they came to a -sandy turf-land, across which a horseman distantly galloped, leaping -ditches and hurdles. - -He paid scant attention to his changing surroundings. He kept gazing at -the girl at his side. He feared to raise his eyes from her for a second, -lest she should drift away like thistledown. - -Was she asleep or pretending? Why should she be asleep, when they had -so much to say and she had been up for barely three hours? Her ungloved -hand screened her eyes. He suspected that she was spying on him through -her fingers. Did it amuse her to torment him with silence? She had done -that with variations from the moment of their meeting at Glastonbury. -He couldn’t understand her motive in trying to make him wretched. His -impulse, if he liked people, was to make them glad. He became ingenious -in unearthing reasons for her conduct. Perhaps she was getting ready to -confess the thing for which she had to ask his forgiveness. Perhaps she -was offended by his request that she should remove her glove. But she -hadn’t seemed offended at the time of asking. And, if she were, how -trivial! She need only have refused him. She’d given him far graver -causes for offense. - -He had reached this point in his despair, when suddenly she uncovered -her face and sat up vivaciously. - -“Smell the sea! Cheer up. We’re nearly there.” - -Darting out her hand, she patted his knee, laughing gayly at her -familiarity. - -“You are restful You don’t expect me to chatter all the time. People -need to be very good friends to be able to sit silent. I know men who’d -be quite snappy if I---- But you’re different.” - -She spoke caressingly, giving him credit for a delicacy which he did not -merit. He felt cheap in the accepting of it He wasn’t at all convinced -of her sincerity. He had the uncomfortable sense that she was aware that -he wasn’t convinced of it. - -“Poor you! You do look squashed. One would think you weren’t enjoying -yourself. Was it really only business that brought you to America?” - -He smiled crookedly, making a lame effort to clamber back to her level -of high spirits. “Didn’t you arrange that we were going only to be -sensible?” - -She clasped her hands and gazed at him wistfully. “But we needn’t be -sensible quite always; it wouldn’t be fun. Besides, if it was just -business that brought you over, I ought to know, because----” - -“Because,” he laughed, “if it was just business, then it wasn’t you that -brought me. And, if it wasn’t you, I’ll be going back directly. If it -was just business, the only way you could make me stop longer would be -by being more lavish with your sweetness. You’ve not changed. Desire; -you’re still the dear, imperious Princess, always kindest at the moment -of parting.’’ - -“Now you’re drizzling.” - -“I’m not. But you push me over precipices for the sheer joy of making me -thank you when you pull me back to safety. I’m most happy to thank you, -little Desire; but I’d be ever so much obliged if you wouldn’t try such -risky experiments. You see, you know you’re going to rescue me, but I’m -never certain.” - -She drooped towards him fluttering with merriment “Oh, youl What a lot -you know!” - -With a quick transition of mood, she sat erect and became severely -solemn. “I shan’t be nice all day unless you tell me. But if you do tell -me----” The blank was wisely left for his imagination to fill in with -eloquent promises. Then, putting all her charm into the question, “Why -did you come?” - -He looked away, ashamed that she should see his unshared emotion. “You -know already.” - -“But I’d rather hear it from your lips. It isn’t half as exciting to -have to take things for granted.” - -“If you must have it, I came because of you.” - -“And not one scrap because of business?” - -“Not one scrap because of business. Business was my excuse to my people. -I had to tell them something.” - -He was staring at her now. His soul stood beckoning in the windows of -his eyes, watching for an answering signal. - -It was her turn to glance away. She had wakened something which both -thrilled and frightened her. She took refuge in disappointment. - -“Then you didn’t mention me to them. My father doesn’t know. I wonder -why you didn’t mention me. Was it because they--all those old-fashioned -people--wouldn’t think me good enough?--No. No. Don’t touch me. -Perhaps, after all, it’s better to be sensible. Let’s talk of something -else.” - -“We’ve got to finish this now that you’ve started it.” His face was -stern and he spoke determinedly. “I’d have passed over everything, -for your sake, Princess-gone on pretending to take things for granted. -But-d’you think you’re fair to me? You said, ‘Come to America if you -really care.’ I thought that meant that you’d begun to care.-I hope it -does.” - -She crossed her feet and resigned herself to the danger she had courted. -“You’re spoiling a most glorious day; but I suppose it’s best to get -things off one’s chest.” Then, in a composed, cool little voice, “Well?” - -He surprised himself by a touch of anger. It came and was gone like a -flicker of lightning. - -“I’ve obeyed you,” he said slowly; “I’ve come. I’ve done everything -decent that I could think of to keep you reminded of me. Since we said -’Good-by,’ I’ve known nothing but purgatory. Even happy things haven’t -been happy, because you weren’t there to share. That’s the way I feel -about you, Desire: whatever I am or can be must be for you. But you---- -From the moment you sailed out of Liverpool, you dropped me. You didn’t -answer my letters. You went out of New York the day I landed, leaving no -message. When we met last night for five minutes, you were with another -man. This morning for about half-an-hour you did seem glad, but since -then----” - -He bit his lips and watched her. Outwardly she seemed utterly unmoved. -“Shall I go on?” - -“Just as you like.” - -His words came with a rush. “This means too much to me; it’s all or -nothing. If it means nothing to you, say so. I’m not playing. I can -go away now--there’s time; soon you’ll have become too much a part of -me.--When you’ve forced me up to the point of being frank, you say, -’Let’s talk of something else.’ Can’t you understand that you’re -becoming my religion--that I do everything thinking, ’This’ll make her -happy,’ and dream about you day and night?” - -She sat beside him motionless. He had expected her either to surrender -or to show resentment. She made no attempt to alter her position; their -shoulders were still touching. - -At last, when he had come to the breaking-point, she lifted her grave -gray eyes. “You’re foolish,” she said quietly. “Of course I’m glad of -you. But you’ll spoil everything by being in such a hurry. You don’t -know what kind of a girl I am. We’ve not been together twenty-four hours -all told, and yet that’s been long enough to teach me that we’re totally -unlike. I’m temperamental---one of those girls who alter with the -fashions. You’re one of the people who never change. You’re the same -nice boy I used to play with, and fancy that--oh, that on some far-off -day I might marry. You’re nearly famous, so mother says. I want to be -famous, too; but I’m younger than you--I’ve not had time. But I know -much more about the world. Don’t be hurt when I say it: your ideas -about love and your generosity, and everything you do, make me feel that -you’re such a child. I like you for it,” she added quickly. - -Then, speaking in a puzzled way: “You make things difficult. I shouldn’t -be doing right by encouraging you, and----” She faltered over her words. -The innocent kindness shone in her eyes. “And I can’t bear to send you -away. I don’t know what to do. I’d have encouraged you if I’d written to -thank you for those flowers, shouldn’t I? But they made me just as happy -as---- I was a regular baby over them. Every morning they lay there on -my plate and I wore them the whole day. Fluffy used to chaff me. You -don’t like Fluffy.” She winked at him provokingly. “Oh, no, you don’t! -You think actresses improper persons. You needn’t deny it.--And I do so -want to be an actress, so as to prove to my father and Mrs. Sheerug, and -all the lot of them, that I’m worth knowing. Can’t you understand? After -I’m great, I might be content to chuck the stage and become only a -simple good little wife.” - -“Wouldn’t it be as fine,” he whispered, “to share some one else’s -success?” - -She gazed at him wisely. “Philanthropic egotist! You know it wouldn’t. -Own up--don’t you know it wouldn’t?” - -“For a man it wouldn’t,” he conceded ruefully. - -She smiled vaguely. “Then why for a woman? Only love could make it -different. You believe in love at first sight. I don’t At least, I’m not -sure about it.” - -“But you can’t call ours love at first sight.” - -“Ours!” She raised her brows. “Yours was. You had your magic cloak ready -to pop over me the moment you thought you’d found me. I’m only a lay -figure.” - -“You’re not,” he protested hotly. “If you’d read my book, you’d know -that. Your face is on every page.” - -“A lay figure,” she repeated imperturbably. - -She did not gratify his curiosity as to whether she had read _Life Till -Twenty-one._ He waited. At last, driven to desperation, he asked, “What -am I to do?” - -“Do?” - -“Yes. I’ve nothing to keep me in America; I had nothing to bring me -over except you. If I stay here and don’t give my people an explanation, -they’ll begin to wonder. It won’t be playing the game. So if you don’t -care----” - -She laughed so gayly that she made all his mountain difficulties seem -molehills. “What an old serious! You can’t set times and seasons for -love. Sooner or later, if you keep on jogging, everything turns out all -right. You’ve got to believe that. _It does_.” - -Since she was his prophetess, he let her optimism go undisputed. He -almost shared it. But it didn’t provide him with a certain foundation -for his future. - -“If you’ll stop drizzling,” she said, “I’ll set Miss Independence free -for a run. There!” She pulled the glove off her left hand and made it -scamper in the blue and green meadow of her gown. Then, of a sudden, the -temptress fingers shot out and caressed him for the merest second. - -“Life’s so much more surprising when you don’t know where you’re -going. That’s what you said, King Arthur. We don’t know where we’re -going--we’re both too young. It’s silly to pretend we do. Let’s agree to -be immensely kind to each other. Don’t let’s try to be anything closer -as yet. If we do--” She wriggled her shoulders; the little curl trembled -violently. “I do hate quarreling.--Hulloa! There’s the sea. We’ll be -there in a second.” - -The taxi had halted in a line of automobiles. They were on a bare, -sun-baked road. On every side salt-marshes stretched away, criss-crossed -with ditches which drained into a muddy canal The canal crossed the -road; the bridge was up to allow a fishing-boat passage. Over to the -left a board-walk ran; behind it the sea flashed like a mirror. Straight -ahead, in a straggling line of diminishing importance, hotels rose up. -A little over to the right an encampment of match-box summer-cottages -sweltered in the glare. Hoardings met the eyes wherever they turned, -announcing the choicest places to lunch, to garage or to put up for the -night in Long Beach. At no great distance a wooden cow, of more than -lifelike proportions, gave a burlesque imitation of the rural, stooping -its head as if to graze while its back advertised a brand of malted -milk. - -The landscape would have been dreary enough without the people and the -sun. But the people lent the touch of vivacity. The bright colors of -women’s dresses stood out boldly in the strong, fluttering air. When -seen distantly clumped together, they looked like a stage-garden, a-blow -with artificial flowers. The men and women were for the most part in -pairs and young--only the older people were in parties. Teddy had the -sense that he had joined a carnival of irresponsible lovers. Probably -all those men had their problems. And the girls--they, too, didn’t know -where they were going. No one was indulging in the careful cowardice -which takes thought for the morrow. They were leaving all future evil -to take care of itself. They were finding to-day sufficient in its -goodness; and of its goodness they intended to miss nothing. - -When he turned to Desire, he found her studying her face in a -pocket-mirror and dabbing a film of powder on her impertinent little -nose. He glanced away, thinking his watching would embarrass her. - -She spoke with a bewitching self-composure, still scrutinizing her -reflection: “I could hear your brain ticking. I was right, wasn’t I? -It’s best at first not to be too much to each other?” - -Her naive frankness in not attempting to hide her vanity, sent a wave of -affection tingling through him. It was as though by one foolish act -she had entrusted him with the key to her character--her unabashed -truthfulness. - -He leant forward, brushing her shoulder intimately, and peered into the -mirror from which her eyes watched him. - -“I’ve been an old serious,” he whispered tenderly. “But now I’ll be -anything you choose. Let’s be just as kind as we know how.” - -“Let’s,” she nodded, “you convenient person.” The curl against her neck -shook roguishly. - -They pulled up in the courtyard of a hotel. By its architecture it might -have been in Spain. Great palms in tubs cast heavy shadows. Somewhere -nearby, but out of sight, an orchestra twanged a ragtime tune. He held -her hand for one breathless moment as she alighted. - -“What next? Are you hungry?” - -She closed her eyes with feigned contempt: “Hungry! Glutton.” - -Away she fled, light as pollen, dancing in her steps in unconscious -rhythm with the unseen orchestra. He caught her up where the flash of -waves, rising and falling, burst upon them in tumultuous glory. She was -leaning back, clutching at the brim of her hat, while the eager wind -dragged at her skirt like a child entreating her to join in its frolic. -She laid her hand on his arm. - -“This is life. Doesn’t it wake you up--make you wonder why you ever had -the drizzles? We’re not the same persons. I’m not. Cling on to me. I’ll -blow away. You’ll have to chase me as you would your hat.” - -They stepped down on to the sands and strolled along by the water’s -edge, watching the bathers bobbing and splashing. When they had -reached the point where the crowd grew less dense, they climbed to the -board-walk for the return journey. They had made a discovery which their -action confessed: aloneness brought silence; they spoke more freely when -strangers swarmed about them. - -Teddy became aware that, wherever they passed, Desire roused comment. -Men, who were themselves accompanied, turned to gaze after him -enviously. He compared her with the other women; she was in a separate -class--there wasn’t one who could match her. She had a grace, a -distinction, a subtlety--an indescribable and exquisite atmosphere of -freshness, which lifted her beyond the range of competition. She was -like a tropic bird which had flown into a gathering of house-sparrows. -Moreover, she had a knack, highly flattering to his masculine vanity, -of appearing to have appropriated him, of appearing to be making him her -sole interest. The pride of possession shot through him that he, of all -living men, should be allowed to walk by her side as if she belonged to -him. - -“You’re creating quite a sensation,” he told her. - -She affected an improvised boredom. “Oh, yes. I always do.” Then, with a -flash of girlishness: “Look here, you’re mine to-day absolutely, aren’t -you?” - -“To-day and always.” - -“We’ll leave out the always. But to-day you’ll do whatever I tell you.” - -“Anything at all.” - -“Then go and bathe.” - -He grimaced his astonishment at the smallness of the request What was -she after? - -“I’ll bathe,” he consented, “if you’ll come with me. But aren’t you -hungry?” - -“Not a bit I breakfasted late.” - -“I didn’t.” - -“Well, if you’ll wash first, I’ll let you feed after.” - -“I--” he hesitated, “I don’t want to leave you.” - -“But I’m keen to see you bathe,” she insisted childishly. Then, -employing her most winning manner, “I’ll sit here on the beach and watch -you.” - -He made a last effort to tempt her. “D’you remember the pool in the -woodland--the place where we camped? You thought it would make you a -boy. Perhaps, if you tried now----” - -“Nonsense.” She shook her head determinedly and sat down. - -The situation was too absurd to argue over. Before he left, he gave -his watch and money into her keeping. He derived a queer sensation -from seeing her pop them into her vanity-case. That was just the -matter-of-fact way in which she’d do it if they were married. - -As he undressed in the concrete bathing-house, he puzzled to discover -what caprice had prompted her order. Had she done it to prove that she -had power over him? Or had she wanted to get rid of him? Had he bored -her? He reviewed their conversation. All small talk! Not very inspiring! -His brain had been weaving a lover’s phrases, which she wouldn’t permit -him to utter. The result was that the potentially eloquent lover, when -stifled, had been neither brilliant nor entertaining--in fact, a dull -fellow. - -A horrid little suspicion sprang up. He tried to stamp it out, but it -ran from him like flame through withered grass. Had she wanted to be -alone to enjoy the admiration she inspired? By Eden Row standards they -had no right to be out unchaperoned. It was still less respectable for -her to be alone in that fast crowd. - -He hurried into his bathing-costume and stepped into the sunshine. -She wasn’t where he had left her. She was nowhere in sight He was -half-minded to go back and dress, but was deterred by her imagined -laughter. He ran down to the sea and swam about. Every time he rose on -the crest of a wave he watched for her. When he passed the spot again -she was still absent. - -Making haste over his dressing, he came out. She wasn’t there. Panic -began to seize him--all kinds of feverish alarms. He was setting out to -search, when he saw her coming sauntering along the beach. - -“Hulloa!” she called breezily. “You haven’t been long. Did you only -paddle or did you duck your head as well?” - -“Where’d you get to?” he asked pantingly. “I’ve been awfully nervous.” - -She cocked her head on one side like a knowing little bird. - -“Nervous! I’ve lived years and years without you to take care of me, and -haven’t come to much harm.--You silly old thing, I was getting -something for you.” She opened her vanity-case and pulled out a tin-type -photograph. “There!” - -Then she noticed that his hand trembled. “Why--why, you _are_ upset I -thought you were only cross. I’m awfully sorry.” - -She melted and gazed at him penitently. In the next breath she was -chaffing. “If you go on this way, I shan’t bring you out for holidays. -You might die in my arms. Nice thing, that! It’d ruin my reputation.” - -He was regarding the cheap little picture. It was of her, with the wind -breaking against her dress and the sea backing her. It was scarcely dry -yet. “For me?” - -“Of course. And, before I lose them, here’s your watch and money.” - -“And--and that’s why you insisted on my bathing: to get rid of me for a -little while so that----” - -She cut him short. “Feeding-time. You ask too many questions.” - -As they walked to the hotel, she chattered at length of her adventure. -“The man who took it, he thought I was an actress. Wanted to know in -what show I was playing.--You don’t consider that a compliment?” - -“Not much.” - -He was only half listening. He was remembering his unworthy suspicion, -that she had stolen a respite to court admiration. Perhaps all his -suspicions had been equally ill-founded. Perhaps behind each of her -inconsideratenesses lay a concealed kindness--a tender forethought. If -it had been so in one case, why not in all? - -“Sweetly ungrateful,” Vashti had called her; “she feels far more than -she’ll ever express--goes out of her way to make people misunderstand -her.” And she’d added: “It’s because---- Can’t you guess? She’s afraid -to love too much. Her mother got hurt.” - -He felt humiliated--unworthy to walk beside her. No wonder she’d smiled -at his ideas of love! He’d make it his life’s work, if need be, to teach -her what love really meant. He vowed to himself that whatever she did, -no matter how compromising the circumstances, for the future he would -give her the benefit of the doubt He would never again distrust her. He -would keep that pathetically cheap little photograph and gaze at it as a -poignant warning. - - - - -CHAPTER IX--SHE ELUDES HIM - -They were crossing the hotel foyer, when something caught her -attention. Without explanation, she darted from his side. Thinking she -had seen a friend, he did not follow at first. She made straight for the -news-stand; picking up a magazine, she commenced skimming its pages. He -strolled over and peered across her shoulder. - -“_The Theatre!_ Something in it that you want? Shall I buy it for you?” - -She did not seem to hear him. He touched her hand, repeating his -question. For answer she turned back to the cover-design. “Isn’t she -wonderful?” - -He recognized the stooping face and the vague hypnotic smile that he had -seen in the many photographs that decorated the walls of the apartment. - -“Don’t know about wonderful,” he said carelessly; “she’s all right.” - -“All right!” Desire frowned her restrained annoyance. “No one who knows -anything about Fluffy would call her ‘all right.’ She’s wonderful. I -adore her.” - -He chuckled. He hadn’t wakened to the enormity of his offense. “You’re a -curious girl Surely you, of all persons, don’t want me to adore her?” - -Her frown did not lighten. - -“Shall I buy it for you, Princess? You can glance through it while we’re -waiting for our meal to be served.” - -She ignored his offer and drew out her purse. As they turned away she -said, “If you’d liked her, I’d have allowed you to pay for it.” - -“But why should I like her? I’ve never met her. You talk as though I -detested her.” - -“You do. And I know why. You’re jealous.” - -Again her daring truthfulness took away his breath. She had discovered -something so latent in his mind that he hadn’t owned it to himself. He -_was_ jealous of Fluffy--just as jealous as if she had been a man. He -resented her power to whisk Desire from his side. He dreaded lest she -had occupied so much of the girl’s capacity for loving that nothing -worth having was left He suspected that the use of powder, the trivial -views of marriage, the passion to go upon the stage were all results of -her influence. It wasn’t natural that a girl of twenty should focus all -her dreams on an older woman. She should be picturing the arrival of -Prince Charming, of a home and the graciousness of little children. - -Desire lifted to him a face grown magically free from cloud. “That -wasn’t at all nice of me--not one bit ladylike. After all, I am your -guest.” - -Did she say it out of sweet revenge? It was as though she had told him, -“I keep my friendships in separate watertight compartments. To-day it’s -your turn to be taken but. To-morrow I shall lock you away and remember -some one else.” It hurt, this polite intimation of his standing. He -wanted to be everything to her--to feel all that she felt, to know -her as his very self. To him she was his entire life. And she--she was -satisfied to term herself his guest. - -She led the way as they entered the grill-room. Heads were turned and -glances exchanged, in the usual tribute to her beauty. The orchestra -was still madly twanging. Between tables in the centre, a space had -been cleared that two paid artistes might give exhibitions of the latest -dance-steps. When they rested, the diners took their places and did -their best to copy their example. Doors and windows were open. In lulls, -while the musicians mopped their foreheads, the better music drifted in -of waves breaking and the long sigh of receding surge. They took their -seats in a sunlit corner, a little retired, to which they were piloted -by a discreet and perspiring waiter. As Desire examined the mena he -inquired, “What will madam have?” To every order that she gave he -murmured, “Yes, madam. Certainly, madam.” - -When he had left, she glanced mischievously across at Teddy. “Why did he -call me that?” She knew the answer, but it amused her to embarrass him. - -“Because--obviously, he thought we were married.” - -“Married!” She was pulling off her gloves. “I shan’t be married for -ages--perhaps never. I expect he thought we were married because we -looked so separate--so uninterested.” - -She didn’t speak again till she had satisfied herself, by means of the -pocket-mirror, that no irreparable ruin had befallen her pretty face -since the last inspection. Her action seemed prompted by childish -curiosity rather than by vanity. It was as though when she saw her own -beauty, she saw it with amazement as belonging to another person. -It made him think of the first sight he had had of her: a small girl -kneeling beside the edge of a fountain and stooping to kiss her own -reflection. He remembered her clasped hands and dismay when her lips had -disturbed the water’s surface, and her image had vanished. - -The examination ended, she gazed at him thoughtfully. “I’ve still to -tell you about that--the thing for which I’ve to ask your forgiveness. -Shall I tell you now?--No. It’s about Fluffy, and----” Her finger went -up to her mouth. - -“We don’t agree on Fluffy. And we’ve neither of us recovered from our -last---- Was it a quarrel?” She coaxed him with her smile, as though he -were insisting that it was. “Not quite a quarrel. Not as bad as that I -expect you and I’ll always have to be forgiving. I have a feeling--But -you’ll always forgive me, won’t you?” Before he could answer, she leant -companionably across the table, “Do you believe in romance? I don’t.” - -His sense of humor was touched. One minute she rapped him over the -knuckles as though he were a tiny, misbehaving boy, the next it was she -who was young and he who was elderly. - -“You’re irresistible.” - -“Ah!” She gave a pleased little sigh. “When I choose to be -fascinating--yes. D’you think the waiter would call me madam, if he -could see me now? But tell me, do you believe in romance?” - -“Believe in romance!” He felt her slippered foot touching his beneath -the table. “I couldn’t look at you and not believe in it. Everything -that’s ever happened to you and me is romance: the way Hal and Farmer -Joseph brought me to you; the way we met in the dead of night at -Glastonbury; and now---- I’ve come like a troubadour as far as Columbus, -just to be near you. Isn’t that romance? Romance is like happiness; it’s -in the heart It doesn’t shine into you; it shines out Even those people -over there, hopping about to rag-time, they don’t seem vulgar; they -become romance when you and I watch them.” - -“But they’re not vulgar.” She spoke on the defensive. “If you could -turkey-trot, I’d be one of them. Oh, dear, what an awful lot of things -you disapprove of. I’ll have to make a list of them. There! You see----” - She spread out her appealing hands. “I’m being horrid again. I can’t -help it.” The babies crept into her eyes. “I’m not the girl you think -me. I’m really not.” - -The slippered foot beneath the table had withdrawn itself. - -“You’re better,” he whispered. “You’re unexpected. None of my magic -cloaks fit you. You’re surprising. A man likes to be surprised.” - -She refused to look at him. With her chin tucked in the palm of her -hand, she gazed listlessly to where the dancers whirled and glided. When -she spoke, her voice sounded tired, as if with long contending. - -“Why won’t you be disillusioned? Every time I show you a fault, you turn -it into a virtue. From the moment we met, I’ve acted as selfishly as I -knew how; and yet you still follow, follow, follow. Don’t you ever lose -your temper? You can’t really like me.” - -To her bewilderment a great wave of gladness swept into his eyes. At -last he had stumbled on the hidden forethought that lurked behind all -her omissions of kindness. She had been trying to save him from herself. -In the light of this new interpretation, every grievance that he had -harbored became an infidelity. He stretched out his hand, as though -unconsciously, till the tips of his fingers were just touching hers. - -“I shall always follow, and follow, and follow. I shall know now that, -even when you’re trying to be cross, it only means that you’re----” - -What it would only mean he didn’t tell her; at that moment the waiter -returned. - -When the covers had been removed from the dishes and they had something -to distract them from their own intensity, the gayety of the rag-time -caught them. - -She flashed a friendly glance at him. “We’re always getting back to that -old subject, like sitting hens to a nest.” - -“We hadn’t got there quite.” - -She pursed her lips judiciously. “Perhaps not quite. Wouldn’t it be -safer to talk of something else?” - -“About what? I can’t think of anything but you, Princess.” - -She clapped her hands. “Splendid. Let’s talk about me. You start.” - -He bent forward, smiling into her eyes, grateful for the chance. -“There’s so much to tell. All day I’ve been making discoveries. I’ve -found out that you’re half-a-dozen persons--not just the one person whom -I thought you, Desire. Sometimes you’re Joan of Arc, with dreams in your -eyes and your hands lying idly in your lap. Sometimes you’re Nell Gwynn, -utterly unshockable and up to any naughtiness. That’s the way you are -now--the way I like you best. And sometimes you’re a faery’s child, a -Belle Dame Sans Merci, a beautiful witch-girl, who won’t come into my -life and won’t let me forge.” - -She became extraordinarily interested. At last he had absorbed her -attention. “That Belle Dam whatever you call her, she sounds rather -lurid. Tell me about her.” - -All through the meal, to the alternate thunder of the sea and the -jiggling accompaniment of rag-time, he told her. How La Belle Dame Sans -Merci lay in wait in woodlands to tempt knights aside from their -quests and, when she had made them love her, left them spell-bound and -unsatisfied. They forgot time and place as they talked. The old trustful -intimacy held them hanging on each other’s words. They were children -again in the meadows at Ware, hiding from Farmer Joseph; only now Farmer -Joseph was their fear of their own shyness. - -“I did something last summer,” he said; “it was just before I met you. -Perhaps it’ll make you smile. I’d just come to success, and I wanted -to tell you; but I hadn’t an idea where to find you in the whole wide -world. I tried to pretend that you were still in the woodland beside the -pond. I went there and stayed all day, willing that you should come. You -couldn’t have been so far away; you may have been in London. Well, I had -that poem with me, and---- You know the way one gets into moods? It -seemed to me that you weren’t a truly person and never had been--that -you were just a faery’s child, a ghost in my mind.” - - ‘I set her on my prancing steed, - - And nothing else saw all day long; - - For sidelong would she bend, and sing - - A faery’s song.’ - -“That sort of thing. Perhaps you were thinking of me at the very time.” - -“Perhaps,” she nodded. “Coming back to England after all those years did -make me think of you. But how does the whole poem go? Can’t you repeat -it?” - -He had come to, “And there I shut her wild, wild eyes with kisses four,” - when she stopped him. - -“I should never let you do that If I did----” She bent towards him -flippantly, lowering her voice. “If I did, d’you know what I’d do -next? I should marry you.” The curl against her neck shook in emphatic -affirmative. “I’m not going to be La Belle Dame whatever you call her -any more. I’m going to try to be Nell Gwynn always. You must tell me -next time I’m that La Belle person, and I’ll stop it.” - -“Ah, but I can’t--that’s a part of the spell When you look that way I -can’t speak to you. I’m dazed. It’s as though you’d buried me beneath -a mountain of ice. I can only see you and feel unhappy. I can’t even -stir.” - -He fell to gazing at her. His silence lasted so long that she grew -restless. “Say it,” she urged. - -“I was thinking that, in spite of all these people and the orchestra -and the dancing, we’re by ourselves--not afraid of each other the way we -were.” - -“Oh!” She twisted her shoulders. “And now I’ll tell you why: it’s -because there’s a table between us and, however much you wanted, you -couldn’t do anything silly. So, you see, I’m safe, and can afford to be -gracious.” - -He knew at once that it was the truth that she had stated. How few girls -would have said it! They had finished their coffee. She had been very -pressing that he should smoke a cigar. He had just lighted one, and was -comfortably wondering what they should do next; a drive in the country -perhaps, and then back to the tall city lying spectral in moonlight. -She consulted her wrist-watch and pushed back her chair. “How about the -taxi?” - -He at once began to seek the connection between his smoking and the -taxi. Behind all her actions lay a motive, which she disguised with an -appearance of irresponsibility. Being in her company was like studying -the moves in a game of chess. Had she persuaded him to smoke in -self-protection, so that he might be occupied when they were alone -together? - -“The taxi! It’s early. We don’t need to go yet. Or d’you mean that you -want to take a longer drive?” - -“I’ve----” She winked at him. “This isn’t the great big confession---- -I’ve to get back for the theatre. Don’t look crestfallen; you’re -coming--just the two of us. If we don’t start now, I shan’t have time to -dress.” - -As he followed her out into the courtyard, he made a mental note: her -insistance that he should smoke had been a precautionary measure for a -home-defense. Already her manner towards him was growing circumspect. -When she had given the driver instructions, she took her seat remotely -in the corner. There was one last flicker of her Nell Gwynn mood when -she leant out to gaze at the sea lying red behind the gray salt-marshes. - -“Good-by, dear little day; you’ve been a sort of honeymoon.” She spied -out of the comers of her eyes at Teddy with an impish raising of her -brows. It was as though she were asking him whether the day need end. - -“Why go back? Why ever go back? Why not get married?” The hand which he -tried to seize happened to be Miss Independence. It gave him a friendly -pat in rebuke as it escaped him. - -“We’re getting stupid again.” Closing her eyes, she curled herself up -against the cushions. Her voice was small and tired. - -In an instant he was miles away from her, buried beneath his mountain -of ice. She was La Belle Dame Sans Merd, chilling his affection with -silence. He was amused. He was beginning to understand her tactics. She -was easy of approach, but difficult of capture. He looked back; from -a child she had been like that. But he wished that she wouldn’t show -distrust of him whenever they were alone. It made love seem less -gallant, almost ugly--a thing to be dreaded. Was it what had happened to -her mother that made her----? “She’s afraid to love too much. Her mother -got hurt.” Was this the price of which Hal had spoken? Was his share of -the paying to have his ideal lowered by the girl by whom it had been -inspired? - -He sat in his corner, smoking and scrupulously preserving the gap that -lay between them. He was doing his best to show her by his actions that -her defensive measures were unnecessary. One hand shaded her eyes, the -other lay half open in her lap. Her head drooped forward slightly and -her knees were crossed. Her attitude was one of prayer. - -“Please go on talking,” she murmured. “Don’t mind if I’m a little quiet.” - -He tried to talk. His monologue grew halting. He asked a question; she -returned no answer. He ceased speaking to see if that would pique her -and rouse response. She seemed to have divined his intention; he felt -that, if he peeped behind her hand, he would find her laughing. - -Easy of approach, but difficult of capture! If he didn’t take care, she -might keep him dawdling and spellbound forever. Ah, but when she began -to learn what love really was, not Fluffy’s kind of tepid flirtation, -but the kind of love that thinks no sacrifice too costly---- How long -would it take him to fire her with earnestness? - -Traffic was thickening. Automobiles, snorting and tooting their horns, -came racing up behind and passed. The road ahead was a cloud of dust, -which the sunset tinted to a crimson glory. The laughter of women’s -voices was in the air. He had glimpses of their faces peering merrily -into men’s. In a flash they were gone; but his imagination followed, -listening to the happy tendernesses that were said. How closely these -other lovers sat! Sometimes beneath the dust-cloth that lay across their -knees, he suspected that hands were being clasped. At others he -didn’t need to suspect; it was done proudly and bravely. There were -disadvantages in being in love with a young lady who gave remarkable -names to her hands. - -He smiled grimly at the respectable distance that separated him from his -praying girl. It so honestly published to the world: “The two people in -this taxi are wasting an opportunity--they are not in love.” The waiter, -had he had to address her now, would certainly have called her madam. - -Teddy tried to see the humor of his situation. He wondered whether she -was really as indifferent as she pretended--whether she might not be -glad if he were to slip his arm about her? But he refrained from -making the experiment; he feared lest she should interpret his action -flippantly or resent it. When he pictured the kind of happiness they -were losing, he felt a little sick at heart. - -They had come to the great cat’s-cradle of girders that spans the East -River. - -“That’s better. I’m rested. You are good.” - -She spoke gratefully and sat up. From his corner, making no attempt to -narrow the distance, he watched her quietly. “D’you always do that?” - -“What?” - -“Pretend to go to sleep when you’re unchaperoned? You don’t need to do -it with me. It’s the third time you’ve done it.” - -She laughed tolerantly. “Oh, you! What old-fashioned notions! I never am -chaperoned.” - -It was on the tip of his tongue to say that in her case it wasn’t -necessary. Instead he asked: “Do you do that with Tom? Does he -appreciate it?” - -She threw up her hands in an abandonment to merriment “Tom! He hates it -Poor Tom! Haven’t I told you he drizzles?” - -When no answer was returned, she began to sing provocatively: - - “If no one ever marries me, - - And I don’t see why he should. - - For Nurse says I am not pretty - - And I’m very seldom good, - - I’ll----” - -She broke off and glanced over at him, making her mouth sad. “You do sit -far away.” When he made no motion to accept her invitation, she smiled -the unreserved smile of friendship. “Look here, if I come half way over, -will you?” - -She made the journey and waited for him to follow her example. He came -reluctantly, but not all the way; there was still a gap between them. - -“Well, if you won’t, I’ll have to be forward.” She closed up the -distance. “There! Isn’t that happier?” - -“Yes. But what’s the good? We’re in the middle of streets and nearly -there now.” - -“I was tired,” she said appealingly. “I thought you’d understand.” - -It was impossible to resist her. Perhaps she had been tired. Perhaps she -had done with him what she would have dared to do with no other man; and -what he had mistaken for indifference and distrust had been a reliance -on his chivalry. - -“I do understand.” - -“I wonder.” - -Ahead, across the misty greenness of the Park, the troglodyte dwellings -of the West Side barricaded the horizon. In some of the windows lights -were springing up. It was as though lonely people flashed unnoticed -signals to the cold hearts beating in the heavens. - -“Desire, why do we try to hurt each other?” - -“Do we? I wasn’t trying. I was thinking of something that Fluffy told -Horace. She said that men never married the women who said ‘Yes.’ It’s -the women who say ‘No’ sweetly that men marry.” - -“So you were saying ‘No’ sweetly by keeping quiet.” - -“I was looking back to find out if it was true.” - -“And is it?” - -She gazed down demurely at her folded hands. “I once knew a girl; she -didn’t care a straw for her man. He waited for her for five years -always hoping, and she made all kinds of cruel jokes about him. Then one -night--she didn’t know how it happened--all the ice broke and she felt -that she wanted him most awfully. They were alone. Suddenly, without -warning and without being asked, she kissed him and put her arms about -his neck---- Can you guess what he did? You’re a man. You ought to -know.” - -“He kissed her back again, I suppose, and after that they were married.” - -“Wrong. He picked up his hat and walked out of the house. He’d made her -want him ten times worse than he’d ever wanted her. He never went back.” - -“But why? I don’t understand.” - -They were on Riverside Drive. The taxi was halting. She leant forward -and opened the door. “He’d won, don’t you see? Because she’d given in he -despised her. It was the holding off that made her value.” - -“A parable?” - -As she jumped out, she glanced roguishly across her shoulder. “No. A -fact.” - -To save time, since they both had to dress, they arranged to meet at the -theatre. The curtain had gone down on the first act when they entered. - -It was a first-night performance; the place was packed. Desire at once -became interested in the audience, spying round with her glasses and -picking out the critics, the actors and actresses who were present She -gave him concise accounts of their careers, surprising him with her -knowledge. She was intensely alive; it was difficult to recognize in her -the bored praying girl who had traveled with him from Long Beach on that -late September afternoon. In her low-cut evening-dress, with her white -arms and dazzling shoulders, he found her twice as alluring. But he -wished she would show more interest in him and a little less in the -audience. Every time he thought he had secured her attention, she would -discover a new face on which to focus her glasses. - -The curtain had risen only a few minutes, when he realized why she had -brought him. From the wings Tom entered; from that moment she became -spellbound. Teddy tried to reason away his jealousy--his feeling that he -had been trapped into coming. It was quite natural that she should -have wanted to see her friend--there was nothing so disastrous in that. -But---- And he couldn’t get over that _but_. It would have been fair to -have warned him. - -In the second interval he found that he was expected to eulogize his -rival’s acting. This time, cautioned by the error he had made over -Fluffy’s portrait, he was more careful in expressing his opinion. She -quickly detected the effort in his enthusiasm. “I didn’t like to tell -you,” she whispered apologetically; “but I had to come. Ever so long -ago, before I knew you’d be here, I promised him.” - -“So that’s the confession that’s been worrying you?” - -“One of them.” She touched his hand. - -It wasn’t until midnight, when they had had supper and were flying -uptown, that she told him. - -“We’ve had a good first day, Meester Deek, in spite--in spite of -everything.” - -Mister Dick had been the name of the hero in the play; Meester Deek -had been the caressing way in which the Italian woman who loved him had -pronounced it. That Desire should call him Meester Deek seemed an omen. - -He turned to her gladly. She was in her Nell Gwynn mood and at her -tenderest. Through the darkness he could see the convulsive little curl. -The beauty-patch seemed a sign put there to mark the acceptable place to -kiss her. - -“So I’m Meester Deek! You won’t call me Teddy. I knew you’d have to find -a name for me.” - -“D’you like my name for you, Meester Deek?” - -She sat bending forward, her face illumined by the racing street-lights -and her body in darkness. He was tempted to trespass--tempted to reach -out for her hand and, if she allowed that, to take her in his arms. She -looked very sweet and unresisting, with her cloak falling back from -her white shoulders and her head drooping. But instinct warned him: she -beckoned attack only to repell it. He remembered what she had told him -about the women who said “No,” the women who eked out their affection. - -“D’you like my name for you, Meester Deek?” There was all the passion of -the south in the way she asked it. - -“I like it. But why don’t you call me by my own name? You speak of -Horace and Tom.” - -“Ah, that’s different.” - -“How?” - -She shrugged her shoulders and threw back her cloak. The fragrance of -her stole out towards him. - -“They’ll be always just Horace and Tom to me, while you--perhaps. I -can’t explain, Meester Deek, if you don’t understand.” - -In her own peculiar way, half shy, half bold, she had told him that, -just as he held her separate from all women, so she held him separate. - -“I’d rather have you call me Meester Deek than--than anything in the -whole world, now that I know.” - -“And will you forgive me the big confession?” - -He laughed emotionally. “Anything.” - -She shrank back into the shadow so that her face was hidden. “I’m just -as sorry as I can be. But I can’t break my word. Perhaps you’ll be so -hurt that you’ll sail back to England, and won’t wait for me.” - -His heart sank. For a moment he had felt so sure of her. Again she was -planning to elude him. - -“You don’t say anything, Meester Deek. I’m afraid you’re angry. It’s -only for two weeks. I start to-morrow.” Two weeks without her! It spelt -tragedy. He had a desperate inspiration, “Can’t I come with you?” - -“Poor you! No.” She shook her head slowly. “I wish you could. You see, -I’ve got to do without you, too. But you don’t like her--I mean Fluffy. -She’s on the road in a try-out before she opens in New York.--Only two -weeks, Meester Deek! Look on the bright side of things. You can get -through all your work while I’m gone and then, when I come back, we can -play together.--If you stay,” she added softly. - -Two weeks! It seemed a very short time to make a fuss over. - -But in two weeks he had hoped to go so far with her. He had hoped to be -able to win a promise from her, so that he could send good news to Eden -Row. And now, at the end of two weeks, he would be just where he had -started. - -“I’ll write to you, oh, such long letters.” And then, like a little -child on the verge of crying: “You said you’d forgive me. You’re not -keeping your promise.” - -At the moment of parting, as she was stepping into the elevator, he drew -her back. “When d’you start? Mayn’t I come and fetch you, and see you -off?” - -“It’ll be so early. Won’t that be a lot of trouble for a very little -pleasure?” - -“But if I think the trouble’s worth it?” - -“Then I’d love to have you.” - -She held out her hand and let it linger in his clasp. Other revellers, -returning from theatres and dinners, passed them. For the first time -that day she didn’t seem to care who guessed that he loved her. - -“It’s too late to ask you up,” she whispered regretfully. “It’s been a -nice day in spite of--of everything, Meester Deek. Thank you.” - -She withdrew her hand and darted from him, as if fearing that, if she -stayed, she might commit herself irrevocably. He saw her gray eyes -smiling pityingly down on him as the iron cage shot up. - - - - -CHAPTER X--AND NOTHING ELSE SAW ALL DAY LONG - -He had lost count of days in the swiftness of happenings. As he drove -uptown to fetch her, he wondered why the streets were so quiet. He -pulled out his watch; it was past eight. Not so extraordinarily early! -His watch might be wrong. His eye caught a clock; it wasn’t Then the -knowledge dawned on him that the emptiness of the streets and his sense -of earliness were due to the leisure which betokens Sunday morning. - -New York had a look of the rural. Now that few people were about, trees -claimed more attention and spread abroad their branches. Grass-plots in -squares showed conspicuously. It almost seemed that on these islands -of greenness, lapped by sun-scorched pavement, one ought to see rabbits -hopping. - -When he reached the apartment, she wasn’t ready. From somewhere down the -passage she called to him: “Good-morning, Meester Deek. You’re early.” - Then he heard her tripping footsteps crossing and recrossing a room, and -the busy rustling of packing. - -He leant out of the window, drinking in the sunny stillness. A breeze -ruffled the Hudson. The Palisades shone fortress-like. Far below, dwarfed -by distance beneath trees of the Drive, horsemen moved sluggishly like -wound-up toys. A steamer, heavily loaded with holidaymakers, churned -its way up-river; he caught the faint cheerfulness of brazen music. The -tension of endeavor was relaxed; a spirit of peace and gayety was in the -air. His thoughts went back to Eden Row, lying blinking and quaint in -the Sabbath calm. In this city of giant energies he smiled a little -wistfully at the remembrance. - -He listened. The sounds of packing hadn’t stopped. Time grew short; it -wasn’t for him to hurry her. Secretly he hoped she would lose her train; -they might steal an extra day together. - -She entered radiant and laughing. “You’ll think I always keep you -waiting. Come on. We’ve got to rush for it.” - -“But let me have a look at you.” - -“Time for that on the way to the station.” - -When he had seen the luggage put on, he jumped in beside her--really -beside her, for she sat well out of the corner. - -“Almost like a honeymoon,” he laughed, “with all the bags.” - -“A spoilt honeymoon.” As they made a sharp turn into Broadway she was -thrown against him. “Poor old you, not to be coming!” - -“Hulloa!” He looked at her intently. - -“A discovery?” - -“The beauty-patch has wandered. It’s at the corner of your mouth -to-day.” - -“Observing person! There’s a reason.” She leant nearer to whisper. “It’s -a sleep-walker.” - -In the midst of her high spirits she became serious. “It’s mean of me to -leave you. If I’d known that it was only to see me that you’d sailed---- -I couldn’t believe it--not even when you’d cabled. I ought to feel -flattered. I shouldn’t think--shouldn’t think it’s often happened that a -man came so far on ’spec.’” - -“Perhaps never,” he said. “There was never a Desire----” - -Then they felt that they had gone far enough with words, and sat -catching each other’s smile in silence. - -“You don’t want to go?” he asked. - -“I oughtn’t to say that.” She frowned thoughtfully. “It would be -ungracious to Fluffy. But I don’t want to go much.” Then, letting her -hand rest on his for a second: “It’ll make our good times that are -coming all the better.” - -All the way to the station, like shy children, without owning to it, -they were doing their best to comfort each other. - -“I’m glad I had that photograph taken.” - -“Was that why? Because----” - -“Meester Deek, I didn’t know you so well then. It didn’t seem so -terrible to leave you. But--it was partly.” - -The tiffs and aloofness of yesterday seemed as distant as a life-time. - -“We were stupid to quarrel.” His tone invited her indorsement. - -“We’ll do it again,” she laughed. - -They swung into the Grand Central. She let him look to her luggage as -though it were his right. It was nearly as good as being married to her. - -“Shall I take your ticket?” - -“Let’s get it together.” - -When they came to the window, she opened her bag and handed him the -money. - -“Where to?” he asked. Then he remembered: “Why, you haven’t given me -your address.” - -“To Springfield. Here, I’ll scribble out the address while you get the -change. You’d better write your first letter to the theatre in care of -Fluffy. I’ll send you the names of the other towns later.” - -At the barrier they met with an unexpected setback; the gateman refused -to let him see her off. “Not allowed. You ought to have a pass.” - -It seemed hopeless. The man looked too righteous for bribery and too -inhuman for argument. Desire leant forward: “Oh, please, won’t you let -my brother----?” - -Slowly and knowingly the man smiled. He glanced from the anxious little -face, doing its best to appear tearful, to the no less anxious face of -Teddy. He scented romance and signed to them to go forward. So Teddy -had proof that others could become weak when she employed her powers of -fascination. - -He followed her into the train and sat down at her side. - -“I wish I were coming.” - -She gazed out of the window. He bent across to see her face. - -“Why, Desire, you’re----” - -“I’m silly,” she said quickly. “Parting with anybody makes me cry. Oh, -dear, I wish I wasn’t going.” - -“Then don’t.” - -He covered her hand in his excitement. There was no time to lose. The -conductor was calling for the last time; passengers were scurrying to -get aboard. - -She considered the worth of his suggestion. “I must There’s Fluffy. But -why don’t you come? You can get back to-night.” - -He wavered. She was always at her sweetest when saying good-by; if he -went with her, she might get “tired” and become the praying girl again. -He had almost made up his mind to accompany her when the train gave a -preliminary jerk, as though the engine were testing its strength. - -“Oh, well, you know best.” Her expression was annoyed and her tone -disappointed. “Only two weeks, after all.” - -“But two weeks without you.” He had not quite given up the idea of -accompanying her. - -“Hurry up,” she said, “or you won’t get off.” - -It was no good going with her now. From the platform he watched her. -As the train began to move, he ran beside her window. At the point of -vanishing she smiled forgiveness and kissed the finger-tips of Miss -Self-Reliance. - -In passing out of the station it occurred to him to inquire how long it -took to get to Springfield. He wanted to follow her in imagination and -to picture her at the exact hour of arrival. He was surprised to find -that it was such a short journey and that she might have gone by a later -train. If she’d been so sorry, she needn’t have left him in such a -hurry. When he came to reason things out, he saw that she could have -gone just as well on Monday, since Fluffy’s company was evidently -playing in Springfield another night. Perhaps she had a good reason for -going. It was some comfort to remember that at the last train. If she’d -been so sorry, she needn’t have left him in such a hurry. When he came -to reason things out, he saw that she could have gone just as well on -Monday, since Fluffy’s company was evidently playing in Springfield -another night. Perhaps she had a good reason for going. It was some -comfort to remember that at the last moment she had wanted to stay. - -Then began the long days of waiting, from which all purpose in living -seemed to have been banished. Ambitions, which had goaded him forward, -were at a halt. Everything unconnected with her took on an air of -unreality. His personality became distasteful to him because it seemed -not to have attracted her sufficiently. - -Things that once would have brought him happiness failed to stir him. -A boom was being worked for him. He was on the crest of a wave. -Interviewers were continually calling to get personal stories. -Articles appeared in which he confided to the public: “How I Became -Famous at Twenty-three,” “Why I Came to America,” “What I Think of New -York,” “Why I Distrust Co-education.” There seemed to be no subject, -however trivial, upon which his views were not of value to the hundred -million inhabitants of America. He was continually finding his face -in the papers. He sprang into an unexpected demand both as writer and -artist. - -The fun he derived from this fluster was in imagining the added worth -it would give him in her eyes. He liked to think of her as dashing up to -news-stands and showering on him the enthusiasm he had seen her shower -on Fluffy. Success left him the more humble in proportion as it failed -to rouse her comment. If success couldn’t make her proud of him, there -must be some weakness in his character. He searched her letters for any -hint that would betray her knowledge of what was happening. Perhaps -her very omissions were a sign that she was feeling more than she -expressed. At last he wrote and told her. She replied inadequately, -“How very nice for you!” His hope had been that she would have included -herself as a sharer in his good fortune. - -Though he sat for long hours at a stretch, he accomplished laborious -results. His attention refused to concentrate. He was always thinking -of her: the men who might be with her in his absence; the things she had -said and done; the things he had said to her, and which might have been -said better; her tricks of gesture and shades of intonation. Her very -faults endeared themselves in retrospect He coveted the least happy of -the hours he had spent in her company. - -For the first day he was consoled by the sight of her tin-type -photograph on the desk before him. He glanced at it between sentences -and felt that she was near him. But soon he made a sad discovery: it -was fast fading. As the days went by he exposed it to the light more -and more grudgingly. He had the superstitious fear that, if it was quite -dark before she returned, his hope of winning her would be ended. - -He lived for the arrival of her letters. His anxiety was a repetition -of what he had suffered after her departure from London. He left orders -with the hotel-clerk to have them sent up to his room at once. Every -time a knock sounded on his door he became breathless. - -They came thick and fast, funny little letters dashed off at top-speed -in a round girlish handwriting and made to look longer than they were -by being sprawled out over many pages. They were full of broken phrases -like her speech, with dashes and dots for which he might substitute -whatever tenderness his necessity demanded. Usually they began “_Dear -Miester Deek_” and ended “_Yours sincerely, Desire_.” Once, in a -glorious burst of expansiveness, she signed herself “_Affectionately, -Desire,_” and scratched it out. He watched for the error to occur again; -it was never repeated. They were the kind of letters that it was -perfectly safe to leave lying about; his replies emphatically were not. -He marveled at her unvarying discretion. - -She had a knack of reproducing the atmosphere of her environment. It was -a gay, pulsating world in which she lived. Like Flora, flowers and the -singing of birds sprang up where she passed. He contrasted with hers -the world he had to offer; it seemed a dull place. She had the keys to -Arcady. How false had been his chivalrous dream that a fate hung over -her from which she must be rescued! - -His lover’s eye detected a wealth of cleverness in her correspondence. -He sincerely believed that she was more gifted as a writer than himself. -Her letters were full of descriptions of Fluffy in her part, thumb-nail -sketches of the other members of the cast and accounts of the -momentously personal adventures of a theatrical company on tour. She had -a trick of humor that made her intimate in an adjective, and made him -laugh. She also had a trick of allotting to him prejudices. “You’d call -our leading man a very bad character, but I like him: I think one needs -to have faults to be truly charitable. I’d ask you to join us, but---- -You wouldn’t get on with theatrical people; you rather--I know, so you -needn’t deny it--you rather despise them. I think they’re the jolliest -crowd. We dance every night when the show is ended and have late -suppers, and--you can guess.” - -It was after receiving this that he made up his mind, in preparation for -her return, to learn the latest dances. He wondered where she could have -gathered the impression that he was puritanical. - -But there were other letters in which she joined his future with hers. -“Perhaps you’ll write a great play one day, and allow me to be your -leading lady.” - -He paused to let the picture form before he went further. It would -be rather fun. He saw himself holding hands with her and bowing to -applauding audiences. As husband and wife they’d travel the world -together, emancipated beings who never gave a thought to money, each -contributing to the other’s triumph. Fun! Yes. But unsettling. The life -that he had always planned was a kind of glorified Eden Row existence -without the worries. He thought of Jimmie Boy and Dearie, and all the -quiet bonds of dependence they had built up by living always in one -place together. - -His eyes went back to her letter. “You’ll come and see me, won’t you, -Meester Deek, if ever I become a great actress? And I shall.--Oh, did -I tell you? Horace is on his way over. I wonder what he and Fluffy will -do? Perhaps quarrel. Perhaps just dawdle.” - -He was tempted to go to her; but she hadn’t really invited him. He felt -that she wouldn’t be his in her nomad setting. He couldn’t bear to have -to share her with these butterfly people who viewed love as a diversion, -and marriage as a catastrophe. - -Sometimes he doubted whether he was as unhappy as he fancied. He -searched through books to prove to himself that his case was by no means -solitary--that it was the common lot of lovers. He became an admirer of -the happy ending in novels. He sought for fiction-characters upon whose -handling of similar situations he could pattern his conduct One writer -informed him that the secret of success in love was to keep a woman -guessing; another, that with blonde women a heated courting brought the -best results, while with women of a darker complexion a little coldness -paid excellently. All this was too calculating--too like diplomacy. -He fell back on the advice of Madame Josephine: “Don’t judge--try -to understand. When a good man tries to be fair, he’s unjust.” As -an atonement for the disloyalty of his research, he sent Desire a -needlessly large box of flowers. - -“It’s only two weeks, after all,” she had said. But the two weeks had -come and gone. All his plans were dependent on hers, and she seemed to -be without any. Already he was receiving inquiries from Eden Row as to -when he could be expected back. He could give no more definite answer -than when he had left; he procrastinated by enclosing press-cuttings and -talking vaguely about taking advantage of his American opportunities. -His position was delicate. He didn’t dare to use the argument with -Desire that she was his sole reason for remaining in New York; it would -have seemed like blackmailing her into returning. Meanwhile, since her -letters arrived regularly, he attributed her continued absence not to -lack of fondness, but to fear of facing up to a decision. He must do -nothing to increase her timidity. - -On several occasions he visited Vashti. Each time other people were -present. He noticed that her eyes followed him with a curious expression -of amusement and compassion. At last one afternoon he found her alone. - -She was curled up on the couch by the window, wearing a pale-blue -peignoir and a boudoir cap embroidered with tiny artificial roses. A -novel lay face downwards on the floor beside her, and she was playing -with the silky ears of Twinkles, who snuggled in her lap. As he entered, -she reached out her hand without rising and made a sign for him to sit -beside her. - -“Twinkles is lonely, too. Aren’t you, Twinkles? We’re all waiting for -our little mistress.” - -She went on smiling and playing with the dog’s ears. Slowly she raised -her eyes. - -“I can guess what you’re wishing. You’re wishing that I wore a little -curl against my neck and had a beauty-patch.” - -“A beauty-patch that’s a sleep-walker,” he added. - -She laughed softly. “And did she tell you that? I’ve been thinking about -you--expecting to hear any day that you were sailing to England.” - -He shook his head. “I’m like Twinkles. I’m waiting.” - -Vashti lifted herself from the cushions and gazed at him intently. “How -long are you prepared to wait?” - -“D’you mean how long till she comes back?” - -“No. For her. She’s young, Teddy, and she asks so much--so many things -that life’ll never give her. She’s got to learn. She may keep you -waiting a long, long while yet.” - -“I’ll wait.” He smiled confidently. - -She leant forward and kissed him. “I’m glad. If you win, she’ll be worth -it.” - -She went back to playing with Twinkles; he watched her in silence. - -With her face averted she said: “At first you thought you had only to -love and she’d love you in return--wasn’t that it? With you to love her -has been a mission; that’s where you’re different from other men. Other -men start by flirting--they intend the run-away right up to the last -minute; then they find themselves caught But you---- It takes an older -woman than Desire to understand. You’re so impetuously in earnest, you -almost frighten her. You’re such a dreamer--the way you were about the -marriage-box. You always take a woman at her word; and a woman, when -she’s loved, means most by the things she leaves unsaid. What happened -to the marriage-box after you found me out?” - -He blushed at the confession. “I burnt it.” - -“Ah! Burnt me in effigy. That’s what Hal’s done, I expect. That’s where -men make mistakes; they’re so impatient. Often a woman’s love begins at -the point where a man’s ends. I wonder, one day will you get tired and -do something like that to her?” - -He wanted to ask her whether her love had begun for Hal at the point -where his had ended; but he said, “I was a little boy, then.” - -She took his hands and made him meet her eyes. “Little boys and men are -alike. Don’t wait at all, Teddy, unless you know you’re strong enough to -wait till she’s ready.” - -“I am.” - -“Easily said. A man once told me that. There came a time when I wanted -him badly; I turned round to give him all that he had asked; he was -gone.” - -She sank her voice. “Can you go on bearing disappointment without -showing anger? Can you go on being generous when she hides her kindness? -You may have to see her wasting her affection on all kinds of persons -who don’t know its value. She may stop away from you to punish -herself--she won’t tell you that; and perhaps all the time she’ll be -longing to be with you. That’s the kind of girl Desire is, Teddy; she -leaves you to guess all that’s best Can you stand that?” - -280 - -He nodded. He couldn’t trust his voice to answer. - -“Then, here’s a word of advice. Don’t let her see that you’re too much -in earnest.” She laughed, relieving the suspense. “Almost like the -wedding-service, wasn’t it?” - -As he left, the last sight he had of her she was still sitting curled -up on the couch, in her pale-blue peignoir, with the sky behind her, -playing with the silky ears of Twinkles snuggled asleep in her lap. She, -too, was waiting. For whom? For what? - -That night he wrote a letter to Hal; tore it up and rewrote it. Even -then he hesitated. At last he decided to sleep over the wisdom of -sending it. - - - - -CHAPTER XI--THE KEYS TO ARCADY - -Of a sudden life became glorious--more glorious than he had ever -believed possible. It commenced on the morning after he had written his -letter to Hal. - -He was seated in the white mirrored room of the Brevoort which looks -out on Fifth Avenue. From the kitchen came the mutter of bass voices, -passing orders along in French, and the cheerful smell of roasting -coffee. Scattered between tables, meditative waiters were dreaming that -they were artists’ models, each with a graceful hand resting on the back -of a chair in readiness to flick it out invitingly at the first sight -of an uncaptured guest. From the left arm of each dangled a napkin, -betraying that he had served his appenticeship in boulevard cafés of -Paris. - -Outside, at irregular intervals, green buses raced smoothly with a -_whirr-whirr_, which effaced during the moment of their passage the -clippity-clap of horses. Past the window, from thinning trees, leaves -drifted. When they had reached the pavement, the breeze stirred them -and they struggled weakly to rise like crippled moths. There was an -invigorating chill in the October air as though the sunshine had been -placed on ice. Pedestrians moved briskly with their shoulders flung -back. They seemed to be smiling over the great discovery that life was -worth living, after all. - -A boy halted under the archway and threw about him a searching glance. -Catching sight of Teddy, he hurried over and whispered. Teddy rose. -In the hall the telephone-clerk was watching. “Booth number three, Mr. -Gurney.” - -As he lifted the receiver he was still discussing with himself whether -or no he should send Hal that letter. - -“Yes. It’s Mr. Gurney.” - -A faint and unfamiliar voice answered--a woman’s voice, exceedingly -pleasant, with a soft slurring accent. It was a voice that, whatever it -said, seemed to be saying, “I do want you to like me.” - -“I didn’t quite catch. Would you mind speaking a little louder?” he -asked. - -There was a laughing dispute at the other end; then the voice which he -had heard at first spoke again: - -“This is Janice Audrey, Desire’s friend--Fluffy. Desire’s too shy to -phone herself, so I---- She’s here at my elbow. She says that she’s not -shy any longer and she’ll speak with you herself.” - -It was as though he could feel her gray eyes watching. - -A pause. Then, without preliminaries: “You can’t guess where I am. For -all you know, I might be dead and this might be my ghost.--No. Let me do -the talking. It’s long distance from Boston and expensive; I don’t know -how many cents per second. If you were here, I’d let you do the paying; -but since you’re not---- Here’s what I called up to tell you: we’re -coming in on the Bay State Limited at three o’clock.--I thought you’d be -interested. Ta-ta.” - -He commenced a hurried question; she had rung off. - -Adorably casual! Adorably because she contradicted herself. By calling -him up all the way from Boston she had said, “See how much I care.” By -not allowing him to speak, she had tried to say, “I don’t care at all.” - It amused him; the odd thing was that he loved her the more for her -languid struggles to escape him. He agreed with her entirely that the -woman who said “No” bewitchingly increased her value. As he finished -his breakfast he reflected: she was dearer to him now than a week ago, -and much dearer than on the drive from Glastonbury. Instead of blaming -her for making herself elusive, he ought to thank her. He’d been too -headlong at the start. He fell to making plans to take Vashti’s advice: -he wouldn’t speak to her of love any more--he’d try to hide from her how -much he was in earnest. - -In his eagerness not to disappoint her, he had reached the Grand Central -a quarter of an hour too early. He was standing before the board on -which the arriving trains are chalked up, when from behind some one -touched him. - -“Seen you before. How are you? I expect we’re here on the same errand.” - -He found himself gazing into the humorous blue eyes which had discovered -him playing tricks with his engine before the house in Regent’s Park. - -“You’re Mr. Horace Overbridge, I think.” - -“Yes. I’m here to see _October_ put on; that’s my new play in which Miss -Audrey is acting. What are you doing?” Then, because Teddy hesitated, -“Perhaps I oughtn’t to ask.” - -At that moment the arrival-platform of the Bay State Limited was -announced; they drifted away at the tail of the crowd towards the -barrier. Teddy wanted to hurry; his companion saw it. “Heaps of time,” - he laughed. “If I know anything about them, they’ll be out last.” - -His prophecy proved correct. The excited welcomes were over; the stream -of travelers had thinned down to a narrow trickle of the feeble or -heavily laden, when Desire, walking arm-in-arm with a woman much more -beautiful than her portraits, drew into sight behind the gates. After -hats had been raised and they knew that they had been recognized, they -did not quicken their pace. They approached still leisurely and talking, -as much as to say: “Let’s make the most of our opportunity before we -sink to the level of these male-creatures.” - -Horace Overbridge, leaning on his cane, watched them with tolerant -amusement. “Take their time, don’t they?” he remarked. “One wouldn’t -think we’d both come three thousand miles to meet them. What fools men -are!” - -“Hulloa,” said Desire, holding out her hand gladly, “it’s good to see -you. So you two men have introduced yourselves! Fluffy, this is Mr. -Gurney.” - -It was arranged that the maid should be seen into a taxi to take care of -the luggage. When she had been disposed of, they crossed the street for -tea at the Belmont. Fluffy and Desire still walked arm-in-arm as though -it was they who had been so long separated. At the table Teddy found -himself left to talk to Fluffy; Desire and the man with the amused blue -eyes were engaged in bantering reminiscences of the summer. The game -seemed to be to pretend that you were not in love; or, if you were, that -it was with some one for whom actually you didn’t care a rap. - -“Did it go well?” asked Teddy. - -“Wonderfully.” - -“I wish you’d tell me. Of course Desire wrote me; but I don’t know -much.” - -While she told him, he kept stealing glances at the others. He wondered -at what they were laughing; then he came to the conclusion that it -wasn’t at what was being said, but at the knowledge each had of the -game that was in the playing. He began to take notice of Fluffy. She had -pale-gold hair--quantities of it--a drooping mouth and eyes of a child’s -clearness. She had a way of employing her eyes as magnets. She would fix -them on the person to whom she talked so that presently what she said -counted for nothing; questions would begin to rise in the mind as to -whether she was lonely, why she should be lonely and how her loneliness -might be dispelled. Then her glance would fall away and she would seem -to say: “I shall have to bear my burden; you won’t help me.” After that -all the impulse of the onlooker was to carry her over rough places in -his arms. Her voice sounded as though all her life she had been petted; -her face made you feel that, however good people had been, she deserved -far more. Why had Desire been so positive that he wouldn’t like her? He -did; or rather he would, if she would let him. But he had the feeling -that, while she was kind, she was distrustful and had fenced herself off -so that he could not get near her. He had an idea that he had met her -before; he recognized that grave assured air of being worthy to be loved -without the obligation of taking notice of the loving. Then he spotted -the resemblance, and had difficulty to refrain from laughing. In her -quiet sense of beautiful importance she was like Twinkles. - -“It’s wonderful,” she was saying; “I never had such a part. ‘Little -girl,’ Simon Freelevy said when he saw me, ‘little girl, you’ll take -New York by storm.’ And I shall.” She nodded seriously. “Simon Freelevy -ought to know; he’s the cleverest producer in America; I believe he was -so pleased with himself that he’d have kissed me if I hadn’t had my -make-up on. And then, you see, it’s called _October_, and we open in -October. The idea’s subtle; it may catch on.” - -She spoke as though the play was a negligible quantity and any success -it might have would be due to her acting. Teddy caught the amused eyes -of the playwright opposite. He turned back to Janice Audrey. “What’s the -plot?” he asked. - -“The plot! I’m the plot. You may smile, but I am.--I am the plot of -_October_--isn’t that so, Horace?” - -“Oh, yes, Miss Audrey is the plot,” the playwright said gravely. “I have -nothing to do with it, except to draw my royalties.” He picked up the -thread of his conversation with Desire. - -A puzzled look crept into Fluffy’s clear child’s eyes--a wounding -suspicion that she was being mocked. She put it from her as incredible. - -“When I say I’m the plot, I mean I gave him the story. I told it to him -in a punt at Pangbourne this summer. It’s about a woman called October, -who’s come to the October of her beauty, but has spring hidden in -her heart. She’d loved a man excessively once, when she was young and -generous; and he hadn’t valued her love. After that she determined to -wear armor, to keep her dreams locked away in her heart and to leave -it to the men to do the loving. She becomes an actress, like me. Almost -autobiography! At last, when she realizes that her popularity depends -on her beauty and she hears the feet of the younger generation climbing -after her--at last he comes, the one wearing a smoke-blue corded velvet, -trimmed with gray-squirrel fur at the sleeves and collar. Her hat was -the gray breast of a bird and sat at a slant across her forehead. There -was a flush of color in her cheeks. Again the beauty-patch had wandered; -it was on the left of her chin now. As he watched, he felt the lack of -something; then he knew what it was. - -“Why, what’s happened to your curl?” - -She put her hand up to her neck and opened her eyes widely. “H’I sye, -old sort, yer don’t mean ter tell me as I’ve lost it?” - -While he was laughing at this sudden change of personality, she -commenced searching her vanity-case with sham feverishness; to his -amazement she drew out the missing decoration. - -“Oh, ’ere it is. You’re learnin’ h’all me secrets, dearie. It ain’t -wise. But, Lawd, ‘cause yer likes it and ter show yer ‘ow glad I am ter -be wiv yer----” - -She deliberately pinned it into place behind her ear; it hung there -trembling, looking entirely natural. - -Dropping her Cockney characterization, she bowed to him with bewitching -archness: “Do I look like Nell Gywnn now? I expect, if she were here -for an inquisitive person like you to ask, she’d tell you that hers were -false.” - -He loved her for her honesty; if any one had told him a month ago that -so slight and foolish an action could have made him love her better, he -would have laughed them to scorn. - -It was intoxicating--transforming. It was as though these stone-palaces -of Fifth Avenue fell back, disclosing magic woodlands--woodlands such as -his father painted through whose shadows pale figures glided. People -on the pavement were lovers, going to meetings which memory would make -sacred. Like Arcady springing out to meet him, the Park swam into sight, -tree-tufted, lagooned, embowered, canopied with the peacock-blue and -saffron of the sunset. - -“It’s a pity,” Desire murmured, as though continuing a conversation, -“that they couldn’t have remained happy.” - -“Who?” - -“Those two. They were such good companions, till he began to speak of -love. I was with them all summer, wherever they went We used to talk -philosophy, and life, and--oh, everything. Then one day I wasn’t with -them; after that our happiness stopped.” - -“But she must have known that he loved her before he told her.” - -“Of course. That was what made us all so glad, because there was -something left unsaid--something secret and throbbing. It was all gone -when once it had been uttered.” - -“It oughtn’t to have gone. It ought to have become bigger and better.” - He spoke urgently, hoping to hear her agree, “Yes. It ought.” - -They were fencing with their problem, discussing it in parables of other -people’s lives. - -“Why doesn’t she marry him?” he asked. “I expect I’ve been brought up to -a different set of standards, so I’m not criticizing; I’m trying to see -things from her angle. I’ve been brought up to believe that marriage is -what we were all made for; that it’s something gloriously natural and to -be hoped for; that to grow old unmarried is to be maimed, especially if -you’re a woman. All poetry and religion springs from motherhood; it’s -the inspiration of all the biggest painters. I never dreamed that there -were people who wilfully kept themselves from loving. I don’t know quite -how to express myself. But to see yourself growing up in little children -has always seemed to me to be a kind of immortality. There was a thing -my mother once said: that marriage is the rampart which the soul flings -up to guard itself against calamity. Don’t you think that’s true?” - -“You put it beautifully. That’s the man’s view of it.” She smiled -broodingly; the plodding of the horse’s steps filled the pause. “When -a man asks a woman to marry him, he asks her to give up her freedom. -Before she’s married, she has the power; but afterwards---- When a man -tells her that he loves her, he really means that he wants to be her -master.” - -“Not her master.” He had forgotten now that it was Fluffy they were -supposed to be discussing; he spoke desperately and his voice trembled. -“Women aren’t strong like men. They can’t stand alone and, unless -they’re loved, they lose half their world when their beauty’s gone. You -say a woman gives up her freedom, but so does a man. They both lose -one kind of freedom to get another. What he wants is to be allowed to -protect her, to----” - -“And what Fluffy wants is the right to fulfill herself,” she -interrupted, bringing the argument back to the point from which it -started. “My beautiful mother----” There she stopped. Their glances met -and dropped. He hadn’t thought of her mother. Everything that he had -been saying had been an accusation. “My beautiful mother----” She had -said it without anger, as though gently reminding him of the reason for -her defense. He felt ashamed; in uttering things that were sacred he had -been guilty of brutality. Would the shadow of Vashti always lie between -them when he spoke to her of love? - -She came to the rescue. “You’ll think I haven’t any ideals; but I have.” - She laughed softly. “You men are like boys who make cages. Some one’s -told you that if you can put salt on a bird’s tail, you can catch it. -Away you go with your cages and the first bird you see, you start saying -pretty things to it and trying to creep nearer. It hops away and -away through the bushes and you follow, still calling it nice names. -Presently it spreads its wings and then, because you can’t reach it, you -throw stones at it That’s what Horace is doing to poor little Fluffy. -He never ought to have made his cage; if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have got -angry.--But we’ve not struck a happy subject, Meester Deek. Tell me, did -you miss me much?” - -It took one and a half times round the Park to tell her. That she cared -to listen was a proof to him that she wasn’t quite as interested in -preserving her freedom as she pretended. As he described his anxiety in -waiting for her letters, she made her eyes wide and sympathetic. Once or -twice she let her hands flutter out to touch him. He didn’t touch hers; -it was so important to hide from her how much he was in earnest. He -mustn’t do a thing that would startle her. - -As darkness fell and her face grew indistinct, he found that he had less -difficulty in talking. Horsemen had disappeared. The procession of -cars and carriages was gone. They jingled through a No-Man’s-Land -of whispering leaves and shadows; lamps buoyed their passage like -low-hanging stars. - -Behind trees on a knoll, lights flashed. She pushed up the trap and -spoke to the driver: “Well stop here for dinner.” She turned to Teddy: -“Shall we? It’s McGown’s.” - -He helped her out As they passed up the steps to the bungalow, he took -her arm and felt its shy answering pressure. In the hall she drew away -from him. - -“Where are you going? Don’t go.” - -“Only for a minute. Please, Meester Deek, I want to make myself -beautiful for you.” - -“But I can’t spare a minute of you. I’ve lost you for so long.” - -“Only one little minute,” she pleaded, “but if you don’t want me to be -beautiful----” - -While she was gone he played tricks to make the time pass quickly. He -would see her returning by the time he had counted fifty; no, sixty; no, -a hundred. If he walked to the door and looked out into the Park, by the -time he turned round she would be waiting for him. At last she came--ten -minutes had elapsed; her eyes were shining. He guessed that she -had purposely delayed in order to spur her need of him. They seated -themselves by a window through which they could watch the goblin-eyes of -automobiles darting through the blackness, and the white moon climbing -slowly above tattered tree-tops. - -She sat with her hand against her throat, gazing at him smilingly. - -“What are you thinking, Princess?” - -“Thoughts.” - -“Won’t you tell me?” - -“I was thinking that I say some very foolish things. I pretend to know -so much about life, and I don’t know anything. I borrow other people’s -disappointments--Fluffy’s, for instance. And then I talk to poor you, -as though you had disappointed me. I wish I were a little girl again, -asking you what it was like to have a father. D’you remember?--I always -wanted to have a father. Tell me about my father, please, won’t you?” - -His eyes had grown blurred. The witch-girl was gone. They had traveled -mysteriously back across the years to the old untested faiths and -loyalties. She had become his child-companion of the lumber-room days. -On her submissive lips, like parted petals, hovered the unspoken words: -“I love you. I love you.” - -“I didn’t mean to make you sad,” she said gently, “so, if it’ll make you -sad to tell me----” Two fingers were spread against the comers of her -mouth to prevent it from widening into smiling. - -“That’s what Mrs. Sheerug does when she doesn’t want to smile.” - -When she asked him “What?” he showed her. - -“Funny! The only time I saw her was when she fished me out of the pond -with her umbrella. She seemed a strict old lady. And there was a boy -named Ruddy; he was my cousin, wasn’t he? It’s a kind of romance to have -a father whom you don’t know. I sometimes think I’m to be envied. D’you -think I am, Meester Deek?--Ahl you don’t Never mind; tell me about him.” - -Then they fell to talking of Eden Row. He had to describe Orchid Lodge -to her and how he had first met her mother there, and had thought that -she had really meant to marry him. They got quite excited in building up -their reminiscences. - -“Yes, and you came to our house when my father, whom I didn’t know was -my father, was playing lions with me. And I ran to you for protection. -When Pauline took me away, I fought to get back to you and got slapped -for it You didn’t know that? Didn’t you hear me crying? Go on with what -you were saying. It’s fine to be able to remember. Don’t let’s stop.” - -They were picking up the threads of each other’s lives and winding them -together. She told him about herself--how for long stretches, while her -mother had been on tour singing, she had been left in the care of maids, -and her favorite game had been to play that she was a great actress. -“And you’ll never guess why it was my favorite. I used to pretend that -my father was in the audience and came afterwards to tell me he was -proud of me. That’s why------ Do you think he would be proud of me?” - -“He’d be proud of you without that, wild bird.” - -“Why do you call me wild bird, Meester Deek? But I know: because I’m -always struggling and flying beyond my strength. You think that, if -I became an actress, I wouldn’t succeed. You don’t believe in me very -much. I’ll have to show you--have to show you all. Everybody discourages -me.” - -His heart was beating furiously. Where was the good of hiding things? -She knew he was in earnest “My dear,” he said, and a kind disapproval -came into her eyes, “I believe in you so much--more than in any woman. -It isn’t that; but I’m afraid that you’ll lose so many things that -you’ll some day want.” - -“You mean that an actress oughtn’t to marry? That’s what Fluffy -says--she must be like a man and live for her art. If you married, you’d -still go on sketching and writing; but men expect their wives to drop -everything. It’s selfish of them and hard.” - -“But it’s always been like that and you’re not an actress yet, and--and, -if you were, it would be terrible to think of you going through -love-scenes every night with some one else.” - -She laughed into his eyes; he almost believed that her talk had been an -ambush to lead him on. “You could be very jealous.” - -She rose from the table. When they were settled in the hansom, she -whispered: “Let me be little again, Meester Deek. Tell me abouts knights -and faeries, the way you did when you were only Teddy.” - -“There was once a knight,” he began, “who dreamt always of a princess -whom he would marry. At last he found her, and she pretended that she -didn’t want him.” - -“And did she?” - -“She did at last The title of the story is _The Princess Who Didn’t Know -Her Heart_.” - -“Go on.” - -“That’s all.” - -“It’s very short.--That’s Miss Self-Reliance you’re holding, Meester -Deek. I don’t know whether she likes it.” And again she said in a drowsy -whisper, “I don’t know whether she likes it.” - -They both fell silent, staring straight before them into the darkness. - -“You don’t mind if I close my eyes, Meester Deek? I’m really tired.” - -He answered her with a pressure of the hand. She drooped nearer. “You -are good to me.” - -In a husky contented little voice, she began to sing to herself. It -was a darkie song about a pickaninny who had discovered that she was -different from the rest of the world because the white children refused -to play with her. To Teddy it seemed Desire’s pathetic way of explaining -to him the loneliness of her childhood. At the end of each verse the -colored mammy crooned comfortingly: - - “So, honey, jest play in your own backyard, - - Don’t mind what dem white chiles say.” - -He stooped lower over her closed eyes and murmuring lips. She seemed -aware of him; she turned her face aside. He brushed her cool cheek and -thrilled to the touch of it. - -He waited. She still sang softly with her eyes fast shut, as though -advising him: - - “So, honey, jest play in your own backyard.” - -Over and over she hummed the line. He crept back into his place in the -darkness. - -When they had drawn up before the apartment and he had jumped to the -pavement to help her out, she whispered reproachfully, “Meester Deek, -you did get out quickly.” Then, as they said good-by, “It’s been the -nicest time we’ve ever had.” - -It was only after she had vanished that he asked himself what she had -meant, “You did get out quickly.” At the last moment was she going to -have kissed him, or to have given him her lips to kiss? And, “The nicest -time we’ve ever had”--did she know that he had been trembling to ask her -to marry him? - -When he got back to the Brevoort he destroyed the letter he had written -to Hal. His optimism was aflame; soon he would have something better to -write him. He fell asleep that night with the coolness of her cheek upon -his lips. - - - - -CHAPTER XII--ARCADY - -His first sensation on awaking next morning was of that stolen kiss. -All night he had been dreaming of it. All night he had been conscious of -the porcelain smoothness of her hand held closely in his own. He closed -his eyes against the amber shaft of sunlight which streamed from the -window across the counterpane. He strove to recall those dreams; but -the harder he strove the dimmer grew the lamps in the haunted chamber -of remembrance. He saw vague shapes, which receded from him and melted. -Since dreams failed him, he flung wide the windows of imagination. - -He saw himself walking with his arm about her, between pollarded trees -along a silver road. She clung against his breast like a blown spray -of lilac. Now he was stretched at her feet in the greenest of green -meadows, while above the curve of her knees her brooding smile watched -him. He pictured her, always in new landscapes of more than earthly -beauty, enacting a hundred scenes of uninterrupted tenderness. - -The burden of his longing made him weary. Until he had kissed her, he -had had no real understanding of what love meant; she had been to him -an idea--an enchanting, disembodied spirit. Now she was white and warm, -exquisitely clothed with glowing flesh. It was not the magic cloak any -longer, but Desire herself, sweetly perverse and wilfully cold, that he -worshiped. - -How old he had become since last night, and yet how young! In kissing -her he had tasted of the Tree of Knowledge; from now on his thirst would -grow unquenchably till he knew her as himself. All that that knowledge -might mean passed before his mind in slow procession. Ominous as the -rustle of God’s feet in Eden, he could hear her humming her plaintive -warning: - - “So, honey, jest play in your own backyard.” - -He threw back the clothes and jumped out. Such imaginings were not -allowed. But they returned. Like a snow-capped mountain in the dawning, -his manhood caught the rose-red glow of passion and trembled, a tower of -flame and ivory, above the imperiled valleys of experience. - -As he dressed he molded the future to any shape he chose, rolled it into -a ball and molded it afresh. Now that he had kissed her, all things -were possible. His interest in all the world was quickened. His work -and success again became important. He thought of her thin little -high-heeled shoes, her dancing decorative way of walking, the costly -frailty of her dress. He would need money--heaps of it--to marry her. - -It was half-an-hour later, while he sat at breakfast, that a small cloud -loomed on his horizon. It grew out of the sobering effect which comes -of being among everyday people. A doubt arose in his mind as to the -propriety of his last night’s actions. He’d whisked her away from the -station without letting her see her mother, and had brought her home -late after driving for hours through the darkness. Would Vashti consider -him a safe person after such behavior? He knew that Eden Row wouldn’t. -But in Desire’s company he lost sight of conventions in the absolute -rightness of their being together. Besides, as he knew to his cost, -she was well able to take care of herself. Strangers might think---- -It didn’t matter what they thought. Nevertheless, it was with some -trepidation that he approached the telephone and heard Vashti answer; -“You brought my baby-girl home rather late. I hope you had a good -time.--Oh, no, I didn’t mind; but I should have if it had been any one -but Teddy.” - -He wondered whether Desire had told her mother that he had kissed her. -Did girls tell their mothers things like that? - -“May I speak with Desire?” - -“She’s not here. Fluffy called with Mr. Overbridge just after you’d -brought her back. They took her out to supper. Desire slept with her -last night. I don’t know what plans she’s made for to-day.--Yes, I’ll -ask her to call you up.” - -Fluffy again! He frowned. Overbridge hadn’t wanted her--that was -Fluffy’s doing; she had taken her for protection. He didn’t like to -think of Desire’s being put to such uses. He didn’t like to think of her -being made a foil to another woman’s ill-conducted love-affair. There -was a lack of system about not knowing where you were going to sleep up -to within five minutes of getting into bed. He felt chagrined that -his imagination had been wasted in picturing her thinking of him. He -criticized Vashti for the leniency of her attitude; it was proper, if -bonds of affection were worth anything, for a mother and daughter to -be together after a three weeks’ separation. For his own lack of -consideration in keeping Desire from her mother, there was some excuse; -but for Fluffy’s---- The thing that hurt most was that Desire should -have been willing to telescope the most exalted moment of his life into -the next trivial happening, allowing herself no time for reflection. - -All that day he waited with trembling suspense to hear from her; it was -not until the following morning that she called him and arranged to -go to lunch. Almost her first words on meeting were, “I’ve thought it -over.” - -“Over! Was there anything?” - -“Thieves must be punished. You mustn’t do it again.” Then, with a quick -uplifting of her eyes--so quick that the gray seas seemed to splash -over: “Come, Meester Deek, let’s forget and be happy.” - -So he learnt that it was he who had done wrong--he who had to be -forgiven. Her forgiveness was offered so generously that it would have -been churlish to dispute its necessity. Besides, argument wasted time -and might lead to fretfulness. - -In the weeks that followed a dangerous comradeship sprang up between -them; dangerous because of its quiet confidence, which seemed to deny -the existence of passion. Her total ignoring of the fact of sex made -any reference to it seem vulgar; yet everything that she did, from -the itinerant beauty-patch to the graceful frailty of her dress, was a -silent and provocative acknowledgment that sex was omnipresent. - -“I wouldn’t dare to trust myself so much with any other man,” she told -him. - -It was what Vashti had said: “Oh, no, I didn’t mind; but I should have -if it had been any one but Teddy.” - -So he found himself isolated on a peak of chivalry, from which the old -sweet ways of love looked satyrish. Other men would have tried to hold -her hands. Given his opportunities, other men would have crushed their -lips against her sweet red mouth. Because she had proclaimed him nobler -than other men he refrained from any of these brutalities--and all the -while his mind was on fire with the vision of them. Instead, he put the -poetry of his passion into the parables of love that he told her. They -were like children in a forest, hiding from each other, yet continually -calling and making known their whereabouts out of fear of the forest’s -solitariness. - -They showed their need of each other in a thousand ways which were more -eloquent than words. Every morning at ten promptly--ten being her hour -for rising--he phoned her. Sometimes he found her at Vashti’s apartment, -sometimes at Fluffy’s; at Fluffy’s there were frequently sleepy sounds -which told him that she was answering him from bed. This morning -conversation grew to be a habit on which they both depended. - -It was a rare day when they did not lunch together. She would meet him -in the foyer of one of the fashionable hotels. They had special nooks -where they found each other--nooks known only to themselves. In the -Waldorf it was against a pillar at the end of Peacock Alley, opposite to -the Thirty-fourth Street entrance which is nearest to Fifth Avenue. -In the Vanderbilt it was a deep armchair, two windows uptown from the -marble stairs. In the same way they had their special tables; they got -to know the waiters, and often to please her he would order the table -to be reserved. He learnt that lavish tips and the appearance of wealth -were the Open Sesame to pleasures of which the frugality of Eden Row had -never dreamt. - -She was invariably late to their appointments--or almost invariably; if -he counted on her lateness and arrived late himself, it would so happen -that she had got there early. Her instinct seemed to keep her informed, -even when he was out of her sight, as to what he was thinking and doing, -so that she was able to forestall him, thwart him, surprise him. He felt -that this was as it should be if she were in love. The contradiction was -that, though he loved her, his sixth sense never served him. When he -had calculated that this would be her early day and had arrived with ten -minutes in hand, he would watch for an hour the surf of faces washed -in through the revolving doors. As time passed, he would begin -to conjecture all kinds of dismal happenings; underlying all his -conjectures was the suspicion of unexpected death. Then, like a -comforting strain of music, she would emerge from the discord of the -crowd and take his hand. In the joy that she was still alive, he would -hardly listen to her breathless apologies. - -In all his dealings with her there was this constant harassment of -uncertainty. She would never make an arrangement for a day ahead; he -must call her up in the morning--she wasn’t sure of her plans. He -knew what this meant: she wasn’t sure whether Fluffy would command her -attentions. Fluffy came first. He determined at all costs to supplant -Fluffy’s premiership in her affections. He had to prove to her, not by -talking, but by accumulated acts, how much his love for her meant. So he -never complained of her irresponsibility. She could be as capricious as -she chose; it never roused his temper. His reward was to have her pat -his hand and murmur softly, “Meester Deek, you are good to me.” - -Through the blue-gold blur of autumn afternoons they would drift off -to a matinée or he would accompany her shopping. There was a peculiar -intimacy attaching to being made the witness of her girlish purchases. -She would take him into a millinery shop and try on a dozen hats, -referring always to his judgment. The assistant would delight him by -mistaking him for her husband. Desire would correct the wrong impression -promptly by saying: “I don’t know which one I’ll choose; I guess I’ll -have to bring my mother.” In the street she would confess to him that -she’d done it for a lark and hadn’t intended to buy anything. - -“But why do they all--waiters and everybody--think that we’re married?” - -“Perhaps because we were made for each other, and look it.” - -She would twist her shoulders with a pretense of annoyance; her gray -eyes would become cloudy as opals. “That’s stupid. I’m so young--only -twenty.” - -On one of these excursions she filled him with joy by accepting from him -a dozen pairs of silk-stockings. He was perpetually begging her to let -him spend his money on her and she was perpetually refusing. - -“You tempt me, Meester Deek. What would people think?” - -“I don’t know and don’t care. People be hanged. There aren’t any -people--only you and I alone in the world. How’d you like a new set of -furs?” - -“Now, do be good,” she would beg of him, eyeing the furs enviously. - -“I don’t know,” he told her, “whether you really mean no or yes.” - -“And perhaps I don’t know myself,” she mocked him. - -Later, when wild-flowers of the streets flamed in the hedges of the -dusk, they would again postpone their parting. Some new palace would -magically spring up to lure them. Then they would dine to music and she -would insist on acting the hostess and serving him; sometimes by seeming -inadvertence their hands would touch. They would dawdle over their -coffee; like a mother humoring a child full of fancies, at his repeated -request she would sweeten his cup with the lips that were forbidden him. -They might sit on all evening; they might stroll languorously off -to find a new stimulus to illusion in a theatre. Their evenings were -intolerably fugitive. Before midnight they would ride uptown through -the carnival of Broadway, where light foamed on walls of blackness like -champagne poured across ebony. - -At first he was inclined to be dissatisfied that he gained so little -ground: when he advanced, she retreated; when he retreated, she -advanced. If, to woo him back to a proper demonstrativeness, she had -to display some new familiarity, she was careful not to let it become a -habit. - -“The more stand-offish I am with you,” he said, “the more sweet you are -to me. Directly I start to fall in love with you again----” - -“Again?” she questioned, with a raising of her brows. - -“Again,” he repeated stubbornly. “Directly I do that, you grow cold. -The thing works automatically like a pair of scales--only we hardly ever -balance. When you’re up, I’m down. When I’m up, you’re down.” - -“What charming metaphors you use,” she exclaimed petulantly; and then, -with swift tormenting compassion, “Poor Meester Deek.” - -But his protestations worked no difference. One night, in crossing Times -Square, she said, “You may take my arm if you choose.” When an hour -later he tried to do it, she drew away from him, with, “I cross heaps -of streets without that.” Sometimes, driving home, she would unglove a -temptress hand and let it rest invitingly in her lap. At the first sign -that he was going to take it, it would pop like a rabbit into the warren -of her muff. - -At the moment of parting she became most fascinating; then, for an -instant, poignancy would touch her, making her humble. The dread -foreknowledge would creep into her eyes that even such loyalty as his -could be exhausted; the imminent fear would clutch her that one evening -there would be a final parting and the hope of a new dawn would bring no -hope of his returning. She would coax him to come up to the apartment; -if he consented, she would divert him by chattering to the astonished -elevator-boy in what she conceived to be French. She would slip her key -into the latch, calling softly: “Mother! Mother!” Sometimes Vashti -would come out from the front-room where she had been sitting in the -half-light with a man--usually a Mr. Kingston Dak. As often as not she -would be in bed. Like conspirators they would tiptoe across the passage. -By the piano, with her back towards him, she would seat herself and play -softly with one hand, “In the Gloaming, oh My Darling,” one of the few -tunes which she could strum without error. He would stand with his face -hanging over her shoulder, and they would both wonder silently whether -he was going to crush her to him. Just as he had made up his mind, she -would swing round with eyes mysterious as moonstones: “Meester Deek, -let’s take Twinkles out.” - -So, leaving the apartment with its heavy atmosphere of sleepers, they -would seize for themselves this last respite. - -Loitering along pale streets with the immensity of night brooding over -them, the world became wholly theirs and she again the haunting dream -of his boyhood. There was only the blind white eye of the moon to watch -them. Reluctantly they would come back to the illumined cave which was -fated to engulf her. - -Their hands would come together and linger. Their lips would stumble -over words and grow dumb. - -“And to-morrow?” he would falter. - -“To-morrow!--Phone me.--It’s one of the nicest days we’ve ever had.” - -In a flash she would stoop to Twinkles, tuck the bundle of wriggling fur -beneath her arm, wave her hand and run lightly up the steps. - -If he stayed, he would see her turn before entering the elevator, wave -her hand again and throw a last smile to him--a smile which seemed to -reproach him, to plead with him and to extend a promise. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII--DRIFTING - -Through the red flame-days of October she danced before him, a -tantalizing heart of thistledown. If she settled, it was always well -ahead. When he came up with her and stooped, thinking her capture -certain, some new breeze of caprice or reticence would sweep her beyond -the reach of his grasp. - -They discussed love in generalizations--in terms of life, literature and -the latest play. They discussed very little else. - -“When I’m married-------” he would say. - -“Well?” she would encourage him, snuggling her face against her -white-fox furs. - -“When I am married, every day’ll be a new romance. I can live anywhere -I like--that’s the beauty of being an artist. I think I shall live in -Italy first, somewhere on the Bay of Naples. I and my wife” (how her -eyes would twinkle when he said that!), “I and my wife will dress up -every evening. We’ll have a different set of costumes for every night in -the week, and we’ll dine out in an arbor in our little garden. Sometimes -she’ll be a Dresden Shepherdess, and sometimes a Queen Guinevere, and -sometimes-----” - -“And won’t she ever be herself?” - -“She’ll always be that, with a beauty-patch just about where you wear -yours and a little curl bobbing against her neck.” - -“But what’s the idea of so many costumes?” - -“We shall never get used to each other; we shall always seem to be -loving for the first time--beginning all afresh.--Doesn’t it attract -you, Princess?” - -“Me? I don’t see what I’ve got to do with it. Here’s the kind of woman -you’ll marry: a nice little thing without any ambitions, who’ll think -you’re a genius. You’ll live in one house forever and ever, and have -a large family and go to church every Sunday. And you’ll have a dead -secret that you’ll never be able to tell her, about a famous actress -whom you once romped with in New York before she was famous.” - -She had a thousand ways of turning him aside from confession. - -“Men are rotters--all men except you, Meester Deek. Poor little Fluffy! -Horace isn’t at all nice to her.” - -It transpired on inquiry that Horace wasn’t at all nice to Fluffy -because she was dividing her leisure between himself and Simon Freelevy. - -“You see, she must,” Desire explained. “It’s business. _October_ isn’t -the success they expected--it’s too English in its atmosphere. If -Freelevy likes her, he can put her into his biggest productions. Horace -won’t understand that it’s business. He sulks and makes rows. That’s -why I go about with her so much--her little chaperone, she calls me. -Men have to be polite and can’t take advantage when a young girl is -present.” - -“But what does she give them in return?” Teddy asked. - -Desire became cold. “Any man should feel proud to be seen in her -company.” - -Her way of saying it made him feel that all women were queens and all -men their servitors. His idea that love-affairs ended in marriage seemed -rustic and adolescent. To be seen in the company of a pretty face was -all the reward a man ought to expect for limousines, late suppers, -tantalized hopes and the patient devotion of an honorable passion. -He couldn’t bear that Desire should class herself with the nuns of -pleasure, who dole out their lure as payment, and have blocks of ice -where less virtuous women have hearts. In her scornful defense of -Fluffy, she seemed to be building up a case for herself. - -In the last extremity, when a proposal of marriage threatened, she -employed a still more effective weapon. - -“Look here, Meester Deek, I like you most awfully and we’ve had some -splendid times, but why are you stopping in America?” - -He would gaze into her eyes dumbly, thinking, “Now’s my chance.” - -His hesitancy would infect her with boldness. “If it’s for my sake, -I’m not worth the trouble. I think you’d better go back to England. The -_Lusitania’s_ sailing tomorrow.” - -Piqued by her assumed indifference, he would pretend to take her at her -word: “Perhaps I had better. Would you come to see me off?” - -“Maybe.” - -“And kiss me good-by?” - -“If I felt like it.” - -“Then it’s almost worth going.” - -“Why don’t you?” - -Once he gave her a fright They were passing The International Sleeping -Car Company on Fifth Avenue. “I think I will,” he said lightly. - -Entering, he made a reservation and paid the deposit money. During the -next hour she was so sweet to him, so sad, that they raced back through -the thickening night, arriving just as the last clerk was leaving, and -canceled the booking. - -“Did you mean it?” she whispered. - -“Well, didn’t I?” - -“But do tell me,” she pleaded. “If you don’t, I shall never be at rest.” - -He slipped his arm into hers without rebuff. “Odd little, dear little -Princess, was it likely?” - -After that, when in this mood of self-effacement, she would insist -without fear of being taken seriously that he should sail. - -“If you don’t, I’ll refuse to see you ever again. But,” she would add, -“that’s only if you really are stopping here on my account.” - -To relieve her conscience of responsibility he would lie like a -corsair, bolstering up the fiction that business was his sole reason for -remaining. - -“Then, it’s your funeral, isn’t it?” - -“My funeral,” he echoed solemnly. - -The Indian summer sank into a heap of ashes from which all heat was -spent. November looked in with its thin-lipped mornings and its sudden -pantherlike dusks. Still they wandered, separate and yet together, from -the refuge of one day to the next, establishing shrines of habit which -made them less and less dispensable to each other’s happiness. She was -always darting ahead into the uncertain shadows, hiding, and springing -out that she might test his gladness in having refound her. - -Each new day was an exquisite wax-statue which by night had melted to -formlessness in his hands. He made repeated resolutions to organize -his energies. He lived im-paradised in a lethargy of fond emotions. -His career was at a halt; his opportunities were slipping from him. To -encourage his industry he drew up a chart of the hours in the current -month that he would work. He pinned it to the wall above his desk that -it might reproach him if he fell below his average. The average was -never reached. The chart was tom up. His most stalwart plans were driven -as mist before the breath of her lightest fancy. Not that she encroached -on him by deed or word; but her memory was a delirium which kept him -always craving for her presence. - -“If you were to drop me to-morrow,” she told him, “you’d never hear from -me. I’m like that. I shouldn’t run after you.” - -She left him to place his own construction on the statement--to discover -its origin in nobility or carelessness. Whichever it was, it made him -the needle while she remained the magnet. When he wasn’t with her, he -was waiting for her; so the hours after midnight, when he had seen her -home, were the only ones free from feverishness. His work suffered; -he stole from the hours when he ought to have been in bed. He began to -suspect that he was losing his confidence of touch. The suspicion was -sharply confirmed when one of his commissioned articles came back -with the cryptic intimation that it wasn’t exactly what the editor had -expected. That meant the loss of five hundred dollars; what was worse, -it filled him with artistic panic. - -In the old days--the days of _Life Till Twenty-one_--fame had been the -goal of his ambitions. He had set before his eyes, as though it were -a crucifix, the austere aloofness of his father’s pure motives. He -couldn’t afford to do that any longer. He was spending lavishly; the -example of the extravagance of Fluffy’s lovers spurred his expenditures. -He didn’t care how he won Desire’s admiration; win it he must. -Unconsciously he was trying to win it with a display of generosity. -Dimly he foresaw that he was doing her an injustice; he would have to -cut down and recuperate the moment they were married. In preparation he -painted to her the joys of simplicity and of life in the country. Her -curl became agitated with merriment. - -“That isn’t the way I’ve been brought up. Cottages don’t have bathrooms, -and the country’s muddy except in summer. It wouldn’t suit me. And I do -like to wear silk.” Then, with a shudder: “Poverty’s so ugly. There’s -only one thing worse, and that’s growing old. Please, Meester Deek, -let’s talk of something else.” - -She was like a child, stopping her ears with her fingers and pleading, -“Please don’t tell me any more ghost-stories.” He felt sorry for her; -at such times she seemed so inexperienced and young. By her -misplaced valuations, she was giving life such power to hurt her. Her -sophistication seemed more apparent than real--a disguise for her lack -of knowledge. He wanted to comfort her against old age. If one were -loved, neither poverty nor growing old mattered. He thought of Dearie -and the way she had married his father, with their joint affection and -her high belief in him for their sole assets. - -There were times when Desire seemed to guess his problem. - -“I wish you’d do more work. Why don’t you leave me alone to-morrow? And -you oughtn’t to keep on spending and spending. I’d be just as happy if -you spent less.” - -The joy of her thoughtfulness gave him hope and made him the more -reckless. Besides, it wasn’t possible to economize in her company. Her -fear of the subway and her abhorrence of crowded surface-cars made taxis -a continual necessity. Her shoes were so thin that a mile of walking -tired her; her clothes were so stylish that she would have looked -conspicuous in any but a fashionable setting. Her method of dress, in -which he delighted, limited them both to costly environments. He had -named her rightly years ago in calling her “Princess.” - -Vashti puzzled him. She seemed to avoid him. When he visited the -apartment she was out, just going out or expected back shortly. He had -fugitive glimpses of her hurrying off to concert engagements, or going -on some pleasure jaunt with the unexplained Mr. Dak, similar to those -which he and Desire enjoyed together. - -Mr. Kingston Dak was a little grasshopper of a man. He had lemon-colored -hair, white teeth, extremely well-kept hands and was nearly forty. His -littleness was evidently a sore point with him, for the heels of his -shoes were built up like a woman’s. He held himself erectly and when -others were seated he usually remained standing. He seemed to be always -in search of something to lean against which would enable him to -tiptoe unobtrusively and to add another inch to his stature. He was -clean-shaven, and in appearance shy and boyish; he would have looked -excellently well in clerical attire. By hobby he was an occultist; -by profession a stockbroker. His chief topic of conversation was the -superiority of Mohammedanism to Christianity. - -Desire called him “King” familiarly; Vashti referred to him as “My -little broker.” Although in his early twenties he had been divorced and -tattered by the thorns of a disastrous passion, neither of them -seemed to regard him as dangerously masculine. They treated him as a -maiden-aunt--as a pale person receiving affection in lieu of wages, -expected to safeguard their comfort and to slip into a cupboard when he -wasn’t wanted. - -“King’s quite nice,” Desire told Teddy; “he was most awfully fond of -her. His troubles have made him so understanding.” - -Teddy wondered what had happened to the world that all its women had -become Vestal Virgins and all its men unassailable St. Anthonies. He -watched Mr. Dak for any sign that he remembered the days of his flesh. -The little man was as perfunctory over his duties as a well-trained -lackey. - -Vashti’s bearing towards himself during their brief meetings was -affectionately sentimental. There was a hint of the proprietary in the -way she touched him, as though she regarded him already as her son. Her -eyes would rest on him with veiled inquiry; she never put her question -into words. She was giving him his chance, and he felt infinitely -grateful to her--so grateful that he was blind to the unexplained -situations which surrounded her. That she should allow his unchaperoned -relations with Desire endowed her with broadmindedness. “Unto the pure -all things are pure,” seemed the maxim on which she acted. In accepting -that ruling for his own conduct, he had to extend the same leniency to -Mr. Dak’s. - -Desire stretched it a point further and made it apply to herself. He -found that frequently after he had said “Good-by” to her at close on -midnight, Fluffy would call with a car and carry her off to make a -party of three at supper, or sometimes to join a larger party--mostly of -men--in her apartment. He remonstrated with her: “It’s all very well for -an actress; but I hate to think of you mixing with all kinds of people -whose standards are just anyhow, and playing ’gooseberry’ for two -people older than yourself.” - -“I don’t see that you can complain,” she laughed. “If my standards -weren’t theatrical and if I were the kind of girl who sees evil in -everything, you wouldn’t be allowed to go about with me so much.” - -There was his dilemma in a nut-shell. In joining the ranks of the -superiorly pure, he was pledged to see purity everywhere. Divorces were -pure. Nobody was to blame for anything. People ought to be sympathized -with, not punished, when they got into trouble. He seemed to have made -lax conventions his own by taking advantage of them for facilitating -his courtship. It would look like hypocrisy to disapprove of them after -marriage. It was very jolly, for instance, to hear her whisper in -the jingling secrecy of a hansom, “Meester Deek, please light me a -cigarette.” Very jolly to convey it from his lips to hers, and to -watch the red glow of each puff make a cameo of her face against the -blackness. But---- And that _but_ was perpetually walking round new -corners to confront him--if she were his wife, would the sight of her -smoking afford him such abiding happiness? She had taunted him with -being a King Arthur. In the presence of her emotional tolerance, -which found excuses for everything and ostracized nobody, his sense of -propriety seemed a lack of social charity. He guessed the reason for -her continual plea that people should be forgiving--her mother. The -knowledge silenced his criticisms and roused his compassion. - -Two moods possessed him alternately: in the one he despised himself as -an austere person, in whom an undue restraint of upbringing had -dammed the stream of youth, so that it lay alone and unruffled as a -mountain-tarn; in the other he saw himself as a man with a chivalrous -duty. - -Little by little he came to see that her faery lightheartedness, her -faculty for taking no thought for the morrow, made her an easy prey for -the morrow. Her ease in acquiring new friendships made friendship of -small value. - -Her butterfly Sittings from pleasure to pleasure left her without -garnerings. She lived, he calculated, at the rate of at least five -thousand dollars per annum. But different people paid for it; she -contributed as her share her gay well-dressed schoolgirl self. The -chances were that she rarely had a five-dollar bill in her purse, and -yet she was accustoming herself to extravagance. - -He began to watch her friends. When he ran over the list of them, he -found that they were all temporary, held by the flimsiest bonds -of common knowledge. They had been met at hotels, in pensions, on -transatlantic voyages. A good many of them were divorced or unattached -persons. They were all on the wing; none of them seemed to comply with -any settled code of morals. The more he saw of her, the more aghast he -became at the precariousness of her prosperity. Some day these friends, -who could dispense with her for months together, would happen all to -dispense with her at the same moment Then the telephone, which was her -wizard summons to dinners, balls, and motor-parties, would suddenly grow -silent. She would wait and listen; and listen and wait; her round of -gayeties would be ended. Perhaps this thirst for the insubstantial -things of life was a part of the price which Hal had mentioned. Did she -know it? Winged creature as she was, she must covet the security of -a nest sometimes, though, while she was without it, she affected to -despise it as dullness. - -When he married her---- He became lost in thought - -If they went on living as they were living now, his career would be torn -to shreds by her unsatisfied energy. They would have to settle down. In -putting up with any irritations that might result, he’d be helping her -to pay the penalty--the penalty which Vashti had imposed on so many -lives--on her own most of all--by her early selfishness. Towering above -his passion and mingling with it oddly, was the great determination -to save her from the ruinous lightness to which her mother’s undefined -social position had committed her. - -She was fully aware of the unspoken strictures which lent melancholy to -his ardor. - -“You think I’m a silly little moth. I know you do. I’m pyschic. You -think I’m fluttering about a candle and that my wings’ll get scorched. -Just you wait. I’ll have to show you.” - -Or she would say, leaning out towards him, “I wonder what it is that you -like about me, Meester Deek. There are so many things you don’t like, -though you never tell me. You don’t like my powdering, or my smoking -cigarettes, or--oh, such lots of things. But where’s the harm? And -there’s another thing you won’t like--I’m going to dye my hair to -auburn.” - -This threat, that she would dye her hair, led to endless conversations. -It made him bold to tell her how pretty she was, which was exactly what -she wanted. - -Sometimes she was sweetly grown up, preparing him for disillusionment; -but it was when she was little that he loved her best Then she would -give him the most artless confidences; telling him about her religion, -how she prayed for him night and morning, and of her longings to know -her father. She would plead with him to tell her about Orchid Lodge and -Mrs. Sheerug, and Ruddy, and Harriet She came to picture the old house -as if she had lived there, and yet she was never tired of hearing the -old details afresh. Orchid Lodge became a secret between them--one of -their many secrets, like the name she had given him. And still they -drifted undecided. - -Then the series of events happened which forced their love to its first -anchorage. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV--THE TRIFLERS GROW EARNEST - -Night was tremulous with the beat of wings. The first snow of the -season was falling, giving to familiar streets a theatric look of -enchanted strangeness. Large flakes sailed confidently as descending -doves; little ones came in flurries like a storm of petals. Perhaps -boy-angels in heavenly orchards were shaking the blossoms with their -romping. Teddy glanced at the girl beside him; it seemed that an -all-wise providence had sent the snow especially as a background for -her. - -They were returning from the final performance of _October_. They had -been behind the scenes with Fluffy, where friends had been drugging her -melancholy with the assurance that, whatever might be said of the play, -her acting had scored a triumph. - -The illusion of the footlights followed them. Streets were a new -stage-setting in which they had become the dominant personalities. The -shrieking of motor-horns above the din of traffic seemed the agonized -cry of defeated lovers, divided in a chaos of misunderstandings. - -As they drove up Broadway Desire crouched with her cheek against the -pane. She was trying to make out the hoardings on which the name of -Janice Audrey was featured in large letters. While she performed her -ritual at each vanishing shrine, Teddy sat unheeded. - -Her saint-like hands were clasped against her breast. Her face hung -palely meditative, a shadow cast upon the dusk. She filled the night -with fragrance. The falling flakes outside seemed to kiss her hair in -passing. - -He could only imagine the old-rose shade of the velvet opera-cloak -that hid her from him. Her white-fox furs lay across her shoulders like -drifted snow. He ached intolerably to take her in his arms. - -Her eyes were turned away. He could only see the faint outline of her -cheek and the slender curve of her girlish neck. She threw out remarks -as they traveled--remarks which called for no answer and expected none. - -“Horace’ll have to own now that she was wise in cultivating other -friendships. Poor old Horace!--And all those bills will be covered -up to-morrow with some new great success. Such is fame!--Fluffy’s so -discouraged.” - -“Do you think that was true?” - -“What?” Her question was asked lazily, more out of politeness than -curiosity. - -“That _October_ was her autobiography?” - -“Partly. Artistic people like to think themselves tragic. You do. I’ve -noticed.” - -“I think it was.” He refused to be diverted. “I think it was real -tragedy. She’s given up so much for fame; it’s brought her nothing.” - -Desire laughed quietly. “The old subject. I knew where you were going -the minute you started. It’s like a hat that you want to get rid of; you -hang it on every peg you come to. No, I’m not meaning to be unkind; but -you do amuse me, Meester Deek.--Fluffy’s very much to be envied.” - -“Why?” - -“She’s beautiful.” - -“So are you. But being beautiful isn’t everything. Being loved is the -thing that satisfies.” - -“Does it? And loving too, I expect. But you see I don’t know: I’ve never -loved.” - -“You won’t let yourself love.” He spoke the words almost inaudibly. - -They both fell silent. She still bent forward, her head and shoulders -silhouetted against the pane. Her lack of response made his passion seem -foolishness. - -During the weeks of enforced friendship the physical bond between them -had been growing more compelling. - -It was only in crowded places that her actions acknowledged it; when -they were by themselves her reticence announced plainly, “Trespassers -will be prosecuted.” Then she became forbidding; but her sudden gusts -of coldness, her very inaccessibility, only added the more to her -attraction. He told himself that women who left men nothing to conquer -were not valued. He found himself filled with overpowering longings to -defy her attempts to thwart him. His mind seethed with pictures of what -might happen. He saw himself pressing those hands against his lips, -kissing her eyes or her slender neck, where the false curl danced and -beckoned. Would this pain of expectancy never end? Did she also suffer -beneath her pale aloofness? - -With the high-strung sensitiveness of the lover, he began to suspect -that his procrastination piqued her. Sometimes he fancied that even -Vashti criticized his delay in announcing his intentions. He dreaded -lest Desire should think that he was flirting. But why didn’t she help -him? Did girls ever help their lovers? She increased his difficulties at -every opportunity. Shyness, perhaps! Time and again when he had nerved -himself to the point of proposing, she had struck him dumb with a -languid triviality or flippancy of gesture. - -But to-night it would be different The enchantment of the snow tingled -in his blood. The warning of the woman who had procrastinated so long -that she had lost her sincerity, spurred him to confession. Surely -to-night, if ever---- - -His hand set out on a voyage of discovery. It slipped into her muff and -found her fingers. - -She shuddered. It was as though a chill had struck her. “What are you -doing? You’re queer to-night. Funny.” - -He had no words in which to tell her. He was terribly in earnest. -Hammers were pounding in his temples. His face was twitching. The -darkness choked him. - -He drooped closer. His lips brushed her furs. She sat breathless. His -lips crept higher and touched her hair. - -“No, please.” Her voice was shaky and childish. “Not now. I--I don’t -feel like it.” - -He drew back. Though she had denied him, their hands clung together. -Hers lay motionless, like the beating heart of a spent bird that has -lost the strength to save itself. The power that he knew he had over her -at that moment made him feel like a ruffian who had lain in ambush and -taken her unaware. - -“Shall I let it go?” he whispered. - -For answer the slim fingers nestled closer. - -“Meester Deek, you were never in love before, were you?” - -“Never.” - -“Very wonderful. I thought not. You don’t act like it.” - -“And you, Princess?” - -“Ah!” She smiled mysteriously. “There was a boy who asked permission to -marry me once. It was just after I’d put up my hair. I was only fifteen, -but I looked just as old as I do now. He told mother that he’d saved -fifty dollars, and that he wanted to start early so as to raise a large -family. Very sweet and domestic of him, wasn’t it?” - -“But that wasn’t serious.” - -“No, not serious, you poor Meester Deek; but it makes you jealous.--And -there were others.” - -“How many?” - -“Oh, dozens. I’ve always had some one in love with me, ever since I can -remember. That’s why I gave names to my hands.” - -“Then no one ever held them before?” - -“I shouldn’t say that. But almost no one. I used to let Tom hold them -when he wouldn’t stop drizzling. Tom was different; he was a kind of -brother.” - -“And what am I?” - -“I’ve often wondered.” Her brows drew together. “You’re a kind of -friend, and yet you’re not.” - -“More than a friend?” - -They were halting. She freed her hand and stroked his face daringly. -“You’re Meester Deck. Isn’t that enough? Some one whom I love and -trust.” - -She threw the door open. On the point of jumping out, she hesitated. -“The pavement’s so slushy. Whatever shall I do with my thin shoes and -all?” - -“Let me carry you.” - -As his arms enfolded her, she stiffened. For a moment there was a -rebellious struggle. Then her arm went about his neck and her face sank -against his shoulder. - -How light she was! How little! How unchanged from the child-Desire of -the woodland! - -“D’you remember the last time?” he whispered. “It’s years since I’ve -done it.” - -“Not your fault,” she laughed. “You’d have done it often and often, if -I’d allowed you. I guess you wish it was always snowing.” - -The distance was all too short. He would have carried her across the -lighted foyer, into the elevator, up to the apartment. He didn’t mind -who stared at him. He would have gone on holding her thus forever. As -they reached the steps she slipped from his arms. - -“Oh, you big, strong man!” Her gray eyes were dancing; a faint flush -spread across her forehead. “I do hope nobody saw us.” He was stealing -his arm into hers. She turned him back. “Forgetful! You haven’t paid the -taxi.” - -After he had paid, he searched round for her. She had gone. It was the -first time she had done it; she always waited for him. So she knew what -was coming! By her flight she was lengthening by a few more minutes -their long uncertainty. In the quiet of the dim-lit room, with the snow -gliding past the window, each separate flake tiptoeing like a faery, he -would tell her. But would he need to tell her? She would be waiting for -him, her face drooping against her shoulder, looking sweet and weary. -She would be like a tired child, its mischief forgotten, ready to -stretch out its arms and snuggle in his breast. All that need be said -would come in broken phrases--phrases which no one but themselves could -understand. And then, after that---- She might cry a little. When they -were married, perhaps Hal---- - -He waited till the elevator had descended before he tapped. Probably she -was listening for him, fearing and yet hoping for the pressure of his -arms and all the newness that they would begin together. He would read -in her eyes the writing of surrender--the same writing that he had read -on the dusty panes of childhood, “I love you. I love you.” - -He tapped; he tapped more loudly. The door was opened ty Mr. Dak. -“Hulloa! Come in.” - -“Where’s Desire?” - -“In her room getting ready.” - -“Ready? For what?” - -They entered the dim-lit room where the most splendid moment of life -should have been happening. - -“Didn’t you know?” Mr. Dak appeared not to notice his emotion. -“Everybody else knew. There’s a supper-party to Miss Audrey. Just the -six of us.” - -They fell to making conversation. Mr. Dak did most of the talking. Teddy -found himself agreeing to the statement that Christianity was a colossal -blunder, and that Mohammedanism was the only religion worth the having. -He would have agreed to anything. As he listened for Desire’s footstep, -he nodded his head, saying, “Yes. Of course. Obviously.” All the while -he was aware of the embarrassed kindness that looked out from the eyes -of the little man. Somewhere, in the silence of his brain, a voice kept -questioning, “Mr. Dak, are you in love with Vashti? Does she laugh at -you when you try to tell her? Do you wish the world was pagan because -then you’d be her lord and master?” - -“In the Mohammedan faith,” Mr. Dak was saying, “a woman’s hope of -immortality lies in merging her life with a man’s.” - -Then he set himself to criticize pedantically the breakdown of the -Christian ideal of marriage. - -The door-bell rang. Fluffy and Horace entered. The sparkle of laughter -was in their eyes. They brought with them an atmosphere of love-making. -As Horace helped her out of her sables, his hands loitered on her -shoulders caressingly. - -She turned to the others with the sad little smile of one who summons -all the world to her protection. She looked extremely beautiful and -lavish, with her daffodil-colored hair floating like a cloud above her -blue, hypnotic eyes. “I’m so depressed. I do hope you’ll cheer me. Fancy -having to learn a new part and to worry with rehearsals, and then to go -on the road again.” She sat down on the couch, her hands tucked beneath -her, her arms making handles for the vase of her body. “I wish I wasn’t -an actress. I wish I were just a wife in a dear little house--a sort of -nest--with a kind man to take care of me. Only----” She glanced at -Horace. “Only I never met the always kind man.” - -“Women never know their own minds,” said Horace. “A law ought to be -passed to compel every woman who’s loved to marry.” - -At supper Desire’s place was empty. Teddy turned to Vashti and -whispered, “Where is she? Isn’t she coming?” - -Vashti looked at him with her slow, comprehending smile. “She’s coming. -But she’s thinking. I wonder what about.” - -At that moment Desire entered and slipped into the vacant chair beside -him. All through the meal as the atmosphere brightened, she sat silent. -She seemed to be doing her best not to notice that he was there. - -The talk turned on women and what men thought of them. - -“Men may think what they like, but they never know us,”. Fluffy said. -“Love’s a game of guess-work and deception. Half the time when a man’s -blaming a woman for not having married him, he ought to be down on his -knees thanking her for having spared him. She knows what she is, and -she knows what he is. He doesn’t. Men invariably confuse friendship with -matrimony. They can’t understand how women can enjoy their company and -yet couldn’t fancy them as husbands.” - -Desire woke up. “And the worst of it is that sometimes we women can’t -understand ourselves.” - -“Some men can.” Vashti glanced at Mr. Dak, whom she had so often praised -for his understanding. Mr. Dak returned her gaze as non-committingly -as a Buddhish idol. Horace leant forward across the table. The gleam of -tolerant amusement was never absent from his eyes. - -“You ladies are all talking nonsense, and you know it. Even little -Desire over there knows it. Directly you begin to like a man you begin -to think of marriage--only some of you begin to think of running away -from it ‘Between men and women there is no friendship possible. -Passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship’--you remember Lord -Darlington’s lines. When love is trifled with, it sours into hatred. -Every man who loves a woman has his moments when he hates her -intensely.” - -“Did you ever hate me?” Fluffy covered his hand to insure the answer she -required. - -“Yes. And you’ve hated me. Desire could tell just how much if she dared. -You women all discuss your love-affairs. You’re fondest of a man when -he’s absent. When he’s present, you never confess.” - -Teddy sat quietly listening. He thought how silly these people were to -talk so much and to love so little. Life was going by them; none of them -had begun to live yet They were like timid bathers at the seaside, who -splashed and paddled, but never really got wet. They wouldn’t learn -to swim for fear of getting drowned. He wished he could take them to -a house in Eden Row, where a man and woman were living bravely and -accepting hard knocks as things to be expected. While he listened, he -watched Desire, wondering what ghostly thoughts were wandering behind -her wistful eyes. - -Chairs were pushed back. They were leaving the room. Fluffy turned to -meet him in the doorway. Her arm was about Desire. She hung her head, -glancing searchingly from one to the other. - -“We’re a pack of fools,” she whispered intensely. “Don’t you listen to -us.” She took Teddy’s hand and hesitated at a loss for words. With a -sudden gust of emotion she kissed him. “Little Desire, why don’t you -marry him? He looks at you so lovingly and sadly.” - -“Marry him!” Desire faltered. “I don’t know. But we’re very fond of each -other, aren’t we, Teddy?” - -It was the first time she had called him that. The babies came into -her eyes; she broke from Fluffy and ran down the passage. From a safe -distance she called laughingly, “I won’t have you hanging about with my -beau. You’ll be kissing him again; and I won’t have you kissing him when -I’m not present.” - -In the room which overlooked the Hudson, Vashti was playing. For a -minute Teddy had a vision of how he had first seen her with Hal; only -times had changed. The man who bent across her shoulder now was Mr. Dak. -It was a child’s song that she was singing, about a lady who was devoted -to a poodle-dog which died, and how she fretted and fretted. The last -verse leapt out of melancholy into merriment, - - “But e’er three months had past - - She had bought another poodle-dog. - - Exactly like the last” - -To Teddy the words were a philosophy of fickleness; that was precisely -what she had done on losing Hal. A worrying fear came upon him as he -glanced from mother to daughter: in outward appearance they were so much -alike. If he were to leave Desire, would she, too, replace him? - -The thought was in the air. Mr. Dak, leaning against the piano to make -himself an inch taller, began to descant on the transience of affection. -He had arrived at his favorite topic and was saying, “Now, among the -Mohammedans----” when Horace interrupted. - -“It depends on what you mean by transience. One’s got to go on living, -so one goes on loving. But if you mean that one forgets--why, it’s not -true.” - - Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine - - There fell thy shadow, Cynara! Thy breath was shed - - Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine; - - And I was desolate and sick of an old passion, - - Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head: - - I have been faithful to thee, Cynara, in my fashion.’ - -“One never forgets. There’s always a Cynara. One may love twenty times, -but betwixt your lips and the lips of the latest woman there’s always -the memory of the first ghostly rapture. You seek Cynara to the end of -life; but if you met her again, you would not find her.” - -Across the window the snow drifted white as the loosened hair of Time. -In the room there was no stir. Unseen people entered. Vashti shaded -her face with her hand; it was easy to guess of whom she was thinking. -Fluffy gazed into space, a child who finds itself alone and is -frightened. Mr. Dak was inscrutable. Horace lay back, staring at the -ceiling, watching the ascending smoke of his cigarette. To Teddy the -room was like an empty house in which innumerable clocks ticked loudly. - -He met Desire’s eyes. “We are young. We are young,” they said. “Why -won’t they leave us to ourselves?” - -“My God, I wish I were little. I wish I were no older than Desire. I -wish I could get away from all this rottenness and wake up to-morrow -in the country. Think what it’ll look like, all white and sparkling and -shiny! Where’s the good of your telling me you love me, Horace, if you -can’t make me good and little--if you can’t put back the hands of Time?” - -Fluffy jumped up, half laughing, half crying, and threw wide the window. -She leant out, so that the snow fell glistening in the gold of her hair. - -“Not a sound. Listen!” - -Horace rose and stood beside her. “Would you like to wake up in the -country? I’ll manage it. I’d manage anything for you, little girl.” - -Mr. Dak broke his silence. “I know a farm. It’s up the Hudson--seventy -miles at least from here. The people are my friends.” - -In a babel of excited voices it was planned. Of a sudden the triflers -had become lovers confessed. They seemed to think that by the childish -trick of escaping, their youth could be recaptured. While the women -ran off to change and wrap up, the men completed arrangements for the -journey. - -When the limousine arrived it had seats for only five; cushions were -strewn on the floor for Desire and Teddy. She kept far away from him -till the light went out. Again it was like standing in an empty house; -people’s brains were clocks which ticked solemnly, “And I was desolate -and sick of an old passion.” - -They two alone had nothing to remember--all the rapture of life lay -ahead. In the darkness he felt her hand groping. One by one he coaxed -apart the reluctant fingers and pressed the little palm against his -mouth. She allowed herself to be drawn closer; he could feel the wild -bird of her heart beating its wings against the walls of the flesh. - -“Dearest.” - -“Hush! Dear is enough,” she whispered. - -Long after she was asleep he sat staring into the blackness. -To-morrow--all the long to-morrows would be theirs. - - - - -CHAPTER XV--SLAVES OF FREEDOM - -It was as though he were in a nest; the windows were padded with the -feathers of snow that had frozen to them overnight. He felt cramped. -Then he found that his arm was about a girl and that her head was -against his shoulder. She roused and gazed at him drowsily. She sat up, -rubbing her fists into her eyes. They stared at each other in amused -surprise. - -“Well, I never!” she whispered. “Wot liberties ter taik wiv a lady!” - -She drew away from him in pretended haughtiness, tilting her chin into -the air. - -Some one yawned. “Good Lord! We must have been mad.” - -Disenchantment spoke in the complaining voice. They turned. The rest of -the party were awake, looking bored and fretful. - -“I’m aching for some sleep,” Fluffy sighed; “I know I’m going to quarrel -with some one. It was you and your wretched Cynaras did this for us, -Horace. If I’m not in bed in half-an-hour, I’ll never speak to you -again.” - -“Why mother, where’s King?” Desire noticed the absence of Mr. Dak. - -“If he’s wise, he’s walking back to New York,” Vashti said; “but I think -he’s outside, directing the driver.--We certainly were mad. I am tired.” - -A discontented silence settled down. Teddy wished that they all would -close their eyes and leave him alone with Desire. She was like a wild -thing when others were watching; beneath her stillness he could detect -her agitation lest he should betray to others that he loved her. - -“You’re not cross, too--are you?” he whispered. “Are you, Princess?” - -She shook her head. “You made a splendid pillow.” - -She gave him no encouragement, so he sank into himself. He tried to -recapture his sensations of the night In his dreams he must have -been conscious of her; they must have gone together on all manner of -adventures. He blamed himself for having slept; if he had kept his -vigil, what memories he would have had. - -The car halted. The door was opened by Mr. Dak. White and soft as a -swan’s breast, gleaming in the early morning sunlight, lay a rolling -expanse of unruffled country. Distant against the glassy sky mountains -shone imperturbably, like the humped knees of Rip Van Winkles taking -their eternal rest. - -Mr. Dak beamed with pride. He seemed to be claiming all the credit for -the stillness and whiteness, and most especially for the low-roofed -farmhouse, with its elms and barns, and its plume of blue smoke curling -up hospitably into the frosted silence. He was pathetically eager to be -thanked. He looked more like a maiden-aunt than ever. - -As the company tumbled out, their self-ridicule was heightened by the -patent unsuitability of their attire. The men in their silk-hats and -evening-dress, the women in their high-heeled shoes and dainty gowns -looked dishonest and shallow apart from their environment. - -“Damn!” said Fluffy, giving way to temperament “I want to hide.” - -Horace attempted comfort. “You’ll feel better when you’ve had -breakfast.” - -“I shan’t. I shan’t ever feel better. You oughtn’t to have brought me. -You know I’m not responsible after midnight.” - -“But you were so keen on waking in the country.” - -She swept by him indignantly up the uncleared path, kilting her skirt. -“Could I wake when I haven’t slept?” - -In the door a young man was standing--a very stolid and sensible young -man. He wore oiled boots and corduroy breeches; he was coatless; his -sleeves were rolled up and, despite the cold, his shirt was unbuttoned -at the neck. In an anxious manner Mr. Dak was explaining to him the -situation. As the others came up he was introduced as Sam; he at once -began to speak of breakfast. - -“I don’t want any breakfast,” Fluffy pouted ungraciously; “all I want is -a place to lie down.” - -Sam eyed her rather contemptuously--the way a mastiff might have looked -at Twinkles. - -“The wife’s bathing the babies; but I daresay it can be managed.” He -stepped back into the hall and shouted, “Mrs. Sam! Mrs. Sam!” - -Mrs. Sam appeared with a child in her arms, which she had hastily -wrapped in a towel. She was a wholesome, smiling, deep-breasted young -woman, with a face as placid as a Madonna’s. Three beds were promised -and the ladies immediately retired. - -“Cross, aren’t they?” said Sam, before the last skirt had rustled -petulantly up the stairs. - -“Rather,” Horace assented. - -“It’s to be expected,” said Mr. Dak. - -“Expected! Is it?” Sam scratched his head. “Well, all I can say is if a -woman doesn’t choose to be agreeable, she can go somewhere else, as far -as I’m concerned.” - -It was a rambling old house, paneled, many-windowed, and full of quaint -furniture. The room in which breakfast was set was a converted kitchen, -with shiny oak-chairs and a wide open-fireplace in which great logs -blazed and crackled. It was cheerful with the strong reflected light -thrown in by the newly laundered landscape. From the next room came the -rumble of farm-hands talking; as the door opened for the maid to bring -in dishes, the smell of baking bread and coffee entered. When the guests -had seated themselves, their host became busy about serving. - -“I used to be a bit wild myself,” he said. “I knew Broadway as well as -any man. But it made me tired--there’s nothing in it. If you want to be -really happy, take my advice: settle down and have babies.” - -Mrs. Sam returned. Having dressed the fair-haired mite she was carrying, -she gave it into her husband’s care. He took it on his knee and -commenced spooning food into its mouth. Drawing nearer to the fire, she -set about bathing her youngest. Teddy watched her as she stooped to kiss -the kicking limbs, laughing and keeping up a flow of secret chatter. -Neither she nor her husband apologized for this intimate display of -domesticity. Sometimes he caught her quiet eyes. They made him think -of his mother’s. Try as he would, he could not prevent himself from -comparing her with the women upstairs. Old standards, odd glimpses of -his own childhood flitted across his memory. “These people are married,” - he told himself. How foolish the cynicisms of last night sounded now! - -“So I ran away from towns and the women they breed; I became a farmer -and married her,” Sam was saying. “I don’t reckon I did so badly.” - -When the meal was ended, Mr. and Mrs. Sam excused themselves and went -about their work. Mr. Dak lit a cigar; before the first ash had fallen, -he was nodding. - -Horace and Teddy drew up to the logs, toasting themselves and sitting -near together. There was a distinct atmosphere of disappointment. They -glanced at each other occasionally, saying nothing. It was an odd thing, -Teddy reflected--the men whom he met at Vashti’s apartment rarely had -anything to say to each other. They met distrustfully as the women’s -friends. They never talked of their interests or displayed any -curiosity; yet most of them were distinguished in their own line and -would have been knowable, if met under other circumstances. - -Horace glanced up and spoke abruptly in a lowered voice. “When I was -at Baveno one summer, I ran across an old man. He had a cottage in a -vineyard half a mile up the hill, overlooking Maggiore. He came every -year all the way from Madrid to photograph the view from his terrace. He -thought it the most beautiful view in the world, and was as jealous of -letting any one else share it as if it had been a woman. He had taken -thousands of pictures of it, all similar and yet all different He -was always hoping to get two that were alike; but the light on -snow-mountains is fickle. I suppose he was a little cracked. He had -fooled away his career, and was old and hadn’t married. When he went -back to Madrid, it was only to earn money so as to be able to return and -to take still more photographs next year.--Can you guess why I’ve told -you?” - -“I’m afraid not.” - -“Because we’re like that--you and I. We let a woman who’s as -unpossessable as a landscape, become a destructive habit with us. You’re -not very old yet, but you’ll find out that there are women in the world -who can never be possessed. There’s only one thing to do when you meet -one--run away before she becomes a habit.” - -“Don’t you think that’s a bit cowardly?” Teddy objected. - -“In her heart every woman wants to marry and be like---- Well, like Mrs. -Sam was with those kiddies.” - -“Go on believing. It’s good that you should believe it. But don’t put -your belief to the test.” Horace leant forward and tapped him on the -knee. “Go back to England while you can.” - -“I don’t understand.” - -“I think you do. Fluffy isn’t discreet over other people’s affairs. -You’ve fallen in love with a dream, my boy--with an exquisite, -unrealizable romance. Keep your dreams for your work; don’t try to find -’em in life--they aren’t there. Look what’s happened this morning -through following a dream into the daylight. Here we sit, a pair of -foolish tragedies in evening-dress, while our ideals are sleeping off -their tempers upstairs.” - -When Teddy frowned and didn’t answer, Horace smiled. “I know how it is. -I’ve been through it. You oughtn’t to get angry; anything that I’m -saying applies twice as forcibly to myself. Look here, Gurney, your -affection for Desire is made up of memories of how you’ve loved her. -She’s given you nothing. That isn’t right. Neither she, nor her mother, -nor Fluffy know how to----” - -“Desire----” - -“No. Hear me out There are women who never take a holiday from -themselves. They’re too timid--too selfish. They’re afraid of marrying; -they distrust men. They’re afraid of having children; they worship their -own bodies. They loath the disfigurement of child-bearing. All -their standards are awry. They regard the sacredness of birth as -defilement--think it drags them down to the level of the animals. They -make love seem ugly. They’ve got a morbid streak that makes them fear -everything that’s blustering and genuine. Their fear lest they should -lose their liberty keeps them captives. They’re _slaves of freedom_, -starving their souls and living for externals. Because they’re women, -their nature cries out for men; but the moment they’ve dragged the soul -out of a man their weak passion is satisfied. They have the morals of -nuns and the lure of courtesans. They’re suffocating and unhealthy as -tropic flowers.--I’ve been at it too long, but I want you to get out -while you can.” - -All this was spoken in the whisper of a conspirator lest Mr. Dak should -be aroused. It was as though Horace had raised a mask, revealing behind -his bored good-humor a face emaciated with longings. Teddy wanted to be -angry--felt he ought to be angry; but he couldn’t. “I’d rather we didn’t -discuss Desire,” he said coldly. “You see, my case is different from -yours. I intend to marry her.” - -“My dear boy, it’s not different; I was no more a trifler than you -are--I intended to marry Fluffy. I gave up a good woman--a good woman -who’s waiting for me now. But I’m like that old man at Baveno; the -unpossessable haunts me. I’ve been infatuated so long that I can’t break -myself of the habit. But you haven’t. You’re young, with a life before -you. For God’s sake go back to the simple good people--the people you -understand. Your mother wasn’t a Desire, I’ll warrant; if she had been, -you wouldn’t be her son. A man commits a crime against his children when -he willfully stoops below his mother to the girl he worships. Desire’ll -never belong to you, even though you marry her. She’s not of your flesh. -Her pretty, baby hands’ll tear the wings off your idealism. She won’t -even know she’s doing it. You’ve made your soul the purchase-price of -love, while she--she commits sacrilege against love every hour.” He -gripped him by the arm. “Cut loose from her while there’s time. She -doesn’t know what you’re offering.” - -“Shish!” Mr. Dak was sitting up, a finger pressed against his mouth. - -Some one stirred behind them. In the middle of the room Desire was -standing. Her hands were clasped against her breast as though she held a -bird. Through the windows the purity of the snow-covered country formed -a dazzling background for her head and shoulders. The gold in the bronze -of her hair glistened. She might have been posing for a realist painting -of the immaculate conception. There was a misty, pained looked in the -grayness of her eyes--an eloquence of yearning. - -“Teddy.” - -That was all. It was the second time. It meant more than if she had held -out her arms to him. Her clear, lazy voice, speaking his name, seemed -to mark the end of evasion. He went to her without a word. There was the -heat of tears behind his eyes and a swollen feeling in his heart. The -passion she had roused in him at other times sank into gentleness. - -The things that Horace had been saying were true--he knew it; but if his -love could reach her imagination, they would prove them false together. -What was the good of love if it couldn’t do that? Probably Hal had -thought to do the same for Vashti, and Horace for Fluffy--all the men -who had loved in vain had promised themselves to do just that; but they -hadn’t loved with sufficient obstinacy--with sufficient courage. - -He helped her into her wraps. They passed out into the gold and silver -landscape. It was like entering into a new faith--like leaving deceit -behind. Merriness was in the air. Birds fluttered out of hedges, making -the snow glitter in their exit. From farms out of sight, roosters blew -shrill challenges, like trumpeters riding through a Christmas faeryland. -Humping their knees against the horizon, mountains lay hushed in their -eternal rest. - -There was scarcely a sound save the crunch of their footsteps. At a -turn, where the lane descended and the house was lost to sight, she drew -closer. “You may take my arm if you like.” - -He thrilled to the warmth of it. His fingers closed upon the slimness of -her wrist. Their bodies came together, separated and came together with -the unevenness of the treading. - -She laughed softly. “It’s like a legend. It’s ever so much better than -our other good times.” - -“I’m glad you think that.” He pressed against her. “We’ve always talked -across hotel-tables and in theatres; we’ve always been going somewhere -or doing something up till now. We’ve never met only to be together. It -was a little vulgar, wasn’t it, buying all our pleasures with money?” - -“A little, and stupid when we had ourselves.” - -They spoke in whispers; there was no one to hear what they said. - -“Horace was persuading you to go away?” - -“Yes.” - -“Because of me? He was right. Are you going?” - -“Never.” - -“You ought to go. I’m--I’m glad you’re not going.” - -On they went, heedless of direction. At times their lips grew silent, -but their hearts twittered like birds. They did not look at each other. -Strange that they should be so shy after so much boldness! When one saw -some new beauty to be admired, a hugging of the arm would tell it. - -They came to a wood--an enchanted place of maple and silver birch. The -squirrel’s granary was full; there was no sound of life. It was a sylvan -Pompeii frozen in its activities by the avalanche from the clouds. Trees -stood stiffly, like arrested dancers, sheathed in their scabbards of -burnished ice. Boughs hung heavy with snow blossoms. Scrub-oak and -berries of winter-green wrought mosaics of red and brown on the silver -flooring. Over all was the coffined stillness of death. Here and there -a solitary leaf shone more scarlet, like the resurrection hope of a -lamp kept burning in the hollow of a shrine. It was a forsaken temple -of broken arches. Summer acolytes, with their flower-faces, no longer -fidgeted on the altar-steps. The choir of birds had fled. The sun -remained as priest and sole worshiper. Night and morning he raised the -host to the wintry tinkling of crystal bells. Down a far vista, as they -plunged deeper, their attention was held by a steady brightness--a pond -which glowed like a stained-glass window. By its withered sedges they -sat down. - -“It’s like---” - -“Yes, isn’t it?” - -“I was a little girl then. Meester Deek, was I a dear little girl?” - -“The dearest in the world. Not half so dear as you are now.” - -“Ah, you would say that; you’re always kind. If--if you only knew, I was -much dearer then.” - -He was holding her hand. Slowly he unbuttoned her glove. She watched him -idly. He drew it off and raised the slender fingers to his lips. - -“You always told me I had beautiful hands.” - -He kissed the fingers separately and then the palm, which was delicate -as a rose-leaf. - -“And don’t miss the little mole on the back; mother used to say that it -told her when I had been bad.” - -So he kissed the little mole on the back as well. Curious that he should -take so little, when his heart cried out for so much! His head was -swimming. He felt nothing, saw nothing but her presence. - -“I wouldn’t have let you do that once,” she whispered. - -In the long silence that followed, the snow-laden trees shivered, -muttering their suspense. Each time he tried to meet her eyes, she -looked away as though his glance scorched her. - -“My dear! My dearest!” - -She did not answer. - -“I love you. I’ve always loved you. I can’t live without you. You’re -more to me than anything in the world.” - -“Don’t say that” Her voice trembled. “It’s terrible to love people so -much; you give them such power to hurt you. I might die, or I might love -some one else, or----” - -“But you don’t--you wouldn’t.” - -His arm stole about her neck. Like a child fondling a child, he tried to -coax her face towards him. He yearned, as if his soul depended on it, -to rest his lips on hers. She smiled, closing her eyes in denial. As he -leant out, she turned her face swiftly aside. He kissed her where the -little false curl quivered. - -“Oh, Meester Deek, why must you kiss me? Where’s the good of it? Can’t -we be just friends?” - -“All my life I’ve loved you,” he pleaded hoarsely. “Doesn’t it mean -anything to you? Care for me a little--only a little, Desire. Say you -do, and I’ll be content.” - -“I’m not good,” she whispered humbly. “You don’t know anything about me; -and yet you’ve seen what I am. My friends are all so gay; I like them -to be gay. And I want to be an actress; and I live for clothes and -vanities. You’d soon get sick of me if we married.--Dear Meester Deek, -please let’s be as we were. I’ve tried to spare you because I don’t love -you so as to marry you. I couldn’t give up my way of living even for -you. I never could love you as you deserve.” - -“But you do love me,” he urged. “Look at the way we’ve gone about -together. I’ve never tired you, have I? If I had, you wouldn’t have -wanted to see me so much. You must love me, Desire.” Then, in a voice -which was scarcely above a breath, “I would ask so little if you married -me.” - -“You dear fellow!” - -She laid her cool cheek against his, trying to give comfort for what she -had done. Their bodies grew hushed, listen-ing for each other. The wood, -with its snow-paved aisles and arcades of twisted turnings, became a white -cathedral in, which their hearts beat as one and worshiped. - -“You do love me, Princess.” - -“I’m cold,” she whispered mournfully. “I’m trying to feel what I ought -to be feeling, but I can’t. I’m disappointed. God left something out -when He made me. If only you weren’t so fine, but---- My dear, you’re -better than any man I ever met. I couldn’t be good the way you are, and -I’m ashamed to be worse. Sometimes I’m almost bitter against you for -your goodness. My beautiful mother.--I’m all she has. And there’s your -family. I haven’t any. I’ve missed so much. Surely you under-stand?” - -“Darling, I want to make it all up to you. I want to give you -everything.” - -“And I--I can give you nothing.” She closed her eyes tiredly. “I’m so -young--so young. I don’t think I want to be married. So much may happen. -If we married, everything would be ended; there’d be nothing to dream -about. We’d know everything.” Her face moved against his caressingly. -“But it is so sweet to be loved.” - -He laughed softly. “You will marry me, Princess. You will. One day -you’ll want to know everything. I’ll wait till you’re ready.” - -She let him draw her to him. Her eyelids drooped. She lay in his arms -pulseless. The silkiness of her hair trembled against his forehead. - -“Give me your lips.” His voice was thirsty. - -She did not stir. - -“Just this once.” - -She rested her hands on his shoulders. The moist sweet mouth shuddered -as he pressed it. He clung to it; an eternity was in the moment. He was -drinking her soul from the chalice of her body. Gently she pushed him -from her. It was over--this ecstasy to which all his life had been a -preface. - -She crumpled forward, her knees drawn up, burying her face in her hands. - -He was dizzy. The world swung under him. - -“I’m not crying,” she panted brokenly. “I’m not glad, and I’m not sorry. -No one ever kissed me like that.--Oh, please don’t touch me. I ought to -send you away forever.” - -He knelt beside her, conscience-stricken. It was as if he had done her -a great wrong. Passion was tossed aside by compassion. As he knelt, he -kissed timidly the quivering hands which hid her eyes from him. - -“Forgive me, my darling. You couldn’t send me away. I shall never leave -you.” - -“Poor you! There’s nothing to forgive.” It was a little child talking. -Making bars of her fingers, she peered out at him. “If I let you -stay, will you promise not to blame me--never to think I’ve led you on -when--when I don’t marry you?” - -“I won’t blame you,” his voice was strained and husky, “but I’ll wait -for you forever.” - -“Will you? All men say that.” She shook her head wisely. “I wonder?” - -She tidied her hair. It gave him a thrilling sense of possession to -be allowed to watch her. When he had helped her to rise, he stooped to -brush the snow from her. Suddenly he fell to his knees in a wild abandon -of longing, and reverently kissed the hem of her gown. - -“Meester Deek, don’t. To see you do that--it hurts.” - -They walked through the wood in silence, retracing their old footsteps. -At the point where it was lost to sight, they gazed back, hand-in-hand, -to the sacred spot where all had happened. The snow would melt; they -might come in search of the place one day--they might not find it. -Would they come alone or together? Their hands gripped more closely; the -present at least was theirs. - -The storm of emotion which had rocked them, had left them exhausted. -They had said so much without words; the eloquence of language seemed -inadequate. Each thought as it rose to their lips seemed too trifling -for utterance. - -As they turned from the wood into the road, she began to whistle softly. -He listened. Memory set the tune to words: - - “So, honey, jest play in your own backyard, - - Don’t mind what dem white chiles say.” - -“I can’t bear it.” - -She glanced at him sidelong. “Now, old dear, h’if I wants ter whistle, -why shouldn’t I?” - -“It’s as though you were telling me, I don’t want you.’ You sang it in -the Park that night.” - -“But she doesn’t want him, perhaps. There! But she does a little. Does -that make him feel better? Come, let’s be sensible. You don’t recommend -love by getting tragic. Take my arm and stop tickling my hand. I’m going -to ask you a question.--Hasn’t there ever been another girl?” - -“Never, upon my----” - -“You needn’t be so fierce in denying. I didn’t ask you whether you’d -killed anybody.” - -“I believe you almost wish there had been another girl” She shrugged -her shoulders. “My darling mother was before me--you forgot that. But I -don’t mind her.” - -“I think,” he said, smiling at the mysticism of the fancy, “I think I -must have been loving you even then. Yes, I’m sure it was the _you_ in -her, before ever I knew you, that I was loving.” - -She glanced at him tauntingly. “I’m afraid I’ve not been so economic; -you’ll hate me because I haven’t. Shall I tell you about all my lovers?” - -“I won’t listen.” - -But she insisted. Whether it was truth or invention that she told him, -he could not guess. All he knew was that, having lowered her barriers, -she was carefully replacing them for her defense. Her way of doing -it was to make him suspect that he was only an incident in a long -procession; that all this poetry of passion, which for him had the dew -on it, had been experienced by her already; that she had often watched -men travel through weeks and months from trembling into boldness; -that Love to her was the clown in Life’s circus and that she was proof -against the greed of his mock humility. - -“For God’s sake, stop!” - -“Why?” Her tone was innocent of offense. - -“If it’s all true, this isn’t the time to confess it.” - -“Confess it! D’you think I’m ashamed, then?” She withdrew her arm. -“Thank you, I can walk quite nicely by myself.” - -He tried to detain her. She shook him off and ran ahead. As he followed, -his eyes implored her. She did not turn. Between the white cage of -hedges she whistled her warning, - - “So, honey, jest play in your own backyard.” - -He wondered how any one so beautiful could be so cruel. She seemed to -regard herself as a shrine at which it was ordained that men should -worship, while her right was to view them with neither heat nor -coldness. “Slaves of freedom”--Horace’s words came back. - -He caught up with her. “Why did you tell me? I didn’t mean to speak -crossly.” - -“Didn’t you?” - -“I didn’t, really. I’m sorry. But why did you tell me?” - -“Because I wanted to be honest: to let you know the kind of girl I am. -And because,” her eyes flooded, “because you’re the first man who ever -kissed me like that and--and I didn’t want to let you know it--and I -wish I hadn’t let you kiss me now.” - -She didn’t give him her lips this time. With her face averted, she lay -trembling in his arms without a struggle. While his lips wandered from -her hair to her cheeks, to her throat, she seemed unconscious of what he -was doing. “I do like being kissed by you,” she murmured. - -“You’re so fragrant, so soft, so sweet, so like a lily,” he whispered. - -Her finger went up to her mouth. “Am I fragrant? That isn’t me. That’s -just soap.” - -She sprang from his embrace laughing; he joined her in sheer gladness -that their quarrel was ended. - -As they came into sight of the farmhouse she insisted that he should -behave himself. - -“But you’re walking further away from me,” he objected, “than you would -from a stranger you’d only just met. No wonder Horace thinks you don’t -care for me.” - -“Well, and who said I did?” She slanted her eyes. - -“Oh, well---- But before other people, I wish you wouldn’t ignore me so -obviously. It makes me humiliated.”. “That’s good for you.” - -Mr. Sam was splitting logs by the wood-pile. He laid down his ax and -came towards them. - -“You’ve missed it,” he chuckled. “We’ve had a fine old row. They’ve -queer notions of enjoying themselves, your city folks.--Has anything -happened! I guess it has. When Golden-Hair got through with her snooze, -she came down and started things going. She wanted to know whose fault -it was that she had a head-ache, and whose fault it was she’d come here, -and a whole lot besides. Her beau told her straight that he’d had enough -of it, and got the car out. Mr. Dak seemed frightened that it would -be his turn next; he said he was going too. So they all piled in, -quarreling like mad, a regular happy little party. Daresay they’re still -at it.” - -“But what about us?” Desire looked blank. “How do we get back?” - -“No need to, unless you’re in a hurry. There’s plenty of room; we’ll -be glad to have you. But if you must go, there’s a station ten miles -distant; I can get the sleigh out.” - -Teddy tried to persuade her to stay a day longer. The country was -changing her. Who knew what a few more walks in the silver wood might -accomplish? New York meant Fluffy, life jigged to rag-time, and the -feverish quest for unsatisfying pleasures. - -She laid her head on her shoulder and winked, like a knowing little -bird. She understood perfectly what the country was doing for her. - -“In these clothes,” she asked, “and borrow the hired man’s tooth-brush? -And leave my dear mother alone, and Fluffy to cry her poor little eyes -out? And run the risk of what people would think when we both came -creeping back? I guess I’d have to marry you then, Meester Deek. No, -thanks.” - -So at four o’clock, as the dusk was drawing a helmet of steel over -the vagueness of the country, the sleigh was brought round. There were -farewells and promises to come again; the twinkling of lanterns; the -jingling of harness; the babies to be kissed; the quiet eyes of the -mother who had found happiness; the atmosphere of sentiment which kindly -people create for half-way lovers; then the last good-by, the steady -trot of the horses, and the tinkling magic of sleigh-bells. Romance! - -“You like babies, Meester Deek? If ever I were married, I’d like to have -a baby-girl first. They’re so cuddly and dear to dress.” - -He tucked the robe round her warmly and held it against her chin to keep -the cold out. His free hand was clasped in hers. Then he let go her hand -and slipped his arm about her, and found her hand waiting for him on the -other side. - -“Better and better,” she murmured contentedly, “and it isn’t the day -we’d planned. I feel so safe with you, Meester Deek--far safer than I -ought to if I loved you. You won’t say I led you on, will you? You won’t -ever?” - -“Never,” he promised. - -“That’s what the sleigh-bells seem to say. ‘Never! Never! Never!’ as -though they were telling us that this is the end.” - -“To me they don’t say that.” His lips were against her cheek. “To me -they say, ‘Forever. Forever. Forever.’” - -The moon, gazing down on them, recognized him and smiled. The stars -clapped their hands. Even the mountains, which had slept all day, -uncrouched their knees and sat up in bed to look at them. Farmhouse -windows, across the drifted whiteness, blinked wisely, speaking of home -and children, and an end of journeys. Sometimes she drowsed with the -swaying motion. Sometimes when he thought her drowsing, her eyes were -wide. - -“What are you thinking, dearest?” - -“Isn’t dear enough?” - -“Not now.” - -“It ought to be---- What was I thinking? I was wondering: could a girl -make a man whom she liked very much believe that she loved him? Would he -find her out?” - -“He’d find her out But liking’s almost loving sometimes.” - -“I haven’t kissed you yet. I’ve only let you kiss me. Have you noticed?” - -“Yes.” - -“When I kiss you, Meester Deek, without your asking, you’ll know then.” - -“Kiss me now.” - -She shook her head. “It would be a lie.” - -Once she said, “Shall we be horrid to each other one day like Horace and -Fluffy?” And, when he drew her closer for answer, “I wonder why I let -you do it. It’s so hard not to let you; you kiss so gently--I guess -every girl loves to be loved.” - -When they came to the station he had to wake her. In the train she -slept. He scarcely removed his eyes from her. Behind the window he was -aware of the shadowy breadth of river, the steep mountains, and the -winking, swiftly vanishing lights of towns. It was a return from -faery-land, with all the pain of returning. He wasn’t sure of her yet, -and he had used all his arguments. Was it always like that? Did girls -always say “No” at first? He feared lest in the flare and rush of the -city he might lose her. He dreaded the casualness of their telephone -engagements--the way she fitted him into the gaps between her pleasures. -He wanted to be first in her life--more than that: to be dearer to her -than her body, than her soul itself. The permission which she gave him -to love her, without hope of reciprocity, was torturing. He would not -own it to himself, but at the back of his mind he knew that it was not -fair. - -Once more they were fleeing up Fifth Avenue; night was polluted by the -glare of lamps. - -“It isn’t the same,” she whispered. “It’s somehow different.” - -“We’ve seen something better and got our perspective.” - -“Oh, I don’t know,” she laughed. “New York has its uses.” - -She sat up as they swung into Columbus Circle, and seemed to forget -him. She was watching the hoardings for the announcements of _October_, -seeing whether Janice Audrey’s name had been blotted out. - -Already she was slipping from him. The silver wood--had it ever existed? -If it had, had they ever walked there? It seemed a dream created by his -ardent fancy, too kind and generous for reality. - -He leant towards her; she drew away from him. “No more pilfering.” - -“Our good times are always coming to an end,” he said sadly. - -She smiled at his tone of melancholy. “And beginning; don’t forget that -But I do wish it were last night.” - -“You do! Then, you do wish it could last forever? Dear little D., if you -chose, you could make it last.” - -“Not forever. If anything lasted forever it would make me -tired.--Hulloa, here we are.” - -He helped her to alight The pavement had been swept; there was no excuse -for carrying her. - -“I live here,” she reminded him as he tried to touch her hand; “so let’s -behave ourselves.” - -She was settling back into the old rut of reticence, thinking again more -of appearances than affection; even employing her old phrases to defend -herself. - -They stepped from the elevator and she slipped her key into the latch. -He was trying to think of one final argument by which he might persuade -her. - -As the door pushed open, they halted; there was a sense of evil in the -air. Desire clutched his arm for protection. They listened: panting; a -chair falling; silence. Then the panting recommenced. - -“Mother!” - -The struggle stopped. - -Teddy rushed across the hall to the front-room. He tried to keep Desire -back. Vashti was stretched upon the couch, white as death, breathing -hard, and exhausted. Her hair had broken loose and lay spread like -a shawl across her breast. Mr. Dak was standing over her, his hands -clenched. His collar was crumpled and had burst at the stud. His tie was -drawn tight, as though it had been used to strangle him. - -Desire threw herself down beside her mother, kissing her wildly and -smoothing back her hair. “Oh, what is it? What is it, dearest? Tell me.” - -She leant her face against her mother’s to catch the words. Springing to -her feet, she glared at Mr. Dak. - -“You low beast.” Her white virago fist shot up and struck him on the -mouth. “You little swine. Get out.” - -In the hall, as Teddy was seeing him off the premises, Mr. Dak commenced -a mumbling defense. “What did she suppose I thought she meant? I wanted -to marry her, but she wouldn’t. If she didn’t mean anything, what right -had she to let me spend my money trotting her round?” From the -dim-lit room came the terrible sound of sobbing. Desire met him on the -threshold. “She’s only frightened. She wants you to help her to bed.” - -Outside the bedroom door Vashti took his face between her hands. -“Thank God, there are good men in the world.” He waited for Desire. All -tenderness had become a trap. She nodded to him sullenly, “Good-night.” - Then, flam-ing up, “Fluffy’s right. All men are beasts, I expect.” - -The bedroom door shut. He switched off the lights and let himself out. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI--THE GHOST OF HAPPINESS - -To a man who has never been in love the humble passion of his heart is -to be allowed to love. He conjures visions of the woman who will call -out his affection; he is always looking for her, seeing a face which -seems the companion of his dreams, following, turning back disappointed -and setting out afresh. When he does find her, his first feeling is -one of overwhelming gratitude. His one idea is to give unstintingly, -expecting nothing. He robes himself in a white unselfishness. - -But the moment he has been allowed to love his attitude changes. He -still wants to love, but he craves equally to be loved. He is no longer -content to worship solitarily; he becomes sensitive to be worshiped in -return. He is anxious to compete with the woman’s generosity. If she -receives and does not give, he grows infidel like a devotee whose -prayers God has not answered. - -The right to clasp her without repulse, which the silver wood had -granted him, had brought him to this second stage in his journey--the -urgent longing to be loved. Then, like a coarse cynicism, discovering in -all love’s loyalties an unsuspected foulness, had come the scene which -he had witnessed in her presence. It had struck the barbaric note, -stripping of conventional pretenses the motives which underlie all -passion. It had revealed to him the direction of impulses which he -himself possessed. Mr. Dak was no worse than any other man, if only the -other man were tantalized sufficiently. Vashti had starved him too much -and relied too much on his awe of her. She was a lion-tamer who had -grown reckless through immunity; the beast had taken her unaware. -Probably Mr. Dak was as surprised as herself. - -Teddy understood now what Horace had meant by calling her “a slave of -freedom.” All this gayety which he had envied, which had made him wish -that he was more of a Sir Launcelot and less of a King Arthur--it was -nothing but the excitement of skating over the treacherous thin ice of -sex. - -Mr. Dak was no worse than he might be if circumstances pushed him far -enough. Desire had told him as much: “All men are beasts, I expect.” - -He felt hot with shame. He sympathized with her virginal anger. He, too, -felt besmirched. But her words rankled; they had destroyed their common -faith in each other. Never again would he be able to approach her with -his old simplicity. Never again would he hear her whisper, “I feel so -safe with you, Meester Deek.” How could she feel safe with him? All -men were beasts. She classed him with the lowest Any moment he might be -swept out of caution into touching and caressing her. They would both -remember the ugliness they had witnessed; she would flinch from him, and -view him with suspicion. He would suspect himself. His very gentleness -would seem to follow her panther-footed. - -He returned to the Brevoort, but not to sleep. As he tossed restlessly -in the darkness, he could hear her words of dismissal. She spoke them -sorrowfully with disillusion; she spoke them mockingly; she spoke them -angrily, clenching her white virago fists. It was she who ought to have -said, “Thank God, there are good men.” Her mother had said that She had -said, “All men are beasts, I expect” In the saying of it, she had seemed -to attribute to his courting the disarming smugness of a Mr. Dak. The -silver wood with its magnanimity counted for nothing. Whatever ideals he -had built up for her were shattered by this haphazard brutality. - -He shifted his head on the pillow. How did she look when she was tender -and little? His last memory of her had blotted out all that. Rising -wearily, he switched on the light and commenced a search for -the tin-type photograph. At last he found it. Her features were -undiscernible--faded into blackness. - -Sleep refused to come to him. He dressed and sat himself by the window. -How quiet it was! Night obliterates geography. The yards at the back of -the hotel were merged into a garden--a garden like the one in Eden Row. -He had only to half close his eyes to image it. - -Eden Row set him remembering. The disgust with life that he was now -feeling, had only one parallel in his experience--that, too, was -concerned with her: the shock which her father’s confession had caused -him on the train-journey back from Ware. “If you’re ever tempted to do -wrong, remember me. If you’re ever tempted to get love the wrong way, be -strong enough to do without it” And then, “I sinned once--a long while -ago. I’m still paying for it You’re paying for it One day Desire may -have to pay the biggest price of any of us.” - -She was paying for it now when she could see no difference between his -love and Mr. Dak’s--between honor and mere passion. “All men are beasts, -I expect.” That was the conclusion at which she had arrived. She was -incapable of high beliefs at twenty! - -He recalled what the knowledge of Hal’s sin had done for him. Perhaps it -had done the same for her. It had made him see sin everywhere; marriage -itself had seemed impurity--all things had been polluted until into -the dusk of the studio his mother had entered. He could hear himself -whispering, “Things like that make a boy frightened, mother, when--when -they’re first told to him.” It was after that that he had determined to -make Desire in his life what the Holy Grail had been in Sir Galahad’s. - -Would the consequences of this wrong, more than twenty years old, never -end? Ever since he had begun to think, it had striven to uproot his -idealism. Yet once, in the little moment of selfishness, it must have -been ecstatic. - -He had been thinking only of himself. In a great wave of compassion his -thoughts swept back to her. She had had to live in the knowledge of this -sin always. For her there had been no escape from it--no people like his -mother and father to set her other standards of truer living. What was -his penalty as compared with hers? What was the worth of his chivalry if -it broke before the first shock of her injustice? He saw her again as -a little girl, inquiring what it was like to have a father. There must -have been a day in her waking womanhood when the knowledge that all -children are not fatherless had dawned on her. Perhaps it had been -explained to her coarsely by a servant or by the cruel ostracism of -school-children. He could imagine the shame and tears that had followed, -and then the hardening. - -If she would only allow herself to understand what it was that he was -offering! He longed to take her in his arms--not the way he had; but as -he would cuddle a sick child against his breast to give it comfort. His -compassion for her was almost womanly; it was something that he dared -not tell her. Compassion from him was the emotion which she would most -resent. - -It was her pride that made her so poignantly tragic--her pose of being -an enviable person. There was no getting behind it except by a brutal -statement of facts. The scene which they had surprised in the apartment -had staged those facts with ugly vividness. Despite the gayety with -which she drugged herself, she must know that her mother’s position made -her fair game for the world’s Mr. Daks. Her way of speaking of her as -“my beautiful mother” was an acknowledgment, and sounded like a defense. - -Her fear of losing her maiden liberty, her dread of the natural -responsibilities of marriage, her eagerness to believe the worst of men, -her light friendships, her vague, continually postponed ambitions--they -were all part of the price she was paying. Her glory in her questionable -enfranchisement was the worst part of her penalty; it made what was sad -seem romantic, and kept her blind to the better things in the world. She -did not want to be rescued from the dangers of her position. She ignored -any sacrifice that he might be making and spoke only of the curtailments -that love would bring to her. In putting forward her unattempted career -as an obstacle, she did not recognize that his accomplished career was -in jeopardy while she dallied. - -Increasingly since he had landed in New York, his financial outlook had -worried him. At the time of sailing he had had seven hundred pounds in -the bank; then there were the three hundred pounds per annum from his -Beauty Incorporated shares. This, in addition to what he could earn, had -looked like affluence by Eden Row standards. But in the last few months -he had been spending recklessly. The frenzy which held him prevented -work. Commissions from magazines were still uncompleted. His American -and English publishers were urging him to let them have a second -manuscript. He assured them they should have it, but the manuscript was -scarcely commenced. The dread weighed upon him like a nightmare that he -had lost his creative faculty. His intellect was paralyzed; he had only -one object in living--to win her. - -And when he had won her, at the rate at which he was now going, marriage -might be impossible. Already he had drawn on his English savings. After -accustoming her to a false scale of expenditure, he could scarcely urge -retrenchment It would seem to prove all her assertions of the dullness -which overtakes a woman when she has placed herself absolutely in -a man’s power. At this stage there was no chance of curtailing his -generosity. So long as they were both in New York the endless round of -theatres, taxis and restaurants must continue. He could not confess to -her how it was draining his resources. It would seem like accusing her -of avarice and himself of poverty. Poverty and the loss of beauty were -the two calamities which filled her heart with the wildest panic. - -Like a thunderstorm that had spent itself, the clamor of argument died -down. It left him with a lucid quietness. Again she lay hushed in -his embrace; her lips shuddered beneath his pressure. That moment of -dearness, more than any ceremony of God or man, had bound him to her. -It had made him sure of subtle shades of fineness in her character which -she refused to reveal to him yet His love should outlast her wilfulness. -He would wait for years, but he would win her. The day would come when -she would awake to her need of him. Meanwhile he would make himself a -habit--what the landscape was to the old man at Baveno--adding link -upon link to her chain of memories, so that in every day when she looked -back, there would be some kindness to remind her of him. - -A thought occurred. He would put his chances to the test. He fetched a -pack of cards from his trunk and drew up to the desk. Having shuffled -them, he spread them out face-downwards. If he picked a heart, he would -many her within the year. When he found with a thrill of dismay that -it was a spade, he changed his bargain and agreed to give himself three -chances. The next two were hearts. That encouraged him. He played on for -hours in the silent room--played feverishly, as though his soul depended -on it He craved for certainty. When luck ran against him, he made his -test more lenient till the odds were in his favor. Whatever the cards -said, he refused to take no for an answer. Morning found him with the -lights still burning, his shoulders crouched forward, his head pillowed -on his arms. - -All that day he waited to hear from her. He could not bring himself -to telephone her. After what had happened, delicacy kept him from -intruding. In the afternoon he sent her flowers to provide her with -an excuse for calling him up. She let the excuse pass unnoticed. Her -_strategic_ faculty for silence was again asserting itself. He lived -over all the events of the previous day, marking them in sequence hour -by hour, finding them doubly sweet in remembrance. The longest day of -his life had ended by the time he crept to bed. - -Next morning he searched his mail for a letter from her. There was -nothing. He was sitting in his room trying to work--it was about -lunch-time--when the telephone tinkled. - -“Hulloa,” a voice said which he did not recognize, “are you Mr. Gurney, -the great author?--Well, something terrible’s happened; you’ve not -spoken to your girl for more than twenty-four hours. It’s killing her.” - A laugh followed and the voice changed to one he knew. “Don’t you think -I’m very gracious, after all your punishment?--Where am I?--No, try -another guess. You’re not very psychic or you’d know. I’m within--let -me count--forty seconds of you. I’m here, in a booth of the Brevoort, -downstairs.--Eh! What’s that?--Will I stop to lunch with you? Why, of -course. That’s what I’ve come for.” - -It was extraordinary how his world brightened. The ache had gone out of -it Finances, work, nothing mattered. The future withdrew its threat “I’m -wearing my Nell Gwynn face,” she laughed as he took her hands. Then they -stood together silent, careless of strangers passing, smiling into each -other’s eyes. - -“You silly Meester Deek,” she whispered, “why did you keep away if you -wanted me so badly?” - -“Because----” and there he ended. He couldn’t speak to her of the -ugliness they had seen together; she looked so girlish and innocent and -fresh. It was hateful that they should share such a memory. - -“I’m not proud when I’ve done wrong,” she said. Her eyes winked and -twinkled beneath their lashes. “And it’s rather fun to have to ask -forgiveness when you know you’ve been forgiven beforehand.” - -He led her into the white room with its many mirrors. Quickly -forestalling the waiter, he helped her off with her furs and jacket. She -glanced up at him as he did it. “Rather mean of you to do the poor man -out of that It’s about the nearest a waiter ever comes to romance.” - -When he had taken his seat opposite to her, she questioned him, “Why did -you act so queerly?” - -“Queerly!” - -“You know. After the night before last?” - -He wished she would let him forget it “I thought you might not want me.” - -“Want you!” She reached across the table and touched his hand. “You -do think unkind thoughts. If I did say something cruel, it wasn’t -meant--not in my heart I’m afraid you think I’m fickle.” - -He delayed her hand as she was withdrawing it “If I did, I shouldn’t -love you the way I do, Princess.” - -A waiter intruded to take their order. It seemed to Teddy that ever -since Long Beach, waiters had been clearing away his tenderest passages -as though it were as much a part of their duties as to change the -courses. - -When they were left alone, she brought matters to a head. “I suppose you -got that strange notion because--because of what I said. Poor King! He -did make me angry, and yesterday he came to us so penitent and sorry. -We had to forgive him.--You’re looking as though you thought we oughtn’t -But it doesn’t do to be harsh. We all slip up sooner or later, and the -day’s always coming when we’ll have to ask forgiveness ourselves.” - -He stared at her in undisguised amazement Was this merely carelessness -or a charity so divine that it knew no bounds? - -“Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” she continued; “you’re thinking we’re -lax. That’s what people thought about Jesus when he talked to the woman -of Samaria. Mr. Dak’s quite a good little man, if he did make a mistake. -He’s always been understanding until this happened.” - -She described as a mistake something that had appealed to him as -tragedy. Had her innocence prevented her from guessing the truth? -Perhaps it was he who was distorting facts. - -“You seem to be accusing me of self-righteousness when you speak of -other people being understanding. I’m not self-righteous--really I’m -not, Desire--I do wish you’d believe that. Can’t you see why I’m not so -lenient as some of your friends? It’s because I’m so anxious to protect -you. If people are too lenient, it’s usually because they don’t want to -be criticized themselves. But when a man’s in love with a girl, he -doesn’t like to see her doing things that he might encourage her to do -if he didn’t respect her and if they were only out for a good time -together.” - -She had frowned while he was speaking. When he ended, she lifted her -gray eyes. “I do understand. I think I understand much more than you’ve -said. But please don’t judge me--that’s what I’m afraid of. I know I’m -all wrong--wrong and stupid in so many directions.--I’ve only found -out how wrong,” her voice dropped, “since I’ve known you.” He felt like -weeping. He had judged her; in spite of his resolutions to let his love -be blind, he had been judging her. Every time he had judged her, her -intuition had warned her. And there she sat abasing herself that she -might treat him with kindness. - -He became passionate in her defense. “You’re not wrong. I wouldn’t have -anything, not a single thing in your life altered--nothing, Desire, -from--from the very first. You’re the dearest, sweetest----” - -She pressed a finger to her lips and pointed to the mirror. He caught -sight of his strained expression, and remembered they were in public. - -While he recovered himself, she did the talking. “I’m not the dearest, -sweetest anything; you don’t see straight. Some day you’ll put on your -spectacles. You’ll see too much that’s bad then. That’s what Horace has -done.--He sailed for England this morning.” - -“What’s that? D’you mean he’s broken with----” - -She nodded. “Too bad, isn’t it? She didn’t much want him to come to -America, but she’s fearfully cut up now he’s left She was counting -on having such good times with him at Christmas. He didn’t explain -anything; he just went. And----” She made a pyramid of her hands over -which she watched him. “D’you know, she owns up now that some day she -might have married him.” - -“But she never told him?” - -Desire looked away. “A girl never tells a man that till the last moment. -He got huffy because she was cross with him for taking her to the -country. He didn’t know that when a woman dares to be angry with a man, -it’s quite often a sign that she’s in love with him.” - -“Is it?” He asked the question eagerly. Desire had been cross; this -might be the key to her conduct. - -She caught his meaning and smiled mysteriously. “Yes--quite often.” - Then, speaking slowly, “I guess most misunderstandings happen between -men and women because they’re not honest with each other.” - -The tension broke. “Fancy calling you a man and me a woman,” she -laughed. She bent forward across the table. “We both ought to be -spanked--you most especially.” - -“Why me especially?” - -“A little boy like you coming to a little girl like me and pretending -to speak seriously of marriage.--But let’s be honest with each other -always. Do you promise?” - -“I promise.” - -“Then, I’ll tell you something. I think it’s splendid of you to go on -loving me when you know that I’m not loving you in return.” - -“And I think it’s splendid of you to let me go on loving.” - -“But do I?” She eyed him mockingly. Then, with one of those sudden -changes to wistfulness, “What Horace has done has made me frightened. -I’m afraid--and I’m only telling you because we’ve promised to be -honest--I’m so afraid that you’ll leave me, and that then I may begin -to care. But you’d never be unkind like that, would you?” His hand -stole out and met hers in denial. They kept on assuring each other that, -whatever had befallen other people’s happiness, theirs was unassailable. - -They had dawdled through lunch. When at last they rose the room was -nearly empty. - -“What next?” - -She clapped her hands. “I know. Make this day different from all the -others. Let’s pretend.” - -“Pretend what?” - -“You’ll see.” - -On the Avenue they hailed a hansom and drove the long length of New -York, through the Park to the Eighties on the West Side. Then she told -him: they were to examine apartments, pretending they wanted to rent -one. Wherever they saw a sign up they stopped the cabby and went in to -make inquiries. Sometimes she talked Cockney. Sometimes she was a little -French girl, who had to have everything that the janitor said translated -to her by Teddy. She only once broke down--when the janitor, as ill-luck -would have it, was a Frenchman; then they beat an ignominious retreat, -laughing and covered with confusion. - -It was a very jolly game to play with a girl you loved--this pretending -that you were seeking a nest. It was all the jollier because she would -not own that that was the underlying excitement of their pretense. As -they passed from room to room, and when no one was looking, he would -slip his arm about her and kiss her unwilling cheek. “Wait till we’re in -the hansom,” she would whisper. “Oh, Meester Deek, you do embarrass me.” - -Try as he would, he could not disguise the fact that he was in love -with her. A light shone in his eyes. This seemed no game, but a natural -preliminary to something that must happen. She was indignant when the -custodians of the apartments took it for granted that they were an -engaged couple. She ungloved her hand that they might see for themselves -that the ring was lacking. “It’s for my mother,” she explained. “Yes, I -like the apartment; but I can’t decide till my mother has seen it” She -referred to Teddy pointedly as “My friend.” The janitors looked -knowing. They smiled sentimentally and put her conduct down to extreme -bashfulness. - -That afternoon was a sample of many that followed. In ingenious and -unacknowledged ways they were continually playing this game that they -were married. Frequently it commenced with his presumption that she -shared his purse, and that it was his right to give her presents. If a -dress in a window caught her fancy, he would say, “How’d you like me to -buy you that?” - -“But you can’t. It isn’t done in the best families.” - -“But I could if I were your husband.” - -“If! Ah, yes!” - -Then, for the fun of it, she would enter and try on the dress. Once he -surprised her. She had fitted on a green tweed suit-far more girlish -than anything that she usually wore-and the shop-woman was appealing to -him for his approval. When Desire wasn’t looking, he nodded and paid for -it in cash. - -“Very pretty,” Desire said, not knowing it had been purchased, “but a -little too expensive. Thank you for your trouble.” - -At dinner, long after the store had closed, he told her. - -“But I can’t accept things from you like that. It’s very sweet of -you, but the suit’ll go back to-morrow. Even if I were willing, mother -wouldn’t allow it.” - -But Vashti only smiled. She was giving him his chance. It pleased her to -regard them as children. - -“Of course it isn’t the thing to do, but if it gives Teddy pleasure----” - -So when the suit came home it was not returned. When she met him in the -day time she invariably wore it He knew that her motive was to make him -happy. The little tweed suit gave him an absurd sense of warmth about -the heart whenever he thought of it. It was another bond between them. - -“I wonder whether my fattier was at all like you--whether he was always -buying things for my beautiful mother. It is strange to have a father -and to know so little of him. You’re the only person, Meester Deek, I -ever talk to about him. That’s a compliment. D’you think----” she -hesitated, “don’t you think some day you and I might bring them -together?” - -It became one of the secret dreams they shared. He told her about the -letter he had written to Hal and never sent. - -“Don’t you ever mention me to your father and mother?” - -It was an awkward question. - -“You don’t Why not?” - -He wasn’t sure why he didn’t He hadn’t dared to admit to himself why he -didn’t. His world was out of focus. He supposed that every man’s world -grew out of focus when he fell in love. But the supposition wasn’t quite -satisfying; his conscience often gave him trouble. - -“But why not?” she persisted. “Are you ashamed of me?” - -“Ashamed of you!” he laughed desperately. “What is there to tell? If we -were engaged------- But so long as we’re not, they wouldn’t understand. -I’m waiting till I can tell them that.” - -“I wish they knew,” she pouted. “I wish it wasn’t my fault that you were -stopping in America. I wish so many things. I wouldn’t do a thing to -prevent you if you wanted to sail to-morrow. You won’t ever blame me, -will you?” - -It always came back to that, her fear that he might accuse her of having -led him on. - -One day he made a discovery. He had gone to the apartment to call for -her earlier than he was expected. She was out Lying on the table under -some needle-work was a book which he recognized. He picked it up; it was -the copy of Life Till Twenty-One which he had bought for her after the -ride from Glastonbury, the receipt of which she had never acknowledged. -He had invented all manner of reasons for her silence: that she was -annoyed with him for having written about her; that she didn’t take him -seriously as an artist. On opening it he found that not only had it been -read, but carefully annotated throughout. The passages which referred -most explicitly to herself were underscored. Against his more visionary -flights she had set query marks. They winked at him humorously up and -down the margins. They were like her voice, counseling with laughing -petulance, “Now, do be sensible.” - -She came in with her arms full of parcels. He held the book up -triumphantly. “I’m awfully-proud. You are a queer kiddy. Why didn’t you -tell me? I thought you didn’t care.” - -Her parcels scattered. She grabbed the book from him. “That’s cheating.” - She flushed scarlet. “Of course I care. What girl wouldn’t? But if I feel -a thing deeply I don’t gush. I’m like that.” - -“But you talk about Fluffy’s work; you’re always diving through crowds -to see if her picture isn’t on news-stands. You tell me what your -friend, Tom, is doing and--and heaps of people.” - -“They’re different.” - -“How?” - -“If you don’t know, I can’t tel! you.” - -“But I’m so proud of you, Princess. I do wish that sometimes,” he tried -to take her hand--she fortressed herself behind a chair, “that sometimes -you’d show that you were a little proud of me.” - -“Oh, you!” She bit her finger the way she did when she suspected that he -was going to try to kiss her mouth. Her eyes danced and mocked him above -her hand. “Fancy poor little you wanting some one to be proud of you. -Meester Deek, that does sound soft.” - -“Does it?” His voice trembled. “I don’t mind how foolish I am before -you. But I do wish sometimes that you’d treat me as though I wasn’t -different. You’ve only called me twice by my name. You won’t dance -with me, though I learnt especially for you. You won’t do all kinds of -ordinary things that you’re willing to do with people who don’t count.” - -All the while that he had been speaking she had smiled at him, her -finger still childishly in her mouth. When he had ended, she came from -behind her chair and threw herself on the couch. “I have piped unto you -and ye have not danced. Is that it, Meester Deek? So now you’re weeping -to see if I won’t mourn. I’m afraid I’m not the mourning sort; life’s -too happy.--But I’m not nice to you. Come and sit down. I’m afraid I’m -least gracious to the people I like best. Ask mother; she’ll tell you.” - -Just as he was about to accept her invitation, Twinkles entered, her -tail erect, and hopping on the couch, planted herself between them. She -had the prim air of a dog who is the custodian of her mistress’s morals. - -Desire began to toy with the silky ears. “My little chaperone knows -what’s best for me, I guess.--Meester Deek doesn’t love ’oo, Twinkles. -He thinks ’oo’s a very interfering little doggie.” - -He did. Despite his best efforts Twinkles growled at him and refused to -be friends. She was continually making his emotion ridiculous. She timed -her absurdly sedate entrances for the moments when the cloud of his -pent-up feelings was about to burst. - -“_Love’s Labor Lost_ or _Divided by a Dog._” Desire glanced, through her -lashes laughingly. “You could write a play on it Twinkles and I could -take the leading parts without rehearsing.” - -After his discovery that she had read his book he began to try to -interest her in his work--his contemplated work which was scarcely -commenced while she kept him waiting. She seemed pleased when he placed -his manuscripts in her lap. She loved to play the part of his severest -critic, sweeping tempestuously aside all ideas that she pronounced -unworthy of him. - -The only side of his career in which she failed to show interest was the -financial. The mere mention of money made her shrivel up. He had hoped -that if he could persuade her to talk about it, he might be able to -confess his straitened circumstances. He guessed the reason for her -delicacy and respected it: concern on her part over his bank-account -might make her look grasping. After each vain attempt to broach the -subject, he would dodge back to cover as if he hadn’t meant it, and -would commence to tell her hurriedly of his dreams of fame. While he did -it, a comic little smile would keep tugging at the corners of her mouth. - -“I don’t think you’re wasting time with me,” she said. - -“I know I’m not.” - -“But I meant something different. I meant that you’re learning about -life; I’m making awfully good copy for you. One day, when I’m a famous -actress and you’re married to some nice little woman who’s jealous of -me, you’ll write a book--a most heart-rending book--that’ll make her -still more jealous. It’ll be a kind of sequel to _Life Till Twenty-one_, -I guess. All experience, however much it costs, is valuable.--You’re -laughing at me. But isn’t it?” - -“You wise little person.” - -“Just common-sense--and not so terribly little, either,” she corrected. - -Many of these conversations took place towards midnight, after he had -seen her home from dinners or theatres. Usually they were carried on in -whispers so as not to waken Vashti, who left her bedroom door ajar when -she knew that Desire was to be late in returning. As a rule, Desire was -in evening-dress; he was sensitively conscious of her mist of hair, and -of the long sweet slope of her white arms and shoulders. After taking -Twinkles for a final outing, he always accompanied her up to the -apartment Once she had had to press him to do so; now she often -pretended that she had expected him to say good-night in the public -foyer. - -Saying good-night was a lengthy process, packed with the day’s omitted -tendernesses and made poignant by a touch of dread. After he had risen -reluctantly from the couch, they would linger in the hall, lasting out -the seconds. There were few words uttered. When a man has said, “I love -you,” many times, there is no room for further eloquence. She would -stand with her back against the wall, eyeing him luringly and a little -compassionately. Presently her hand would creep up to the latch and -he would seize the opportunity to slip his arm about her. Wouldn’t she -appoint a place of meeting for to-morrow? She would shake her head and -whisper evasively, “Phone me in the morning.” - -Gazing at each other in quivering excitement, they would droop nearer -together. She knew that soon he would draw her to his breast. At the -first movement on his part she would turn the latch and her free hand -would fly up to shield her mouth. He would attempt to coax it away with -kisses. - -“I’ve only kissed your lips once. And you’ve never kissed me yet. Won’t -you kiss me, Desire?” - -The tenacious little hand would remain obdurate. “Meester Deek, you -mustn’t. The door’s open. If anybody saw us----” - -If he tried to pull it away, she would call softly so that nobody could -hear her, “Help, Meester Deek is kissing me.” If he went on trying, she -would gradually call louder. - -By degrees she would get him to the elevator; but unless she rang the -bell, he preferred to descend by the stairs for the joy of seeing her -leaning over the rail and raining down kisses to him. The further he -descended the more willing she seemed to be accessible. If he turned -to go back to her, her face would vanish and he would hear her door -shutting. - -These farewells embodied for him the ghostly acme of romance. They were -the balcony scene from _Romeo and Juliet_ enacted on the stairway of -a New York apartment-house. From such frail materials till the new day -brought promise, he constructed the palace of his hopes and ecstasies. -It was the ghost of happiness that he had found; happiness itself -escaped him. He longed for her to love him. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII--THE TEST - -Was she incapable of passion--she who could rouse it to the -danger-mark in others? He suspected that he was too gentle with her; but -forcefulness brought memories of Mr. Dak. Though she made herself the -dearest of companions, he knew that her feeling was no more than intense -liking. He had failed to stir her. - -Sometimes he thought that out of cowardice she was wilfully preventing -herself from loving; sometimes that she was diverting the main stream -of her affection in a wrong direction. She could still court separation -from him without regret Fluffy had only to raise her finger and all -his plans were scattered. Fluffy raised her finger very often now that -Horace had left. - -He despised himself for feeling jealous of a woman; but he was jealous. -Fluffy knew that she was his rival. When they were all three together, -she would amuse herself with half-sincere attempts to help him in his -battle: “He looks at you so nicely. Why don’t you marry him?” But she -robbed him remorselessly of Desire whenever it pleased her fancy. “Oh, -these men!” she would sigh, shrugging her pretty shoulders. “Don’t you -know, little Desire, that it does them good to keep them guessing?” - -While the days slipped by unnumbered, he tried to persuade himself that -Desire’s difficulty of winning made her the more worthy of his worship. -He often thought of his father’s picture, buried beneath dusty canvasses -in the stable at Eden Row. It was like that. He had stumbled into a -Garden Enclosed, basking in lethargy, where Love peered in through -the locked gate, and all things waited and slumbered. Then came the -awakening, shattering in its earnestness. - -It was three days before Christmas. The weather had turned to a -sparkling coldness. Tall buildings looked like Niagaras of stone, poured -from the glistening blueness of the heavens. In Madison Square and -Columbus Circle Christmas trees had been set up. New York had a festive -atmosphere--almost an atmosphere of childhood. Schools had broken up; -streets were animated with laughing faces. Mistletoe and holly were in -evidence. At frequent corners a Santa Claus was standing, white-bearded -and red-coated, clattering his bell. Broadway and Fifth Avenue were -thronged with matinée-girls and their escorts. They sprang up like -flowers, tripping along gayly, snuggling their cheeks against their -furs. Stores were Aladdin’s Caves, where money could make dreams come -true. The spendthrift good-nature of the crowds was infectious. - -All afternoon he had been shopping with her. “Our first Christmas -together,” he kept saying. He invented plan after plan for making the -season memorable. “When we’re old married people,” he told her, “we’ll -look back. It’ll be something to talk about.” - -“Only you mustn’t talk about it before your wife,” she warned him slyly. - -“Why not?” - -“She won’t like it, naturally. A Joan likes to think she was her Darby’s -first and only.” - -He drew her arm closer into his, and peeped beneath the brim of her hat, -“Well, and wasn’t she?” - -“Old stupid.” - -Over his cheerfulness, though he tried to dispel it, hung a mist of -melancholy. He was reminded of all the Christmases which his father and -mother had helped to make glad. If this was the first he had spent with -Desire, it was the first he had been absent from them. They would be -lonely. His gain in happiness was in proportion to their loss. He felt -guilty; it came home to him at every turn that his treatment of them had -not been handsome. - -Suddenly she bubbled into laughter. “You do look tragic Cheer up.” - Perching her chin on her clasped hands, she leant towards him, “What’s -the matter?” - -“Nothing.” - -“But there is. Is it anything that I’ve said or done? I’m quite willing -to apologize. Tell me.” Her voice sank from high spirits till it nearly -trembled into tears. “You promised always to be honest” Her hand stole -out and caressed his fingers. “Our first Christmas together! Mee-ster -Deek, you’re not going to make it sad after--after all our good times -together?” - -“I’m not making it sad.” He spoke harshly. His tone startled her. -She stared at him, puzzled. For the first time he had failed to be -long-suffering. - -“Perhaps we’d better be going.” - -Assuming an air of dignity, she slipped into her jacket and commenced to -gather up her furs. Usually they enacted a comedy in which he hurried to -her assistance and she made haste to forestall him. Instead, he beckoned -for the bill. - -“Perhaps we had,” he said shortly. - -When the waiter had gone for the change, he began to relent. Fumbling in -his breast-pocket, he pulled out the case and placed it on the table. - -“I got this for you, not because it cost money, but because I thought -you’d like it.” - -She did not touch it. “Three days till Christmas. It isn’t time for -presents yet.” - -“Will you promise to accept it?” - -“Why shouldn’t I? It’s a little brooch or somethings isn’t it? Let’s -wait till Christmas Eve, anyway--till the day after to-morrow.” - -“I want you to see it now.” - -The waiter came back with the change. He picked it up without counting -it, keeping his eyes on hers. She was fingering the case with increasing -curiosity. - -“But why now?” - -“Because-----” He couldn’t explain to her. - -Her face cleared and broke into graciousness. “You are funny. Well, if -it means so much to you----” She examined the case first. “Tiffany’s! So -that’s what you were doing when you left me--busting yourself? Shall I -take just one peek at it?--Give me a smile then to show that we’re still -friends---- All right--to please you.” - -He twisted on his chair and gazed into the room. The moment while he -waited was an agony. He was a prisoner waiting for the jury to give its -verdict. All his future hung upon her words. - -She gasped. “What a darling! Diamonds! Are they diamonds? They must be -since they’re Tiffany’s. But it must have cost---” - -He swung round. Her glance fell. “I can’t take it.” - -“You can. You’re going to. Here, let’s try it on--There!” - -She fidgeted it round, watching the stones sparkle. She seemed -fascinated, and wavered. Then she gathered her will-power: “No, Meester -Deek. What kind of a girl d’you think I am?” - -She tried to remove it; he stayed her. They sat in silence. It was very -much as though they had quarreled--the queerest way to give and receive -a present. - -He picked up the empty case and slipped it in his pocket “I’ll carry it -for you. What’ll we do next? A theatre?” - -She glanced down at her green tweed suit. “Not dressy enough. Besides,” - she consulted the watch on her wrist, “it’s nine.--Oh, I know; let’s -visit Fluffy. We’ll catch her between the acts.” - -Fluffy was leading lady in _Who Killed Cock Robin?_ which was playing to -crowded houses at The Belshazzar. - -At the corner of Forty-second Street and Times Square he held her elbow -gingerly to guide her through the traffic; on the further pavement he -released it They walked separately. Then something happened which marked -an epoch in their relations. Shyly she took his arm; previously it was -he who had taken hers. She hugged it to her so that their shoulders came -together. “Can’t you guess why I wanted to see Fluffy? I’m dying to show -it to her.” Then, in a shamefaced little whisper: “Don’t think I’m -ungrateful, Meester Deek. I never could say thanks. People--people who -really like me understand.” - -They came to The Belshazzar with its blazing sign, branding Janice -Audrey on the night in fiery letters. There was something rather -magnificent about marching in at the stage-entrance unchallenged. As -they turned into the narrow passage which ran up beside the theatre, -passers-by would halt to watch them, thinking they had discovered a -resemblance in their faces to persons well known in stage-land. Even -Teddy felt the thrill of it, though he was loth to own it, for these -peeps behind the scenes cost him dearly; they invariably rekindled -Desire’s ambitions to be an actress. She would talk of nothing else till -midnight. The chances were that the rest of his evening would be spoilt; -that was what usually happened if he allowed himself to be coaxed into -the lady-peacock’s dressing-room. If the lady herself was before the -footlights, he would have to hear Desire talking theatrical shop with -her dresser. If she was present, he would have to sit ignored, listening -to her accepting the grossest flatteries, till he seemed to himself to -have become conspicuous by not joining in the chorus of adoration. In -the seductive insincerity of that little nest, with its striped yellow -wall-paper, its dressing-table littered with grease-paints, its frothy -display of strewn attire, its perfumed atmosphere and its professional -acceptance of the feminine form as a fact, he had spent many an -unamiable hour. - -As they passed the door-keeper, Desire smiled proudly. “We’re visiting -Miss Audrey.” The man peered above his paper, recognized her and nodded. -She glanced up at Teddy merrily, “Just as if we were members of the -company.” - -Breaking from him, she ran ahead up the stairs: “You wait here. I’ll let -you know if it’s all right.” - -In his mind’s eye he followed her. He imagined her flitting along the -passage from which the dressing-rooms led off, on whose doors were -pinned the names of their temporary occupants. He imagined the faded -photographs of forgotten stars, gazing mournfully down on her youth from -the walls. At the far end she would pause and tap, listening like an -alert little bird for the answer. Then the door would open, and she -would vanish. She was showing Fluffy her watch-bracelet now; they were -vying with each other in their excited exclamations. He could picture it -all. - -It seemed to him that she had kept him waiting a long while--a longer -time than usual. It might be only his impatience; time always hung heavy -without her. Men passed--men who belonged to the management. They -looked worried and evidently resented his presence. He returned their -resentment, feeling that they were mistaking him for a stage Johnny. - -At last he determined to wait no longer. As he climbed the stairs, he -heard the muttering of voices and some one sobbing. All the doors of the -dressing-rooms were open. The passage was crowded. The entire cast was -there in their stage attire. Managers of various sorts were pushing -their way back and forth. A newspaper man was being hustled out. -Something might have happened to Desire. The disturbance was in Fluffy’s -dressing-room. He elbowed his way to the front and peered breathlessly -across the threshold. - -Stretched on a couch was a slim boyish figure, in the costume of a -Tyrolese huntsman. Her face was buried in her hands, her feet twitched -one against the other and her shoulders shook with an agony of crying. -The cap which she had been wearing had been tom off and hurled into a -far corner. Her hair fell in a shining tide and gleamed in a golden pool -upon the carpet. By the side of the couch her dresser stood, wringing -her hands and imploring: “Now, Miss Audrey, this’ll never do. They’ve -sent for Mr. Freelevy. You must pull yourself together. The curtain’s -waiting to go up. It’ll be your call in a second.” - -“Oh, go away--go away, all of you,” Fluffy wept “I don’t care what -happens now. Nothing matters.” - -Desire was kneeling beside her with her arms about her. She was crying -too, dipping her lips into the golden hair. “Don’t, darling. You’re -breaking my heart. Tell me. It may help.” - -Simon Freelevy shouldered his way into the room. He was a stout, short -man with a bald, shiny head. His hurry had made him perspire; he was -breathing heavily. - -“What’s all this?” he asked angrily. “Tantrums or what?” - -Fluffy sat up. She looked pitiful as a frightened child. The penciling -beneath her blue eyes made them larger than ever. She fisted her hands -against her mouth to silence her sobs. - -The dresser answered. “A cable was waiting for her. She read it after -the first act It took her by surprise, sir. It was to tell her that Mr. -Overbridge had married.” - -“Sensible fellow.” Simon Freelevy took one look at Fluffy. In the -quiet that had attended his entrance the roar of the impatient theatre, -clamoring for the curtain to rise, could be heard. “She can’t go on,” - he said brusquely. “She’s no more good to-night. Where’s her -understudy?--Oh, youl Good girl--you got ready. Get back into the wings -all of you.” - -He drove them out like a flock of sheep, slamming the door -contemptuously behind him. - -Desire turned to Teddy. “Fetch a taxi. I can’t leave her to-night We’ll -take her home to my apartment.” - -As they drove through Columbus Circle the Christmas tree was illuminated -at the entrance to the Park. The happiness which it betokened provoked -another shower of tears from Fluffy. “It was cruel of him,” she wept, -“cruel of him. I always, always intended---- You know I did, little -Desire.” - -She was like a hurt child; there was no consoling her. Her only relief -seemed to be derived from repeating her wrongs monotonously. She kept -appealing to Desire to confirm her assertions of the injustice that had -been done her. Desire gathered her into her arms and drew her head to -her shoulder. “Don’t cry, darling. He wasn’t worthy of you. There are -thousands more men in the world.” - -As soon as they had reached the apartment Fluffy said: “Let me go -to bed. I want to cry my heart out.” In the hall as she bade Teddy -good-night, she gazed forlornly from him to Desire: “You two, you’re -very happy. You don’t know how happy. No one ever does until--until It -ends.” - -He watched them down the passage. He supposed he ought to go now. -Instead, he went into the front-room and seated himself. He couldn’t -tear himself away. He was hungry for Desire. He hadn’t known that she -could be so tender. He yearned for some great calamity to befall him, -that he might see her kneeling at his side and might feel her arms about -him. - -Finality was in the air. Horace’s example had startled him into facing -up to facts; perhaps it had done the same for her. He felt that this was -the psychologic crisis to which all his courtship had been leading. She -cared for him, or she wouldn’t have accepted his present. Knowing her as -he did, the very ungraciousness of her acceptance was a proof to him of -how much she cared. And now this new happening I It had darted swiftly -across their insecurity as the shadow of nemesis approaching. To-night -her lips must give him his answer. She had said: “When I kiss you, -Meester Deek, without your asking, you’ll know then.” They could drag -on no longer. It wasn’t honorable to her, to himself, to his parents--it -wasn’t fair to any of them. Like a stave of music her words sang in his -memory, “And we’re about the right height, aren’t we?” - -Twinkles wandered in; seeing that he was alone and that her services -were not required, she wandered out. He got up restlessly. To kill time, -he examined the little piles of books and set them in order. He picked -up a boudoir-cap that she was making, pressing it to his lips because -her hands had touched it. He smiled fondly; even in her usefulness she -was decorative. She made boudoir-caps when buttons needed sewing on her -gloves. - -Whatever he did, the eyes of Tom watched him from the photograph on the -piano. He had been hoping for months that she would remove it The eyes -watched him in malicious silence. She had told him that Tom was a sort -of brother. He had never disputed it, but he knew that no man could play -the brother for long with such a girl. He wondered if Tom had found her -lips more accessible, and whether she had ever kissed him in return. - -It was getting late. Not quite the evening he had expected! Very few of -his evenings were. - -At a sound he turned. She was standing in the doorway, a wrapper -clutched about her, her hair hanging long as at Glastonbury, her bare -feet peeping out from bedroom slippers. She looked half-child, half-elf. - -“Oh, it’s you. I thought you’d gone--been gone for hours.” - -“Gone! How could I go? We didn’t say good-night.” He lowered his voice, -copying her whisper. Everything seemed to listen in the quietness, -especially Tom’s photograph. - -He approached her. If she would be only a tenth as tender to him as she -had been to Fluffy! He was quivering like a leaf. The mystic wind that -blew through him was so gentle that it could only be seen, not heard. -It seemed to fill the room with flutterings. She shook her head, tossing -her hair clear of her shoulders. He halted. Then he seized her hands. -They struggled to free themselves. - -“You’re eating my heart out, Desire. I’m good for nothing. You must say -yes. If you don’t love me, you at least like me. You like me immensely, -don’t you? The other will come later.” His voice trembled with the -need of her; it was more like crying. He tried to draw her to him; she -clutched her wrap more tightly, and dodged across the threshold. - -Something in him broke. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?” - -She closed her eyes in dreamy denial. “Never?” - -“How can I tell?” - -“Then let me kiss you. You’ve let me do it so often. You’ll at least do -that And--and it’s so nearly Christmas.” - -“You’ve kissed me so many, many times. I don’t know why I allow it.” Her -voice sounded infinitely weary. - -He let go her hand. His face became ashen. “This can’t go on forever.” - -“Shish! You’ll wake Fluffy.” She pressed her finger to her lip. “I know. -It can’t go on forever. Don’t let’s talk about it.” - -He turned slowly, and picked up his coat and hat. “You and I can talk of -that or nothing.” - -As he approached the hall, she slipped after him into the passage. With -his hand on the latch he looked back, “Then you won’t let me kiss you?” - -Her expression quickened into a bewitching smile. “You silly Meester -Deek!” She glanced down at her gauzy attire. “How can I? You wouldn’t -have seen me this way if it hadn’t been for an accident. Besides,” - with a drooping of her head, “I’m so fagged; I don’t feel like kissing -to-night.” - -“If you loved me,” he said vehemently, “you’d let me kiss you, anyhow. -You wouldn’t mind. You’d be glad. Why, you and I, the way we’ve been -together, we’re as good as married.” - -“Not as bad as that,” she murmured drowsily. - -He opened the door. At the last moment she ran forward, holding out -her hand. “You’re angry. Poor Meester Deek! You’re splendid when you’re -angry. Cheer up. There are all the to-morrows.” - -He could have taken her in his arms then. He would have taken her -cruelly, crushing her to him. He feared himself. He feared the quiet. He -feared her, lest directly he relented, she would repulse him. She lifted -her hand part way to his mouth. He arrested it; it was her lips for -which he was hungry--to feel them shuddering again beneath his pressure -before love died. He hurried from her. - -At last he had stirred her. He had wounded her pride. Tears gushed to -her eyes, deepening their grayness. She stood gazing after him, dumbly -reproachful. - -As he entered the Brevoort the clerk handed him a letter. He glanced at -the writing; it was from his mother. He waited till he was in his room -before he tore the envelope. - -“_Aren’t you ever coming home!” [he read], “It makes us feel so old, -living without you. What is it that’s keeping you? Until now I’ve not -liked to suggest it. But isn’t it a girl? It can’t be the right one, -Teddy, or you wouldn’t hide the news from your mother. When it’s the -right one a boy comes running to tell her; he knows it’ll make her glad. -But you must know it wouldn’t make me glad--so come back to where we’re -so proud of you. If you cable that you’re coming, we’ll postpone our -Christmas so that you can share it.”_ - -And then, in a paragraph: - -“_I’ve bad news to tell you. The Sheerugs have lost all their money. -Madame Josephine died suddenly; Duke Nineveh has stolen everything -and decamped with a chorus-girl. Beauty Incorporated is exposed -and exploded. The papers say it was a swindle. This’ll affect you -financially, poor old chap_.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII--THE PRINCESS WHO DID NOT KNOW HER HEART - -He sat with his mother’s letter in his hand--the same kind of letter -that years ago Mrs. Sheerug must have penned to Hal. If Hal had -preserved them, there must be stacks of them stowed away in the garrets -at Orchid Lodge. How selfish lovers were in the price they made others -pay! What dearly purchased happiness! - -And he was becoming like Hal. He resented the comparison; but he was. -Fame and opportunity were knocking at his door. Instead of opening to -them, he sat weakly waiting for a girl who didn’t seem to care. One day -fame and opportunity would go away; when they were gone, he would -have lost his only chance of making the girl respond. If he became -great--really great--she might appreciate him. - -For the first time in his dealings with Desire strategy suggested -itself. Not until Fluffy had lost Horace had she discovered that she had -a heart. If he were to leave Desire---- Fear gripped him lest, while he -was gone, some one else might claim her. The loneliness of what he would -have to face appalled him. It was a loneliness which she would share at -least in part; the habits formed from having been loved, even though she -had not loved in return, might lead her into another man’s arms. - -And yet, strategy or no strategy, he would have to leave New York; he -couldn’t keep up the pace. The three hundred pounds per annum which had -come to him from Beauty Incorporated hadn’t been much; but, while it -lasted, it had seemed certain. It had been something to fall back on. -It had stood between him and poverty. His nerve was shaken. What if his -vein of fancy should run dry? - -His habits of industry were already lost. He would have to go into -retreat to re-find them--go somewhere where people believed in him; then -he might retrieve his confidence. The yearning to be mothered, which the -strongest men feel at times, swept over him like a tide. He wanted -to hear himself called Teddy, as though his name was not absurd or -disgraceful--a name to be avoided with a nickname. - -If he appealed to Desire one last time, would she understand--would she -be kind to him as she had been to Fluffy? He wondered--and he doubted. -If he told her of the loss of the three hundred pounds his trouble would -sound paltry. It might sound to her as though he were asking her to -restore to him the watch-bracelet. It was in her company that he had -spent so riotously; she might think that he was accusing her of having -been mercenary. She had never been that; she had given him far more in -happiness than the means of happiness had cost But he couldn’t -conceive of being in her company and refraining from extravagance. Her -personality made recklessness contagious; it acted like strong wine, -diminishing both the future and the past, till the present became of -total importance. - -There was a phrase in his mother’s letter which brought an unreasonable -warmth to his heart: “Come back to where we feel so proud of you.” It -was a long while since any one had felt proud of him. But how had she -guessed that? He had poured out his admiration. He had been so selfless -in his adoration that he had sometimes fancied that he had been despised -for it. He had almost come to believe that there was an unpleasantness -in his appearance or a taint in his character which the love-blind eyes -of Eden Row had failed to discover. Desire seemed most conscious of it -when he stood in the light. It was only in the dusk of cabs and taxis -that she almost forgot it. Sometimes she seemed morbidly aware of this -defect; then she would say in a weary little voice, “I don’t feel like -kissing to-night.” - -Humiliation was enervating his talent. He was losing faith in his own -worth--the faith so necessary to an artist. Desire said that it was -“soft” of him to want her to be proud of him. Perhaps it was. But if she -ought not to be proud of him, who ought? - -He would have been content with much less than her pride--if only, when -others were present, she had not ignored him. Her friends unconsciously -imitated her example. They passed him over and chattered about trifles. -Their conversations were a shallow exchange of words in which, when -every nerve in his body was emotionalized, it was impossible for him to -take part. He showed continually at a disadvantage. They none of them -had the curiosity to inquire why he was there or who he was. He felt -that behind his back they must smile at Desire’s treatment of him. - -It would be good to get back to people who frankly reciprocated his -pride--to artist father with his lofty ideals, who went marching through -life with all his bands playing, never halting for spurious success to -overtake him. It would be good to get back, and yet---- - -She had worked herself into his blood. She was a disease for which she -herself was the only cure. Without the hope of seeing her his future -would lose its sight. Up till now the short nightly partings had been -agonies, which called for many kisses to dull their pain. When absent -from her, he had made haste to sleep, that oblivion might bridge the -gulf of separation. To have to face interminable days which would bring -no promise of her girlish presence, seemed worse than death. If he -returned to England, what certainty would he have that they would ever -meet again? - -He stung himself into shame by remembering what weakness had done for -Hal. Hal would form a link between them, when every other means of -communication had failed. - -The wildness of his panic abated. He urged himself to be strong. If he -went on as he was going now, he would bankrupt his life. To-morrow he -would plead with her. - -If she still procrastinated, then the only way to draw her nearer would -be to go from her. The horror of parting confronted him again. He closed -his eyes to shut it out. He would decide nothing to-night. - -Next morning he phoned her at the usual time. She was still sleeping; he -left a request that she should call him. He waited till twelve. At last -he grew impatient and phoned her again. He was told that she had gone -out with Fluffy, leaving word that he would hear from her later. By -three o’clock he had not heard. All day he had been kept at high tension -on the listen. The cavalierness of her conduct roused his indignation. -Her punishment was out of all proportion to his offense, especially -after the way in which she had received the watch-bracelet A month -ago he would have hurried out to send her a peace-offering of flowers. -To-day he hurried out on a different errand. - -Jumping on a bus, he rode up Fifth Avenue and alighted at The -International Sleeping Car Company. Entering swiftly, for fear his -resolution should forsake him, he booked a berth on the _Mauretania_, -sailing on Christmas Eve, the next night. He hesitated as to whether -he should send his mother a cable; he determined to postpone that final -step. He had booked and canceled a berth before. He tried to believe -that he was no more serious now than on that occasion. He was only -proving to himself and to her his supreme earnestness. ‘If she gave him -any encouragement, even though she didn’t definitely promise to marry -him, he would postpone his sailing. - -He wandered out into the streets. Floating like gold and silver tulips -on the dusk, lights had sprung up. Crowds surged by merrily; all their -talk was of Christmas. The look of Christmas was in their faces. Girls -hung on the arms of men. Everywhere he saw lovers: they swayed along -the pavement as though they were one; they snuggled in hansoms, sitting -close together; they fled by in taxis, wraithlike in the darkness, -fleeting as the emotion they expressed. He knew all their secrets, all -their thoughts: how men’s hands groped into muffs to squeeze slender -fingers; how the fingers lay quiet, pretending they were numb; how -speech became incoherent, and faces drooped together. He listened to the -lisp of footsteps--all going somewhere to sorrow or happiness. How many -lovers would meet in New York to-night! He felt stunned. His heart ached -intolerably. - -In sheer aimlessness he strolled into the Waldorf and hovered by the -pillar from which he had so often watched to see her come. To see her -approaching now he would give a year of his life. She would be wearing -her white-fox furs and the little tweed suit he had given her. The fur -rubbed off on his sleeves; it told many tales. - -His resolution was weakening every minute; soon it would be impossible -to leave her--even to pretend he had thought of leaving her. - -He must keep his mind occupied; must go to some place which held no -associations. Sauntering along Thirty-fourth Street, he passed by the -Beauty Parlor where she went, as she said, “to be glorified.” He passed -the shop to which he had gone with her to buy the earliest of his more -personal gifts, the dozen silk stockings. Foolish recollections, full of -poignancy! He crossed Broadway beneath the crashing Elevated. Gimbel’s -at least would leave him unreminded; she despised any store which was -not on Fifth Avenue. He had drifted through several departments, when -he was startled by a voice. He turned as though he had been struck. A -salesman, demonstrating a gramophone, had chosen the record of _Absent_ -for the purpose. He stood tensely, listening to the tenor wail that came -from the impersonal instrument: - - “Thinking I see you--thinking I see you smile.” - -It was the last straw. His pride was broken. What did it matter whether -she cared? The terrible reality was his need of her. He made a dash for -the nearest pay-station and rang her up. - -A man answered. He wasn’t Mr. Dak. “Who? Mr. Gurney? Hold the line. I’ll -call her.---- Little D., here’s your latest. Hurry!” - -He heard Desire’s tripping footsteps in the passage and her reproving -whisper to her companion, “You had no right to do that.” Then her clear -voice, thrilling him even at that distance: “Hulloa, Bright Eyes! I’ve -just this minute got home. Did you get my wire?--You didn’t! But you -must have. I sent it after you left last night.--Humph! That’s what -comes of staying at these cheap hotels. You’d better ask the clerk at -the desk.--Oh, you’re not at the Brevoort. At Gimbel’s! What are you -doing there? Buying me another watch-bracelet? Never mind, tell -me presently.--No, I’m not going to tell you what was in the -telegram.--What’s that?” - -He had asked who was with her. - -“Naturally I can’t answer,” she said; “not now--later. You understand -why.--Of course you can come. Hurry! I’m dying to see you. By-by.” - -He had been conscious, while she was speaking, that her conversation was -framed quite as much for the other man’s mystification as for his own. -There had been a tantalizing remoteness in her tones. But what man had -the privilege to call her “Little D.”? He remembered now that, when he -had done it, an annoyed look of remembrance had crept into her eyes. - -Life had become worth living again. The madness was on him to spend, to -be gay, to atone. On his way uptown he went into Maillard’s to buy her -a box of her favorite caramels. He stopped at Thorley’s and purchased -a corsage of orchids. He was allowing her to twist him round her little -finger. He confessed it. But what did anything matter? He was going to -her. Life had become radiantly happy. He no longer had to eye passing -lovers with envy. He was of their company and glorified. - -When he had pressed the button of the apartment, he was kept -waiting--kept waiting so long that he rang twice. On the other side -Twinkles was barking furiously; then he heard the soft swish of -approaching garments. The door opened. Through the crack he could just -make out her face. - -“Don’t come in till I hide,” she warned him in a whisper. “Every -one’s out, except me and Twinkles. I’m halfway through dressing.” She -retreated, leaving the door ajar. When she had fled across the hall into -the passage, she called to him, “You may enter.” - -He closed the door and listened in the discreet silence. She was in her -bedroom. She had made a great secret of her little nest. She had told -him about the pictures on the walls, the Japanese garden in the window, -and the queer things she saw from the window when she spied across the -air-shaft on her neighbors. She had a child’s genius for disguising the -commonplace with glamour. Of this the name she had given him, which was -known to no one but her and himself, was an example. She made every hour -that he had not shared with her bristle with mysteries by sly allusions -to what had happened in it Her bedroom was a forbidden spot; she deigned -to describe it to him and left his imagination to do the rest. In -his lover’s craving to picture her in all her environments--to be in -ignorance of nothing that concerned her--he had often begged her to let -him peep across the threshold. She had invariably denied him, putting on -her most shocked expression. - -He walked into the front-room; it was littered with presents, received -and to be given, and their torn wrappings. - -She heard him. “You mustn’t go in there,” she called. - -“Then where am I to go?” - -“Bother. I don’t know. You can stand in the passage and talk to me if -you like.” - -For a quarter of an hour he leant against the wall, facing her closed -door. While they exchanged remarks he judged her progress by sounds. -Sometimes she informed him as to their meaning. “It’s my powder-box that -I’m opening now.--What you heard then was the stopper of my Mary Garden -bottle.--Shan’t be long. Why don’t you smoke?” - -He didn’t want to smoke, but when she asked him a second time, her -question had become an imperative. - -Her voice reached him muffled; by the rustling she must be slipping on -her skirt. “I’m keeping you an awfully long while, Meester Deek; you’re -very patient.” There was a lengthy pause. Then: “Of course it isn’t done -in the best families, but we’re different and, anyhow, nobody’ll know. -I’ve drawn down the shades.--If you promise to be good, you can come -inside.” - -She was seated at her dressing-table before the mirror, adjusting her -broad-brimmed velvet hat. - -“Hulloa!” She did not turn, but let her reflection do the welcoming. “I -haven’t allowed many gentlemen to come in here.” She seemed to be saying -it lest he should think himself too highly flattered. - -He bent across her shoulder, asking permission by his silence. - -“You may take a nice Christmas kiss, if that’s what you’re after. Just -one.” - -He brushed her cool cheek, the unresponsive cheek of an obedient child. -Her arms curved up to her head like the fine handles of a fragile vase. -She proceeded quietly with the pinning of her hat. His arms went about -her passionately. His action was unplanned. He was on his knees beside -her, clutching her to him and kissing the hands which strove to push him -from her. When his lips sought hers, she turned her face aside so that -he could only reach the merest corner of her mouth. So she lay for -some seconds, her face averted, till her motionlessness had quelled his -emotion. - -She laughed, freeing herself from his embrace. “Oh, Meester Deek,” she -whispered softly, “and when I wasn’t wearing any corsets! Now let me go -on with the pinning of my hat.” - -He filled in the awkward silence by placing the corsage of orchids -in her lap. Before she thanked him, she tried them at various angles -against her breast, studying their effect in the mirror. Then she -whispered reproachfully: - -“Aren’t you extravagant? Money does burn holes in your pocket. You ought -to give it to some one to take care of for you.” - -There was no free chair. The room was strewn with odds and ends of -clothing as though a cyclone had blown through it He seated himself on -the edge of the white bed and glanced about him. On the dressing-table -in a silver frame was a photograph of Tom. On the wall, in a line above -the bed, were four more of him. Vaguely he began to guess why she had -made such a secret of her bedroom, and why she had let him see it at -this stage in his courtship. Jealousy smoldered like a sullen spark; it -sprang into a flame which tortured and consumed him. - -What right had this man to watch her? Why should she wish to have him -watch? - -He threw contempt on his jealousy. It made him feel brutal. But it had -burnt long enough to harden his resolve. - -She rose and picked up her jacket. “D’you want to help me?” - -He took it from her without alacrity. As he guided her arms into the -sleeves, she murmured: “Why were you so naughty last night, Meester -Deek? You almost made me cross, I was so upset and tired. You weren’t -kind.” Then, with a flickering uplifting of her lashes, “But I’m not -tired any longer.” - -She waited expectant. Nothing happened. She picked up a hand-mirror, -surveying the back of her neck and giving her rebellious little curl a -final pat, as though bidding it be careful of its manners. In laying it -down she contrived to hold the glass so as to get a glimpse of his face -across her shoulder. Her expression stiffened. As if he were not there, -she swept over to the door, switched off the light and left him to -follow. - -He found her in the front-room. She had unwrapped a pot of azaleas and -was clearing a space to set it on the table. - -“Tom brought me this,” she explained in a preoccupied tone. “He was -waiting for me when I got back. It was Tom who answered the phone when -you called me. Kind of him to remember me, wasn’t it?” - -“Very kind.” - -“You don’t need to agree if you don’t really think so.” She spoke -petulantly, with her back toward him. “Even a plant means a lot to some -people. Tom’s only an actor. He’s not a rich author to whom money means -nothing.” - -“And I’m not.” - -“Well, you act like it.” - -She had found that the bottom of the pot was wet and walked out of the -room to fetch a plate before setting it on the table. While she was -gone, he groped after the deep-down cause of her annoyance. - -“Did you really send me a telegram?” he asked the moment she reentered. - -“You’ve never caught me fibbing yet. I’ve been careful. Why d’you doubt -it?” - -“I thought you might have said it--well, just for something to say. -Perhaps because you were embarrassed, or to make Tom jealous.” - -“Embarrassed! Why embarrassed? Tom’s an old friend. I must say you have -a high opinion of me. It strikes me Mrs. Theodore Gurney’s going to have -a rough time.” - -There was a dead silence. She pivoted slowly and captured both his -hands. Dragging him to the couch, she made him sit beside her. In -the sudden transition of her moods, her face had become as young and -mischievous with smiles as before it had been elderly and cross. - -“Well, Meester Deek, haven’t you anything to say? Don’t you like me -better now?” She dived to within an inch of his face as though she were -about to kiss him, and there stopped short, laughing into his eyes. When -he made no response, she became tensely grave. “I can be a little cat -sometimes, and yet you want to live with me all your life. I should -think you’d get sick of me. I’m very honest to let you see what I -really am.” She said this with a wise shake of her head and an air of -self-congratulation. “But you’re a beast, too, when you’re offended.” - She stooped and kissed his hand. “The first time I’ve ever done that,” - she murmured, “to you or any man. Haven’t we gone far enough with our -quarreling?” - -“I think we have.” - -“But you’ve not forgiven me?--Well, I’ll tell you, and then you’ll ask -my pardon.” She moved away from him to the other end of the couch. “I’ve -really been very sweet to you all the time and you haven’t known it. -Last night we were both stupid; I was upset. I don’t know which of us -was the worst. But after you’d gone I was sorry, and I dressed, and I -went out all alone at midnight to send you a telegram so you’d know that -I was sorry directly you woke in the morning. It wasn’t my fault that -you didn’t get it. And then about to-day--you’re angry because I didn’t -call you up. It was because I was looking after your Christmas present. -And when you came here all glum and sulky I let you see my bedroom. And -now I’ve kissed your hand. Isn’t that enough?” - -She was turning all the tables on him. “Let’s be friends,” he said. -When he slipped his arm about her, she flinched. “Mind my flowers. Don’t -crush them. You must first say that you’re sorry.” - -“I’m sorry. Terribly sorry.” - -“All right, then. But you did hurt me last night when--when you went -away like that.” - -“But you often let me go away like that.” - -She held up a finger. “You’re starting again.” - -She rose and walked over to a pile of parcels which were lying on the -piano. As he watched her, the thought of Tom came back. She hadn’t -explained those photographs; his pride wouldn’t permit him to ask her. - -“You’re not very curious, Meester Deek. Why d’you think I kept you -waiting in the passage and wouldn’t let you come in here? I was afraid -you might see something. I’ll let you see it now.” - -She was leaning against the piano. He went and stood beside her. She -moved nearer so that her hair swept his cheek like a caress. “Do you -like it?” She placed a miniature of herself done on ivory in his hand. -“Better than the poor little tin-type portrait that faded!” - -“For me?” he asked incredulously. - -“Who else? No, listen before you thank me. I thought they’d never get it -done. They’ve been weeks over it. All day I’ve been hurrying them. Now, -won’t you own that you have been misunderstanding?” - -“I’ve been an unjust idiot.” - -“Not so bad as that. And I’m not so bad, either, if you only knew---- -Now I’ll put on your bracelet Did you notice that I wasn’t wearing it?” - -“Why weren’t you?” - -The babies came into her eyes. “You’ve had a narrow escape. If you -hadn’t been nice, I was going to have given it back to you. Let’s fetch -it. You can fasten it on for me.” - -From the steps of the apartment-house they hailed a hansom, and drove -through the winking night to the Claremont. “‘So, honey, jest play -in your own backyard,” she sang. When she found that she couldn’t -intimidate him, she started on another fragment, filling in the gaps -with humming when she forgot the words: - - “Oh, you beautiful girl, - - What a beautiful girl you are! - - You’ve made my dreams come true to me----” - -“Sounds as though I were praising myself, doesn’t it? Don’t come so -near, Meester Deek; every time you hug me you carry away so much of my -little white foxes. ‘Beware of the foxes, the little foxes that spoil -the something or other.’ Didn’t some one once say that? I wish you’d -beware; soon there won’t be any fur left.” - -While she went to the lady’s room to see whether her appearance had -suffered under his kisses, he engaged a table in a corner, overlooking -the Hudson. - -Towards the end of the meal, when she was finishing an ice and he was -lighting a cigar, a silence fell between them. She sat back with her -eyes partly closed and her body relaxed. Up to that moment she had been -daringly vivacious. He had learnt to fear her high spirits and fits -of niceness. They came in gusts; they always had to be paid for with -periods of languor. - -“What are you thinking?” he asked. “Something sad, I’ll warrant.” - -“Fluffy.” She glanced across at him, appealing for his patience. - -“How is she?” He tried to humor her with a display of interest - -“She’s broken up. She’s been speaking to Simon Freelevy. She absolutely -refuses to go on playing in New York; it’s too full of memories. So it’s -all arranged; she’s going to California in the New Year with a -road-company.” - -He understood her depression now. If Fluffy was leaving New York, this -was his chance. Somehow or other he must manage to hang on. He was glad -he had not sent that cable to his mother. - -“That’s hard lines on you.” He sank his voice sympathetically. “You’ll -miss her awfully.” - -Desire woke up and became busy with what remained of her ice. “I shan’t. -She wants me to go with her. It’ll do me good.” Then coaxingly, as -though she were asking his permission, “I’ve never been to California.” - -The heat drained from him. He paused, giving himself time to grow -steady. If he counted for so little, she shouldn’t guess his bitter -disappointment. “But will you leave your mother? I should think she’ll -be frightfully lonely.” - -“My beautiful mother’s so unselfish.” - -“But----” - -“Well?” - -They gazed at each other. He wondered whether she was only playing with -him--whether she had only said it that he might amuse her with a storm -of protests. - -“You were going to ask about yourself?” she suggested. “I’ve thought -all that out. You and mother can come and join us somewhere. There’s -splendid riding out West. I’ve always wanted to ride. It would be fine -to go flying along together if--if you were there.” - -He didn’t understand this girl, who could give him ivory miniatures -one minute and propose to go away for months the next--who, while she -refused to become anything to him, undertook to arrange his life. - -He laughed tolerantly. “I’m afraid that can’t be. I shouldn’t accomplish -much by tagging after a road-company all across a continent. You don’t -seem to realize that I have a living to earn.” - -“That was a nasty laugh,” she pouted; “I didn’t like it one little bit.” - -She played with his fingers idly, lifting them up and letting them fall, -like soldiers marking time. “You manicure them now. You’ve learnt -something by coming to America---- Your living!” She smiled. “It seems -to come easily enough. I hear you talk about it, but I never see you -working.” - -Here was the opening for which he had been waiting. “You’re right. I’ve -hardly done a stroke since I landed. Winning you has taken all my time.” - -“Has it?” She glanced round the room dreamily, making confidences -impossible by her lack of enthusiasm. - -He got up. “Shall we go back to the apartment? We can talk better -there.” - -She lounged to her feet. “If you’ll promise not to worry me. I’ve gone -through too much to-day already.” - -He knew the meaning of her fatigue; once more she was barricading -herself. He was doubly sure of it when he saw her open her vanity-case -and produce a veil. A veil was a means of protection which, above all -others, he detested. “Don’t put that thing on.” - -“I must. It’ll keep the wind off. I don’t like getting chapped.” - -On the drive back she sat rigid with her hand before her eyes, as though -she slept. It seemed to him that he had not advanced a pace since the -ride to Long Beach; the only difference was that his arm encircled her. -She paid so little heed to it that he withdrew it. She gave no sign that -she noticed its withdrawal. It was only when they were halting that she -came to herself with a drowsy yawn. Leaning against his shoulder for -a second, she peered up at him with mock regret: “And to think that my -head might have been resting there all the time!” - -It was plain that she didn’t want him to come up. In the foyer she held -out her hand. When he did not take it, she lowered her eyes: “I’m sorry. -I thought you were going.” - -After the elevator had left them, she stood outside the door and -carefully removed her veil. It was a frank invitation to him to kiss her -and say good-by. He did neither. She drew the palms of her hands across -her eyes. “I ought to go to bed.--You are a sticker. Well, if you won’t -go, just for a little while.” - -She produced the key from her vanity-case. He took it from her and -slipped it into the latch. Only Twinkles was at home. For Twinkles she -mustered the energy for a display of fun-making. Romping with the dog -revived her. - -“Take the nice gentleman in there,” she said, “while mistress makes -herself beautiful. Mistress can’t allow the same gentleman, however -pleasant, to come into her bedroom twice.” - -He didn’t feel flippant. He was quivering with earnestness. While he -waited among the litter of presents and paper he tried to master his -emotion. He knew that if he once got to touching and kissing her, -he would go out of the door with matters as undecided as when he had -entered. - -She drifted into the room rubbing her hands. “Been putting scent on -them,” she explained, holding out to him her smooth little palms. “Don’t -they smell nice?” - -He didn’t kiss them. He didn’t dare. She gave him a puzzled look of -inquiry; then showed him her back and became absorbed in gathering up -the scattered papers. When several minutes of silence had elapsed, she -turned. - -“I’m not going to quarrel with you, if that’s what you want You’d have -been wise to have said good-night to me downstairs. If you’ve really got -something on your mind, for Heaven’s sake get it off.” - -“It’s difficult and you don’t help me.” - -She tossed her head impatiently. “You make me tired. It isn’t a girl’s -place to help.” - -Seating herself on the floor, with her legs curled about her and her -ankles peeping out from under her skirt, she began to wrap up presents. -“Please be nice,” she implored him in a little voice, “because I really -do like you. Sit down here beside me and put your finger on the knots, -so that I can tie them.” - -He sat down opposite to her. That wasn’t quite what she had intended. -She made a mischievous face at him. - -“It isn’t a question of being nice,” he said quietly; “it’s a question -of being honest. I’ve booked my berth on the _Mauretania_ for to-morrow -night.” - -She gave a scarcely perceptible start. When she spoke, it was without -raising her eyes. “You did that once before. You can’t play the same -trick twice.” - -“It isn’t a trick this time.” - -She eyed him cloudily, still persuaded that it was. “Are you saying that -because of what I told you about going to California? I thought you were -too big and splendid to return tit for tat.” - -“It isn’t tit for tat I booked this afternoon, before I knew about -California.” - -She gave her shoulders a shrug of annoyance. “Well, you know your -business best.” - -“I don’t; that’s why I’m telling you. I’m not being unkind. My business -may be yours.” - -At last she took him seriously. “I don’t see how it can be; you’d better -explain. But first tell me: are you trying to imitate Horace? Because if -you are, it won’t work.” - -“I’m not.” - -“Then light me a cigarette and let’s be sensible.” - -Seated on the floor in the dim-lit room, with the Christmas presents -strewn around, he told her. The first part was the old story of how he -had dreamt about her from a child. - -“You know that’s true, Princess?” - -“And I’ve dreamt about you,” she nodded. “You were my faery-story.” - -“Then why----” - -“You tell me first.” - -So he told her: told her how she had pained him in England by her -silence; told her what her words “Come to America” had implied; -described to her the expectations with which he had set sail; the -disappointment when on landing he had found that she was absent; and -then the growing heartache that had come to him while she trifled with -him. He spared her nothing. “And you act as if my loving bored you,” he -said; “and yet, if I take you at your word, you’re petulant May I speak -about money now? I know how you hate me to talk of it---- And you won’t -misunderstand?” - -She gave her silent consent. - -“I can’t afford to live in New York any longer. Last night there was a -letter waiting for me. It told me that my only certain source of income -was lost. It told me a whole lot besides; they’re lonely and promise to -postpone Christmas if I’ll cable them that I’m coming.” - -“Have you cabled?” - -He shook his head. - -“You must. Your poor little mother,” she murmured. - -“You’d love my mother,” he said eagerly, “and my father, too. The moment -he clapped eyes on you he’d want to paint you.” - -“Would he? And after I’d taken you from him?” She screwed up her mouth -in denial and crushed out the stub of her cigarette against her heel. -It seemed the symbol of things ended. “You were telling me about the -letter. What else?” - -“That’s all. But you see, I’ve got nothing now except what I earn. And -when my mind’s distracted---- It’s---- You don’t mind my saying it, do -you? It’s waiting for you that’s done it. My power seems gone. If only -I were sure of you and that you’d be to me always as you are now, I’d be -strong to do anything.” - -She had been fidgeting with her bracelet. When he had ended, she -commenced to slip it off. “And it was the day that you lost everything -that you were most generous. And I didn’t thank you properly, like the -little pig I am. Teddy, please don’t be offended, but I’d so much rather -you----” - -He pressed his lips against the slim wrist that she held out. “Please -don’t. It would hurt me most awfully.” - -“And it makes me feel guilty to keep it,” she pouted. - -They sat holding hands, gazing at each other. In the silence, without -the fever of caresses, he had come nearer to her than at any previous -moment. They were two children who had experimented with things they did -not understand, and were a little frightened at what had happened and a -little glad. - -“You called me Teddy just now,” he whispered. “It’s the third time.” - -She smiled at him with a flicker of her old wickedness. “I didn’t intend -to. It slipped out because--because I was so unhappy.” - -“But you needn’t be unhappy. Neither of us need be unhappy. Everything’s -in our own hands. I’d work for you, Desire. I’d become famous for you. -We’d live life splendidly. The way we’ve been living is stupid and -wasteful; it doesn’t lead anywhere. If you’d marry me and come back with -me----” - -“To-morrow?” she questioned. “Meester Deek, you didn’t go and book two -berths? You weren’t as foolish as that?” - -He sought her lips. She turned her face ever so slightly, as though -apologizing for a necessary unkindness! His look of disappointment -brought tears to her eyes. She stroked his cheek gently in atonement. - -“You weren’t as foolish as that?” - -He hung his head. “No, I wasn’t: I wish I had been, and I would be if -you----” - -She stared beyond him, watching pictures form and dissolve before her -inward eyes. - -“We could sail to-morrow,” he urged her; “or wait till after Christmas. -I’d wait for you for years if you’d only say that some day---- Can’t we -at least be engaged?” - -“Don’t wait,” she whispered. - -“But I shall wait always--always. I shall never love any one but you.” - -“They all say that.” - -A key grated in the latch. She didn’t snatch away her hand the way she -would have done formerly. She sat motionless, courting discovery. -They heard Vashti’s voice, bidding some man good-night. The door shut. -Glancing in on them in passing, she pretended to be unaware of what was -happening. “I’m going straight to bed. You don’t mind if I don’t stay to -talk with you? I’m tired.” - -The quiet settled down. Desire crept closer. They had been sitting -facing. “I guess you’re badly hurt. You thought that all girls wanted -to get married, and to have little babies and a kind man to take care of -them.” When he tried to answer her, she placed her hand upon his mouth. -He held it there with his own, as though it had been a flower. - -“I’m glad we got mad,” she whispered; “it’s made us real. It’s nice to -be real sometimes. But I don’t know what to say to you--what to do to -you. I haven’t played fair. At first I thought you were like all the -rest. I know I’m responsible.” - -She snuggled up to him like a weary child. “I’m at the -cross-roads.--Don’t kiss me--you put me out when you do that. Just put -your arms about me so that I feel safe. I--I want to tell you.” - -“Then tell me, Princess.” - -“I’m two persons. There’s the me that I am now, and the other me that’s -horrid.” - -“I love them both.” - -“You don’t. The me that’s horrid is a spiteful little cat, and I may -become the horrid me at any moment Meester Dèek, you’d have to marry -us both. I’m not a restful person at the best. I can never say the kind -things that I feel. Most of the time I ought to be whipped and shaken. I -suppose if I fell really in love it might be different.” - -“Then fall really in love.” - -She seemed to ponder his advice. “My love’s such a feeble little -trickle. Yours is so deep and wide; mine would be lost in it And yet I -do like you. I speak to you the way I speak to no other man. I could go -on speaking to you forever. If I’d seen as much of any other man, he’d -have bored me long ago.” - -“And isn’t that just saying that you do love me?” - -“Perhaps.” Her head stirred against his shoulder. Then: “No. That’s only -saying that you’ve not found fault with me and that you’ve let me be -selfish. You need some one who’ll be to you what your mother has been -to your father. I’ll hate her when you find her; but, oh, Meester Deek, -there are heaps of better girls in the world. I can’t cook, can’t sew, -can’t even be agreeable very often. I want to live, and make mistakes, -and then experiment afresh.--Perhaps I don’t know what I want. I feel -more than friendship for you, but much less than love, because if it -were love, it would stop at nothing. Oh, I know, though you don’t think -it. Perhaps one day, when I’m older and wiser, I’ll look back and regret -to-night. But I’m not going to let you spoil your life.” - -“You’d make it.” - -“Spoil it.” - -She released herself from him. He helped her to rise. - -“I’ve at least been an education for your soul. Do say it. I haven’t -done you nothing but harm, have I?” - -His emotion choked him. - -She came and leant her forehead against his shoulder. “Do say it. Have -I?” - -“You darling kiddy, you’ve been the best thing that ever happened to -me.” - -“I have my own little religion,” she whispered. “I shall say a prayer -for you to-night.” - -“Will you pray that one day you may be my wife?” - -She was silent. They moved together as in a trance towards the door. He -was remembering what she had said it would mean if she kissed him -without his asking. He was hoping. She accompanied him to the head of -the stairs. Suddenly his will-power gave way. “I’m not going. You don’t -think I’m going after to-night? You’ve shown me so much that---- Desire, -I can’t live without you.” - -She took his face between her hands. “You must go. If you don’t, it’ll -be all the same. You’ve told me things, too. I’m hindering your work. -After what you’ve told me, I would refuse to see you if you stayed. -Perhaps it’s only for a little while. I may marry you some day. Who -knows? And I wouldn’t want your mother to hate me.” - -They clung together in silence. - -“We’ll write often?” - -“Yes, often.” - -“And to-morrow?” - -“Phone me in the morning.” - -He thought she had repeated the phrase from habit. “My last day,” he -pleaded. - -“Phone me in the morning,” she reiterated. - -He had said good-by; she was waving to him across the rail. He was -nearly out of sight. He turned and came bounding back. - -“What is it? I can’t keep brave if you make me go through it twice.” - -He caught her to him. “Give me your lips,” he panted. - -She averted her face. - -His arms fell from her. “I thought not,” he whispered brokenly. - -He had begun to descend. At the last moment she stooped. Her lips -fluttered against his own; they neither kissed nor returned his -pressure. She fled from him trembling across the threshold. The door -shut with a bang. He waited to see her come stealing out. He was left -alone with her memory. - -On returning to the Brevoort he inquired for her telegram. At first -he was told that none had arrived. He insisted. After a search it was -discovered tucked away in the wrong pigeon-hole. Paying no heed to the -clerk’s apologies, he slit the envelope and read: - - “Forgive me. I’m sorry. Desire” - -If only he had received it earlier! If only it had been brought to his -bedside in the morning, what a difference it would have made! She would -never have known that he had thought of going. She would have heard -nothing about her hindering his work. She would have been ignorant of -his money embarrassments. He couldn’t unsay anything now. It was as -though a force, stronger than himself, had conspired to drive him to -this crisis. He saw her in his mind’s eye, slipping out at midnight to -send him that message. His tenderness magnified her kindness and clothed -her with pathos. The unkindness of the thoughts he had had of her that -day rose up like conscience to reproach him. From the first he had -misjudged her. He had always misjudged her. He forgot all her omissions, -remembering only her periods of graciousness. - -He didn’t send the cable to his mother. He went upstairs and commenced -packing. It was only a precaution, he told himself; he wasn’t really -going. To-morrow they would cease to be serious and would laugh about -to-night. - -When to-morrow came, he phoned her. Vashti answered. “She didn’t sleep -here, Teddy. She left half-an-hour after you left; she made me promise -not to tell you where she was going.--She was crying. She said she was -sure you hated her or that you would hate her one day.--What’s that? -No. I think you’re doing right I should advise you to sail. It’ll do her -good to miss you.--Yes, if she comes in, I’ll tell her.” - -When he had seen his boxes put on the express-wagon, it began to dawn -on him that he was doing things for the last time. He still told himself -that he wasn’t going. He still procrastinated over sending the cable. -Yet he proceeded mechanically with preparations for departure. He saw -his publisher. He interviewed magazine-editors. He promised to execute -work in the near future. He lunched at the Astor by himself, at a table -across which he had often faced her. The waiter showed concern at seeing -him alone and made discreet inquiries after “Madame.” Wherever he turned -he saw girls with young men. The orchestra played rag-time tunes that -they had hummed together. Every sight and sound was a reminder. The -gayety burlesqued his unhappiness. - -After lunch he had an inspiration: of course she was at Fluffy’s. He -felt certain that he had only to talk with her to put matters right. - -Fluffy was out. It was her maid’s voice that answered; she professed to -know nothing of the movements of Miss Jodrell. - -Night gathered--the night before Christmas with its intangible -atmosphere of legendary excitements. All the world over stockings were -being hung at the ends of beds and children were listening for Santa -Claus’s reindeers. Cafés and restaurants were thronged with men and -women in evening-dress. Taxis purred up before flashing doorways and -girls stepped out daintily. Orchestras were crashing out syncopated -music. In cleared spaces, between tables, dancers glided. If he hadn’t -been so wise, he might have been one of them. - -Slowly, like pirouetting faeries, snowflakes drifted gleaming down the -dusk. It was the first snow since that memorable flight to the country. - -The pain of his loneliness was more than he could bear. There was no use -in telephoning. Perhaps she had been at home all the time and had given -orders that people should say she was out. Quite likely! But why? Why -should she avoid him? She seemed to have been so near to loving him last -night. What had she meant by telling her mother that he hated her or -would hate her one day? He had said and done nothing that would hint -at that The idea that he should ever hate her was absurd. Perhaps the -“horrid me” had got the upper-hand--that would account for it. - -Eight o’clock! Four more hours! At midnight the ship sailed. - -He hurried to the apartment in Riverside Drive. The elevator-boys told -him that the ladies were out. He refused to believe them and insisted -on being taken up. He knocked at the door and pressed the button. Dead -silence. Even Twinkles didn’t answer. - -He was seized with panic. They might have gone to the Brevoort, -expecting to say good-by to him there. He rushed back.. No one had -inquired for him. The laughter of merry-makers in the white-mirrored -dining-room was a mockery. He hid himself in his room upstairs--his room -which would be a stranger’s to-morrow. - -Nine! Ten! He sat with his head between his hands. He kept counting from -one to a hundred, encouraging himself that the telephone would tinkle -before he had completed the century. It did once--a wrong number. He -attempted to get on to both the apartment and Fluffy’s a score of times. -“They’re out--out--out.” The answer came back with maddening regularity. -The telephone operators recognized his anxious voice; they cut him -off, as though he were a troublesome child, before he had completed his -question. - -He grew ashamed. At last he grew angry. It wasn’t decent of Desire. He -had given her no excuse for the way she was acting. - -He pulled out his watch. Nearly eleven! Slipping into his coat and -picking up his bag, he glanced round the room for the last time. -What interminable hours he had wasted there--waiting for her, finding -explanations for her, cutting cards to discover by necromancy whether -she would marry him! With a sigh that was almost of relief, he opened -the door and switched off the light. - -While his bill was being receipted at the desk, he wrote out a cable to -his mother: - - “_Sailing Christmas Eve. ’Mauretania_” - -It would reach them as they were sitting down to breakfast to-morrow--a -kind of Christmas present. - -At last he had made the step final. He wondered how far he had -paralleled Hal. The comparison should end at this point; he had better -things to do than to mope away his life. - -On arriving at the dock he inquired for letters. He was informed that he -would find them on board at the Purser’s office. A long queue of people -was drawn up. He took his place impatiently at the end. He told himself -that this episode was ended; that from first to last his share had been -undignified. Doubtless he would marry her some day; but until she was -ready, he would not think about her. He thought of nothing else. Each -time the line moved up his heart gave a thump. There might be one from -her. He became sure there was one from her. A man named Godfrey, two -places ahead, was being served. As the G’s were sorted, he watched -sharply; he made certain he had seen a letter in her hand. - -At last it was his turn. - -“You have a letter for me. Theodore Gurney.” - -A minute’s silence. - -“Nothing, sir.” - -“But are you sure? I thought I saw one.” - -“I’ll look again if you like.--Nothing.” - -He staggered as he walked away. His face was set and white. An old lady -touched him gently. “Is the news so bad?” - -He shook off her kindness and laughed throatily. “News I No, it’s -nothing.” - -He felt ill and unmanned. Tears tingled behind his eyes. He refused to -shed them. They seemed to scald his brain. He didn’t care whether he -lived or died. He’d given so much; he’d planned such kindness; he’d -dreamed with such persistent courage. The thanks he had received was -“Nothing.” - -He found his way out on deck and leant across the rail. A gang-plank had -been lowered to his right. Passengers came swarming up it, laughing with -their friends--diners from Broadway who were speeding the parting guest. -Some of them seemed to be dancing; the rhythm of the rag-time was -in their steps. For the most part they were in evening-dress. The -opera-cloaks and wraps of women flew back, exposing their throats and -breasts. He twisted his mouth into a bitter smile. They employed their -breasts for ornament, not for motherhood. They were all alike. - -He had lost count of time while standing there. His eyes brooded -sullenly through the drifting snow on the sullen water and the broken -lights. Shouted warnings that the ship was about to sail were growing -rare. The tardiest of the visitors were being hurried down the -gang-plank. Sailors stood ready to cast away and put up the rail. - -There was a commotion. Hazily he became aware of it A girl had -become hysterical. She seemed alone; which was odd, for she was in -evening-dress. She was explaining, almost crying, and wringing her -hands. She was doing her best to force her way on deck; a steward and a -man in uniform were turning her back. - -Suddenly he realized. He was fighting towards her through the crowd. He -had his hand on the steward’s shoulder. “Damn you. Don’t touch her.” - -The ship’s eyes were on them. His arms went about her. - -“I couldn’t stop away,” she whispered. “I had to come at the last -moment. I was almost too late. I’ve been a little beast all day. I want -to hear you say you forgive me, Teddy.” - -He was thinking quickly. - -“You’ve come by yourself?” - -“I slipped away from a party. Nobody knows.” - -“You can’t go back alone. I’ll come with you. I’m not sailing.” - -She laughed breathlessly. “But your luggage!” - -“Hang my luggage.” - -She took his face between her hands as though no one was watching. -“Meester Deek, I shouldn’t have come if I’d thought it would make you a -coward.” - -“A coward, but------” - -She rested her cheek against his face. “Your mother’s expecting you. -And--and we’ll meet so very soon.” - -“Give me something,” he implored her; “something for remembrance.” - -She looked down at herself. What could she give him? “Your little curl.” - -“But it’s false.” - -“But it’s dear,” he murmured. - -An officer touched him. He glanced across his shoulder and nodded. This, -then, was the end. - -He drew her closer. “I can’t tell you. I never have told you. In all -these months I’ve told you nothing.--I love you. I love you.--Your lips -just once, Princess.” - -Her obedient mouth lay against his own. Her lips were motionless. She -slipped from him. - -Waving and waving, he watched her from the deck. Now he lost her; again -he saw her where raised screens in the sheds made golden port-holes. -She raced along the dock, as with bands playing the Christmas ship stole -out. Now that it was too late, she hoarded every moment. Beneath a lamp, -leaning out through the drift of snowflakes, she fluttered a scarf that -she had torn from her throat It was the last glimpse he had of her. A -Goddess of Liberty she seemed to him; a slave of freedom, Horace would -have said. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX--AN OLD PASSION - -He was like a man from the tropics suddenly transplanted to an Arctic -climate. He was chilled to the soul; the coldness brought him misery, -but no reaction. His vigor had been undermined by the uncertainties and -ardors which he had endured. Building a fire out of his memories, he -shivered and crouched before it. - -Hour by hour in the silence of his brain he relived the old pulsating -languors. He had no courage to look ahead to any brightness in the -future. The taste of the present was as ashes in his mouth. He felt old, -disillusioned, exhausted. The grayness of the plunging wintry sea was -the reflection of his soul’s gray loneliness. - -He had spent so long in listening and waiting that listening and waiting -had become a habit. He would hear the telephone tinkle soon. His heart -would fly up like a bird into his throat. Her voice would steal to him -across the distance: “Meester Deek, hulloa! What are we going to do this -morning?” He often heard it in imagination. He could not bear to believe -that at last his leisure was his own--that suspense was at once and -forever ended. - -Among the passengers he was a romantic figure. Stories went the rounds -about him. It was said that the girl who had delayed the sailing was an -actress--no, an heiress--no, one of the most beautiful of the season’s -débutantes. Men’s eyes followed him with envy. Women tried to coax -him into a confession--especially the old lady who had met him coming -white-faced from the Purser’s office. He was regarded as a triumphant -lover; he alone knew that he was an impostor. - -His grip on reality had loosened. There were times when he believed -she had never existed. He was a child who had slept in a ring of the -faeries. He had seen the little people steal out from brakes and hedges. -All night In their spider-web and glow-worm raiment they had danced -about him, caressing him with their velvet arms. The dawn had come; he -sat up rubbing his eyes, to find himself forsaken. He would wake up in -Eden Row presently to discover that all his ecstasies had been imagined. - -The little false curl was a proof to the contrary. He carried it near -his heart. It was the Nell Gwynn part of her--a piece of concrete -personality. It still seemed to mock his seriousness. - -He had left so many things unsaid; in all those months he had told her -nothing. He argued his way over the old ground, blaming himself and -making excuses for her. If only he had acted thus and so, then she would -have responded accordingly. He was almost persuaded that he had been -unkind to her. And there was so much--so much more than he had imagined, -from which he ought to save her. If she played with other men as she had -played with him, she would be in constant danger. She seemed to regard -men as puppies who could be sent to heel by a frown. Mr. Dak had taught -her nothing. She skirted the edge of precipices when strong winds were -blowing. She would do it once too often; the day was always coming. It -might come to-morrow. - -He missed her horribly--all her tricks of affection and petulance. He -had so much to remember: her casual way of singing in the midst of his -talking; the way she covered her mouth with her hand, laughing over it, -that she might provoke him into coaxing apart her fingers that he might -reach her lips through them; the waving down the stairs at the hour of -parting--every memory flared into importance now that she had vanished. -Most of all, he missed the name she had called him. Meester Deek I What -a fool he had been to be so impatient because she would not employ the -name by which any one could call him! - -No, he hadn’t realized her value. Their separation was his doing. He -might have been with her now, if only---- - -And back there at the end of the lengthening wake, did Broadway still -flash and glitter, a Vanity Fair over which sky-signs wove ghostly and -monstrous sorceries? - -At night he paced the deck, staring into the unrelieved blackness. With -whom was she now? Was she thinking of him? Was she thinking of him with -kindness, or had the “horrid me” again taken possession? Perhaps she was -with Fluffy. “Oh, these men!” Fluffy would say contemptuously. She -was with some one--he knew that; it was impossible to think of her as -sitting alone. She wouldn’t allow herself to be sad; she was somewhere -where there was feverish gayety, lights and the seduction of music. But -with whom? - -He saw again her little white bedroom which had been such a secret. On -the dressing-table, where it could watch her night and morning at her -mirror, was the silver-framed photograph. (She had never asked him for -his portrait) In a line on the wall, looking down on her as she lay -curled up in bed, were four more photographs. His jealousy became -maddening. His old suspicions crept back to haunt him. Who was this Tom? -What claims had he on her? Was Tom her permanent lover, and he the -man with whom she had trifled for relaxation--was that it? Even in the -moment of parting, after she had shown herself capable of abandon, her -lips had been motionless beneath his passion. To her he had offered -himself soul and body; at intervals she had been sorry for him. - -His one consolation was in writing to her--that made her seem nearer. -He poured out his heart hour after hour, in unconsidered, fiery phrases. -The journal which he kept for her on the voyage was less a journal of -contemporary doings than of rememberings. It was a history of all their -intercourse, stretching back from the scarf fluttered on the dock to the -far-off, cloistral days of childhood. He believed that in the writing of -it he became telepathic; messages seemed to reach him from her. He -heard her speaking so distinctly that at times he would drop his pen and -glance across his shoulder: “Meester Deek! Meester Deek!” He noted down -the hours when the phenomenon occurred, begging her to tell him whether -at these hours she had been thinking of him. Like a refrain, to which -the music was forever returning, “I shall wait for you always--always,” - he wrote. - -“And we’ll meet so very soon,” she had said at parting. What had she -meant? He had had no time to ask her. Had she meant that she would -follow him--that she had at last reached the point at which she could -not do without him? That she wasn’t going to California? That her -foolish and excessive friendship for Fluffy had ceased to be of supreme -importance? “And we shall meet so soon.” He built his hopes on that -promise. - -In the moments just before sleeping he was almost physically conscious -of her. When lights along passageways of the ship had been lowered and -feet no longer clattered on the decks, when only the thud of the engines -sounded, the swish of waters and the sigh of sleepers, then he believed -she approached him. He prayed Matthew Arnold’s prayer, and it seemed to -him that it was answered: - - “Come to me in my dreams and then - - By day I shall be well again! - - For then the night will more than pay - - The hopeless longing of the day.” - -They say love is blind; it would be truer to say love is lenient. He had -intervals of calmness when he appreciated to the full the wisdom of -what he was doing. He recognized her faults; he recognized them with -tenderness as the imperfections which sprang from her environment. If -he could take her out of her hot-house, her limp attitudes towards life -would straighten and her sanity would grow fresh. The trouble was -that she preferred her hothouse and the orchid-people by whom she was -surrounded; she had never known the blowy gardens of the world, which -lie honest beneath the rain and stars. She pitied them for their -blustering robustness. She pitied him for the distinctions he made -between right and wrong. They impressed her as barbarous. Once, when -she had told him that she was cold by temperament, he had answered, “You -save yourself for the great occasions.” He was surer of that than -ever; he was only afraid that the great occasion might not prove to be -himself. There lay the hazard of his experiment in leaving her. - -He dared not count on her final act of remorse. She was theatrical by -temperament. To arrive at the last moment when a ship was sailing -had afforded her a fine stage-setting. Her conduct might have meant -everything; it might have meant no more than a girl’s display of -emotionalism. - -He began to understand her. It was like her to become desperate to -inveigle him back just when he had resigned himself to forget her. In -the past he had grown afraid to set store by her graciousness or to plan -any kindness for her. To allow her to feel her power over him seemed to -blunt her interest. It was always after he had shown her coldness -that she had shown him most affection. Directly he submitted to her -fascination, she affected to become indifferent. It was a trick that -could be played too often. If this see-saw game was too long continued, -one of them would out-weary the other’s patience. If only he had been -sure that she was missing him, his mind would have been comparatively at -rest. - -He disembarked at Fishguard an hour after midnight The December air -was raw and damp. His first action on landing was to dispatch his -journal-letter to her. As he drowsed in the cold, ill-lighted carriage -it was of her that he thought Now that the voyage was ended, the ocean -that lay between them seemed impassable as the gulf that is fixed -between hell and heaven. She had seen the steamer--she had been a topic -of conversation on board; but everything that he saw now, and would see -from now on, was unfamiliar to her. - -The entrance into London did nothing to cheer him. He had flying -glimpses of stagnant gardens, windows like empty sockets plugged with -fog, forlorn streets like gutters down which the scavenger dawn wandered -between flapping lamps. London looked mean; even in its emptiness, it -looked overcrowded. He missed the boastful tallness of New York. Before -the train had halted his nostrils were full of the stale stench of -cab-ranks and the sulphurous pollutions of engines. Milk-cans made a -cemetery of the station; porters looked melancholy as mourners. His -gorge rose against the folly of his return. - -He had stepped out and was giving instructions about his luggage, when -he heard his name called tremblingly. As he turned, he was swept into -a whirlwind of embraces. His father stood by, preserving his dignity, -giving all the world to understand that a father can disguise his -emotions under all circumstances. - -“But how did you get here?” Teddy asked. “It’s so shockingly early.” - -“Been here most of the night,” his mother told him, between tears and -laughter. “You didn’t think we were going to let you arrive unmet? -And we didn’t keep Christmas. When we got your cable, we put all our -presents away and waited for you.” - -How was it that he had so far forgotten what their love had meant? He -compared this arrival with his unwelcomed arrival in New York. A flush -of warmth spread from his heart They had stayed awake all night on the -wintry station that he might not be disappointed. - -On the drive back in the cab, all through breakfast and as they sat -before the fire through the lazy morning, they gossiped of the things -of secondary importance--his work, the Sheerugs, his impressions of -America. Of the girl in America they did not talk. His mother’s eyes -asked questions, which his eyes avoided. His father, man-like, showed no -curiosity. He sat comfortably puffing away at his pipe, feeling in his -velvet-coat for matches, and combing his fingers through his shaggy -hair, just as if he had no suspicions that anything divisive had -happened. It was only when an inquisitive silence had fallen that he -showed his sympathy, chasing up a new topic to divert their interest. -Desire was not mentioned that day, nor the next; even when her letters -began to arrive, Teddy’s reticence was respected. For that he was -infinitely thankful. The ordeal of explaining and accepting pity would -have been more than he could have borne. Pity for himself would have -meant condemnation of her conduct. In the raw state of his heart, -neither would have been welcome. - -During the afternoon of the first day of his home-coming he visited -Orchid Lodge. He was drawn there by the spectres of Desire’s past. -Harriet admitted him. What a transformation! All the irksome glory was -gone. Carriages no longer waited against the pavement. It was no longer -necessary to strive to appear as if you really had “a nincome.” - -Tiptoeing across the hall, he peeped into the parlor with its long -French-windows. It was seated on the steps outside in the garden that he -had listened to Alonzo convincing Mrs. Sheerug of his new-found wealth. -It was a different Alonzo that he saw now--an Alonzo who carried him -back to his childhood. Facing Mr. Ooze across the table, he was dealing -out a pack of cards. He was in his shirtsleeves; Mr. Ooze wore a bowler -hat at a perilous angle on the back of his bald head. Both were too -intent on the game to notice that the door had opened. - -“What d’you bet?” Mr. Sheerug was asking. - -“Ten thousand,” Mr. Ooze answered. - -“I’ll see you and raise you ten thousand. What’ve you got?” - -Teddy closed the door gently and stole away. Was he really grown up? Had -time actually moved forward? The thin and the fat man sat there, as in -the days when he had supposed they were murderers, still winning and -losing fabulous fortunes in the unconquered land of their imaginations. - -Upstairs, in the spare-room, he found Mrs. Sheerug. With a bag of -vivid-colored wools beside her, she was busy on a new tapestry. She rose -like a little old hen from its nest at the sound of his entrance. Her -arms flew up to greet him. - -“You’ve come back.” - -“I’ve come back.” - -That was all. Whatever she had guessed, she asked no questions. Had they -all agreed to a kindly conspiracy of silence? - -As he sat at her feet, watching her work, she told him philosophically -of the loss of their money. “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. -I wouldn’t be so terribly sorry if it hadn’t given Alonzo sciatica of -the back.” - -“Do you get sciatica in the back?” he asked. - -She peered at him over her spectacles. “Most people don’t, but that’s -where he’s got it. He never does any work.--Oh, dear, if he’d only take -my lemon cure! I’m sure he’d be better. I don’t think he wants to be -better. He can sit about the house all day while he’s got it. Poor man, -it doesn’t hurt him very badly.” - -It soon became evident to Teddy that she wasn’t so cut up as might have -been expected now that her wealth was gone. Straitened means gave her -permission to muddle. “Those coachmen and men-servants,” she told him, -“they worried me, my dear. Their morals were very lax.” - -When he tried to find out what had really occurred to cause the collapse -of her affluence, she shook her head. “Shady tricks, my dear--very -shady. Unkind things were said.” - -More than that he could not learn; she did not wish to pursue the -subject further. - -Little by little the old routine came back, and with it his ancient -dread that nothing would ever happen. Every morning, the moment -breakfast was ended, he climbed the many stairs to his room to work. -From his window he could see his father in the studio, and the pigeons -springing up like dreams from the garden and growing small above the -battlements of house-tops. If he watched long enough, he might see Mr. -Yaflfon come out on his steps, like an old tortoise that had wakened too -early, thrusting its bewildered head out of its shell. - -He wanted to work; he wanted to do something splendid. He longed more -than he had ever longed before to make himself famous--famous that she -might share his glory. At first his thoughts were slow in coming. Day -and night, between himself and his imaginings she intruded, passing -and re-passing. He saw her in all her attitudes and moods, wistful, -friendly, and brooding. He could not escape her. Even his father and -mother filled him with envy when he watched them; he and Desire should -have been as they were, if things had turned out happily. Hal rose up as -a warning of the man he might become. - -Since he could think of nothing else, he determined to make her his -story. Gradually his purpose cleared and concentrated; his book should -be a statement of what she meant to him--an idealized commentary from -his point of view on what had happened. He would call it _The Book of -Revelation_. It should be a sequel to _Life Till Twenty-One._ His first -book had been the account of love’s dreaming; this should be his record -of its realization. After the idea had fastened on him, he rarely -stirred out He wrote enfevered. If his lips had failed to tell her, -she should at last know what she meant to him. As he wrote, he lost all -consciousness of the public; his book was addressed to her. - -Although he seemed to have lost her, he was perpetually recovering her. -He re-found her in other men’s writings, in Keats’s love-letters to -Fanny Brawne and particularly In _Maud_. - - “O that ’twere possible - - After long grief and pain - - To find the arms of my true love - - Round me once again.” - -He had never felt her arms about him, but such lines seemed the haunting -echo of his own yearning. They gave tongue to the emotions which the -dull ache of his heart had made voiceless. - -He recovered her in the dusty portrait of Vashti, which had lain in -disgrace in the stable for so many years. Vashti’s youthful figure, -listening in the Garden Enclosed, was very like Desire’s; the lips, -which his boyish kiss had blurred, prophesied kindness. He brought it -out from its place of hiding and hung it on the wall above his desk. - -He recovered her most poignantly in small ways: in the stubs of -theatre-tickets for performances they had attended. When unpacking one -of his trunks, he found some white hairs clinging to the sleeve of one -of his coats. They set him dreaming of the pale, reluctant hands that -had snuggled in the warmth of the white-fox muff. - -But he recovered her most effectually a week after his home-coming, when -her letters began to arrive. Not that they were satisfactory letters; -if they had been, they would not have been like her. Her sins as a -correspondent were the same as her sins of conduct: they consisted of -things omitted. Where she might have said something comforting, she -filled up the sentence with dots and dashes. He begged her to confess -that she was missing him. She escaped him. She let all his questions go -unanswered. There was a come-and-find-me laughter in her way of writing. -She would tell him just enough to make him anxious--no more. She had -been to this play; she had danced at that supper; last Sunday she had -automobiled with a jolly party out into the country. Of whom the jolly -party had consisted she left him in ignorance. - -Strange letters these to receive in the old-fashioned quiet of Eden Row, -where days passed orderly and marshaled by duties! They came fluttering -to him beneath the gray London skies, like tropic birds which had lost -their direction. He would sit picturing her in an Eden Row setting, -telling himself stories of the wild combinations of circumstances that -might bring her tripping to him! - -He was homesick for the faeries. He felt dull in remembering her -intenser modes of living--modes of living which in his heart he -distrusted. They could not last. There lay his hope. When they failed, -she might turn to him for security. He excused her carelessness. Why, -because he was sad, should she not be glad-hearted? For such leniency he -received an occasional reward, as when she wrote him, “I do wish I could -hear your nice English voice. I met a lady the other day who asked me, -‘Is there any chance of your marrying Theodore Gurney? If you don’t, -you’re foolish.’ You’d have loved her.” And then, in a mischievous -postscript, “I forgot to tell you, she said you had beautiful eyes.” - -Tantalizing as an echo of laughter from behind a barrier of hills! - -In her first letters she coquetted with various forms of address: -_Meester Deek; Dear Meester Deek; My Dear_. This last seemed to please -her as a perch midway between the chilliness of friendship and too much -fervor. She settled down to it. Her endings were equally experimental: -_Your Friend Desire; Your Little Friend; Yours of the White Foxes; Yours -affectionately, the Princess_. Usually her signature was preceded -by some such sentiment as, “You know you always have my many -thoughts”--which might mean anything. She never committed herself. - -His chief anxiety was to discover what she had meant by her promise that -they would meet very shortly. She refused to tell him. Worse still, as -time went on, he suspected that she was missing him less and less. -While to him no happiness was complete without her, she seemed to be -embarrassed by no such curtailment. Her good times were coming thick and -fast; her infatuation for Fluffy seemed to have strengthened. At last -word reached him in February that they were off to California; she was -too full of anticipation to express regret for the extra three thousand -miles that would part them. On the day before she started, he cabled -the florist at the Brevoort to send her flowers. In return he received -a line of genuine sentiment. “Meester Deek, you are thoughtful! I nearly -cried when I got them. You’ll never know what they meant. New York -hasn’t been New York without you. It was almost as though you yourself -had brought them. I wanted to run out and stop you, waving and waving to -you down the stairs.” - -That was the climax. From that point on her correspondence grew jerky, -dealing more and more with trivial externals and less and less with the -poignant things of the past. In proportion as she withdrew from him, -he tried to call her back with his sincerity. When he complained of her -indifference, she told him mockingly, “I’m keeping all your letters. -They’ll give you away entirely when I bring my suit for breach of -promise.” - -He could detect Fluffy’s influence, “Oh, these men!” He waited longer -and longer to hear from her. Sometimes three weeks elapsed. Then from -Santa Barbara she wrote, “I’m having such a gay time. Don’t you envy me? -I’m riding horseback and some one is teaching me to drive a car.” - -He knew what that meant. How could she travel so far and freely without -attracting love? A man had appeared on the horizon. - -For a day he was half-minded to go to her. It was no longer a question, -of whether she wanted him, but of whether he could live without her. He -answered in a fit of jealousy and self-scorn, “I wish I had your faculty -for happiness. I hope your good times are lasting.” And then the fatal -phrase, “I’m afraid you’re one of those lucky persons who feel nothing -very deeply.” - -It was his first written criticism of her. She kept him waiting six -weeks for a reply; when it came it was cabled. He broke the seal -tremblingly, not daring to conjecture what he might expect. Her message -was contained in one line, “I hate you to be flippant” After keeping -him waiting so long, she had been in a great hurry to send him those -six words. After that dead silence. It dawned on him that everything was -ended. - -He had completed his book. It was in the printer’s hands and he knew -that once more success had come to him. Money was in sight; nothing -kept her from him except her own wayward heart of thistledown. He still -believed the best of her. With the courage of despair he told himself -that, sooner or later, he was bound to marry her. Perhaps she was -keeping away from him out of a sense of justice, because she could not -yet care for him sufficiently. When his book had found her, she would -relent Glancing through his paper one June morning, his eye was arrested -by the head-lines of a motor-accident. It had happened to a party -of newly-landed Americans, two women and three men, on the road from -Liverpool to London. He caught sight of the name of Janice Audrey, and -then---- Dashing out into Eden Row, he ran to Orchid Lodge. Hal was -setting out for business, when he intercepted him. Thrusting the paper -into his hand, he pointed. - - - - -CHAPTER XX--SHE PROPOSES - -He had not been allowed to see her. She had been at Orchid Lodge for -three days. No one was aware of his special reason for wanting to see -her. Not even to his mother had he let fall a hint that Desire was the -girl for whose sake he had stayed in America. His thoughtfulness -in making inquiries and in sending flowers was attributed to his -remembrance of their childhood’s friendship. - -“Her bedroom’s a bower already,” Hal told him; “you really mustn’t send -her any more just yet.” - -“Does she ask about me?” He awaited the answer breathlessly. - -“Sometimes. I was telling her only this morning how you’d spent the -autumn in New York.” - -“Did she say anything?” - -“She was interested.” - -He could imagine the mischief that had crept into her gray eyes as she -had listened to whatever Hal had told her. Why didn’t she send for him? - -As far as he could learn, she wasn’t hurt--only shaken. He suspected -that Mrs. Sheerug was making her an excuse for a bout of nursing. The -house went on tiptoe. The door of the spare-room opened and closed -softly. - -He had to see her. It was on the golden evening of the fourth day that -he waylaid Hal on the stairs. “Would you please give her this note? I’ll -wait. There’ll be an answer. I’m sure of it.” - -Hal eyed him curiously. Up till now he had been too excited to notice -emotion in any one else. For the first time he seemed to become aware of -the eagerness with which Teddy mentioned her. He took the note without a -word. - -For several minutes Teddy waited. They seemed more like hours. From -the Park across the river came the _ping_ of tennis and the laughter -of girls. A door opened. Mrs. Sheerug’s trotting footsteps were -approaching. As she came in sight, she lowered her head and blinked at -him above the rims of her spectacles. - -“My grand-daughter says she wants to thank you for the flowers. She -insists on thanking you herself. I don’t know whether it’s right. She’s -in---- She’s an invalid, you know.” - -Leaving her to decide this point of etiquette, he hurried along the -passage and tapped. He heard her voice and thrilled to the sound. “Now -don’t any of you disturb us till I call for you.--Promise?” - -As Hal slipped out, he left the door open and nodded. “She’ll see you.” - -Pushing aside the tapestry curtain of Absalom, he entered. A breeze -was ruffling the curtains. Against the wall outside ivy whispered. The -evening glow, pouring across tree-tops, gilded the faded gold of the -harp and filled the room with an amber vagueness. - -She was sitting up in bed, propped on pillows, with a blue shawl wrapped -about her shoulders. She looked such a tiny Desire--such a girl. Her -bronze-black hair was braided in a plait and fell in a long coil across -the bedclothes. Their eyes met. He halted. - -Slowly her face broke into a smile. “I wonder which of us has been the -worse.” - -He knelt at her side, pressing her hand. - -“Which is it, Meester Deek? D’you remember their names? It’s Miss -Independence. I wouldn’t kiss it if I were you; it’s an unkind, a -scratchy little hand.” - -He raised his eyes. “Are you very much hurt?” - -She gazed down at him mockingly. “By the accident or by your letter?--By -the accident, no. By your letter, yes. I do feel things deeply--I was -feeling them more than ordinarily deeply just then. I didn’t like you -when you wrote that.” - -“But I wrote you so often. I told you how sorry I was. You never -answered.” - -She crouched her chin against her shoulder. “Shall I tell you the -absolute truth? It’s silly of me to give away my secrets; a girl ought -always to be a mystery.” Her finger went up to her mouth and her eyes -twinkled. “It was because I knew that I was coming to England. I wanted -to see how patient you---- You understand?” - -He jumped to his feet. “Then you hadn’t chucked me? All the time you -were intending to come to me?” - -She winked at him. “Perhaps, and perhaps not. It would have depended on -my temper and how full I was with other engagements.--No, you’re not to -kiss me when I’m in bed; it isn’t done in the best families.” - -He drew back from her, laughing. “How good it is to be mocked! And how -d’you like your family?” He seated himself on the edge of the bed. - -“Not there,” she reproved him; “that isn’t done either. Bring a chair.” - -When he had obeyed, she lay back with her face towards him and let him -take her hand. - -“Meester Deek, it’s very sweet to have a father.” - -When he nodded, she shook her head. “You needn’t look so wise. You don’t -know anything about it; you’ve had a father always. But to find a father -when you’re grown up--that’s what’s so sweet and wonderful.” She fell -silent. Then she said, “It’s like having a lover you don’t need to be -afraid of. We know nothing unhappy about each other; he’s never had to -whip me or be cross with me, the way he would have done if I’d always -been his little girl.--You do look funny, Meester Deek; I believe you’re -envying me and--and almost crying.” - -“It was in this room,” he said, “that I first met your mother. I heard -her singing when I was lying in this very bed. She looked like you, -Princess; and in fun she asked me to marry her.” - -Desire laughed softly. “I haven’t--not even in fun.” Then quickly, to -prevent what he was on the point of saying, “I would have liked to have -known you, Meester Deek, when you were quite, quite little. You’d never -guess what I and my father talk about.” - -He had to try. At each fresh suggestion she shook her head. - -“About my beautiful mother. Isn’t it wonderful of him to have remembered -and remembered? I believe if I wanted, I could help them to marry. -Only,” she looked away from him, “that would spoil the romance.” - -“It wouldn’t spoil it Why do you always speak as if----” - -She pursed her lips. “It would. Marriage may be very nice, but it -doesn’t do to let people know you too well. And then, there’s another -reason: Mrs. Sheerug’s a dear, but she doesn’t like my mother.” - -“Doesn’t she?” He did his best to make his voice express surprise. - -“You know she doesn’t. And she has her doubts about me, too. I can tell -that by the way she says, ’My dear, you laugh like your mother,’ as if -to laugh like my mother was a crime. She thinks it’s wrong to be gay. I -think in her heart she hates my mother.” - -Suddenly she sat up. “All from you, and I haven’t thanked you yet!” - -He looked round the room; the amber had faded to the silver of twilight. -In vases and bowls the flowers he had sent her glimmered like memories -and threw out fragrance. - -Her fingers nestled closer in his hand. “I’m not good at thanking, -but---- Ever since I met you, all along the way there’s been nothing but -kindness. What have I given you in return?--Don’t tell me, because it -won’t be true.--You can kiss my cheek just once, Meester Deek, if you do -it quietly.” - -She bent towards him. In that room, where so many things had happened, -with the perfumed English dusk steal ing in at the window, she seemed to -have become for the first time a part of his real world. - -“Shall we tell them, Princess?” - -“Tell them?” - -“About New York?” - -She laid her finger on his lips. “No. It’s the same with me now as it -was with you in New York. You never mentioned me in your letters to your -mother. Besides, don’t you think it’ll be more exciting if only you and -I know it?” Her voice sank. “I’m changed somehow. Perhaps it’s having a -father. I want to be good and little. And--and he wouldn’t be proud of -me if he knew----” - -The door opened. Desire withdrew her hand swiftly. Mrs. Sheerug entered. - -“Why, it’s nearly dark!” She struck a match and lit the gas. “I waited -for you to call me, and since you didn’t----” - -Teddy rose. “I’ve stayed rather long.” - -He shook Desire’s hand conventionally. At the door, as he lifted the -tapestry to pass out, he glanced back. Mrs. Sheerug was closing the -window. Desire kissed the tips of her fingers to him. - -It seemed that at last all his dreams were coming true. During the -week that followed he spent many hours in the spare-room. She was soon -convalescent. Her trunks had been sent from Fluffy’s house and all her -pretty, decorative clothes unpacked. Mrs. Sheerug thought them vain and -actressy, but the spell of Desire was over her. - -“She thinks I’ll come to a bad end,” Desire said. “Perhaps I shall.” - -Usually he found her sitting by the window in a filmy peignoir and -boudoir-cap. Very often her father was beside her. Hal’s relations with -her were peculiarly tender. He was more like a lover than a father. -He had changed entirely; there was a brightness in his eyes and an -alertness in his step. He seemed to be re-finding her mother in her and -to be re-capturing his own lost youth. - -Teddy rarely heard any of their conversations. When he appeared, they -grew silent. Even if Desire had not told him, he would have guessed -that it was of Vashti they had been talking. Presently Hal would make an -excuse to leave them. When the door had shut, Desire would slip her hand -into his. Demonstrations of affection rarely went beyond that now. -The place where they met and the continual possibility of interruption -restrained them. There was another reason as far as Teddy was concerned: -he realized that in New York he had cheapened his affection by forcing -it on her. She told him as much. - -“You thought that I was holding back; I wasn’t then, and I’m not now. -Only--I hardly know how to put it--the first time you do things they -thrill me; after that---- The second kiss is never as good as the first. -Every time we repeat something it becomes less important. So you see, if -we married, when we could do things always--I think that’s why I never -kissed you. I wasn’t holding off; I was saving the best.” - -A new frankness sprang up between them. They discussed their problem -with a comic air of aloofness. Now that he gave her no opportunities to -repulse him, her fits of coldness became more rare. Sometimes she would -invite the old intimacies. “Meester Deek, I’m not sure that it’s so much -fun being only friends.” - -He was amused by her naïveté. “Perhaps it isn’t But don’t let’s spoil -things by talking about it. Let’s be sensible.” In these days it was he -who said, “Let’s be sensible.” She pouted when he said it, and accused -him of strategy. “Be sweet to me, like you were.” - -He steeled himself against her coquetry. Until she could tell him that -his love was returned, he must not let her feel her power. “When you can -do that,” he told her, “we’ll cease to be only friends.” - -“And yet I do wish you’d pilfer sometimes.” She clasped her hands -against her throat. “I want you, and I don’t want you. I don’t want any. -one to have you; but if I had you always to myself, I shouldn’t know -what to do with you. You’d be awful strict, I expect” She sighed and -sank back in her chair. “It’s such a large order--marriage. I’m so -young. A girl mortgages her whole future.” - -She always approached these discussions from the angle of doubt. “When -it was too late, you might see a girl you liked better.” - -He assured her of the impossibility. She shook her head wisely. “It has -happened.” - -He read in her distrust the influence of the people among whom her -girlhood had been spent, the Vashtis, Fluffys, and Mr. Daks--the slaves -of freedom who, having disdained the best in life, used pleasure as a -narcotic. He knew that it was not his inconstancy that she dreaded, but -the chance that after marriage she herself might be fascinated by some -man. The knowledge made him cautious. Nothing that he could say would -carry any weight; he would be a defendant witnessing in his own defense. -That she was willing to open her mind to him kept him hopeful. It was a -step forward. - -He brought his mother to see her. When she had gone Desire said, “I -know now what you meant when you wanted me to be proud of you. I’d give -anything to feel that I was really needed by a man I loved.” And then, -“Meester Deek, you never talk to me about your work. Won’t you let me -see what you’ve been doing?” - -He brought to her the book he had written for her that it might tell her -the things which his lips had left unsaid. After she had commenced it, -she refused to see him until she had reached the end. - -She heard his footsteps in the passage; her eyes were watching before he -entered. Her lips moved, but she thought better of it. He drew a chair -to her side. “Well?” - -She gazed out of the window. “It’s all about us.” Then, with a laughing -glance at him, “I don’t know whatever you’d do, if you didn’t have me to -write about.” - -“I wrote it for you,” he whispered, “so that you might understand.” - -She frowned. “And I was in California, having such good times.” - -He waited. - -“It’s very beautiful.” After an interval she repeated her words, “It’s -very beautiful.” Without looking at him, she took his hand. “But it -isn’t me. It’s the magic cloak--the girl you’d like me to become. I -never shall be like that. If that’s what you think I am, you’ll be -disappointed.” She turned to him appealingly. “Meester Deek, you make me -frightened. You expect so much; you’re willing to give so much yourself. -But I’m cold. I couldn’t return a grand passion. Wouldn’t you be content -with less? Couldn’t we be happy if----” - -He wanted to lie to her. - -“You couldn’t,” she said. - -He met her honest eyes. “No, I couldn’t. If--if you feel no passion -after all these months, you’d feel less when we were married.” - -She nodded sadly. “Yes, it would be the way it was in New York: I’d -always be only just allowing you--neither of us could bear that.--So, if -I were to tell you that I admired you--admired you more than any man I -ever met--and that I was willing to marry you, you wouldn’t?” - -“It wouldn’t be fair--wouldn’t be fair to you, Princess.” His voice -trembled. “One day you yourself will want more than that.” - -She no longer bargained for terms or set up her stage ambitions as a -barrier. His restraint proved to her that she was approaching the crisis -at which she must either accept or lose him. It was to postpone this -crisis that she took advantage of Mrs. Sheerug’s anxiety to prolong her -convalescence. - -Towards the end of the second week of her visit Teddy got his car out. -One day they ran down to Ware, hoping to find the farm. It was as though -the country that they had known had vanished with their childhood. - -Now that she began to get about, the glaring contrast between her -standards and those of Eden Row became more apparent. Her clothes, the -things she talked about, even her dancing way of walking pronounced her -different. She began to get restless under the censures which she read -in Mrs. Sheerug’s eyes. - -“And what wouldn’t she say,” she asked Teddy, “if she knew that I’d -smoked a cigarette? I do so want to use a little powder--and I daren’t.” - -One afternoon when he called, he found the house in commotion. She was -packing. Fluffy had been to see her; after she had gone the pent-up -storm of criticisms had burst Something had been said about Vashti--what -it was he couldn’t learn. He insisted on seeing her. She came down with -her face tear-stained and flushed. They walked out into the garden in -silence. Where the shrubbery hid them from the house--the shrubbery in -which he had first met Alonzo and Mr. Ooze--they sat down. - -“Going?” - -“Yes.” - -“But do you think you ought to?” - -“I’m not thinking. I’m angry. Mrs. Sheerug’s a dear; I know that as well -as you. But she wants to reform me. She makes me wild when she says, -‘You have your mother’s laugh,’ as though being like my mother damned -me. And she said something horrid about Fluffy and about the way I’ve -been brought up.” - -“Are you going to Fluffy’s now?” - -She shook her head. “Fluffy’s leaving for the continent.” - -“Then where?” - -Suddenly she laughed. “With you, if you like.” - -He stared at her incredulously. “With me?” - -“Yes.” - -He seized her hands, “You mean that you’ll----” - -All the hunger to touch and hold her which he had staved off, urged him -to passion. She turned her lips aside. He drew her to him, kissing her -eyes and hair. He was full of sympathy for the fierceness in her heart; -it was right that she should be angry in her mother’s defense. - -“You queer Meester Deek, not marry you--I didn’t say that.” She tried to -free herself, but he clasped her to him. “You must let me go or I won’t -tell you.” - -They sat closely, with locked hands. - -“I’ve been thinking very carefully what to do. I’m not sure of myself. -We need to be more certain of each other.” - -“But how? How can we be more certain now you’re going?” - -She smiled at his despair. “The honeymoon ought to come first,” she -said. “Every marriage ought to be preceded by a honeymoon.” She spoke -slowly. “A--a quite proper affair; it would be almost the same as being -married. It’s only by being alone that two people have a chance to -find each other out If we could do that without quarreling or getting -tired---- What do you say? If you don’t say yes, you may never get -another chance.” - -When she saw him hesitating, she added, “You’re thinking of me. No one -need know. We could meet in Paris.” - -His last chance! Dared he trust himself? - -“What day shall I meet you?” he questioned. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI--THE EXPERIMENTAL HONEYMOON - -He caught the boat-train from Charing Cross. It was a sparkling morning -in the last week of June, the season of hay-making and roses. He had -received his instructions in a brief note. It bore no address; the -postmark showed that it had been dispatched from Rouen. When the train -was in motion he studied it afresh; he could have repeated it line for -line from memory: - -_My dear, - -Come Saturday. I’ll meet you in Paris at the Gare du Nord 445. Bring -only hand-baggage--evening dress not necessary. - -Here are my terms. No kissing, no love-making, nothing like that till -I give permission. We’re just two friends who have met by accident and -have made up our minds to travel together. Don’t join me, if you can’t -live up to the contract. - -Many thoughts, - -Yours affectionately, - -The Princess._ - -He had stared at the letter so long that they were panting through the -hop-fields of Kent by the time he put it back in his pocket. A breeze -silvered the backs of leaves, making them tremulous. The spires of -Canterbury floated up. - -He knew the way she traveled, with mountainous trunks and more gowns -than she could wear. Why had she been so explicit that he should bring -only hand-baggage? Was it because their time together was to be short, -or because she knew that at the last minute she might turn coward? She -had left herself another loop-hole: she had sent him no address. Even if -she were there to meet him, he might miss her on the crowded platform. -And if he did---- His fears lest he might miss her battled with his -scruples. - -Dover and the flash of the sea! Scruples dwindled in importance; the -goal of his anticipations grew nearer. - -On the boat there was a bridal couple. He watched them, trying to -discover with how much discretion honeymoon people were supposed to act. - -On French soil the gayety of his adventure caught him. One day they -would repeat it; she would travel with him openly from London, and it -wouldn’t be an experiment From Calais he would have liked to send a -telegram--but to where? She was still elusive. The train was delayed in -starting. He fumed and fretted; if it arrived late he might lose her. -For the last hour, as he was nearing Paris, he sat with his watch in his -hand. - -Before they were at a standstill, he had leapt to the platform, glancing -this way and that. He had begun to despair, when a slight figure in a -muslin dress emerged from the crowd. He stared hard at the simplicity of -her appearance, trying to fathom its meaning. - -Disguising her emotion with mockery, she caught him by both hands. “What -luck! I’ve been so lonely. Fancy meeting you here!” She laughed at him -slyly through her lashes. She looked at his suit-case. “That all? Good. -I wondered if you’d take me at my word.” - -She moved round to the side on which he carried it, so that they had -to walk a little apart In the courtyard, from among the gesticulating -_cochers_, he selected a _fiacre_. As he helped her in he asked, “Where -are we staying?” - -“In the Rue St. Honoré at _The Oxford and Cambridge_; close by there are -heaps of other hotels. You can easily find a good one.” - -Again she surprised him; a fashionable hotel in the Place Vendôme was -what he had expected. - -They jingled off down sunlit boulevards. On tree-shadowed pavements -tables were arranged in rows before cafés. Great buses lumbered by, -drawn by stallions. Every sight and sound was noticeable and exciting. -It was a world at whose meaning they could only guess; between it and -themselves rose the barrier of language. Already the foreignness of -their surroundings was forcing them together. They both felt it--felt -it gladly; yet they sat restrained and awkward. None of their former -unconventions gave them the least clews as to how they should act. - -She turned inquisitive eyes on him. “Quite overcome, aren’t you? You -didn’t expect to find such a modest little girl.--Tell me, Meester Deek, -do you like the way I’m dressed?” - -“Better than ever. But why----” - -She clapped her hands. “For you. I’ll tell you later.” - -She looked away as if she feared she had encouraged him too much. Again -the silence settled down. - -He watched her: the slope of her throat, the wistful drooping of her -face, the folded patience of her hands. - -“When does a honeymoon like ours commence?” he whispered. - -She shrugged her shoulders and became interested in the traffic. - -“Well, then if you won’t tell me that, answer me this question. How long -does it last?” - -She pursed her mouth and began to do a sum on her fingers. When she had -counted up to ten, she peeped at him from under her broad-brimmed hat. -“Until it ends.” Then, patting his hand quickly, “But it’s only just -started. Don’t let’s think about the end---- Here, this hotel will do. -Dig the _cocher_ in the back. I’ll sit in the _fiacre_ till you return; -then there’ll be no explanations.” - -He took the first _room_ that was offered him, and regained his place -beside her. All the time he had been gone, he had been haunted by the -dread that she might drive off without him. - -“What next?” - -She smiled. “The old New York question. Anywhere---- I don’t care.” She -slipped her arm into his and then withdrew it. “It is fun to be alone -with you.” - -He told the man to drive them through the Tuileries and over the river -to the Luxembourg Gardens. - -He touched her. She frowned. “Not here. It’s too full of Americans. We -might be recognized.” Huddling herself into her corner, she tried to -look as if he were not there. - -As they came out on the quays, the river blazed golden, shining flash -upon flash beneath its intercepting bridges. The sun was setting, -gilding domes and spires. The sky was plumed and saffron with the smoke -of clouds. Bareheaded work-girls were boarding trams; mischievous-eyed -artisans in blue blouses jostled them. Eyes flung back glances. Chatter -and a sense of release were in the air. The heart of Paris began to -expand with the ecstasy of youth and passion. Her hand slipped from her -lap and rested on the cushion. His covered it; by unspoken consent they -closed up the space between them. - -“Are you giving me permission?” - -“Not exactly. Can you guess why I planned this? I--I wanted to be fair.” - -“The strangest reason!” He laughed softly. - -“But I did.” She spoke with pouting emphasis. “I’ve given you an awful -lot of worry.” - -“Don’t know about that. If you have, it’s been worth it.” - -“Has it?” She shook her head doubtfully. “It might have been worth it, -if----” A slow smile crept about her mouth. “Whatever happens, you’ll -have had your honeymoon. People say it’s the best part of marriage.” - -He didn’t know what she meant by a honeymoon. It wasn’t much like a -honeymoon at present--it wasn’t so very different from the ride to Long -Beach. He dared not question. Without warning, in the quick shifting of -her moods, she might send him packing back to London. - -They were crossing the Pont Neuf; her attention was held by a line of -barges. When they had reached the farther bank, he reminded her, “You -were going to tell me----” - -He glanced at her dress. “Was it really for me that you did it?” - -She nodded. “For you. I’m so artificial; I’m not ashamed of it. But -until I saw you in Eden Row, I didn’t realize how different I am. In New -York--well, I was in the majority. It was you who felt strange there. -But in Eden Row I saw my father. He’s like you and--and it came over me -that perhaps I’m not as nice as I fancy--not as much to be envied. There -may even be something in what Mrs. Sheerug says.” - -“But you are nice.” His voice was hot in her defense. “I can’t make out -why you’re always running yourself down.” - -She thought for a moment, brushing him with her shoulder. “Because I can -stand it, and to hear you defend me, perhaps.--But it _was_ for you that -I bought this dress, Mees-ter Deek. I tried to think how you’d like me -to look if--if we were always going to be together. And so I’ve given up -my beauty-patch. And I won’t smoke a single cigarette unless you ask -me. I’m going to live in your kind of a world and,” she bit her lip, -inviting his pity, “and I’m going to travel without trunks, and I’ll try -not to be an expense. I think I’m splendid.” - -They drew up at the Luxembourg Gardens and dismissed the _fiacre._ - -A band was playing. The splash of fountains and fluttering of pigeons -mingled with the music. Seen from a distance, the statues of dryads -and athletes seemed to stoop from their pedestals and to move with -the promenading crowd. They watched the eager types by which they -were surrounded: artists’ models, work-girls, cocottes; tired-eyed, -long-haired, Daudetesque young men; Zouaves, chasseurs, Svengalis--they -were people of a fiction world. Some walked in pairs--others solitary. -Here two lovers embraced unabashed. There they met for the first time, -and made the moment an eternity. Romance, the brevity of life, the -warning against foolish caution were in the air. For all these people -there was only one quest. - -They had been walking separately, divided by _shyness_. In passing, -a grisette swept against him, and glanced into his eyes in friendly -fashion. - -“Here, I won’t have that.” Desire spoke with a hint of jealousy. She -drew nearer so that their shoulders were touching. “Nobody’ll know us. -Don’t let’s be misers. I’ll take your arm,” she whispered. - -“The second time you’ve done it.” - -“When was the first?” - -“That night at the Knickerbocker after we’d quarreled and I’d given you -the bracelet.” - -She smiled in amused contentment “How you do keep count!” - -The band had ceased playing; only the music of the fountains was -heard. Shadows beneath trees deepened. Constellations of street-lamps -lengthened. Twilight came tiptoeing softly, like a young-faced woman -with silver hair. - -She hung upon his arm more heavily. “Oh, it’s good to be alone with -you! You don’t mind if I don’t talk? One can talk with anybody.” And, a -little later, “Meester Deek, I feel so safe alone with you.” - -When they were back in thoroughfares, “Where shall we dine?” he asked -her. - -“In your world,” she said. “No, don’t let’s drive. This isn’t New York. -We’d miss all the adventure. I’d rather walk now.” - -After wandering the Boule Michel, losing their way half-a-dozen times -and making inquiries in their guide-book French, they found the Café -d’Harcourt. Its walls were decorated with student-drawings by artists -long since famous. At a table in the open they seated themselves. -Romance was all about them. It danced in the eyes of men and girls. -Through the orange-tinted dusk it lisped along the pavement It winked at -them through the blinds of pyramided houses. - -She bent towards him. “You’ve become _very_ respectful--not at all -the Meester Deek that you were--more like a little boy on his best -behavior.” - -He rested his chin in his hand. “Naturally.” - -“Why?” - -“Your contract. I’m here on approval.” - -“Let’s forget it,” she said. “I’m learning. I’ve learnt so much about -life since we met.” - -Through the meal she amused him by speaking in broken English and -misunderstanding whatever he said. When it was ended he offered her a -cigarette. “No. You’re only trying to be polite, and tempting me.” - -They drove across the river and up the Champs-Elysées to a theatre where -they had seen Polaire announced. The performance had hardly commenced, -when she tugged at his arm. “Meester Deek, it’s summer outside. We’ve -spent so much time in seeing things and people. I want to talk.” From -under the shadow of trees he hailed a _fiacre_. “Where?” - -“Anywhere.” When he had taken his place at her side, “You may put your -arm about me,” she murmured drowsily. - -They lay back gazing up at the star-strewn sky. Their rubber-tires on -the asphalt made hardly any sound. They seemed disembodied, drifting -through a pageant of dreams. The summer air blew softly on their faces; -sometimes it bore with it the breath of flowers. The night world of -Paris went flashing by, swift in its pursuit of pleasure. They scarcely -noticed it; it was something unreal that they had left. - -“What’s going on in your mind?” - -She didn’t stir. She hung listless in his embrace. “I was thinking of -growing old--growing old with nobody to care.--You care now; I know that -But if I let you go, in five years’ time you’d----” He felt the shrug -she gave her shoulders. “Mother’s the only friend I have. You might be -the second if---- But mothers are more patient; they’re always waiting -for you when you come back.” - -“And I shall be always waiting. Haven’t I always told you that?” - -“You’ve told me.” Then, in an altered tone, “Did you ever think you knew -what happened in California?” - -“I guessed.” - -She freed herself and sat erect. “There was a man.” She waited, and -when he remained silent, “You’d taught me to like to be loved. I didn’t -notice it while you were with me, but I missed it terribly after you’d -left. I used to cry. And then, out there--after he’d kissed me, I lay -awake all night and shivered. I wanted to wash away the touch of his -mouth. It was my fault; I’d given him chances and tried to fascinate -him. I’d been so stingy with you--that made it worse; and he was a man -for whom I didn’t care. I felt I couldn’t write. And it was when I was -feeling’ so unhappy that your letter arrived.--Can’t you understand how -a girl may like to flirt and yet not be bad?--I’m not saying that I love -you, Meester Deek--perhaps I haven’t got it in me to love; only--only -that of all men in the world, I like to be loved by you the best.” - -He drew her closer to his side. “You dear kiddy.” - -“You forgive me?” - -It was late when they parted at the door of her hotel. - -“I’ll try to be up early,” she promised. “We might even breakfast -together. It’s the only meal we haven’t shared.” - -He turned back to the streets. Passing shrouded churches, he came to -the fire-crowned hill of Montmartre. He wandered on, not greatly caring -where he went. From one of the bridges, when the vagueness of dawn was -in the sky, he found himself gazing down at the black despair of the -silent-flowing river. Wherever he had been, love that could be purchased -had smiled into his eyes. The old fear took possession of him: he -was different from other men. Why couldn’t he rouse her? Was it his -fault--or because there was nothing to arouse? - -She wore a troubled look when he met her next morning. - -“Shall we breakfast here or at my hotel?” - -“At yours,” she said sharply. - -When she spoke like that she created the effect of being more distant -than an utter stranger. It wasn’t until some minutes later, when they -were seated at table, that he addressed her. - -“There’s something that I want to say; I may as well say it now. When a -man’s in love with a girl and she doesn’t care for him particularly, she -has him at an ungenerous disadvantage: she can make a fool of him any -minute she chooses. I don’t think it’s quite sporting of her to do it.” - -Her graciousness came back. “But I do care for you particularly. Poor -you! Did I speak crossly? Here’s why: we’ve got to leave Paris. There’s -a man at my hotel who knows me. I wouldn’t have him see us together for -the world.” - -“So that was all? I was afraid I’d done something to offend.” - -She made eyes at him above her cup of coffee. “You’re all right, -Meester Deek. You don’t need to get nervous.--But where’ll we go for our -honeymoon?” - -“I’m waiting for it to commence.” He smiled ruefully. “You’re just the -same as you always were.” - -“But where’ll we go?” she repeated. “We’ve got all the world to choose -from.” - -He told the waiter to bring a Cook’s Time Table. Turning to the index, -he began to read out the names alphabetically. “Aden?” - -“Too hot,” she said. - -“Algiers?” - -“Same reason, and fleas as well.” - -“Athens?” - -“Too informing, and we don’t want any scandals--I’d be sure to meet a -boy who shone my shoes in New York.--Here, give me the old book.--What -about Avignon? We can start this evening and get there to-morrow.” - -Through the gayety of the sabbath morning they made their way to Cook’s. -While purchasing their tickets they almost came to words. He insisted -that she would need a berth for the journey; she insisted that she -wouldn’t. - -“But you’re not used to sitting up all night. You’ll be good for nothing -next morning. Do be reasonable.” - -“I’m not used to a good many of the things we’re doing. I’m trying to -save you expense. And I don’t think it’s at all nice of you to lose your -temper.” - -“I didn’t,” he protested. - -“A matter of opinion,” she said. - -When he had bought a guide-book on Provence, they walked out into the -sunlight in silence. They reached the Pont de la Concorde; neither of -them had uttered a word. With a gap of about a foot between them, they -leant against the parapet, watching steamers puff in to the landing to -take aboard the holiday crowd. She kept her face turned away from him, -with her chin held at a haughty angle. In an attempt to pave the way to -conversation, he commenced to read about Avignon in his guide-book. - -Suddenly she snatched it from him and tossed it into the river. He -watched it fall; then stared at her quietly. Like a naughty child, -appalled by her own impishness, she returned his stare. - -“Two francs fifty banged for nothing!” She closed up the distance -between them, snuggling against him like a puppy asking his forgiveness. - -“Meester Deek, you can be provoking. I got up this morning intending to -be so fascinating. Everything goes wrong.--And as for that berth,” she -made her voice small and repentant, “I was only trying to be sweet to -you.” - -“I, too, was trying to be decent.” He covered her hand. “How is it? I -counted so much on this--this experiment, or whatever you call it. We’re -not getting on very well.” - -“We’re not.” She lifted her face sadly. In an instant the cloud -vanished. The gray seas in her eyes splashed over with merriment. “It’ll -be all right when we get out of Paris. You see if it isn’t! Quite soon -now my niceness will commence.” - -“Then let’s get out now.” - -They ran down to the landing and caught a steamer setting out for -Sèvres. From Sèvres they took a tram to Versailles. It was late in the -afternoon when they got back to Paris with scarcely sufficient time to -dine and pack. - -All day he had been wondering whether, in her opinion, her niceness had -commenced. They had enjoyed themselves. She had taken his arm. She -had treated him as though she claimed him. But they had broken no new -ground. He felt increasingly that the old familiarities had lost -their meaning while the new familiarities were withheld. She was still -passionless. She allowed and she incited, but she never responded. When -they had arrived at the farthest point that they had reached in their -New York experience, she either halted or turned back. She played at a -thing which to him was as earnest as life and death. He had once found a -dedication which read about as follows: “To the woman with the dead soul -and the beautiful white body.” There were times when the words seemed to -have been written for her. - -At the station he searched in vain for an empty carriage. At last he had -to enter one which was already occupied. Their companion was a French -naval officer, who had a slight acquaintance with English, of which he -was exceedingly proud. He informed them that he was going to Marseilles -to join his ship; since Marseilles was several hours beyond Avignon, all -hope that they would have any privacy was at an end. They had been in -crowds and public places ever since they had met; now this stranger -insisted on joining in their conversation. He addressed himself almost -exclusively to Desire; under the flattering battery of his attentions -she grew animated. Finding himself excluded, Teddy looked out of the -window at the pollarded trees and flying country. He felt like the dull -and superseded husband of a Guy de Maupassant story. - -Night fell. When it was time to hood the lamp, the stranger still kept -them separate by his gallantry in inviting her to change comers with -him, that she might steady herself while she slept by slipping her arms -through the loops which he had hung from the baggage-rack. - -In the darkness Teddy drowsed occasionally; but he never entirely lost -consciousness. With tantalization his love grew furious. It was tinged -with hatred now. He glanced across at the quiet girl with the shadows -lying deep beneath her lashes. Her eyes were always shuttered; every -time he hoped that he might surprise her watching him. The only person -he surprised was the naval officer who feigned sleep the moment he knew -he was observed. Did she really feel far more than she expressed? She -gave him few proofs of it. - -She had removed her hat for comfort. Once a fire-fly blew in at the -window and settled in her hair. It wandered across her face, lighting up -her brows, her lips--each memorized perfection. She raised her hand and -brushed it aside. It flew back into the night, leaving behind it a trail -of phosphorescence. His need of her was growing cruel. - -He gave up his attempt at sleeping. Going out into the corridor, he -opened a window and smoked a cigarette. Dawn was breaking. As the light -flared and spread, he found that they were traveling a mountainous -country. White towns, more Italian than French, gleamed on the crests of -sun-baked hills. Roads were white. Rivers looked white. The sky was blue -as a sapphire, and smooth as a silken curtain. The fragrance of roses -hung in the air. Above the roar of the engine he could hear the cicalas -chirping. - -At six-thirty, as the train panted into Avignon, she awoke. “Hulloa! Are -we there?” - -She was so excited that in stepping from the carriage she would have -left her hat behind if the naval officer hadn’t reminded her. - -They drove through the town to the tinkling of water flowing down the -gutters. The streets were narrow, with grated medieval houses rising -gray and fortress-like on either side. Great two-wheeled wagons were -coming in from the country; their drivers ran beside them, cracking -their whips and uttering hoarse cries. All the way she chattered, -catching at his lapels and sleeves to attract his attention. She -was full of high spirits as a child. She kept repeating scraps of -information which she had gathered from the naval officer. “He was quite -a gentleman,” she said. And then, when she received no answer, “Didn’t -you think that he was very kind?” - -In the centre of the town they alighted in a wide square, the Place de -la Republique, tree-shadowed, sun-swept, surrounded by public buildings -and crooked houses. Carrying their bags, they sat themselves down at a -table beneath an awning, and ordered rolls and chocolate. - -Frowning over them, a little to their left, was a huge precipice of -architecture, rising tower upon tower, embattled against the burning -sky. Desire began to retail to him the information she had picked up -in the train: how it was the palace of the popes, built by them in the -fourteenth century while they were in exile. The source of her knowledge -made it distasteful to him. He had difficulty in concealing his -irritation. He felt as if he had sand at the back of his eyes. His -gaze wandered from her to the women going back and forth through the -sunlight, balancing loads on their heads and fetching long loaves of -bread from the bakers. Hauntingly at intervals he heard a flute-like -music; it was a tune commencing, which at the end of five notes fell -silent. A wild-looking herdsman entered the square, followed by twelve -black goats. He stood Pan-like and played; advanced a few steps; raised -his pipe to his lips and played again. A woman approached him; he called -to one of the goats, and squatting on his heels, drew the milk into the -woman’s bowl. Through a tunnel leading out of the square, he vanished. -Like faery music, his five notes grew fainter, to the accompaniment of -sabots clapping across the pavement. - -All the while that Desire had been talking, handing on what the stranger -had told her about Avignon, he had watched the soul of Avignon wander -by, dreamy-eyed and sculptured by the sunlight. - -She fell silent. Pushing back her chair, she frowned at him. “I’m doing -my best.--I don’t understand you. You’re chilly this morning.” - -“Am I?” - -“Where’s the good of saying ‘Am I?’ You know you are. What’s the matter? -Jealous?” - -“Jealous! Hardly.” He stifled a yawn. “I scarcely got a wink of sleep -last night. I was keeping an eye on your friend. He was watching you all -the time.” - -“Then you were jealous.” She leant forward and spoke slowly. “You were -rude; you acted like a spoilt child. Why on earth did you go off and -glue your nose against the window? You left me to do all the talking.” - -Suddenly his anger flamed; he knew that his face had gone set and white. -“You didn’t need to talk to him. When are you going to stop playing fast -and loose with me? I’ll tell you what it is, Desire: you haven’t any -passion.” - -He was sorry the moment he had said it. A spark of his resentment caught -fire in her eyes. He watched it flicker out. She smiled wearily, “So you -think I haven’t any passion!--Oh, well, we’re going to have fine times, -now that you’ve begun to criticize.--I’m sleepy. I think I’ll go to -bed.” - -She rose and strolled away. Leaving his own suit-case at the cafe, he -picked up hers and followed. They found a quaint hotel with a courtyard -full of blossoming rhododendrons. Running round it, outside the -second-story, was a balcony on to which the bedrooms opened. While he -was arranging terms in the office, she went to inspect the room that -was offered. In a few minutes she sent for her suitcase. He waited -half-an-hour; she did not rejoin him. - -At the far end of the square he had noticed an old-fashioned hostel. -He claimed his baggage at the café, and took a room at the wine-tavern. -Having bought a sketching-book, pencils and water-colors, he found the -bridge which spans the Rhone between Avignon and Villeneuve. All morning -he amused himself making drawings. About every half-hour a ramshackle -bus passed him, going and returning. It was no more than boards spread -across wheels, with an orange-colored canopy stretched over it. It was -drawn by two lean horses, harnessed in with ropes and driven by a girl. -He didn’t notice her much at first; the blue river, the white banks, -the blue sky, the jagged, vineyard covered hills, and the darting of -swallows claimed his attention. It was the bus that he noticed; it -creaked and groaned as though it would fall to pieces. Then he saw the -girl; she was young and bronzed and laughing. He traced a resemblance -in her to Desire--to Desire when she was lenient and happy. She was -bare-armed, bare-headed, full-breasted; her hair was black as ebony. She -was always singing. About the fifth time in passing him, she smiled. He -began to tell himself stories; in Desire’s absence, he watched for her -as Desire’s proxy. - -At mid-day he went to find Desire; he was told that she was still -sleeping. He had _déjeuner_ by himself at the café in the square from -which the bus started. When the meal was ended, as he finished his -carafe of wine, he made sketches of the girl. When he presented her with -one of them, she accepted it from him shyly. His Anglicized French was -scarcely intelligible; but after that when she passed him, she smiled -more openly. - -During the afternoon he called three times at the hotel. Each time he -received the same reply, that Mademoiselle was sleeping. - -The sky was like an open furnace. Streets were empty. While sketching he -had noticed a bathing-house, tethered against the bank below the bridge. -He went there to get cool He tried the diving-boards; none of them were -high enough. Presently he climbed on to the scorching roof and went off -from there. People crossing the bridge stopped to watch him. Once as he -was preparing to take the plunge, he saw the orange streak of the old -bus creeping across the blue between the girders. He waited till it was -just above him. It pulled up. The girl leant out and waved. After that, -when he saw the orange streak approaching he waited until it had stopped -above him. - -The quiet of evening was falling when he again went in search of Desire. -This time he was told she had gone out. He left word that he was going -to the old Papal Garden, on the rock above the palace, to watch the -sunset. - -As he climbed the hundred steps of the Escalier de Sainte Anne, which -wind round the face of the precipice, the romance of the view that -opened out before him took away his breath. He felt injured and angry -that she was not there to share it. He went over the details of the -first day in Paris. It had been a fiasco; this day had been worse. - -If ever he were to marry her---- For the first time he realized that -winning her was not everything. - -Near the top of the ascent, where a gateway spanned the path, he halted. -A fig-tree leant across the wall, heavy with fruit that was green and -purple. Behind him from a rock a spring rushed and gurgled. He stooped -across the parapet, gazing down into the town. It wasn’t aloof like New -York, nor sullen like London. It was a woman lifting her arms behind her -head and laughing lazily through eyes half-shut. - -Against the sweep of encircling distance, mountains lay blue and -smoking. A faint pinkness spread across the country like a blush. White -walls and hillsides were tinted to salmon-color. The sunset drained -the red from the tiles of house-tops. Plane-trees, peeping above gray -masonry, looked clear and deep as wells. The Rhone wound about the city -walls like a gold and silver spell. - -Now that coolness had come, shutters began to open. The murmur of -innumerable sounds floated up. A breeze whispered through the valley -like the voice of yearning. It seemed that behind those windows girls -were preparing to meet their lovers. And the other women, the women who -were too old or too cold to love! He thought of them. - -Suddenly his eyes were covered from behind by two hands. He struggled to -remove them; then he felt that they were slender and young. - -“Who are you?” - -Silence. - -He repeated his question in French. - -The hands slipped from his eyes to his shoulders. “Well, you’re a -nice one! Who should it be? It’s the last time I allow you to play by -yourself.” - -He swung round and caught her fiercely, shaking her as he pressed her to -him. - -“Don’t, Meester Deek. You hurt.” - -His lips were within an inch of hers; he didn’t try to kiss her. “You -leave me alone all day,” he panted; “and then you make a joke of it.” - -She drew her fingers down his face. “I was very tired, and--and we -weren’t good-tempered. I’ve been lonely, too.” She laid her cheek -against his mouth. “Come, kiss me, Meester Deek. You look as though you -weren’t ever going to.--I’m glad, so glad that----” - -“That what?” - -She held her hand against her mouth and laughed into his eyes. “That you -haven’t enjoyed yourself without me.” - -They climbed to the top of the rock. In the sun-baked warmness of the -garden _cicalas_ were still singing. In the town lights were springing -up. The after-glow lingered on the mountains. Beneath trees the evening -lay silver as moonlight. From a fountain in the middle of a pool rose -the statue of Venus aux Hirondelles. - -His arm was still about her. Every few paces he stopped to kiss her. -She patted his face and drew it close to hers. “You’re foolish,” she -whispered. “You spoil me. You’re always nicest when I’ve been my worst.” - -Then she commenced to ask him questions. “Do you really think that I’ve -not got any passion?--If I’d been scarred in that motor-car accident, -would you still love me?--Mrs. Theodore Gurney! It does sound funny. I -wonder if I’ll ever be called that.” - -It was during the descent to the town that she made him say that he was -glad she had quarreled with him. - -“Well, I do make it up to you afterwards, don’t I? If we hadn’t -quarreled, you wouldn’t be doing what you are now. No, you wouldn’t I -shouldn’t allow it. And please don’t try to kiss me just here; it’s so -joggly. Last time you caught the brim of my hat.” - -They had dinner in the courtyard of her hotel, in the sweet, earthy dusk -of the rhododendrons. It was like a stage-setting: the canopy of the -sky with the stars sailing over them; the golden panes of windows; the -shadows of people passing and re-passing; the murmur of voices; -the breathless whisper of far-off footsteps. At another table a -black-bearded Frenchman sat and watched them. - -“I wish he wouldn’t look at us,” Desire said. “I wonder why he does.” - -They took a final walk before going to bed. In the courtyard where the -bushes grew densest, they parted. When he kissed her, she drooped her -face against his shoulder. “Give me your lips.” - -She shook her head. - -A tone of impatience crept into his voice. “Why not? You’ve done it -before. Why not now?” - -He tried to turn her lips towards him; she took away his hand. - -“I don’t know. I’m odd. I don’t feel like it.” - -He let her go. Again the flame of anger swept through him. “Will you -ever feel like it?” - -“How can I tell--now?” - -“You’ve never once kissed me. Any other girl----” - -“I’m not any other girl.” And then, “We’re alone. I’ve got to be wise for -both of us.” - -She ran from him. In the doorway of the hotel she turned and kissed the -tips of her fingers. - -He seated himself at a table, watching for the light to spring up in -her window. It was just possible that she might relent and come back, -or that she might lean over the balcony and wave to him While he waited, -the bearded Frenchman slipped out from the shadow. He approached and -raised his hat formally. - -“Monsieur, I understand that you are not stopping at this hotel.” - -“No, but I have a friend----” - -“Mademoiselle, who has just gone from you?’ - -“Yes.” - -“Then let me tell you, Monsieur, that there is a place near here that -will cure you of the illness from which you suffer.” The man took a card -from his pocket and commenced to scribble on it. - -“But I’m not suffering from any----” - -“Ah, then, it will cure mademoiselle.” - -The man laid his card on the table, and again raised his hat - -By the time Teddy had recovered from his surprise, the stranger had -vanished. He hurried into the street and gazed up and down. When he -returned to the courtyard. Desire’s window was in darkness. Picking up -the card, he struck a match and read the words, “_Les Baux_.” What was -Les Baux? Where was it? He fell asleep thinking of the miracle that had -been promised; when he awoke next morning he was still thinking of it. -As he dressed he heard the five faint notes of the goatman. Life had -become fantastic. Perhaps---- - -He set about making inquiries. It was a ruined city in the hills he -discovered. Oh, yes, there had been several books written about it and -innumerable poems. It had been a nest of human eagles once--the home of -troubadours. It was the place where the Queens of Beauty and the Courts -of Love had started. It was said that if a lover could persuade a -reluctant girl to go there with him, she would prove no longer reluctant -It was only a superstition; of course Monsieur understood that -Monsieur hurried to purchase a guide-book to Les Baux. While he waited -among the rhododendrons for Desire, he read it Then he looked up -time-tables and found that the pleasantest way to go was from Arles, and -that from there one had to drive a half day’s journey. - -Desire surprised him at his investigations. She was all in white, with a -pink sash about her waist, her dress turned bade deeply at the neck for -coolness and her arms bare to die elbow. She looked extremely young and -pretty. - -“’Ulloa, old dear!” she cried, bursting into Cockney. She peered over -his shoulder. “What are you doing?” - -“Looking up routes.” - -“Routes!” She raised her brows. - -“Yes. To Les Baux.” - -“You’re not going to get me out of here, old dear. Don’t you think it -We’ve not seen Avignon yet.” - -“But Les Baux----” - -Quoting from the guide-book, he commenced to explain to her its -excellences and beauties. She smiled, obstinately repeating, “We’ve not -seen Avignon yet.” - -It was after they had breakfasted, when they were crossing the square, -that the bus-girl nodded to him. - -“Who’s she?” - -“A girl. Don’t you think she’s like you?” - -Desire tossed her head haughtily, but slipped her arm into his to show -that she owned him. “Like me, indeed! You’re flattering!” - -Presently she asked, “What did you do all yesterday, while I was -horrid?” - -“Sat on the bridge and sketched.” - -“Sketched! I never saw you sketch. If you’ll buy me a parasol to match -my sash, I’ll sit beside you to-day and watch you.” - -On the bridge he set to work upon a water-color of the Rhone as it -flowed past Villeneuve. She was going over his drawings. Suddenly she -stopped. She had come across three of the same person. Just then the -orange-bus lumbered by; again the girl laughed at him. - -“Look here, Meester Deek, you’ve got to tell me everything that you did -when I wasn’t with you.” - -He was too absorbed in his work to notice what had provoked her -curiosity. When he came to the account of his bathing, she interrupted -him. “I want to see you bathe.” - -“All right, presently.” - -“No. Now.” - -He rather liked her childish way of ordering him. He spoke lazily. “I -don’t mind, if you’ll take care of---- I say, this is like Long Beach, -isn’t it? You made me bathe there. But promise you won’t slip off while -I’m gone.” - -“Honest Injun, I promise.” - -He had climbed to the roof of the bathing-house and was straightening -himself for the plunge, when he heard the creaking of the bus -approaching. He looked up. The bus-girl had alighted and was leaning -down from the bridge, waving to him. Before diving, he waved back. When -he had climbed to the roof again, he searched round for Desire. She was -nowhere to be found. - -He dressed quickly. At the hotel he was informed that she was packing. -He called up to her window from the courtyard. She came out on to the -balcony. - -“They tell me you’re packing. What----” - -“Going to Les Baux,” she said, “or any other old place. I won’t stay -another hour in Avignon.” - -“But this morning at breakfast----” - -“I know.” She frowned. As she reentered her window, she glanced back -across her shoulder. “I didn’t know as much about Avignon then.” - -Arles was little more than an hour’s journey. It was noon when they left -Avignon. He had been fortunate in getting an empty compartment Without -any coaxing, she came and sat herself beside him. When the train had -started, she took off her hat and leant her head against his shoulder. - -“Did you do that on purpose to make me mad?” - -“Do what on purpose?” - -She played with his hand. “You know, Meester Deck. Don’t pretend. You -did it first with the grisette in the Luxembourg, and now here with -that horrid bus-girl. If you do it a third time, you’ll have me making a -little fool of myself.” - -He burst out laughing. She was jealous; she cared for him. He had -infected her with his own uncertainty. - -“A nasty, masterful laugh,” she pouted. - -He at once became repentant. “I only noticed her when I was lonely,” he -excused himself; “I thought she was like you.” - -Desire screwed up her mouth thoughtfully. “Then I’ll have to keep you -from being lonely.” - -She tilted up her face. He pressed her lips gently at first; then -fiercely. They did not stir. “That’s enough.” She strained back from -him. “Be careful Remember what you told me--that I haven’t any passion.” - -“You have.” - -“But you said I hadn’t.” - -Her strength went from her and he drew her to him. “The fourth time,” he -whispered. - -“When were the others?” - -“That day up the Hudson when I asked you to marry me.” - -“And the next?” - -“At the apartment, when we said good-by across the stairs.” - -“How long ago it all sounds! And the third?” - -“On Christmas Eve. Princess, I’m going to kiss your lips whenever I like -now.” - -She slanted her eyes at him. “Are you? See if you can.” - -Her cheeks were flushed. Slipping her finger into her mouth, she -pretended to thwart him. She lay in his arms, happy and unresisting--a -little amused. - -“When are you going to kiss me back?” - -She laughed into his eyes like a witch woman. “Ah, when? You’re -greedy--never contented. I’ve given you so much.” - -“I shall never be contented till----” - -She flattened her palm against his lips to silence him. - -“Didn’t I tell you that my niceness would commence quite suddenly? I can -be nicer than this.” She nodded. “I can. And I can be a little pig -again presently--especially if we meet another naval officer. I’m always -liable to--” - -“Not if you’re in love with any one,” he pleaded. - -She sighed. “I’m afraid I am, Meester--Meester Teddy.” She barricaded -her lips with her hand. “No more. Do be good. I’ve got to be wise for -both of us. I suppose you think I was jealous? I wasn’t.” - -As the train drew near Arles, she made him release her. His heart was -beating fast. Producing a pocket-mirror, she inspected herself. For the -moment she seemed entirely forgetful of him. Then, “Tell me about this -old Les Baux place,” she commanded. - -The engine halted. He helped her out. “It’s a surprise. You’ll see for -yourself.” - -On making inquiries, they found that the drive was so long that they -would have to start at once to arrive by evening. To save time, they -took their lunch with them--grapes, wine and cakes. When the town was -left behind, they commenced to picnic in the carriage. They had only -one bottle, from which they had to drink in turns. She played a game of -feeding him, slipping grapes into his mouth. They had to keep a sharp -eye on the _cocher_, who was very particular that they should miss none -of the landmarks. When he turned to attract their attention, pointing -with his whip, they straightened their faces and became very proper. -After he had twice caught them, Desire said, “He’ll think we’re married -now, so we may as well deceive him.” - -Teddy was allowed to place an arm about her, while she held the parasol -over them. - -“If we were really married, d’you think you’d let me smoke a cigarette?” - -He lit one and, having drawn a few puffs, edged it between her lips. - -“You are good to me,” she murmured; “you save me so much trouble.” - -The fierce sun of Provence blazed down on them. A haze hung over the -country, making everything tremble. Cicalas chirped more drowsily. The -white straight road looked molten. Plane-trees, stretching on in an -endless line, seemed to crouch beneath their shadows. The air was full -of the fragrance of wild lavender. Farmhouses which they passed were -silent and shuttered. No life moved between the osier partitions of -their gardens. Even birds were in hiding. Only lizards were awake and -darted like a flash across rocks which would have scorched the hand. -Beneath a wild fig-tree a mule-driver slumbered, his face buried in his -arms and his bare feet thrust outward. It was a land enchanted. - -Desire grew silent. Her head drooped nearer to his shoulder. Beads of -moisture began to glisten on her throat and forehead. Once or twice she -opened her eyes, smiling dreamily up at him; then her breath came softly -and she slept. - -At Saint Rémy they stopped to water the horse. The first coolness of -evening was spreading. As the breeze fluttered down the hills, trees -shuddered, like people rising from their beds. Shutters were being -pushed back from windows. Faces peered out Loiterers gazed curiously at -the carriage, with the unconscious girl drooping like a flower in the -arms of the gravely defiant young man. Saint Rémy had been left behind; -the ascent into the mountains had commenced before she wakened. - -She rubbed her eyes and sat up. “What! Still holding me? I do think -you’re the most patient man---- Do you still love me, Meester Deek?” - -He stooped to kiss her yawning mouth. “More every hour. But why?” - -“Because if a man can still love a woman after seeing her asleep---- -When I’m asleep, I don’t look my prettiest.” - -The scenery was becoming momentarily more wild. The horse was laboring -in its steps. On either side white bowlders hung as if about to tumble. -The narrow road wound up through the loneliness in sweeping curves. -Hawks were dipping against the sky. Not a tree was in sight--only wild -lavender and straggling furze. - -She clutched his arm. “It’s frightening.” - -“Let’s walk ahead and not think about it,” he suggested. “We’ll talk and -forget.” - -But the scenery proved silencing. - -“Do say something,” she whispered. “Can’t we quarrel? We’ll talk if -we’re angry.” - -He thought. “What kind of a beast was that man in California?” - -“He wasn’t a beast. He was quite nice. You came near seeing him.” - -“I did! When?” - -“He was the man who was stopping in Paris at my hotel.--There, now -you’re really angry! That’s the worst of telling anything. A woman -should keep all her faults to herself.” - -“And he saw us?” - -She stared at him, surprised at his intuition. “How long have you known -that?” - -They were entering a tunnel hewn between rocks; they rose up scarred and -forbidding, nearly meeting overhead. - -She shuddered. “I wish we hadn’t come. It’s----” - -Suddenly, like a guilty conscience left behind, the tunnel opened on to -a platform. Far below lay a valley, trumpet-shaped and widening as it -faded into the distance. It was snow-white with lime-stone, and flecked -here and there with blood-red earth. The sides of the hills were -monstrous cemeteries, honeycombed with troglodyte dwellings. In the -plain, like naked dancing girls with flying hair, olive-trees fluttered. -Rocks, strewn through the greenness, seemed hides stretched out to -dry. Men, white as lepers, were crawling to and fro in the lime-stone -quarries. Straight ahead, cleaving the valley with its shadow, rose a -sheer column--a tower of Babel, splintered by the sunset. As they gazed -across the gulf to its summit, they made out roofs and ivy-spattered -ramparts. It looked deserted. Then across the distance from the ethereal -height the chiming of bells sounded. - -He drew her to him. It was as though with one last question, he was -putting all their doubts behind. “Was it true about that man?” - -“Quite true. Fluffy gave him my address. Let’s forget him now, and--and -everything.” - -As he stooped above her, she whispered, “Meester Deek, our quarrels have -brought us nearer.” - -They heard the rattle of the carriage in the tunnel. Joining hands, -they set out down the steep decline. In the valley they found themselves -among laurel-roses, pink with bloom and heavy with fragrance. Then they -commenced the climb to Les Baux, through cypresses standing stiffly as -sentinels. Beady-eyed, half-naked children watched them and hid behind -rocks when they beckoned. - -Beneath a battered gateway they entered the ancient home of the Courts -of Love. Near the gateway, built flush with the precipice, stood a -little house which announced that it was the Hôtel de la Reine Jeanne. -An old gentleman with eyes like live coals and long white hair, stepped -out to greet them. He informed them that he was the folk-lore poet of -Les Baux and its inn-keeper. They engaged rooms; while doing so they -noticed that many of the walls were covered with frescoes. - -“Ah, yes,” said the poet inn-keeper, “an English artist did them in -payment for his board when he had spent all his money. He came here -like you, you understand; intending to stay for one night; but he stayed -forever. It has happened before in Les Baux, this becoming enchanted. -He was a very famous artist, but he works in the vineyards now and has -married one of our Saracen girls.” - -Then he explained that Les Baux was like a pool front which the tides of -Time had receded. Its inhabitants were descendants of Roman legionaries -and of the Saracens who had conquered it later. That was why there were -no blue eyes in Les Baux, though it stood so near to heaven. - -They wandered out into the charmed silence. There was no wheel-traffic. -The toy streets could be spanned by the arms outstretched. There were no -shops--only deserted palaces, with defaced escutcheons and wall-flowers -nestling in their crannies. Only women and children were in sight; -they looked like camp-followers of a lost army. Old imperial splendors -moldered in this sepulchre of the clouds, as out of mind as the Queens -of Beauty asleep in their leaden coffins. - -They came to the part that was Roman. _Cicalas_ and darting swallows -were its sole tenants. From the huge structure of the crag houses had -been carved and hollowed. The pavement was still grooved by the wheels -of chariots. - -In Paris it had been the foreignness of their surroundings that had -forced them together; now it was the antiquity--the brooding sense of -the eventlessness of life and the eternal tedium of expectant death. - -“A doll’s house of the gods,” he said. - -“No, a faery land waiting for its princess to waken.” - -He folded her hands together and held them against his breast. “She will -never waken till her lips have kissed a man.” - -She peered up at him shyly. Her face quivered. She had a hunted -indecision in her eyes. The clamor, as of feet pounding through her -body, communicated itself through her hands. She tore them from him. -“Don’t touch me.” She ran from him wildly, and did not stop till streets -where people lived commenced. - -When he had come up with her, she tried to cover her confusion with -laughter. “You remember what he said about becoming enchanted? It nearly -happened to us.” - -“And why not?” - -“Because----” She shrugged her shoulders. - -In their absence a table had been spread on the terrace and a lamp -placed on it as a beacon. By reaching out from where they sat, they -could gaze sheer down through the twilight. Night, like a blue vapor, -was steaming up from the valley. In the shadows behind, they were -vaguely aware that the town had assembled to watch them. Bare feet -pattered. A girl laughed. Now and then a mandolin tinkled, and a -love-song of Provence drifted up like a perfume flung into the poignant -dusk. At intervals the sentinel in the church-tower gave warning how -time was forever passing. - -“You were afraid of me; that was why you ran.” - -She lowered her eyes. “I was more afraid of myself.--Meester Deek, -you’ve never tried to understand what sort of a girl I am. Everything -that I’ve seen of life, right from the very start, has taught me to be a -coward--to believe that the world is bad. Don’t you see how I’d drag you -down? It’s because of that---- When I feel anything big and terrible I -run from it. It--it seems safer.” - -“But you can’t run away forever.” He leant across the table and took her -hand. “One day you’ll want those big and terrible things and--and a man -to protect you. They won’t come to you then, perhaps.” - -She lifted her face and gazed at him. “You mean you wouldn’t wait -always? Of course you wouldn’t. You don’t know it, but if I were to go -away to-morrow, your waiting would end.” - -“It wouldn’t.” - -“It would. A girl’s instinct tells her. And I ought to go.” - -“What makes you say that?” - -“I’m not the wife for you. I’ve given you far more misery than -happiness.” - -He laughed quietly. “Little sweetheart, if you were to go, I should -follow you and follow you.” - -She shook her head. “Not far.--Meester Deek, some day you may learn to -hate me, so I want to tell you: until I met you, I believed the worst -of every man. I was a little stream in a wilderness; I wanted so to find -the sea, and it seemed that I never should. But now----” - -His clasp on her hand tightened. “But now?” - -She looked at him sadly. “I should spoil your whole life. Would you -spoil your whole life for the kind of girl I am?” - -“Gladly.” - -She smiled wistfully. “I wonder how many women have been loved like -that.” - -They rose. “Shall we go in?” - -“Not yet,” he pleaded. - -“It would be better.” - -As they were crossing the terrace, the _cocher_ approached them. He -wanted to know at what hour they proposed to leave next morning. He was -anxious to start early, before the heat of the day had commenced. - -“I don’t think we’re leaving.” Teddy glanced at Desire. Then, with a -rush of decision: “We’re planning to stay a day or two longer. It’ll be -all the same to you; I’ll pay for the return journey.” - -Saying that he would be gone before they were out of bed, the man bade -them farewell. - -When they had entered the darkness of the narrow streets, he put his -arm about her. She came to him reluctantly; then surrendered and leant -against him heavily. They sauntered silently as in a dream. All the -steps which had led up to this moment passed before him: her evasions -and retractions. She was no longer a slave of freedom. For the first -time he felt certain of her; with the certainty came an overwhelming -sense of gratitude and tranquillity. He feared lest by word or action he -should disturb it, and it should go from him. - -They passed by the old palaces perfumed with wallflowers; in a window an -occasional light winked at them. They reached the Roman part of the town -and hurried their steps. By contrast it seemed evil and ghost-haunted; -through the caves that had been houses, bats flew in and out A soft wind -met them. They felt the turf beneath their tread and stepped out on to -the ruined battlements. Wild thyme mingled with the smell of lavender. -The memory of forsaken gardens and forgotten ecstasies was in the air. -Three towers, Roman, Saracen and French, pointed mutilated fingers at -eternity. They halted, drinking in the silence, and lifted their eyes to -the stars wheeling overhead. Far away, through mists across the plain, -Marseilles struck sparks on the horizon and the moon rose red. - -She turned in his embrace. “I’m not half as sweet as you would make me -out, I’m not. Oh, won’t you believe me?” - -His tranquillity gave way; he caught her to him, raining kisses on her -throat, her eyes, her mouth. - -“You’re crushing me!” Her breath came stifled and sobbing. - -Tenderness stamped out his passion. As his grip relaxed, she slipped -from him. She was running; he followed. On the edge of the precipice, -the red moon swinging behind her like a lantern, she halted. Her hands -were held ready to thrust him back. - -“It would be better for you that I should throw myself down -than--than----” - -He seized her angrily and drew her roughly to him. “You little fool,” he -panted. - -With a sudden abandon she urged herself against him. As he bent over -her, her arms reached up and her lips fell warm against his mouth. - -“I do love you. I _do_. I _do_,” she whispered. “Take care of me. Be -good to me. I daren’t trust myself.” - -The hotel was asleep when they got back. They fumbled their way up -the crooked stairs. Outside her room, as in the darkness they clung -together, she took his face between her hands. “And you said I hadn’t -any passion!--You’re good, Meester Deck. God bless you.” - -Her door closed. He waited. He heard the lock turn. - -“When I kiss you without your asking me, you’ll know then,” she had -said. His heart sang. All night, in his dreaming and waking, he was -making plans. - -When he came down next morning, he found the table spread on the -terrace. He walked over to it, intending while he waited for her, to sit -down and smoke a cigarette. One place had been already used. He hadn’t -known that another guest had been staying at the hotel. Calling the -inn-keeper, he asked him to have the place reset. - -“But for whom?” - -“For Mademoiselle.” - -“Mademoiselle! But Mademoiselle----” The man looked blank. “But -Mademoiselle, a six hours she left this morning with the carriage.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII--SHE RECALLS HIM - -Now that she had gone from him, he realized how mistaken he had been -in his chivalry. From the first, instead of begging, he ought to have -commanded. She was a girl with whom it paid to be rough. It was only -on the precipice, when he had seized her savagely, that her passion had -responded. In the light of what had happened, her last words seemed a -taunt--an echo of her childish despising of King Arthurs: “And you said -I hadn’t any passion I--You’re good, Meester Deek.” Had he been less -honorable in her hour of weakness, he would still have had her. - -“That ends it!” he told himself. Nevertheless he set out hot-footed for -Arles. There he hunted up the _cocher_ who had driven them to Les Baux, -and learnt that she had taken train for Paris. In Paris he inquired at -_The Oxford and Cambridge._ He searched the registers of a dozen hotels. -Tramping the boulevards of the city of lovers, he revisited all the -places where they had been together; he hoped that a whim of sentiment -might lead her on the same errand. - -A new thought struck him: she had written to Eden Row and his mother -didn’t know his address. All the time that he had been wasting in this -intolerable aloneness her explanation had been waiting for him. He -returned posthaste, only to be met with her unconquerable silence. He -hurried to Orchid Lodge; her father might know her whereabouts. There -he was told that Hal had sailed for New York--with what motive he could -guess. This lent the final derisive touch to his tragedy. - -It was the end of July, nearly a year to the day since he had made his -great discovery at Glastonbury. He had spent a month of torture. Since -the key had turned in her lock at the Hôtel de la Reine Jeanne, he had -had no sign of her. He came down to breakfast one sunshiny morning; -lying beside his plate was a letter in her hand. He slipped it into -his pocket with feigned carelessness, till he should be alone; then he -opened it and read: - -Dearest Teddy: - -I need you. - -_Savoy Hotel, - -The Strand. - -Come at once. - -Your foolish Desire._ - -She needed him! It was the first time she had owned as much. From her -that admission in three words was more eloquent than many pages. Had her -slavery to freedom become irksome? Had it got her into trouble? - -He reached the Savoy within the hour. As he passed his card across the -desk he was a-tremble. It was a relief when the clerk gave him no bad -news but, having phoned up, turned and said, “The lady will see you in -her room, sir.” - -The passage outside her door was piled with trunks; painted on them, -like an advertisement, in conspicuous white letters, was Janice Audrey. -He tapped. As he waited he heard laughter. In his high-wrought state of -nerves the sound was an offense. - -The handle turned. “Hulloa, Teddy! I’ve heard about you. I’m going to -leave you two scatter-brains to yourselves.” - -Fluffy was in her street-attire--young, eager and caparisoned for -conquest. She seemed entirely unrelated to the shuddering Diana in the -Tyrolese huntsman’s costume, whom he had last seen breaking her heart in -the dressing-room of _The Belshazzar_. He stepped aside to let her pass; -then he entered. - -He found himself in a large sunlit room in a riot of disorder--whether -with packing or unpacking it was difficult to tell. Evidently some -one had gone through a storm of shopping. Frocks were strewn in every -direction; opera-cloaks and evening-gowns lay on the floor, on the bed, -on the backs of chairs. Hats were half out of milliners’ boxes. Shoes -and slippers lay jumbled in a pile in a suit-case. It was fitting that -he and Desire should meet again in a hired privacy, like transients. - -She stood against a wide window, looking down on the Embankment She -was wearing a soft green peignoir trimmed with daisies. It was almost -transparent, so that in the strong sunlight her slight figure showed -through it It was low-cut and clinging--a match in color to the -Guinevere costume which she had been wearing when he had discovered her -at Glastonbury. Had she intended that it should waken memories? As he -watched he was certain that that had been her intention, for she was -adorned with another reminder: a false curl had usurped the place of the -old one she had given him. It danced against her neck, quivering with -excitement, and seemed to beckon. - -Her back was towards him. She must have heard Fluffy speaking to him. -She must know that he was on the threshold. He closed the door quietly -and halted. - -“Meester Deek, are you glad to see me?” She spoke without turning. \ - -Her question went unanswered. In the silence it seemed to repeat -itself maddeningly. She drummed with her fingers on the pane, as though -insisting that until he had answered he should not see her face. - -At last her patience gave out She glanced across her shoulder. Something -in his expression warned her. Running to him, she caught his hands and -pressed against him, laughing into his eyes. She waited submissively -for his arms to enfold her. When he remained unmoved, she whispered -luringly, “I’m as amiable as I ever shall be.” - -“Are you?” - -She pouted. “Once if I’d told you that---- - -“Are you!” - -“Is that all after a whole month?” - -“A whole month!” His face seemed set in a mask. “To me it has seemed a -century.” - -For the first time she dimly realized what he had suffered. She drew her -fingers across his cheek. Her hands ran over him like white mice. The -weariness in his way of talking frightened her. “I’m--I’m sorry that I’m -not always nice. It wasn’t quite nice of me to leave you, was it?” - -His lips grew crooked at her understatement “From my point of view it -wasn’t.” - -She thought for a moment; she was determined not to acknowledge that he -was altered. Slipping her arm into his comfortably, she led him across -the room. “Let’s sit down. I’ve so much to tell you.” - -He helped her to push a couch to the window that they might shut out the -sight of the room’s disorder. When she had seated herself in a corner, -she patted the place beside her. He sat himself at the other end and -gazed out at the gray-gold stretch of river, where steamers churned back -and forth between Greenwich and Westminster. - -“Fluffy’s going to America; we ran over from Paris to get some clothes. -It’s all rubbish to get one’s clothes in Paris; London’s just as good -and not one-half as expensive. She has to return to Paris in a day or -two to see a play. Simon Freelevy thinks it will suit her. After that -she sails from Cherbourg.--Meester Deek, are you interested in Fluffy’s -doings?” - -“I was looking at the river. I scarcely heard what you were saying.” - -“Well, then, perhaps this will interest you. She says that, if I like, -she’ll see that I get a place in her company at _The Belshassar_.--Still -admiring the view?--I wish you’d answer me sometimes, Teddy.” - -“So you’re going to become another Fluffy?” - -Her tone sank to a honeyed sweetness. “You’re most awfully far away. If -you don’t come nearer, we might just as well----” - -“As I came along the passage,” he said, “I heard you laughing. I haven’t -done much laughing lately.” - -A frown crept into her eyes. “That was because I was going to see you.” - -He wished he could believe her. - -In a desperate effort to win him to pleasantness, she closed up the -space that separated them. His coldness piqued her. Through her filmy -garment her body touched him; it was burning. “And I--I haven’t done -much laughing lately, either; but one can’t be always tragic.” Her voice -was tremulous and sultry. She brushed against him and peered into his -face reproachfully. “You aren’t very sympathetic.” - -“Not very.” - -She tried the effect of irritation. “I wish you wouldn’t keep on -catching at what I say.” Then, with a return to her sweetness: “Do be -kind, Meester Deck. You don’t know how badly I need you.” - -Something deep and emotional stirred within him. Perhaps it was -memory--perhaps habit All his life he had been waiting for just -that--for her to need him; it had begun years ago when Hal had told him -of the price that she would have to pay. Perhaps it was love struggling -in the prison that her indifference had created for it It might be -merely the sex response to her closeness. - -“I came because you wrote that you needed me. But your laughing and the -way you met me----” - -“I was nervous and--and you don’t know why.” - -He shook his head. “After all that’s happened, after all the loneliness -and all the silence---- My dear, I don’t know what’s the matter with me; -I think you’ve killed something. I’m not trying to be unkind.” - -She crouched her face in her hands. At last she became earnest “And just -when I need you!” - -“Tell me,” he urged gravely; “I’ll do anything.” - -“You promise--really anything?” - -“Anything.” - -She smiled mysteriously, making bars of her fingers before her eyes. She -knew that, however he might deny it, he was again surrendering to her -power. “Even if I were to ask you to marry me?” - -“Anything,” he repeated, without fervor. - -“Then I’ll ask a little thing first.” She hesitated. “It would help if -you put your arm about me.” - -He carried out her request perfunctorily. - -“Ask me questions,” she whispered; “it will be easier to begin like -that.” - -“Where did you go when you left me?” - -“To Paris.” - -“I know. I followed you.” - -She started. “But you didn’t see me?” - -He kept her in suspense, while he groped after the reason for her -excitement. “No. I didn’t see you. Whom were you with?” - -“Fluffy.” - -“Any one else?” - -“Yes.” She caught at his hands, as though already he had made a sign to -leave her. “I didn’t know he was to be there.” - -“Ah!” He knew whom she meant: the man with whom she had flirted in -California and whom a strange chance had led to her hotel in Paris. He -would have withdrawn his arm if she had not held it. - -“But none of this explains your leaving me and then not writing.” - -A hardness had crept into his tones. His jealousy had sprung into a -flame. He remembered those photographs of Tom in her bedroom. There had -always been other men at the back of her life. How did he know whom she -met or what she did, when he was away from her? - -“Meester Deek,” she clutched at him, “don’t You--you frighten me. I’ve -done nothing wrong. I haven’t I’ve spent every moment with Fluffy.” - -“That didn’t keep you from writing.” - -“No.” She laid her face against his pleadingly. “That didn’t prevent It -was---- Oh, Meester Deek, won’t you understand--you’ve always been so -unjudging? At Les Baux that night you wakened something--something that -I’d never felt. I didn’t dare to trust myself. It wasn’t you that I -distrusted. I wanted to go somewhere alone--somewhere where I could -think and come to myself. If I’d written to you, or received letters -from you----” - -“Desire, let’s speak the truth. We promised always to be honest You say -you went with Fluffy to be alone; you know you didn’t. Fluffy’s never -alone--she’s a queen bee with the drones always buzzing round her. You -went away to get rid of me, and for the fun of seeing whether you could -recall me.” - -“Not that. Truly not that” She paused and drew a long breath, like a -diver getting ready for a deep plunge. “It was because I was afraid -that, if I stopped longer, we might have to marry. A girl may be -cold--she mayn’t even love a man, but if she trifles too long with -his affections, she herself sometimes catches fire. That was how my -mother--with my father.” - -“Then why did you send for me?” His tone was stern and puzzled. - -For a time she was silent. It seemed to him that she was searching for a -plausible motive. Then, “I think because I wanted to see a good man.” - -He tried to smile cynically. She had fooled him too many times for him -to allow himself to be caught so easily as that. The scales had fallen -from his eyes. She had always made whatever uprightness he possessed a -reproach to him. - -“You don’t believe me?” She scanned his face wistfully. “You never did -understand me or--or any girls.” - -The new argument which her accusation suggested was tempting; no man, -however inexperienced, likes to be told that he is ignorant of women. -That he refused to allow himself to be diverted was proof to her of her -loss of power. - -“I believe you in a sense,” he said. “I don’t doubt that at this moment -you imagine that you want to see a good man--not that I’m especially -good; I’m just decent and ordinary. But you’re not really interested in -good men; you don’t find them exciting. Long ago, as children, you told -me that. Don’t you remember--I like Sir Launcelot best?” - -She twisted her hands. Her face had gone white. When she spoke her voice -was earnest and tired. “You force me to tell you.--I did want to see a -good man--a good man who loved me. You’ll never guess why. It was to get -back my self-respect That man--that man whom I led on in California, he -saw us together in Paris. He misunderstood. He thought vile things. -After I’d left you and joined Fluffy, I met him again and he asked me to -be---- I can’t say it; but when a man like that misunderstands things -about a girl----” Self-scorn consumed her. “It wasn’t only because he’d -seen us together--it wasn’t only that.” Her voice sank to a bitter -whisper. “I’m the daughter of a woman who was never married--he found -that out; so he asked me to become his----” - -“My God! Don’t say it.” - -He tried to draw her to him. Tears blinded his eyes. She scoffed -at herself rebelliously. “It’s true. I deserved it That’s the way I -act--like a man’s mistress. I don’t act like other girls. That’s why -you never mentioned me in your letters from New York to your mother. You -made excuses for me in your own mind, and you tried not to be ashamed of -me and, because you were chivalrous, you were sorry for me. I hated you -for being sorry. But men, like that man in Paris--all they see in me is -an opportunity----” - -“The swine!” He clenched his hands and sat staring at the carpet. - -“No.” She shook her head sadly. “I’m fair game. I see it all now. I used -to think I was only modern, and used to laugh at you for being -old-fashioned. You were always trying to tell me. I’m taking back -everything unkind that I ever did or said. D’you hear me, Teddy? It’s -the way I’ve been brought up. I’m what Horace calls ‘a Slave of -freedom.’ I fascinate and I don’t play fair. I’m rotten and I’m -virtuous. I accept and accept with my greedy little hands. I lead men -on to expect, and I give nothing.” - -She waited for him to say something--something healing and -generous--perhaps that he would marry her. He was filled with pity and -with doubt--and with another emotion. What she had told him had roused -his passion. In memory he could feel the warmth of her body. Why had -she dressed like this to meet him? Why did she touch him so frequently? -Passion wasn’t love; it would burn itself out He knew that, if he -stayed, he would shatter the idol she had created of him. He would -become like that man whom he had been despising. - -His silence disappointed her. She ceased from caressing him. She had -come to an end of all her arts and blandishments. In trying to be -sincere, she had made her very sincerity sound like coquetry. She -realized that this man, who had been absolutely hers at a time when she -had not valued him, had grown reserved and cautious at this crisis when -she needed him more than anything in the world. A desperate longing came -into her eyes. Struggling with her pride, in one last effort to win -him back, she stretched out her arms timidly, resting her hands on his -shoulders with a tugging pressure. “I guess,” her voice came brokenly, -“I guess you’re the only living man who would ever have dreamt of -marrying me.” - -Jumping up, he seized his hat - -“You’re going?” - -He faced her furiously. It seemed to him that he was gazing into a -furnace. “If I stay, you’ll have me kissing you.” - -She scarcely knew whether she loved or hated him, yet she held out her -arms to him languorously. For a moment he hesitated. Then he hurried -past her. As his hand was on the door, he heard a thud. She had fallen -to her knees beside the couch in the sunlight Her face was buried in her -hands. - -Slowly he came back. Stooping over her, he brushed his lips against her -hair. - -She lifted her sad eyes. “I tried to be fair to you; I warned you. You -should have stuck to your dream of me. You were never in love with the -reality.” - -“I was.” He denied her vehemently. - -She smiled wearily. “The past tense! Will you ever be kind to me again, -I wonder? I--I never had a father, Teddy.” - -The old excuse--the truest of all her excuses! It struck the chord of -memory. He picked her up gently, holding her so closely that he could -feel the shuddering of her breath. - -“In spite of everything,” she whispered, “would you still marry me?” - -He faltered. “Yes, I’d still marry you. But, Desire, we’ve forgotten: -you haven’t told me truly why you sent for me.” - -She slipped from his arms and put the couch between them. “I sent for -you to tell you that--that I’m that, though I’ve tried, I can’t live -without you.” - -He leant out to touch her. She avoided him. “First tell me that you love -me.” - -“I do.” - -Her gray eyes brimmed over. “You don’t. You’re lying. I’ve never lied to -you--with all my faults I’ve never done that.” - -His arms fell to his side. When confronted by her truth his passion went -from him. “But I shall. I shall love you, Desire. It’ll all come back.” - -She shook her head. “It might never. And without it---- You told me that -I’d killed something. I believe I have.” - -“If you would only let me kiss you,” he pleaded. - -She darted across the room and flinging wide the door, waited for him -in the passage. - -She took his hands in hers. They gazed at each other inarticulately. - -“I can’t tell you--can’t tell you,” he panted. “All the time I may be -loving you.” - -“And just when I needed you, Meester Deek,” she whispered, “just when I -want to be good so badly!” - -She broke from him. Again, as at Les Baux, he heard the key in her lock -turning. - -No sooner was he without her than the change commenced. During his -month of intolerable waiting, when he had thought that he had lost her -forever, he had tried to heal the affront to his pride with a dozen -hostile arguments. He had persuaded himself that the break with her was -for the best. He had told himself that carelessness towards men was -in her blood--a taint of sexlessness inherited from her mother. He had -assured himself repeatedly that he could live without her. He had -fixed in his mind as a goal to be envied his old pursuits, with their -unfevered touch of bachelor austerity. This had been his mood till he -had received her message: “I need you. Come at once.” - -Having seen her, his yearning had returned like a lean wolf the more -famished by reason of its respite. Was it love? If he lied to her, she -would detect him. Until he could convince her that he loved her, he was -exiled by her honesty. He knew now that throughout the weeks of waiting -his suffering had been dulled by its own intensity. His false self-poise -had been a symptom of the malady. - -All day he tramped the streets of London in the scorching heat of -midsummer. He went up the Strand and back by the Embankment, round and -round, taking no time for food or rest. He felt throughout his body a -continual vibration, an eager trembling. He dared not go far from her. - -In spirit she was never absent She rose up crouching her chin against -her shoulder and barricading her lips with her hand. He relived their -many partings--the ecstasies, kisses, wavings down the stairs--those -prolonged poignant moments when her tenderness had atoned for hours of -coldness. She had become a habit with him--a part of him. His physical -self cried out for her. It was knit with hers. - -A year almost to the day since she had said so lightly, “Come to -America”! And now she was so near, and he could not go to her. - -Evening. He sat wearily on the Embankment, gazing up at the back of her -hotel, trying to guess which window was hers. In the coolness of -the golden twilight he had arrived at the first stage in his exact -self-knowledge: that waiting for her had become his mission--without her -his future would be purposeless. If he made her his wife, he might live -to regret it Her faults went too deep for even love to cure. Any emotion -of shame which she had owned to was only for the moment. Whether he lost -her or won her, he was bound to suffer. Marriage with her might spell -intellectual ruin; but to shirk the risk because of that would be to -shatter his idealism forever. To save her from herself and to shelter -her in so far as she would allow, had become his religion and the -inspiration of his work. And wasn’t that the highest sort of love? - -He determined to set himself a test He walked to Charing Cross Station, -entered a telephone-booth and called up the Savoy. - -“Miss Jodrell, please. No, I don’t know the number of the room.” - -The trepidation with which he waited brought all his New York memories -back. - -Her voice. “Hulloa! Yes. This is Miss Jodrell.” - -He was at a loss for words. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her across -the wire. While he hesitated, he heard her receiver hung up. - -He was certain of himself now. He was shaking like a leaf. If her voice -could thrill and unnerve him when her body was absent, this must be more -than passion. - -He sat down till he had grown quiet, then jumping into a taxi he told -the man to drive quickly. He could have walked the distance in little -over five minutes; but after so much delay, every second saved was an -atonement. As he whirled out of the Strand into the courtyard of the -Savoy, Big Ben was booming for nine. - -For the second time that day he passed his card across the desk. “I want -Miss Jodrell.” - -The clerk handed him back his card. “She’s left.” - -“But she can’t have. I’ve had her on the phone within half an hour.” - -“I’m sorry, sir. I wonder she didn’t tell you. You must have spokes -with her the last minute before she left. She caught the nine o’clock -boat-train from Charing Cross to Dover.” - -He went faint and reached out to steady himself. “From Charing Cross! -Why, I’ve just come from there. We must have passed. We----” - -The man saw that something serious was the matter. He dropped his -perfunctory manner. “She’s sure to have left an address for the -forwarding of her letters. I’ll look it up if you’ll wait a moment.” - He returned. “Her letters were to be addressed _Poste Restante_ to the -General Post-office, Paris. I don’t know whether that will help you.” - -Before leaving the hotel he sat down and wrote her. Then he went out and -sent her a telegram: - -_“Yours exclusively. Telegraph your address. Will come at once and fetch -you.”_ - -He hurried home to Eden Row and packed his bag. He was up early next -morning, waiting for her reply. In the evening he sent her a more urgent -telegram and another letter. No answer. He thought that she must have -received his messages, for he had marked his letters to be returned -within a day if not called for. He cursed himself for his ill-timed -coldness. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII--HIS WAITING ENDS - -A week of silence, and then---- It was eight in the evening. He was -at the top of the house in his bedroom-study--the room in which he had -woven so many gold optimisms. Down the blue oblong of sky, framed by his -window, the red billiard-ball of the sun rolled smoothly, bound for the -pocket of night. - -A sharp rat-a-tat. Its meaning was unmistakable. He went leaping down -the stairs, three at a time. He reached the hall just as Jane was -appearing from the basement Forestalling her at the front-door, he -grabbed the pinkish-brown envelope from the telegraph-boy. Ripping it -open, he read: - -_“Sorry delay. Been Lucerne. Just returned Paris. Received all yours. -Meet me to-morrow Cherbourg on board ‘Wilhelm der Grosse.’ Please start -immediately.”_ - -She had forgotten to put her address. He pulled out his watch. Five -minutes past eight! He had no time to consult railway-guides--no time -even to pack. All he knew was that the boat-train left Charing-Cross -for Dover in less than an hour; he could just catch it Returning to his -bedroom, he gathered together what cash he could find In three minutes -he was in the hall again. - -“Tell mother when she comes back that I’m off to Paris. Tell her I’ll -write.” - -Jane gaped at him. As he hurried down the steps, she began to ask -questions. He shook his head, “No time.” - -Throwing dignity to the winds, he set off at a run. As he passed Orchid -Lodge, Mr. Sheerug was coming out. He cannoned into him and left him -gasping. At the top of Eden Row he saw a taxi and hailed it. He knew now -that he was safe to catch his train. - -On the drive to the station he unfolded her telegram and re-read it -Irresponsible as ever, yet lovable! What risks she took! He might have -been out; as it was he could barely make the connections that would -get him to Cherbourg in time. No address to which he could reply! He -couldn’t let her know that he was coming. Doubtless she took that for -granted. No information concerning her plans! She had always told him -that wise women kept men guessing. No hint as to why she had sent -for him! Twenty-four hours of conjecturing would keep him humble and -increase his ardor. Then the motive of all this vagueness dawned on -him. She was putting him to the test If he came in spite of the -irresponsibility of her message, it would be proof to her that he loved -her. If ever a girl needed a man’s love, Desire was that girl. - -During the tedious night journey fears began to arise. Why was she going -to Cherbourg? He read her words again, “Meet me to-morrow Cherbourg on -board _Wilhelm der Grosse_” What would she be doing on board an Atlantic -liner if she wasn’t sailing? She shouldn’t sail if he could prevent her. -If she reached New York, she would go on the stage and commit herself -irrevocably to Fluffyism. - -He steamed into the Gare du Nord at a quarter to seven and learnt, on -making inquiries, that the trains for Cherbourg left from the St Lazare. -He jumped into an autotaxi--no leisurely _fiacre_ this time--and raced -through the gleaming early morning. He found at the St Lazare that the -first express that he could catch, departed in three-quarters of an -hour. There was another which left later, but it ran to meet the steamer -and was reserved exclusively for transatlantic voyagers. The second -train would be the one by which she would travel. He debated whether he -should try to intercept her on the platform. Too risky. - -He might miss her. He preferred to take the chance which she herself -had chosen. There would be less than an hour between his arrival in -Cherbourg and the time when the steamship sailed. - -Having snatched some breakfast, he found a florist’s and purchased an -extravagant sheaf of roses. - -As soon as Paris was left behind, he was consumed with impotent -impatience. It seemed to him that the engine pulled up at every poky -little town in Normandy. He got it on his mind that every railroad -official was conspiring to make him late. He had one moment of exquisite -torture. They had been at a standstill in a station for an interminable -time. He got out and, in his scarcely intelligible French, asked the -meaning of the delay. The man whom he had questioned pointed; at that -moment the non-stop boat-express from Paris overtook them and thundered -by. At it passed, he glanced anxiously at the carriage-windows, hoping -against hope that he might catch sight of her. - -The last exasperation came when they broke down at Rayeux and wasted -nearly an hour. He arrived at his destination at the exact moment at -which the _Wilhelm der Grosse_ was scheduled to sail. - -Picking up the flowers he had purchased for her, he dashed out of the -station and shouldered his way to where some _fiacres_ were standing. -Thrusting a twenty-franc note into the nearest cocker’s hand, he -startled the man into energy. - -What a drive! Of the streets through which they galloped he saw nothing. -He was only conscious of people escaping to the pavement and of threats -shouted through the sunshine. - -When they arrived at the quay, the horse was in a lather. Far off, at -the mouth of the harbor in a blue-gold haze, the liner lay black, her -smoke-stacks smudging the sky. Snuggled against her were the two tugs -which had taken out the passengers. An official-looking person in a -peaked cap was standing near to where they had halted. - -Did he understand English? Certainly. To the question that followed he -answered imperturbably: “Too late, monsieur. It is impossible.” - -He gazed round wildly. He must get to her. He must at least let Desire -know that he had made the journey. - -Above the wall of the quay a head in a yachting-cap appeared. He ran -towards it. Stone steps led down to the water’s edge. Against the lowest -step a power-boat lay rocking gently with the engine still running. -No time to ask permission or to make explanations! He sprang down the -steps, flung his roses into the boat, turned on the power and was away. - -Shouting behind him grew fainter. Now he heard only the panting of the -engine and the swirl of waves. The liner stood up taller. He steered -for it straight as an arrow. If he could only get there! The tugs were -casting loose. Now they were returning. He wasn’t a quarter of a mile -away. He cleared the harbor. The steamer was swinging her nose round. -He could see her screws churning. His only chance of stopping her was to -cut across her bows. - -From crowded decks faces were staring down. Some were laughing; some -were pale at his foolhardiness. An officer with a thick German accent -was cursing him. He could only hear the accent; he couldn’t make out -what the man was saying. What did he care? He had forced them to wait -for him. From all that blur of faces he was trying to pick out one face. - -Making a megaphone of his hands, he shouted. His words were lost in the -pounding of the engines and the lapping of the waves. Then he saw a face -which he recognized--Fluffy’s. She was saying something to the officer; -she was explaining the situation. Leaning across the rail, laughing, she -shook her head. The news of the reason for his extraordinary behavior -was passing from mouth to mouth along the decks. The laugh was taken up. -The whole ship seemed to hold its sides and jeer at him. - -The liner gathered way. The last thing he saw distinctly was Fluffy, -still laughing and shaking her golden head. She was keeping Desire from -him; he knew that she had lied. - -The boat rose and fell in the churned-up wake. Like a man whose soul has -suddenly died, he sat very silent. - -Slowly he came to himself. Evening was falling. He felt old. It was all -true, then--the lesson that her mother had taught him in his childhood! -There were women in the world whom love could not conquer. - -He flung the roses he had bought for her into the sea. Turning the head -of the boat, he reentered the harbor. - -FINIS - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Slaves Of Freedom, by Coningsby Dawson - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SLAVES OF FREEDOM *** - -***** This file should be named 55470-0.txt or 55470-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/4/7/55470/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by Google Books - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Slaves Of Freedom - -Author: Coningsby Dawson - -Release Date: August 31, 2017 [EBook #55470] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SLAVES OF FREEDOM *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by Google Books - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - SLAVES OF FREEDOM - </h1> - <h2> - By Coningsby Dawson - </h2> - <h4> - New York: Henry Holt And Company - </h4> - <h3> - 1916 - </h3> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0003.jpg" alt="0003 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0003.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>A SLAVE OF FREEDOM</b> </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>BOOK I—LIFE TILL TWENTY-ONE</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I—MRS. SHEERUG’S GARDEN </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II—THE FAERY-GODMOTHER </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III—VASHTI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV—THE ROUSING OF THE GIANT </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V—THE GHOST BIRD OF ROMANCE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI—A STRATEGY THAT FAILED </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII—“PASHUN” IN THE KITCHEN </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII—THE EXPENSE OF LOVING </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX—THE FOG </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X—THE WIFE OF A GENIUS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI—THE LITTLE GOD LOVE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII—DOUBTS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII—SHUT OUT. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV—BELIEVING HER GOOD </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV—THE FAERY TALE BEGINS AGAIN </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI—A WONDERFUL WORLD </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII—DESIRE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII—ESCAPING </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX—THE HIGH HORSE OF ROMANCE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX—THE POND IN THE WOODLAND </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI—VANISHED </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII—THE FEAR OF KNOWLEDGE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII—TEDDY AND RUDDY </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV—DUKE NINEVEH ENTERS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV—LUCK </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI—DREAMING OF LOVE </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> <b>BOOK II—THE BOOK OF REVELATION</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER I—THE ISLAND VALLEY </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER II—A SUMMER’S NIGHT </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER III—A SUMMER’S MORNING </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER IV—HAUNTED </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER V—SUSPENSE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER VI—DESIRE’S MOTHER </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER VII—LOVING DESIRE </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER VIII—FAITH RENEWS ITSELF </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER IX—SHE ELUDES HIM </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER X—AND NOTHING ELSE SAW ALL DAY LONG - </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XI—THE KEYS TO ARCADY </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XII—ARCADY </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XIII—DRIFTING </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XIV—THE TRIFLERS GROW EARNEST </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XV—SLAVES OF FREEDOM </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER XVI—THE GHOST OF HAPPINESS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER XVII—THE TEST </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER XVIII—THE PRINCESS WHO DID NOT KNOW - HER HEART </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER XIX—AN OLD PASSION </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0046"> CHAPTER XX—SHE PROPOSES </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0047"> CHAPTER XXI—THE EXPERIMENTAL HONEYMOON </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0048"> CHAPTER XXII—SHE RECALLS HIM </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0049"> CHAPTER XXIII—HIS WAITING ENDS </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - A SLAVE OF FREEDOM - </h2> - <p class="indent20"> - The Night slips his arm about the Moon - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And walks till the skies grow gray; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - But my Love, when I speak of love, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Has never a word to say. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - I set my dreams at her feet as lamps - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - For which all my hope must pay; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - But my Love, when I speak of love, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Has never a word to say. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - I fill her hands with a gleaming soul - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - For her plaything night and day; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - But she, when I speak to her of love, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Has never a word to say. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - I give my life, which is hers to kill - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Or to keep with her alway; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And still, when I speak to her of love, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - She’s never a word to say. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - <i>The Night slips his arm about the Moon </i> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And walks till the skies grow gray; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - But my Love, when I speak of love, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Has never a word to say. - </p> - <p> - <br /> <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - BOOK I—LIFE TILL TWENTY-ONE - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I—MRS. SHEERUG’S GARDEN - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>other bucket o’ - mortar, Mr. Ooze.” - </p> - <p> - The excessively thin man glanced up from the puddle of lime that he was - stirring and regarded the excessively fat man with a smile of meek - interrogation. - </p> - <p> - “’Nother bucket o’ mortar, Willie Ooze, and don’t you put your ’ead - on one side at me like a bloomin’ cockatoo.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. William Hughes stuttered an apology. “I was thin-thinking.” - </p> - <p> - “Thin-thinking!” The fat man laughed good-naturedly. Turning his back on - his helper, he gave the brick which he had just laid an extra tap to - emphasize his incredulity. “’Tisn’t like you.” - </p> - <p> - The thin man’s feelings were wounded. To the little boy who looked on this - was evident from the way he swallowed. His Adam’s-apple took a run up his - throat and, at the last moment, thought better of it. “But I <i>was</i> - thinking,” he persisted; “thinking that I’d learnt something from stirring - up this gray muck. If ever I was to kill somebody—you, for instance, - or that boy—I’d know better than to bury you in slaked lime.” - </p> - <p> - “Uml Urn!” The fat man gulped with surprise. He puckered his vast chin - against his collar so that his voice came deep and strangled. “It’s scraps - o’ knowledge like that as saves men from the gallers. If ’alf the - murderers that is ’anged ’ad come to me first, they wouldn’t - be ’anging. But—but——” He seemed at last to - realize the unkind implication of Mr. Hughes’s naive confession. “But I’d - make four o’ you, Willyum! You couldn’t kill me, however you tried.” - </p> - <p> - In the face of contradiction Mr. Hughes forgot his nervousness. “I could.” - he pleaded earnestly. “I’ve often thought about it. I’d put off till you - was stooping, and then jump. What with you being so short of breath and me - being so long in the arms and legs, why——! I’ve planned it out - many times, you and me being such good friends and so much alone - together.” - </p> - <p> - The face of the fat man grew serious with disapproval. “You? ’ave, - ’ave you! You’ve got as far as that! You’re a nice domestic pet, I - must say, to keep unchained to play with the children.” He attempted to go - on with his bricklaying, but the memory of Mr. Hughes’s long arms and legs - so immediately behind him was disturbing. He swung round holding his - trowel like a weapon. “Don’t like your way of talking; don’t like it. O’ - course you’ve ‘ad your troubles; for them I make allowances. But I don’t - like it, and I don’t mind telling you. Um! Um!” - </p> - <p> - The thin man was crestfallen; he had hoped to give pleasure. “But I - thought you liked murders.” - </p> - <p> - “Like ’em! I enjoy them—so I do.” The fat man spoke tartly. - “But when you make me the corpse of your conversations, you presoom, Mr. - Ooze, and I don’t mind telling you—you really do. Let that boy be - the corpse next time; leave me out of it—— ’Nother - bucket o’ mortar.” - </p> - <p> - <i>That</i> boy, who was sole witness to this quarrel, was very small—far - smaller than his age. In the big walled garden of Orchid Lodge he felt - smaller than usual. Everything was strange; even the whispered sigh of - dead leaves was different as they swam up and swirled in eddies. In his - own garden, only six walls distant, their sigh was gentle as Dearie’s - footstep—but something had happened to Dearie; Jimmie Boy had told - him so that morning. “Teddy, little man, it’s happened again”—the - information had left Teddy none the wiser. All he knew was that Jane had - told the milkman that something was expected, and that the milkman had - told the cook at Orchid Lodge. The result had been the intrusion at - breakfast of the remarkable Mrs. Sheerug. - </p> - <p> - For a long while Mrs. Sheerug had been a staple topic of conversation - between Dearie and Jimmie Boy. They had wondered who she was. They had - made up the most preposterous tales about her and had told them to Teddy. - They would watch for her to come out of her house six doors away, so that - as she passed their window in Eden Row Jimmie Boy might make rapid - sketches of her trotting balloon-like figure. He had used her more than - once already in books which he had been commissioned to illustrate. She - was the faery-godmother in his <i>Cinderella and Other Ancient Tales: - With!6 Plates in color by James Gurney</i>. She was Mother Santa Claus in - his <i>Christmas Up to Date</i>. They had rather wanted to get to know - her, this child-man and woman who seemed no older than their little son - and at times, even to their little son, not half as sensible. They had - wanted to get to know her because she was always smiling, and because she - was always upholstered in such hideously clashing colors, and because she - was always setting out burdened on errands from which she returned - empty-handed. The attraction of Mrs. Sheerug was heightened by Jane’s, the - maid-of-all-work’s, discoveries: Orchid Lodge was heavily in debt to the - local tradesmen and yet (it was Dearie who said “And yet.” with a sigh of - envy), and yet its mistress was always smiling. - </p> - <p> - When Mrs. Sheerug had invaded Teddy’s father that morning, she had come - arrayed for conquest. She had worn a green plush mantle, a blue bonnet - and, waving defiance from the blue bonnet, a yellow feather. - </p> - <p> - “I’m a total stranger,” she had said. “Go on with your breakfast, Mr. - Gurney, I’ve had mine. I’ll watch you. Well, <i>I’ve heard</i>, and so - I’ve dropped in to see what I can do. You mustn’t mind me; trying to be a - mother to everyone’s my foible. Now, first of all, you can’t have that boy - in the house—boys are nice, but a nuisance. They’re noisy.” - </p> - <p> - “But Teddy, I mean Theo, isn’t.” - </p> - <p> - It was just like Jimmie Boy to call him Theo before a stranger and to - assume the rôle of a respected parent. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sheerug refused to be contradicted. She was cheerful, but emphatic. - “If he never made a noise before, he will now. As soon as I’ve made Theo - comfortable, I’ll come back to take care of you.” - </p> - <p> - Making Theo comfortable had consisted in leading him down the - old-fashioned, little-traveled street, on one side of which the river ran, - guarded by iron spikes like spears set up on end, and turning him loose in - the strange garden, where he had overheard a fat man accusing a thin man - of murderous intentions. - </p> - <p> - Teddy looked round. The walls were too high to climb. If he shouted for - help he might rouse the men’s enmity. Neither of them seemed to be annoyed - with him at present, for neither of them had spoken to him. There was no - alternative—he must stick it out. That’s what his father told Dearie - to do when pictures weren’t selling and bills were pressing. Already he - had picked up the philosophy that life outlasts every difficulty—every - difficulty except death. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Hughes, having supplied the bucket of mortar, was trying to make - himself useful in a new direction. The groan and coughing of a saw were - heard. The fat man dropped his trowel and turned. He watched Mr. Hughes - sorrowfully. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Ooze, that’s no way to make a job o’ that” For the first time he - addressed the little boy: “He’s as busy as a one-armed paper-’anger - with the itch this s’morning. Bless my soul, if he isn’t sawing more - ground than wood.” Then to Mr. Hughes: “’Ere, give me that. Now - watch me; this is the way to do it.” - </p> - <p> - The fat man took the saw from the meek man’s unresisting hand. “You lay it - so,” he said. He laid the saw almost horizontal with the plank. The thin - man leant forward that he might profit by instruction, and nodded. - </p> - <p> - “And now,” said the fat man, “you get all your weight be’ind it and drive - forward.” - </p> - <p> - As he drove forward the blade slipped and jabbed Mr. Hughes’s leg. Mr. - Hughes sat down with a howl and drew up his trousers to inspect the - damage. When the fat man had examined the scratch and pronounced it not - serious, he proposed a rest and produced a pipe. “Nice smoke,” he said, - “is more comforting than any woman, only I wish I’d known it before I - married.” Then he became aware that he alone was smoking. - </p> - <p> - “What, lost yours, Mr. Ooze? Just what one might expect! You’re the most - unlucky chap I ever met, yes, and careless. You bring your troubles on - yourself, Willie Ooze. First you go and lose a wife that you never ought - to ’ave ’ad, and now you lose something still more - valuable.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, yes!” The thin man ceased from searching through his pockets and - heaved a sigh. “I lose everything. Suppose I’ll go on losing till the - grave shuts down on this body o’ me—and then I’ll lose that. My ’air - began to come out before I was twenty—tonics weren’t no good. Now I - always ’ave to wear a ’at—do it even in the ’ouse, - unless I’m reminded. And then, as you say, there was poor ’Enrietta. - I’m always wondering whether I really lost ’er, or whether——” - </p> - <p> - “Expect she gave you the slip on purpose,” said the fat man. “Best forget - it; consider ’er as so much spilt milk.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s just what I can’t do.” Mr. Hughes clasped his bony hands: “It - don’t seem respectful to what’s maybe dead.” - </p> - <p> - As far as Teddy could make out from their conversation, ’Enrietta - had once been Mrs. Hughes. On a trip to Southend she had insisted on - taking a swing in a highflyer. To her great annoyance her husband had been - too timid to accompany her, and she had had to take it by herself. The - last he had seen of her was a flushed face and flapping skirt swooping in - daring semi-circles between the heavens and the ground. When the swing had - stopped and he pressed through the crowd to claim her, she had vanished. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps it was the blood on the thin man’s leg that prompted the fat man’s - observation. “It might ’ave been that.” - </p> - <p> - “What?” - </p> - <p> - The fat man drew his finger across his throat suggestively. “That.” He - repeated. “It might ’ave ’appened to your ’Enrietta.” - </p> - <p> - “Often thought it myself.” Mr. Hughes spoke slowly. “But—but d’you - think anybody would suspect that I——?” - </p> - <p> - “They might.” The fat man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It’s usually - chaps of your build that does it; as the lofty Mr. Shakespeare puts it, ’I - ’ate those lean and ’ungry men.’” - </p> - <p> - “Very true! Very true! Lefroy was lean and ’ungry. I know, ’cause - I once rode with ’im in the same railway carriage.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy listened, fascinated and horror-stricken, to the fat and thin man - swapping anecdotes of murders past and present. For half an hour they - strove to outdo each other in ghastliness and minuteness of details. - </p> - <p> - When they had returned to their work and Mr. Hughes was at a safe - distance, the fat man spoke beneath his breath to the little boy: “He’s no - good at anything. I keep him with me ’cause we both makes a ’obby - of ’omicide—that’s the doctor’s word for the kind o’ illness - we was talking about. Also,” here his voice became as refined as Teddy’s - father’s, “he amuses me with his Cockney dialect He says he’s unlucky - because he was born in a hansom-cab. Whenever I speak to him I call him - Ooze and drop my aitches. It’s another of my hobbies—that and - keeping pigeons. Pretending to be vulgar relieves my feelings. When one’s - married and as stout as I am, if one doesn’t relieve one’s feelings one - bursts.” - </p> - <p> - For the same reason that one lavishes endearments on a dog of uncertain - temper, Teddy thought it wise to feign an interest in the fat man’s - hobbies. “It can’t be very nice for them,” he faltered. - </p> - <p> - “For ’oo?” - </p> - <p> - “The persons.” - </p> - <p> - “What persons?” - </p> - <p> - “The persons you do it to.” - </p> - <p> - “Do it to! Do it to! You’re making me lose my temper, which is bad for me - ’ealth; that’s what you’re doing. Now, then, do what? Don’t beat - about. Out with it.” - </p> - <p> - For answer the little boy drew a tremulous finger across his throat in - imitation of one of the fat man’s gestures. - </p> - <p> - The fat man started laughing—laughing uproariously. His body shook - like a jelly and fell into dimples. He tried to speak, but couldn’t. At - last he shouted: “Mr. Ooze, come ’ere. This little boy—” - </p> - <p> - Then he stopped laughing suddenly and dropped his rough way of talking. - The child’s face had gone desperately white. “Poor chap! Must have - frightened you! Here, steady.” - </p> - <p> - “Now you’ve done it,” said Mr. Hughes, coming up from behind. “And when - your wife knows, won’t you catch it!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II—THE FAERY-GODMOTHER - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>here was nothing - Mrs. Sheerug enjoyed better than an invalid. Illness in a stranger’s house - was her opportunity; in her own house it was her glory. She loved to - exaggerate the patient’s symptoms; the graver they were, the more a - recovery would redound to her credit. When she had pushed her feet into - old carpet-slippers, removed her bodice, put on her plum-colored - dressing-gown, and fastened her scant gray hair with one pin into a tight - little knob at the back of her head, she felt that she had gone through a - ritual which made her superior to all doctors. She had remedies of her own - invention which were calculated to grapple with any crisis of ill-health. - But she did not allow her ingenuity to be fettered by past successes; each - new case which fell into her hands was a heaven-sent chance for - experimenting. Whatever came into her head first, went down her patient’s - throat. - </p> - <p> - When she turned her house into a hospital this little gray balloon-shaped - woman, with her rosy cheeks, her faded eyes and her constant touch of - absurdity, managed to garb herself in a solemn awfulness. When “Mother - went ’vetting,’” as Hal expressed it, even her children viewed her - with, temporary respect. They weren’t quite sure that there wasn’t - something in her witchcraft. So nobody complained if meals were delayed - while she stood over the fire stirring, tasting, smelling and decocting. - Contrary to what was usual in that unruly house, she had only to open the - door of the sickroom and whisper, “Hush,” to obtain instant quiet. At such - times she seemed a ridiculous angel into whose hands God had thrust the - tragic scales of life and death. - </p> - <p> - If Teddy hadn’t fainted, he might have gone out of Orchid Lodge as - casually as he had entered—in which case his entire career would - have been different. By fainting he had put himself into the category of - the weak ones of the earth, and therefore was to be reckoned among Mrs. - Sheenes friends. A masterly stroke of luck! She at once decreed that he - must be put to bed. His pleadings that he was quite well didn’t cause her - to waver for a second. She knew boys. Boys didn’t faint when there was - nothing the matter with them. What he required, in her opinion, was - building up. A fire was lit in the spare-room. Hot-water bottles were - placed in the bed and Teddy beside them, arrayed in a kind of - christening-robe, the borrowed nightgown being much too long for him. - </p> - <p> - He hadn’t intended to be happy, but—— He raised his head - stealthily from the pillow, so that his eyes and nose came just above the - sheet. He had been given a hot drink with strict instructions to keep - covered. No one was there; he sat up. What a secret room! Exactly the kind - in which a faery-godmother might be expected to work her spells! Two steps - led down into it. Across the door, to keep the draughts out, was hung a - needlework tapestry, depicting Absalom’s misfortune. A young gentleman, of - exceedingly Jewish countenance, was caught in a tree by his mustard - colored hair; a horse, which looked strangely like a sheep, was shabbily - walking away from under him. It would have served excellently as a - barber’s coat-of-arms. All it lacked was a suitable legend, “<i>The Risks - of Not Getting Your Hair Cut</i>.” - </p> - <p> - Against an easel rested an uncompleted masterpiece in the same medium. The - right-hand half, which was done, revealed a negress heaving herself out of - a marble slab with her arms stretched longingly towards the half which was - only commenced. The subject was evidently that of Potiphar’s wife and - Joseph. Outlined on the canvas of the unfinished half was a shrinking - youth, bearing a faint resemblance to Mr. Hughes as he would have dressed - had he been born in a warmer climate. - </p> - <p> - Encircling the backs of chairs were skeins of wool of various colors; the - balls, which had been wound from them, had rolled across the floor and - come to rest in a tangle against the fender. In the window, lending a - touch of romance, stood a gilded harp, through whose strings shone the - cold pale light of the December afternoon. In the grate a scarlet fire - crackled; perched upon it, like a long-necked bird, was a kettle with a - prodigiously long spout. It sang cheerfully and blew out white clouds of - steam which filled the room with the pungent fragrance of eucalyptus. - </p> - <p> - In days gone by, after listening to his father’s stories, he had often - climbed to the top of their house that he might spy into the garden of - Orchid Lodge. He had little thought in those days that he would ever be - Mrs. Sheerug’s prisoner. From the street a passer-by could learn nothing. - Orchid Lodge rose up flush with the pavement; the windows, which looked - out on Eden Row and the river, commenced on the second story, so that the - curiosity of the outside world was eternally thwarted. He had fancied - himself as ringing the bell and waiting just long enough to glance in - through the opening door before he took to his heels and ran. - </p> - <p> - Footsteps in the passage! Absalom swayed among the branches, making a - futile effort to free himself. The door behind the tapestry was being - opened. Teddy sank his head deep into the pillows, hoping that his - disobedience to orders would pass unobserved. - </p> - <p> - She came down the steps on tiptoe. Her entire bearing was hushed and - concerned, as though the least noise or error on her part might produce a - catastrophe. She carried a brown stone coffee-pot in her hand and a glass. - From the coffee-pot came a disagreeable acrid odor, similar to that of the - home-made plasters which his mother applied to his face in case of - toothache. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sheerug went over to the fireplace. Before setting the jug in the - hearth to keep warm she poured out a quantity of muddy looking fluid. - Suspecting that she had no intention of drinking it herself, Teddy shut - his eyes and tried to breathe heavily, as though he slept. She came and - stood beside him; bent over him and listened. - </p> - <p> - “Little boy, you’re awake and pretending; what’s worse, you’ve been out of - bed.” - </p> - <p> - The injustice of the last accusation took him off his guard. “If you - please, I haven’t. I sat up like this because I wanted to look at that.” - He pointed at the Jewish gentleman taking farewell of his horse. - </p> - <p> - “At that! What made you look at that?” - </p> - <p> - “I like it.” - </p> - <p> - To his surprise she kissed him. “That’s what comes of being the son of an - artist. There aren’t many people who like it; you’re very nearly the - first. I’m doing all the big scenes from the Bible in woolwork; one day - they’ll be as famous as the Bayeux tapestries. But what am I talking - about? Of course you’re too young to have heard of them. Come, drink this - up before it gets cold; it’ll make you well.” - </p> - <p> - “But I’m quite well, thank you.” - </p> - <p> - “Come now, little boys mustn’t tell stories. You know you’re not. Smell - it. Isn’t it nice?” - </p> - <p> - Teddy smelt it. It certainly was not nice. He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “Ah,” she coaxed, “but it tastes ever so much better than it smells. It’ll - make you perspire.” - </p> - <p> - He did not doubt that it would make him perspire, but still he eyed it - with distrust. “What’s in it?” he questioned. - </p> - <p> - “Something I made especially for you; I’ve never given it to anybody - else.” - </p> - <p> - “But what’s in it?” he insisted with a touch of childish petulance at her - evasion. - </p> - <p> - She patted his hand. “Butter, and brown sugar, and vinegar, and bay - leaves. There! It’ll make you sweat, Teddy—make you feel ever so - much better.” - </p> - <p> - “But I’m quite——” - </p> - <p> - He got no further. As he opened his mouth to assert his perfect health, - the glass was pressed against his lips and tilted. He had to swallow or be - deluged. - </p> - <p> - “That’s a fine little fellow.” Mrs. Sheerug was generous in her hour of - conquest; she tried to give him credit for having taken it voluntarily. - “You feel better already, don’t you?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think,” he commenced; then he capitulated, for he saw her eye - working round in the direction of the jug. “I expect I shall presently.” - </p> - <p> - She tucked him up, leaving only his head, not even a bit of his neck, - showing. “If you don’t perspire soon, tell me,” she said, “and I’ll give - you some more.” - </p> - <p> - It was a very big bed and unusually high. At each corner was a post, - supporting the canopy. From where he lay he could watch Mrs. Sheerug. - Having disentangled several balls of wool and balanced on the point of her - nose a pair of silver spectacles, she had seated herself before the easel - and was stitching a yellow chemise on to the timid figure of Joseph. The - yellow chemise ended above Joseph’s knees; Teddy wondered whether she - would give him a pair of stockings. - </p> - <p> - “I’m getting wet.” - </p> - <p> - The good little hump of a woman turned. She gazed at him searchingly above - her spectacles. “Really?” - </p> - <p> - “Not quite really,” he owned; “but almost really. At least my toes are.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s the hot water bottles,” she said. “If you don’t perspire soon you - must have some more medicine.” - </p> - <p> - He did his best to perspire. He felt that she had left the choice between - perspiring and drinking more of the brown stuff in his hands. Trying - accomplished nothing, so he turned his thoughts to strategy. - </p> - <p> - “Will they really be famous?” - </p> - <p> - Again she twisted round, watching him curiously. “Why d’you ask?” - </p> - <p> - “Because——” He wondered whether he dared tell her. - </p> - <p> - Usually people laughed at him when he said it. “Because my father wants - his pictures to be famous and he’s afraid they never will be. And when I’m - a man, I want to be famous; and I’m sure I shall.” - </p> - <p> - In the piping eagerness of his confession he had thrown back the clothes - and was sitting up in bed. She didn’t notice it What she noticed was the - brave poise of the head, the spun gold crushed against the young white - forehead, and the blue eyes, untired with effort, which looked out with - challenge on a wonder-freighted world. - </p> - <p> - The fire crackled. The kettle hummed, “Pooh, famous! Be contented. Pooh, - famous! Be content.” - </p> - <p> - At last she spoke. “It’s difficult to be famous, Teddy. So many of us have - been trying—wasting our time when we might have been doing kindness. - What makes a little boy like you so certain——?” - </p> - <p> - “I just know,” he interrupted doggedly. - </p> - <p> - Then she realized that he was sitting up in bed and pounced on him. Some - more of the brown stuff was forced down his throat and the clothes were - once more gathered tightly round his neck. - </p> - <p> - His eyes were becoming heavy. He opened them with an effort By the easel a - shaded lamp had been kindled; the faery-godmother bent above her work. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III—VASHTI - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t seemed the last - notes of a dream. He had been awake for some minutes, but had feared to - stir lest the voice should stop. Slowly he unclosed his eyes. The voice - went on. He had never heard such music; it was deep and sweet and luring. - It was like the golden hair of the Princess Lettice lowered from her - casement to her lover. It was like the silver feet of laughter twinkling - up a beanstalk ladder to the stars. It was like spread wings, swooping and - drifting over a fairyland of castellated tree-tops. Now it wandered up the - passage and seemed to halt behind the tapestry of Absalom. Now it grew - infinitely distant until it was all but lost. - </p> - <p> - He eased himself out of bed. Save for the pool of scarlet that weltered - across floor and ceiling from the hearth, the room was filled with - blackness. - </p> - <p> - “Who’s there?” he whispered. - </p> - <p> - No answer. He tiptoed up the steps and out into the passage. It was long - and gloomy; at the end of it a strip of light escaped from a door which - had been left ajar. It was from there that the voice was calling. - Steadying himself with his hand against the wall, he stole noiselessly - towards it Just as he reached the strip of light the singing abruptly - ended. - </p> - <p> - “No, Hal. You shouldn’t do that. You do it too often. Please not any - more.” - </p> - <p> - “Just once on your lips.” - </p> - <p> - “If it’s only once. You promise?” - </p> - <p> - “I promise.” - </p> - <p> - The door creaked. When he saw them, their bodies were still close - together, but as they turned to glance across their shoulders their heads - had drawn a little apart. Her hands, resting on the keyboard, were held - captive by the man’s. Candles, flickering behind their heads, scorched a - hole in the dusk to frame them. - </p> - <p> - The man’s face was boyish and clean-shaven, self-indulgent and almost - handsome. It was a pleasant face: the corners of the mouth turned up with - a hint of humor; the lips were full and kind; the eyes blue and impatient - His complexion was high and his hair flaxen; his bearing sensitive and a - little self-conscious. He was a man who could give himself excessively to - any one he loved and who consequently would be always encountering new - disappointments. - </p> - <p> - And the woman—she was like her voice: remote and passionate; - haunting and unsatisfying; an instrument of romance for the awakening of - idealized desires. She was fashioned no less for the attracting of love - than for its repulse. Her forehead was intensely white; her brows were - like the shadow of wings, hovering and poised; her eyes now vague as a - sea-cloud, now flashing like sudden gleams of blue-gray sunlight Her hair - was the color of ancient bronze—dark in the hollows and burnished at - the edges. Her throat was her glory—full and young, throbbing like a - bird’s and slender as the stalk of a flower. It was her mouth that gave - the key to her character. It could be any shape that an emotion made it: - petulant and unreasonable; kind and gracious and adoring. She was a - darkened house when she was unresponsive; there was no stir in her—she - seemed uninhabited. In the street below her windows some chance traveler - of thought or affection halted; instantly all her windows blazed and the - people of her soul gazed out. - </p> - <p> - The odd little figure, hesitating in the doorway, had worked this miracle. - Her eyes, which had been troubled when first they rested on him, - brightened. Her lips relaxed. Like a bubble rising from a still depth, - laughter rippled up her throat and broke across the scarlet threshold of - her mouth. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Hal, what a darling! Where did you get him? And what a dear, funny - nightgown!” - </p> - <p> - She tore her hands free from the man’s. Running to the little boy, she - knelt beside him, bringing her face down to his level. As if to prevent - him from escaping, she looped her arms about his neck. - </p> - <p> - “You are dear and funny,” she said. “Where d’you come from?” - </p> - <p> - Teddy was abashed. He didn’t mind being called dear, but he strongly - objected to being called funny. He was terribly conscious of the pink - flannel garment which clothed him. It hung like a sack from his narrow - shoulders. If Mrs. Sheerug hadn’t safety-pinned a reef in at the neck, - there would have been danger of its slipping off him. He couldn’t see his - hands; they only reached to where his elbows ought to have been. He - couldn’t see his feet; a yard of pink stuff draped them. He had had to - kilt it to make his way along the passage. But the garment’s chief - offense, as he regarded it, was that it was a woman’s: a rather stout - middle-aged woman’s—the sort of woman who had given up trying to - look pretty and probably wore a nightcap. Teddy forgot that had he not - been press-ganged into sickness, the beautiful lady’s arms would not have - been about him. All he remembered was that he looked a caricature at a - moment when—he scarcely knew why—he wanted to appear most - manly. Mrs. Sheerug was responsible and he felt hotly resentful. - </p> - <p> - “Where did you come from?” - </p> - <p> - “Bed.” - </p> - <p> - “But isn’t it rather early to be in bed? Perhaps you’re not well.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m quite well.” He spoke stubbornly, looking aside and trying to keep - the tears back. “I’m quite well; it’s she who pretends I isn’t.” - </p> - <p> - “<i>She!</i> Ah, I understand. Poor old boy, never mind.” - </p> - <p> - She drew him against her breast and kissed him. He thought she would - release him; but still she held him. He could feel the beating of her - heart and the slow movement of her breath. He didn’t want her to let him - go; but why did she still hold him? Shyly he raised his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Won’t you smile?” she said. “I’d like to see what you look like. And now - tell me, what made you come here?” - </p> - <p> - “I heard you,” he whispered. “Please let me stay.” - </p> - <p> - She glanced back at the man; he sat where she had left him, by the piano, - watching. She rather liked to make him jealous. Turning to the child, she - lowered her voice, “You’ll catch cold if you don’t get back to bed and - I’ll be blamed for it. If I come with you, will that be as good as if I - let you stay?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, better.” - </p> - <p> - “Then kiss me.” - </p> - <p> - As she rose from her knees she gathered him in her arms. The man left his - seat to follow. She paused in the doorway, gazing across her shoulder. - “No, Hal, it’s a time when you’re not wanted.” - </p> - <p> - “But Vashti——” - </p> - <p> - She laughed mischievously. “I said no. There’s some one else to-night who - wants me all to himself.” - </p> - <p> - When Teddy became a man and looked back on that night there were two - things that he remembered: the first was his pride and sense of triumph at - hearing himself preferred to Hal; the second was that love, as an - inspiring and torturing reality, entered into his experience for the first - time. As she carried him into the darkness of the passage which had been - full of fears without her, her act seemed symbolic. Gazing back from her - arms, he saw the man—saw the perplexed humiliation of his - expression, his aloneness and instinctively his tragedy, yet without pity - and rather with contentment In later years all that happened to him seemed - a refinement of spiritual revenge for his childish callousness. The - solitary image of the man in the dim-lit room, his empty hands and - following eyes took a place in the gallery of memory as a Velasquezesque - masterpiece—a composition in brown and white of the St. Sebastian of - a love self-pierced by the arrows of its own too great desire. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV—THE ROUSING OF THE GIANT - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>he had picked up a - quilt from the bed and wrapt it round him. Having drawn a chair to the - fire, she sat rocking with his head against her shoulder. Since she had - left the man, she had not spoken. Once the tapestry, falling into place, - rustled as though the door were being opened. She turned gladly with a - welcoming smile and remained staring into the darkness long after the - smile had vanished. A footstep came along the passage. Again she turned, - her lips parted in readiness to bid him enter. The footstep slowed as it - reached the bedroom, hesitated and passed on. - </p> - <p> - She had ceased expecting; Teddy knew that by her “Don’t care” shrug of - annoyance. Though she held him closely, she seemed not to notice him. With - her head bent forward and her mouth a little trembling, she watched the - dancing of the flames. He stirred against her. - </p> - <p> - “Comfy?” she murmured. - </p> - <p> - “Very.” - </p> - <p> - She laughed softly. Her laughter had nothing to do with his answer; it was - the last retort in a bitter argument which had been waging in the - stillness of her mind. When she spoke it was as though she yawned, rubbing - unpleasant dreams from her eyes. “Well, little fellow, what are you going - to do with me?” - </p> - <p> - The implied accusation that he had carried her off thrilled him. It was - the way she said it—the coaxing music of her voice: it told him that - she was asking for his adoration. His arms reached up and went about her - neck; his lips stole up to hers. Made shy by what he had done, he hid his - face against her breast. - </p> - <p> - She rested her hand on his head, ruffling his hair and trying to persuade - him to look up. - </p> - <p> - “And I don’t even know your name! What do they call you? And do you kiss - all strange ladies like that?” - </p> - <p> - His throat was choking. He knew that the moment he heard his own voice his - eyes would brim over. But he was getting to an end of the list of first - things—getting to an age when it wasn’t manly to cry just because - the soul was stirred. So he bit his lip and kept silent. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, well,” she shook her head mournfully, “I can see what would happen. - If we married, you would make an obstinate husband. You don’t really love - me.” - </p> - <p> - Her despair sounded real. “Oh, it’s not that. It’s not that,” he cried, - dragging her face towards him with both hands. - </p> - <p> - She took his hands away and held them. “Then, what Is it?” - </p> - <p> - “You’re so beautiful. I can’t—can’t speak. I can’t tell you.” - </p> - <p> - She clasped him closer. “Oh, I’m sorry. It was only my fun. I didn’t mean - to make you cry. You’re the second person I’ve hurt to-night. But you—you’re - only a little boy, and such a dear little boy! We were going to be such - good friends. I must be bad-hearted to hurt everybody.” - </p> - <p> - “You’re not bad-hearted.” The fierceness with which he defended her made - her smile. “You’re not bad-hearted, and I do love you. And I want to marry - you only—only I’m so little, and you said it only in fun.” - </p> - <p> - She mothered him till he had grown quiet Then, with her lips against his - forehead, “Don’t be ashamed of crying; I like you for it. I’m so very glad - we met to-night I think—almost think—you were sent. I hadn’t - been kind, and I wasn’t feeling happy. But I’d like to do something good - now; I think I’d like to make you smile. How ought I to set about it?” - </p> - <p> - “Sing to me. Oh, please do.” - </p> - <p> - In the firelit room she sang to him in a half-voice, her long throat - stretched out and throbbing like a bird’s as she stooped above him. She - sang lullabies, making him feel very helpless; and then of lords and cruel - ladies and knights. Shadows, sprawling across walls and ceiling, took - fantastic shapes: horsemen galloping from castles; men waving swords and - grappling in fight A footstep in the passage! He felt her arms tighten. - “Close your eyes,” she sang, “close your eyes.” - </p> - <p> - She held up a hand as Mrs. Sheerug entered. “Shish!” - </p> - <p> - “Asleep?” - </p> - <p> - She nodded. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sheerug came over to the fire and gazed down. He could feel that she - was gazing and was afraid that she would detect that he was awake. It was - a relief when he heard her whisper: “It’s too bad of you, Vashti; he’d - just reached the turning-point. You’re as irresponsible as a child when - your moods take you.” - </p> - <p> - A second chair was drawn up. Vashti had made no reply. Mrs. Sheerug - commenced speaking again: “Hal——” - </p> - <p> - “Hal’s gone out. I suppose you’ve been——” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, quarreling. My fault, as usual.” - </p> - <p> - The older woman’s tones became earnest “My dear, you’re not good to my - boy. How much longer is it going to last? You’re not—not a safe - woman for a man like Hal. He needs some one more loving; you could never - make him a good wife. Your profession—I wish you’d give him up.” - Then, after a pause, “Won’t you?” - </p> - <p> - The little boy listened as eagerly as Hal’s mother for the reply. At last - it came, “I wish I could.” - </p> - <p> - He sat up. She saw the reproach in his eyes, but she gave no sign. - “Hulloa! Wakened? Time you were in bed, old fellow.” - </p> - <p> - He was conscious that she was using him as a barrier between herself and - further conversation. Rising, she carried him over to the high four-poster - bed. While she tucked him in, he could hear the clinking of a glass, and - knew that his tribulations had recommenced. Mrs. Sheerug crossed from the - fireplace: “Here’s another drink of the nice medicine.” - </p> - <p> - He buried his face in the pillow. He didn’t want to get better. He wanted - to die and to make people sorry. - </p> - <p> - “Teddy,” it was her voice, “Teddy, if you take it, I’ll sing to you. Do it - for my sake.” - </p> - <p> - She turned to Mrs. Sheerug. “He will if I sing to him. You accompany me. - He says it’s a promise.” - </p> - <p> - She stood beside the pillow holding his hand. Over by the window the - faery-godmother was taking her seat; stars peeped through the harp-strings - curiously. What happened next was like arms spread under him, carrying him - away and away. “Oh, rest in the Lord, wait patiently for Him.” Her voice - sprang up like a strong white bird; at every beat of its wings the - harp-strings hummed like the weak wings of smaller birds following. “Oh, - rest in the Lord”—the white bird rose higher with a braver - confidence and the little birds took courage, plunging deeper into the - grave and gentle stillness. “Oh, rest in the Lord”—it was like a - sigh of contentment traveling back from prepared places out of sight. The - room grew silent. - </p> - <p> - It was Vashti who had moved. She bent over him, “I’m going.” He stretched - out his arms, but they failed to reach her. At the door Mrs. Sheerug stood - and stayed her. Vashti halted, very proud and sweet. “What is it? You said - I wasn’t safe. You can tell Hal he’s free—I won’t trouble him.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sheerug caught her by the hands and tried to draw her to her. “I was - mistaken, Vashti; you’re good. You can always make me forgive you: you - could make any one love you when you’re singing.” - </p> - <p> - Vashti shook her head. “I’m not good. I’m wicked.” The older woman tried - to reach up to kiss her. Again Vashti shook her head, “Not to-night.” - </p> - <p> - The medicine had been taken. By the easel a shaded lamp had been lighted—lighted - for hours. It must be very late; the faery-godmother still worked, sorting - her wools and pushing her needle back and forth, clothing Joseph in the - presence of Potiphar’s wife. Every now and then she sighed. Sometimes she - turned and listened to catch the regular breathing of the little boy whom - she supposed to be sleeping. Presently she rose and undressed. The lamp - went out In the darkness Teddy could hear her tossing; then she seemed to - forget her troubles. - </p> - <p> - But he lay and remembered. Vashti had asked him to marry her. Perhaps she - had not meant it. How long would it take to become a man? Did little boys - ever marry grown ladies? - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V—THE GHOST BIRD OF ROMANCE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen his father - entered Teddy was eating his breakfast propped up in bed, balancing a tray - on his humped-up legs. - </p> - <p> - “Well, shrimp, you seem to have had a lucky tumble. Can’t say there seems - to be much the matter.” - </p> - <p> - A large bite of hot buttered toast threatened to impede conversation. - “It’s the brown stuff,” Teddy mumbled; “she wanted to see if it ’ud - make me wet.” - </p> - <p> - “Kind of vivisection, eh? And did it?” - </p> - <p> - “All over—like in a bath playing ship-wrecked sailors.” The - excavation of an egg absorbed the little boy’s attention. His father - seated himself on the edge of the bed. He was a large childish man, - unconsciously unconventional His brown velvet jacket smelt strongly of - tobacco and varnish. It was spotted with bright colors, especially on the - left sleeve between the wrist and elbow, where he had tested his paints - instead of on his palette. His trousers bagged at the knees from neglect - rather than from wear; their shabbiness was made up for by an extravagant - waistcoat, sprigged with lilac. Double-breasted and cut low in a V shape, - it exposed a soft silk shirt and a large red tie with loosely flowing - ends. His head was magnificent—the head of a rebel enthusiast, too - impatient to become a leader of men. It was broad in the forehead and - heavy with a mane of coal-black ringlets. His mouth was handsome—a - rare thing in a man. His nose was roughly molded, Cromwellian, giving to - his face a look of rude strength and purpose. A tuft of hair immediately - beneath his lower lip bore the same relation to his mustache that a tail - bears to a kite—it lent to his expression balance. It was his eyes - that astonished—they ought to have been fiercely brown to be in - keeping with the rest of his gypsy appearance; instead they were a clear - gray, as though with gazing into cloudy distances, as are the eyes of men - who live by seafaring. - </p> - <p> - He had made repeated efforts to curb his picturesqueness; he knew that it - didn’t pay in an age when the ideal for males is to be undecorative. He - knew that his appearance appealed as affectation and bred distrust in the - minds of the escutcheoned tradesmen who are England’s art patrons. When - they came to confer a favor, they liked to find a gentlemanly shopkeeper—not - a Phoenician pirate, with a voice like a gale. His untamedness impressed - them as immorality. He always felt that they left him thoroughly convinced - that he and Dearie were not married. - </p> - <p> - Whatever editors, art patrons and publishers might think about James - Gurney, Teddy followed in his mother’s footsteps: to him James Gurney was - Jimmie Boy, the biggest-hearted companion that a son ever had—a - father of whom to be inordinately proud. There was no one as great as his - father, no one as clever, no one as splendid to look at in the whole wide - world. When he walked down the street, holding his father’s hand, he liked - to fancy that people stared after him for his daring, just as they would - have stared had he walked with his hand in the mane of a shaggy lion. It - was wonderful to be friends with a father so fierce looking. And then his - father treated him as a brother artist and borrowed notions from him—really - did, without pretense; he’d seen the notions carried out in illustrations. - His father had come to borrow from him now. - </p> - <p> - “Any ideas this morning, partner—any ideas that you don’t want - yourself?” - </p> - <p> - Teddy hitched himself upon the pillow, trying to look as grave and - important as if he wore spectacles. “Yes. A room like this, only lonely - with a fire burning and an old, old woman sitting over there.” He pointed - to the window and the gilded harp. “I’d let her be playing, Daddy; and a - big white bird, that you can see through, must be beating its wings - against the panes, trying and always trying to get out.” - </p> - <p> - “A ghost bird?” his father suggested. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t know—just a big white bird and a woman so old that she might - be dead.” - </p> - <p> - “What’s the meaning of the bird, old chap? Dreams, or hopes, or memories—something - like that?” - </p> - <p> - Teddy could find nothing more in the egg. “Don’t know; that’s the way I - saw it” He ceased to be elderly, took off his imaginary spectacles and - looked up like a dog who stands wagging his tail, waiting to be patted. - “Was that an idea, Daddy?” - </p> - <p> - His father nodded. - </p> - <p> - “A good idea?” - </p> - <p> - “Quite a good idea. But, oh, while I remember it, Mr. Sheerug wanted to - see you. You and he must have struck up a great friendship. The - faery-godmother won’t let him—says you’re not well. He seems quite - upset.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy was puzzled. “Mr. Sheerug!” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, a big fat man with whom you have a secret. He followed me up the - stairs and asked me to thank you for not telling.” - </p> - <p> - “Was that Mr. Sheerug?” Teddy’s eyes became large and round. “Why, he’s - the mur——I mean, the man who was in the garden.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s right He carried you in when you fainted. What made you faint, - Teddy?” - </p> - <p> - The little boy looked blank. If he were to tell, he would get the fat man - into trouble; an aggravated murderer, living only six doors removed, would - make an awkward neighbor. There was another reason why he looked blank: - were he to tell his father of Mr. Sheerug’s special hobby, he would - certainly be forbidden to enter Orchid Lodge, and then—why, then he - might never meet Vashti. He weighed his fear against his adoration, and - decided to keep silent. - </p> - <p> - His father had fallen into a brown study. He had forgotten his inquiry as - to the cause of Teddy’s fainting. “Theo.” - </p> - <p> - Something important was coming. To be called Theo was a warning. - </p> - <p> - “Theo, it hasn’t happened. When it’s so difficult to earn a living, I - don’t know whether we ought to be sorry or glad.” - </p> - <p> - “What hasn’t happened?” - </p> - <p> - “There’s still only you and me and, thank God, Dearie.” - </p> - <p> - “But—” the small brain was struggling to discover a meaning—“but - could there have been any one else?” - </p> - <p> - The large man took the little boy’s hand. “You don’t understand. Yes, - there could have been several other people; but not now.” Rising, he - walked over to the window and stood there, looking out. “Perhaps it’s just - as well, with a fellow like me for your father, who spends all his time in - chasing clouds and won’t—can’t get on in the world.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy couldn’t see his father’s face, but he thought he knew what was the - matter. If Dearie had been there, she would have slipped her arms round - the big man’s neck, calling him “Her Boy,” and would have made everything - happy in a second. In her absence Teddy borrowed her comforting words—he - had heard them so often. “Your work’s too good,” he said emphatically. - “Every great man has been neglected.” - </p> - <p> - The phrase, uttered parrot-wise by the lips of a child, stirred the man to - a grim humor. He saw himself as that white bird, battering itself into - exhaustion against invisible panes that shut it out from the heavens. - Every time it ceased to struggle the dream music recommenced, maddening it - into aspiration; the old woman, so old that she might be dead, who - fingered the strings of the harp was Fate. - </p> - <p> - He stared across the wintry gardens, blackened and impoverished by frost; - each one like a man’s life—curtailed, wall-surrounded, monotonously - similar, yet grandly roofed with eternity. Along the walls cats crept like - lean fears; trees, stripped of leaves, wove spiders’ webs with their - branches. So his work was too good and every great man had been neglected! - His boy said it confidently now; as he grew older he might say it with - less and less sincerity. - </p> - <p> - He laughed quietly. “So you’ve picked up my polite excuse, Ted! Yes, - that’s what we all say of ourselves—we failures: ’My work’s - too good.’” - </p> - <p> - “But it needn’t be an excuse, Mr. Gurney. It may be the truth. I often use - the same consolation.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sheerug stood, a burlesque figure of untidy optimism, smiling - severely in the doorway. She was clad in her muddled plum-colored - dressing-gown; her gray hair was disordered and sprayed about her neck; - her tired blue eyes, peering above the silver-rimmed spectacles, took in - the room with twinkling merriment. She came to the foot of the bed with - the ponderous dignity of a Cochin-China hen, important with feathers. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, my dear sir,” she said, “you may not know it, but I, too, consider - myself a genius. I believe all my family to be geniuses—that’s why I - never interfere with the liberty of my children. Even my husband, he’s a - genius in his fashion—a stifled fashion, I tell him; I let him go - his own way in case it may develop. Genius must not be thwarted—so - we all live our lives separately in this house and—and, as I dare - say you know, run into debt. There’s a kind of righteousness about that—running - into debt; the present won’t acknowledge our greatness, so we make it pay - for our future. But, my dear sir, I caught you indulging in self-pity. - It’s the worst of all crimes. You men are always getting sorry for - yourselves. Look at me—I’ve not succeeded. I ask you, do I show it?” - </p> - <p> - “If to be always smiling—-” Mr. Gurney broke off. - </p> - <p> - “This is really a remarkable meeting, Mrs. Sheerug—three geniuses in - one room! Oh, yes, if Teddy’s not told you yet, he will soon: he’s quite - certain that he’s going to be a very big man. Aren’t you, Teddy?” - </p> - <p> - The little boy wriggled his toes beneath the counterpane and watched them - working. “I have ideas,” he said seriously. - </p> - <p> - “What did I tell you?” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sheerug signified by the closing of her eyes that she considered it - injudicious to discuss little boys in their presence. When she opened them - again it was to discuss herself. - </p> - <p> - “As between artists, Mr. Gurney, I want your frank opinion. If you don’t - like my work, say so.” - </p> - <p> - “Your work!” He looked about. “Oh, this!” His eyes fell on the unfinished - woolwork picture on the easel. “It has—it has a kind of power,” he - said—“the power of amateurishness and oddity. You’re familiar with - the impelling crudity of Blake’s sketches? Well, it’s something like that - What I mean is this: your colors are all impossible, your drawing’s all - wrong and there’s no attempt at accuracy. And yet—— The result - is something so different from ordinary conceptions that it’s almost - impressive.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sheerug, not sure whether she was being praised or blamed, shook her - head with dignity. “You’re trying to let me down lightly, Mr. Gurney.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I’m not and I’ll prove it Joseph is supposed to be in the process of - being tempted. Well, he isn’t tempted in your picture; he’s simply scared. - I don’t know whether you intended it or whether it’s the unconscious way - in which your mind works, but your prize-fighting negress, in the rôle of - Mrs. Potiphar threatening a Cockney consumptive in an abbreviated - nightgown, is a distinctly original interpretation of the Bible story; it - achieves the success that Hogarth aimed at—the effect of the - grotesque. It’s the same with your Absalom. You were so prejudiced against - him that you even extended your prejudice to his horse. Every time you - stuck your needle in the canvas you must have murmured, ’Serve him - jolly well right. So perish all sons who fight against their fathers.’ So, - instead of remembering that he was a prince of Israel, you’ve made him an - old-clothes blood from Whitechapel who’s got into difficulties on a hired - nag at Hampstead. I think I catch your idea: you’re a Dickens writing - novels in woolwork. You’re Pickwickizing the Old Testament. In its way the - idea’s immense.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sheerug jerked her spectacles up the incline of her nose till they - covered her eyes. “If I have to leave you now, don’t think that I’m - offended.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sheerug went out of the room like a cottage-loaf on legs. The door - closed behind her trotting, kindly figure. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Gurney turned helplessly to Teddy. “And I meant to flatter her. In a - worthless way they’re good. I was trying not to tell her the worthless - part of it. Believe I’ve hurt her feelings, and after all her kindness—— - I’m horribly sorry.” - </p> - <p> - “Father, when people marry, must they live together always?” - </p> - <p> - The irrelevancy of the question rather startled Mr. Gurney; Teddy’s - questions had a knack of being startling. “Eh! What’s that? Live together - always! Why, yes, it’s better. It’s usual.” - </p> - <p> - “But must they begin from the moment they marry?” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Gurney laughed. “If they didn’t, they wouldn’t marry. It’s because - they think that they’ll go on wanting to be every minute of their lives - together that they do it.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, yes.” Teddy sighed sentimentally. His sigh said plainly, “Whatever - else I don’t know, I know that.” He cushioned his face against the pillow. - “But what I meant,” he explained, “is supposing one hasn’t any money, and - one’s father can’t give one any, and one wants to be with some one every - minute, and—and very badly. Would they live together then from the - beginning?” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Gurney gave up thinking about Mrs. Sheerug; Teddy’s questions grew - interesting. “If any one hadn’t any money and the lady hadn’t any money, I - don’t believe they’d marry. But the lady might have money.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy gave himself away completely. “But to live on her money! Oh, I don’t - think I’d like that.” - </p> - <p> - His father seated himself on the bed, with one leg curled under him. - “Hulloa, what’s this? Been losing your heart to Mrs. Sheerug? She’s got a - husband. It won’t do, old man.” - </p> - <p> - “It isn’t Mrs. Sheerug. It’s just—just curiosity, I expect.” - </p> - <p> - No encouragement could lure him into a more explicit confession. All that - day, after his father had left, he lay there with his face against the - pillow, endeavoring to dis-cover a plan whereby a little boy might procure - the money to marry a beautiful lady, of whom he knew comparatively - nothing. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI—A STRATEGY THAT FAILED - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e had not seen her - again. It was now four days since she had sung to him. For her sake, in - the hope of her returning, he had made himself the accomplice of Mrs. - Sheenes plans. By looking languid he invited the terrors of her medicines. - By restraining his appetite and allowing half his meals to be carried away - untasted, he gave to his supposed illness a convincing appearance of - reality. Even Mrs. Sheerug, whose knowledge of boys was profound, was - completely deceived by Teddy. It had never occurred to her that there was - a boy in the world who could resist good food when he was hungry. - </p> - <p> - “Is your head aching? Where is it that you don’t feel better?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s just all over.” - </p> - <p> - More physic would follow. He swallowed it gladly—was willing to - swallow any quantities, if it were the purchase price of at length seeing - Vashti. Every day gained was a respite to his hope, during which he could - listen for her coming. Perhaps her footstep in the passage would first - warn him—or would it be her voice? He liked to think that any moment - she might enter on tiptoe and lean across his pillow before he was aware. - When in later years the deluge of love swept over him, destroying that it - might recreate his world, he was astonished to find how faithfully it had - been foreshadowed by this embryo passion of his childhood. - </p> - <p> - For three days Mrs. Sheerug had asked him where he ached most, and had - invariably received the same answer, “It’s just all over.” Her ingenuity - in prescribing had been sorely tested: she had never had such an - uncomplaining victim for her remedies. However unpleasantly she - experimented, she could always be sure of his murmured thanks. - </p> - <p> - Under his gentleness she began to allow her fondness to show itself. She - held old-fashioned notions about children, believing that they were spoilt - by too much affection. Her kind heart was continually at war with her - Puritan standards of sternness; the twinkle in her eyes was always - contradicting the harsh theories which her lips propounded. Sitting by her - easel in the quiet room, she would carry on gossiping monologues addressed - to Teddy. He gathered that in her opinion all men were born worthless; - husbands were saved from the lowest depths of inferiority by the splendid - women they married. All women were naturally splendid, and all bachelors - so selfish as to be beneath contempt. She gave Teddy to understand that - women were the only really adult people in the world; they pretended that - their men were grown up as a mother plays a nursery game with children. - She quoted instances to Teddy to prove her theories—indiscreet - instances from her own experiences and the experiences of her friends. - </p> - <p> - “To hear me speak this way, you may wonder why I married, and why I - married Alonzo of all men. Even I wondered that on the day I said yes to - him, and I wondered it on the day I eloped with him, and I’ve not done - wondering yet Yes, little boy, you may look at me and wonder whether I’m - telling the truth, but my father was Lord Mayor of London and I could once - have married anybody. I was a very pretty girl—I didn’t know how - pretty then; and I had a host of suitors. I could have been a rich lady - to-day with a title—but I chose Alonzo.” - </p> - <p> - “Alonzo sounds a fine name,” said Teddy. “Did he ride on a horse and carry - a sword in the Lord Mayor’s Show?” - </p> - <p> - “Ride on a horse!” Mrs. Sheerug laughed gently; she was remembering. “Ride - on a horse! No, he didn’t, Teddy. You see, he was called Sheerug as well - as Alonzo. The Sheerug rather spoils the Alonzo, doesn’t it?” - </p> - <h3> - A STRATEGY THAT FAILED - </h3> - <h3> - 35 - </h3> - <p> - “Sheerug sounds kind and comfy,” murmured Teddy, trying to make the best - of a disappointment. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sheerug smiled at him gratefully. “Yes, and just a little careless. I - ran away with him because he was kind and comfy, and because he needed - taking care of more than any man I ever met. He’s cost me more mothering - than any child I ever——” - </p> - <p> - Teddy’s hands were tangled together; his words fell over one another with - excitement. “Oh, tell me about the running. Did they follow you? And was - it from the Lord Mayor’s house that you ran? And did they nearly catch - you?” - </p> - <p> - Glancing above her spectacles disapprovingly, Mrs. Sheerug was recalled to - the tender years of her audience. As though blaming the little boy for - having listened, she said severely: “A silly old woman like myself says - many things that you mustn’t remember, Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - On the morning of the fourth day she arrived at a new diagnosis of his - puzzling malady. He knew she had directly she entered: her gray hair was - combed back from her forehead and was quite orderly; she had abandoned her - plum-colored dressing-gown. She halted at the foot of the bed and surveyed - him. - </p> - <p> - “You rather like me?” - </p> - <p> - “Very much.” - </p> - <p> - “And you didn’t at first?” - </p> - <p> - He was too polite to acquiesce. - </p> - <p> - “And you don’t want to leave me?” - </p> - <p> - He looked confused. “Not unless you want—— Not until I’m - well.” - </p> - <p> - A little gurgling laugh escaped her; it seemed to have been forced up - under high pressure. - </p> - <p> - “You’ve been playing the old soldier, young man. Took me in completely. - But I’m a woman, and I always, always find out.” - </p> - <p> - She shook her finger at him and stood staring across the high wall that - was the foot of the bed. As she stared she kept on nodding, like the wife - of a mandarin who had picked up the habit from her husband. Two fingers, - spread apart, were pressed against the corners of her mouth to prevent it - from widening to a smile. - </p> - <p> - “Humph!” she gave a jab to a hairpin which helped to fasten the knob at - the back of her head. “Humph! I’ve been nicely had.” Then to Teddy: “We’ll - get you well slowly. Now I’m going to fetch your clothes and you’ve got to - dress.” - </p> - <p> - Clad as far as his shirt and knickerbockers, with a counterpane rolled - about him, he was carried downstairs. - </p> - <p> - In the long dilapidated room that they entered the thin and the fat man - were playing cards. They were too absorbed to notice that any one had - entered. - </p> - <p> - “What d’you bet?” demanded the fat man. - </p> - <p> - “Ten thousand,” Mr. Hughes answered promptly. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll see you and raise you ten thousand. What’ve you got?” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Hughes threw down three aces; the fat man exposed a full house. - “You’re twenty thousand down, Mr. Ooze.” - </p> - <p> - “Twenty thousand what?” asked Mrs. Sheerug contemptuously. - </p> - <p> - “Pounds,” Mr. Hughes acknowledged sheepishly. “Twenty thousand pounds, - that’s wot I’ve lost—and it isn’t lunch time. ’urried into - the world—that’s wot I was—that’s ’ow my bad luck - started. You couldn’t h’expect nothing of a man ’oo was born in a - ’ansom-cab.” - </p> - <p> - “You babies!” Mrs. Sheerug shifted her spectacles higher up her nose. “You - know you never pay. It doesn’t matter whether you play for millions or - farthings. Why don’t you work?” - </p> - <p> - When they had left, she made Teddy comfortable in a big armchair. Before - she went about her household duties, she bent down and whispered: “No one - shall ever know that you pretended. I’m—I’m even glad of it. Oh, we - women, how we like to be loved by you useless men!” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VII—“PASHUN” IN THE KITCHEN - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>n the conducting - of a first love-affair one inevitably bungles. When the young gentleman in - love happens to be older than the lady, his lack of finesse may be - forgiven by her still greater inexperience. When the young gentleman is - considerably less than half his fiancée’s years and, moreover, she is an - expert in courtship by reason of many suitors, the case calls for the - utmost delicacy. - </p> - <p> - Teddy was keenly sensitive to the precariousness of his situation. He was - aware that, if he confessed himself, there wasn’t a living soul would take - him seriously. Even Dearie and Jimmie Boy, to whom he told almost - everything, would laugh at him. It made him feel very lonely; it was bard - to think that you had to be laughed at just because you were young. Of - course ordinary boys, who were going to be greengrocers or policemen when - they grew up, didn’t fall in love; but boys who already felt the shadow of - future greatness brooding over them might. In fact, such boys were just - the sort of boys to pine away and die if their love went unrequited—the - sort of fine-natured boys who, whether love came to them at nine or - twenty, could love only once. - </p> - <p> - Here he was secretly engaged to Vashti and threatened by many unknown - rivals. He didn’t know her surname and he didn’t know her address. He had - to find her; when he found her he wasn’t sure what he ought to do with - her. But find her he must. Four days had passed since she had accepted his - hand. If he were not to lose her, he must certainly get into communication - with her. How? To make the most discreet inquiries of so magic a person as - Mrs. Sheerug would be to tell her everything. If she knew everything, she - might not want him in her house, for she believed that he had feigned - illness solely out of fondness for herself. The only other person to whom - he could turn was Mr. Sheerug, with whom already he shared one guilty - secret; but from this house of lightning arrivals and departures Mr. - Sheerug had vanished—vanished as completely as if he had mounted on - a broomstick and been whisked off into thin air. Teddy did not discover - this till lunch. - </p> - <p> - Lunch was a typically Sheerugesque makeshift, consisting of boiled Spanish - onions, sardines and cream-puffs. It was served in a dark room, like a - Teniers’ interior, with plates lining the walls arranged on shelves. There - was a door at either end, one leading into the kitchen, the other into the - hall. When one of these doors banged, which it did quite frequently, a - plate fell down. Perhaps it was to economize on this constant toll of - breakages that Mrs. Sheerug used enamel-ware on her table. The table had a - frowsy appearance, as though the person who had set the breakfast had - forgotten to clear away the last night’s supper, and the person who had - set the lunch had been equally careless about the breakfast. Mrs. Sheerug - explained: “I always keep it set, my dear; we’re so irregular and it saves - worry when our friends drop in at odd seasons.” - </p> - <p> - This room, as was the case with half the rooms in the house, had steps - leading down to it, the floor of the hall being on a higher level. Whether - it was that the house had muddled itself into odd angles and useless - passages under the influence of Mrs. Sheerug’s tenancy, or that the - mazelike originality of its architecture had effected the pattern of her - character, there could be no doubt that Orchid Lodge, with its rambling - spaciousness, awkward comfort, and dusty hospitality, was the exact - replica in bricks and mortar of its mistress’s personality. - </p> - <p> - “What’s the matter, Teddy? Don’t you like Spanish onions? You’ll have to - make yourself like them. They’re good for you. I’ve known them cure - consumption.” - </p> - <p> - “I haven’t got consumption.” - </p> - <p> - “But why don’t you eat them? You keep looking about you as if you’d lost - something.” - </p> - <p> - “I was wondering whether Mr. Sheerug was coming.” - </p> - <p> - She rested her fork on her plate, tapping with it and gazing at him. - “Well, I never! You’re a queer child for scattering your affections. - You’re the first little boy I ever knew to take a fancy to Alonzo. He’s so - silent and looks so gruff.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy laughed. “But he talks to me. When shall I see him again?” - </p> - <p> - “Upon my soul! What’s the man done to you? I don’t know, Teddy—I - never do know when I’m going to see him. He goes away to earn money—that’s - what men are made for—and he stays away sometimes for a week and - sometimes for months; it all depends on how long he takes to find it There - have been times,” she raised her voice with a note of pride, “when my - husband has come back a very rich man. Once, for almost a year, we lived - in West Kensington and kept our carriage. But there have been times——-” - She left the sentence unended and shook her head. “It’s ups and downs, - Teddy; and if we’re kind when we have money, the good Lord provides for us - when we haven’t. ’Tisn’t money, it’s the heart inside us that makes - us happy.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy wasn’t paying attention to the faery-godmother’s philosophy; he was - thinking of Alonzo Sheerug, who had gone away to earn money. He pictured - him as a fat explorer, panting off into a wilderness with a pail. When the - pail was filled, and not until it was filled, he would return to his wife. - That was what men were made for—to be fetch-and-carry persons. Teddy - was thinking that if he could reach Mr. Sheerug, he would ask him to carry - an extra bucket. - </p> - <p> - That an interval might elapse between his flow of questions, he finished - his Spanish onion. Then, “I’d like to write him a question if you’d send - it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, come!” She patted his hand. “There’s no question that you could ask - him that I couldn’t answer. He’s only a man.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy knew that he would have to ask her something; so he asked her <i>a</i> - question, but not <i>the</i> question. “Who is Hal?” - </p> - <p> - “My son.” - </p> - <p> - “Does he like the lady who sang in the bedroom?” - </p> - <p> - “He——” She frowned. “You’re too curious, Teddy; you want to - know too much. See, here’s Harriet waiting to take the dishes and get on - with her work.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sheerug rose and trundled up the steps. Since it was she who had - invited his curiosity, Teddy felt a little crestfallen at the injustice of - her rebuff. He was preparing to follow her, when he caught the red-headed - giantess from the kitchen winking at him as though she would squeeze her - eye out of its socket. In her frantic efforts to attract his notice her - entire face was convulsed. As the swish of Mrs. Sheerug’s skirts grew - faint across the hall, the girl tiptoed over to Teddy and stood staring at - him with her fists planted firmly on the table. Slowly she bent down—so - slowly that he wondered what was coming. - </p> - <p> - “Does ’e like ’er!” she whispered scornfully. “Why, ’e - loves ’er, you little Gubbins. Wot on h’earth possessed yer ter go - and h’arsk ’is ’eart-sick ma a h’idiot quesching like that?” - </p> - <p> - To be twice blamed for a fault which had not been of his own choosing was - too much. There was anger as well as a hint of tears in his voice when he - answered, “My name isn’t Gubbins. And it wasn’t an idiot question. She - made me ask her something, so I asked her that.” - </p> - <p> - The girl wagged her head with an immense display of tragedy. His anger - seemed only to deepen her despondency. “H’it’s tumble,” she sighed, - “tumble, h’all this business abart love. ’Ere’s h’every one wantin’ - some one ter love ’em, and some of ’em is lovin’ the wrong - pusson, and some of ’em is bein’ loved by three or four, and - some-some of h’us ain’t got no one. H’it don’t look as though we h’ever - shall ’ave. If I wuz Gawd——” She checked herself, awed - by the Irreverence of her supposition. “If I wuz Gawd,” she repeated, - lowering her voice, “I’d come right darn from ’eaven and sort awt - the proper couples. H’I wouldn’t loll around with them there h’angels till - h’every gal ’ad got ‘er feller. Gawd ought ter ’ave been a - woman, I tell yer strite. If ’E wuz, things wouldn’t be in this ’ere - muddle. A she-Gawd wouldn’t let h’us maike such fools of h’ourselves, if - you’ll h’excuse me strong lang-widge.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy stared at her. It wasn’t her “strong langwidge” that made him stare; - it was the confession that her words implied. “You’re—you’re in - love?” - </p> - <p> - She jerked up her head defiantly. “In love! Yus, I’m in love. And ’oo - isn’t?” - </p> - <p> - He watched her clearing the table; when that was done, he followed her - into the kitchen. The idea that she was suffering from his complaint - fascinated him. She of all persons should be able to tell him how to - proceed in the matter. - </p> - <p> - She paused in her washing of the dishes; across her shoulder she had - caught him looking at her. “You may well stare,” she said. “H’I’m a - cureehosity, I h’am. I wuz <i>left</i>.” She nodded impressively. - </p> - <p> - He didn’t understand, but he knew the information was supposed to be - staggering. “Left!” - </p> - <p> - “Yus. I wuz left—left h’at a work’ouse and brought h’up in a - h’orphanage. P’raps I never wuz born. P’raps I never ’ad no - parents. There’s no one can say. I wuz found on a doorstep, all finely - dressed and tied h’up in a fish-basket—just left. H’I’m different - from h’other gals, h’I am. My ma may ’ave been a queen—there’s - never no tellin’.” - </p> - <p> - Harriet sank into a chair. Supporting her chin in her hand, she gazed - wistfully into the fire. “Wot is it that yer wants wiv me, Gubbins?” - </p> - <p> - “Is it very difficult to get married?” he faltered. - </p> - <p> - She nodded. “One ‘as ter ’ave money. If a man didn’t ’ave no - money, ’is wife would ’ave ter go out charing. She wouldn’t - like that.” - </p> - <p> - “What’s the least a man ought to have?” - </p> - <p> - She deliberated. “Depends on the lady. If it wuz me, I should want five - pounds. But look ’ere, wot maikes yer h’arsk so many queschings? - Surely a little chap like you ain’t in love?” - </p> - <p> - He flushed. “Five pounds! But wouldn’t three be enough if two people were - very, very much in love?” - </p> - <p> - “Five pounds, Gubbins.” She rose from her chair and went back to her - dishes. “Not a penny less. I knows wot I’m talkin’ abart My ma wuz a - queen, p’raps; ter h’offer a lady less would be a h’insult.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VIII—THE EXPENSE OF LOVING - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t happened in a - comfortable room on the ground floor, looking out into the garden. All - afternoon he had been puzzling over what Harriet had told him. Mrs. - Sheerug sat by the fire knitting; he dared not question her. - </p> - <p> - Muted by garden walls and distance, a muffin-man passed up and down the - streets, ringing his bell and crying to the night like a troubadour in - search of romance. He crouched against the window, watching the winter - dusk come drifting down. While watching, he fell asleep. - </p> - <p> - As though he had been coldly touched, he awoke startled, all his senses on - edge. On the other side of the glass, peering in, standing directly over - him, was a figure which he recognized as Harriet’s. At first he thought - that she was trying to attract his attention; then he saw that she seemed - unaware of him and that her attention was held by something beyond. A - voice broke the stillness. It must have been that same voice that had - roused him. - </p> - <p> - “My God, I’m wretched! For years it’s been always the same: the - restlessness when I’m with her; the heartache when I’m without her. She - won’t send me away and she won’t have me, and—and I haven’t the - strength to go away myself. No, it isn’t strength. It’s something that I - can’t tell even to you. Something that keeps me tortured and binds me to - her.” - </p> - <p> - Scarcely daring to stir, Teddy turned his eyes away from Harriet, and - stared into the darkness of the room. The air was tense with tragedy. In - the flickering half-circle of firelight a man was crouched against the - armchair—kneeling like a child with his head in the - faery-godmother’s lap. He was sobbing. Teddy had heard his mother cry; - this was different. There was shame in the man’s crying and the dry - choking sound of a horrible effort to regain self-mastery. The - faery-godmother bent above him. Teddy could see the glint of her - spectacles. She was whispering with her cheek against the flaxen head. The - voice went on despairingly. - </p> - <p> - “Sometimes I wonder whether I do love her. Sometimes I feel hard and cold, - so that I wouldn’t care if it were all ended. Sometimes I almost hate her. - I want to start afresh—but I haven’t the courage. I know myself. If - I were certain that I’d lost her, I should begin to idealize her as I did - at first. God, if I could only forget!” - </p> - <p> - “My dear! My dear!” Mrs. Sheerug’s voice was broken. Her tired hands - wandered over him, patting and caressing. “My poor Hal! To think that any - woman should dare to use you so and that I can’t prevent it! Why, Hal, if - I could bear your burdens, and see you glad, and hear your laughter in the - house, I’d—I’d die for you, Hal, to have you young and happy as you - were. Doesn’t it mean anything to you that your mother can love you like - that?” - </p> - <p> - He raised his face and put his arms about her neck. “I haven’t been good - to you, mother. It’s like you to say that I have; but I haven’t. I’ve - ignored you and given the best of myself to some one for whom it has no - value. I’ve been sharp and irritable to you. You’ve wanted to ask - questions—you had a right to ask questions; I’ve kept you at arm’s - length. You’ve wanted to do what you’re doing now—to hold me close - and show me that you cared; and I’ve—I’ve felt like striking you. - That’s the way with a man when he’s pitied. You know I have.” - </p> - <p> - The gray head nodded. “But I’ve always understood, and—and you don’t - want to strike me any longer.” - </p> - <p> - “You’re dearer than any woman in the world.” - </p> - <p> - “Dearer, but not so much desired.” She drew back from him, holding his - face between her hands. “Hal, you’re my son, and you must listen to me. - Perhaps I’m only a prejudiced old woman, years behind the times and - jealous for my son’s happiness. Put it down to that, Hal; but let me have - my say out. When I was young, girls didn’t treat men as Vashti treats you. - If they loved a man, they married him. If they didn’t love him, they told - him. They didn’t play fast and loose with him, and take presents from him, - and keep him in suspense, and waste his power of hoping. It’s the finest - moment in a good girl’s life when a good man puts his life in her hands. - If a girl can’t appreciate that, there’s something wrong with her—something - so wrong that she can never make the most persistent lover happy. Vashti’s - beautiful on the outside and she’s talented, but—but she’s not - wholesome.” - </p> - <p> - There was a pause full of unspoken pleadings and threatenings. The man - jerked sharply away from his mother. Her hands slipped from his face to - his shoulders. They stayed there clinging to him. His attitude was alert - with offense. - </p> - <p> - “Shall I go on?” she asked tremulously. - </p> - <p> - His answer came grimly. “Go on.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s the truth I’m telling you, Hal—the truth, as any one can see - it except yourself. Beneath her charm she’s cold and selfish. Selfishness - is like frost; it kills everything. In time it would kill your passion. - She’s gracious till she gets a man in her power, then she’s capricious. - You haven’t told me what she’s done to you, my dear. I’m a woman; I can - guess—I can guess. She doesn’t love you. She loves to be loved; she - never thinks of loving in return. She’s kept you begging like a dog—you, - who are my son, of whom any girl might be proud. Perhaps you think that, - if she were your wife, it would make a difference. It wouldn’t. You’d - spend all your life sitting up like a dog, waiting for her to find time to - pet you. You’re my son—the best son a mother ever had. It’s a - woman’s business to worship her man, even though she blinds herself to do - it You shan’t be a vain woman’s plaything.” - </p> - <p> - She waited for him to say something. She would have preferred the most - brutal anger to this silence. It struck her down. He knelt before her - rigid, breathing heavily, his face hard and set. - </p> - <p> - She spoke again, slowly. “If ever Vashti were to accept you, it would be - the worst day’s work. The gods you worship are different. Hers are—hers - are worthless.” - </p> - <p> - He sprang to his feet, pushing aside his mother’s hand. His voice was low - and stabbing. “Worthless! I won’t hear you say that. You don’t know—don’t - understand. I ought to have gone on keeping this to myself—ought not - to have spoken to you. No, don’t touch me. She’s good, I tell you. It’s my - fault if I’m such a fool that I can’t make her care.” - </p> - <p> - He spoke like a man in doubt, anxious to convince himself. - </p> - <p> - “It’s not your fault, Hal. The finest years of life! Could any man give - more? You’re belittling yourself that you may defend her. You’re the - little baby I carried in my bosom. I watched you grow up. I know you—all - your strength and weakness. You’re the kind of man for whom love is as - necessary as bread. Where there’s no kindness, you flicker out You lose - your confidence with her and her friends; their flippancy stifles you. I - don’t even doubt that you appear a fool. She’s a beautiful, heartless - vampire; if she married you, she’d absorb your personality and leave you - shrunken—a nonentity. She’s no standards, no religion, no sense of - fairness; she wants luxury and a career and independence—and she - wants you as well. Doesn’t want you as a comrade, but as an <i>et cetera</i>. - She’s willing to accept all love’s privileges, none of its duties. She has - plenty of self-pity, but no tenderness. Oh, my poor, poor Hal, what is it - that you love in her? Is it her unresponsiveness?” - </p> - <p> - She seized both his hands, dragging herself up so that she leaned against - his breast. “Hal, I’m afraid for you.” She kissed his mouth. “She’ll make - you bad. She will. Oh, I know it. She’ll break your heart and appear all - the time to be good herself. Can’t you see what your life would be with - her?” - </p> - <p> - “I can see what it would be without her,” he said dully. - </p> - <p> - His mother’s voice fell flat “You can’t see that. God hides the future. - There are good girls in the world. Life for you with her would be - bitterness, while she went on smiling. She’s a woman who’ll always have a - man in love with her—always a different man. She’ll never mean any - harm, but every affection she breathes on will lose its freshness. She’s - given you your chance to free yourself.” - </p> - <p> - She tried to draw him down to her. “Take it,” she urged. - </p> - <p> - He stooped, smoothed back the gray hair and kissed her wrinkled forehead. - </p> - <p> - “You’re going to?” - </p> - <p> - He loosed himself. “Mother, it’s shameful that we should speak so of a - girl.” - </p> - <p> - Crossing the room, he opened the door and halted on the point of - departure. - </p> - <p> - “Are you going to?” - </p> - <p> - “I can’t There are things I haven’t told you.” - </p> - <p> - As the door closed, she extended her arms to him, then buried her face in - her hands. When the sound of his footsteps had died out utterly, she - followed. - </p> - <p> - Teddy turned from gazing into the darkened room. The window was empty. The - other silent witness had departed. - </p> - <p> - As if coming to uphold him in his allegiance to romance, the Invincible - Armada of dreamers sailed out: cresting the sullen horizon of housetops, - the white moon swam into the heavens—the admiral ship of illusion, - with lesser moons of faint stars following. He remembered that through all - his years that white fleet of stars would be watching, riding steadily at - anchor. Nothing of bitterness could sink one ship of that celestial - armada. He clenched his hands. And nothing that he might hear of - bitterness should sink one hope of his great belief in the goodness and - kindness of the world. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IX—THE FOG - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>is exit from - Orchid Lodge came hurriedly. Mrs. Sheerug had received a letter telling - her that her daughter, Madge, and her younger son, Ruddy, were returning - from the visit they had been paying. Consequently, one foggy winter’s - afternoon with a tip of four shillings from Hal and of half-a-crown from - Mrs. Sheerug—six shillings and sixpence in all towards the necessary - five pounds—he was wrapped up and conducted the six doors lower down - in the charge of Harriet. - </p> - <p> - It was as though a story-book had been snatched from his hands when he was - halfway through the adventure. There were so many things that he wanted to - know. It seemed to him that he had lost sight of Vashti for ever. - </p> - <p> - Jane, his own servant, admitted them. She was greatly excited, but not by - his advent. Drawing Harriet into the hall, she at once began to make her - her confidante. - </p> - <p> - “It wasn’t as though they ’adn’t been ’appy,” Jane was - saying. “’Appy I They was that ’appy they got on my nerves. - There was times when it was fair sick’ning to listen to ’em. Give - me the pip, that’s wot it did. It was ’Dearie this’ and ’Jimmie - Boy that,’ till it made a unmarried girl that angry she wanted to knock - their ‘eads. Silly, I calls it, to be ’ave like that downstairs. - Well, that’s ‘ow it was till the missus takes ill, and wot we’d expected - didn’t ‘appen. Master Teddy goes ter stay with you; ‘is dear ma is safe in - bed; and then <i>she</i> comes, this woman as says she wants to ’ave - ‘er portrait painted. ’Er portrait painted!” - </p> - <p> - Jane beat her hands and sniffed derisively. Catching Teddy’s eye, she - lowered her voice and bent nearer to Harriet “’Er portrait painted! - It was all me eye and Betty Martin. Direckly I saw ’er I knew that, - and I says to myself, ’Yer portrait painted! A fat lot you wants of - that, my fine lady.’ And so it’s turned out When I opened the door to ’er - fust, I nearly closed it in ’er face, she looked that daingerous. - And there’s the missus on ’er back upstairs as flat as a pancake. I - can’t tell ’er a thing of wot I suspeck.” - </p> - <p> - “Men’s all alike,” sighed Harriet, as though speaking out of a bitter - marriage experience. “H’it’s always the newest skirt that attracks.” - </p> - <p> - Jane looked up sharply. It seemed to her that Teddy had grown too - attentive. “‘Ere, Miss ’arriet, let’s go down to my kitching and - talk this over. More private,” she added significantly. Then to Teddy, who - was following, “No, you don’t, Master Theo. You stay ’ere till we - comes back.” - </p> - <p> - High up in the darkness a door opened. Footsteps. They were descending. - Huddling himself into an angle of the wall, he waited. A strange woman in - a blue starched dress was coming down. As she passed him, he stretched out - his hand, “If you please——” - </p> - <p> - She jumped away, startled and angry. “What a fright you did give me, - hiding and snatching at me like that.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m sorry.” - </p> - <p> - “Sorry! But who are you?” - </p> - <p> - “I’m Teddy. Where’s—where’s mother?” - </p> - <p> - The woman’s voice became quiet and professional. “She’s sleeping. When she - wakes, I’ll send for you. She’s not been well. I must go now.” - </p> - <p> - He listened to her footsteps till they died out in the basement. He must - find his father. Cautiously he set to work, opening doors, peeping into - darkened rooms and whispering, “It’s only Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - Indoors he had searched everywhere; only one other place was left - </p> - <p> - The garden was a brooding sea of yellow mist, obscured and featureless. - Trees stood up vaguely stark, like cowled skeletons. - </p> - <p> - He groped his way down the path. Once he strayed on to the lawn and lost - himself; it was only by feeling the gravel beneath his tread that he could - be sure of his direction. A light loomed out of the darkness—the - faintest blur, far above his head. It strengthened as he drew nearer. - Stretching out his hands, he touched ivy. Following the wall, he came to a - door, and raised the latch. - </p> - <p> - Inside the stable he held his breath. Stacked against the stalls were - canvases: some of them blank; some of them the failures of finished work; - others big compositions which were set aside till the artist’s enthusiasm - should again be kindled. Leading out of the stable into the converted loft - was a rickety stairway and a trap-door. Teddy could not see these things; - through familiarity he was aware of their presence. - </p> - <p> - Voices! One low and grumbling, the other fluty and high up. Then a snatch - of laughter. Was there any truth in what Jane had said? The trap-door was - heavy. Placing his hands beneath it, he pushed and flung it back. It fell - with a clatter. He stood white and trembling, dazzled by the glare, only - his head showing. - </p> - <p> - “What on earth!” - </p> - <p> - Some one rose from a chair so hurriedly that it toppled over. Then the - same voice exclaimed in a glad tone, “Why, it’s the shrimp!” - </p> - <p> - His father’s arms were about him, lifting him up. Teddy buried his face - against the velvet jacket. Though he had been deaf and blind, he would - have recognized his father by the friendly smell of tobacco and varnish. - Because of that smell he felt that his father was unaltered. - </p> - <p> - “Turned you out, old chap, did they? I didn’t know you were coming. - Perhaps Jane told me. I’ve been having one of my inspirations, Teddy—hard - at it every moment while the light lasted. I’d be at it now, if this - infernal fog hadn’t stopped me.” He tried to raise the boy’s face from his - shoulder. “Want to see what I’ve been doing?” - </p> - <p> - Teddy felt himself a traitor. His father had had an inspiration—that - accounted for Jane’s suspicions and for anything awkward that had - occurred. It was always when his father’s soul groped nearest heaven that - his earthly manners were at their worst. Odd! Teddy couldn’t understand - it; a person like Jane, who wasn’t even related, could understand it still - less. But he had let himself sink to Jane’s level. If he had wanted to - confess, he couldn’t have told precisely what it was that he had dreaded. - So in reply to all coaxing he hid his face deeper in the shoulder of the - velvet jacket. Its smoky, varnishy, familiar smell gave him comfort: it - seemed to forgive him without words. - </p> - <p> - “Frightened?” his father questioned. “You were always too sensitive, - weren’t you? I oughtn’t to have forgotten you like that. But—I say, - Teddy, look up, old man. I really had something to make me forget.” - </p> - <p> - “I think he’ll look up for me.” - </p> - <p> - At sound of that voice, before the sentence was ended, he had looked up. - </p> - <p> - “There!” - </p> - <p> - Her laughter rang through the raftered room like the shivering of silver - bells. - </p> - <p> - Holding out his hands to her, Teddy struggled to free himself. When force - failed, he leaned his cheek against his father’s, “Jimmie Boy, dear Jimmie - Boy, let me down.” - </p> - <p> - “Hulloal What’s this?” - </p> - <p> - Combing his fingers through his curly black hair, his father looked on, - humorously perplexed by this frantic reunion of his son and the strange - lady. She bent tenderly, pressing his hands against her lips and holding - him to her breast. - </p> - <p> - “I never, never thought I’d find you,” he was explaining, “never in the - world. I searched everywhere. I was always hoping you’d come back. When - you didn’t, I tried to ask Harriet, and I nearly asked Mrs. Sheerug.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, she wouldn’t tell you,” the lady said. - </p> - <p> - “I know all about marriage now,” he whispered. - </p> - <p> - “You do?” - </p> - <p> - He clapped his hands. “Harriet told me.” - </p> - <p> - His father interrupted. “How did you and Teddy come to meet, Miss - Jodrell?” - </p> - <p> - Vashti glanced up; her eyes slanted and flashed mischief. It was quite - true; any woman would have shared Jane’s opinion—Vashti’s look was - “daingerous” when it dwelt on a man. It lured, beckoned and caressed. It - hinted at unspoken tenderness. It seemed to say gladly, “At last we are - together. I understand you as no other woman can.” It was especially - dangerous now, when the bronze hair shone beneath the gray breast of a - bird, the red lips were parted in kindness, and the white throat, like a - swan floating proudly, swayed delicately above ermine furs. In the studio - with its hint of the exotic, its canvases where pale figures raced through - woodlands, its infinite yearning after beauty, its red fire burning, - swinging lamps and gaping chairs, and against the window the muffled - silence, Vashti looked like the materialization of a man’s desire. One arm - was flung about the boy, her face leant against his shoulder, brooding out - across the narrow distance at the man’s. - </p> - <p> - “How did we meet!” she echoed. “How does any one meet? In a fog, by - accident, after loneliness. Sometimes it’s for better; sometimes it’s for - worse. One never knows until the end.” She stood up and drew her wraps - about her, snuggling her chin against her furs. “I ought to be going now; - your wife must be needing you, Mr. Gurney—— Oh, well, if you - want to see me out.” - </p> - <p> - She dropped to her knees beside Teddy. “Good-by, little champion. Some day - you and I will go away together and you must tell me all that you learnt - from Harriet about—about our secret.” - </p> - <p> - When they had vanished through the hole in the floor, Teddy tiptoed over - to the trap-door and peered down. With a glance across his shoulder, his - father signaled to him not to follow. He ran to the window to get one last - glimpse of her, but the fog prevented; all he could see was the moving of - two disappearing shadows. He heard the sound of their footsteps growing - fainter, and less certain on the gravel. - </p> - <p> - Left to himself, he pulled from his knickerbockers’ pocket a knotted - handkerchief. Undoing it, he counted its contents: Hal’s four shillings - and Mrs. Sheerug’s half-a-crown. He smiled seriously. Sitting down on the - floor, he spread out the coins to make sure that he hadn’t lost any of - them. Six-and-sixpence! To grown people it might not seem wealth; to him - it was the beginning of five pounds. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER X—THE WIFE OF A GENIUS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>ut, my old pirate, - who is she? - </p> - <p> - The orderliness of the room had been carried to excess; it suggested the - austere orderliness of death. Life is untidy; it has no time for folded - hands. The room’s garnished aspect had the chill of unkind preparedness. - </p> - <p> - From the window a bar of sunlight streamed across a woman lying on a - white, unruffled bed. Its brilliance revealed the deep hollows of her - eyes; they were like violets springing up in wells of ivory. Her arms, - withdrawn from the sheets, stretched straightly by her side; the fingers - were bloodless, as if molded from wax. Her head, which was narrow and - shapely, lay cushioned on a mass of chestnut hair. She had the purged - voluptuousness of one of Rossetti’s women who had turned saint. Her - valiant mouth was smiling. Only her eyes and mouth, of all her body, - seemed alive. She had spoken with effort. It was as though the bar of - gold, which fell across her breast, was pinning her to the bed. Some such - thought must have occurred to the man who was standing astraddle and bowed - before the fire. He crossed the room and commenced to pull down the blind. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t, please. There’s to be no lowering of blinds—not yet.” - </p> - <p> - He paused rigid, as though he had been stabbed; then went slowly back to - his old position before the fire. - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t mean to say it,” she whispered pleadingly. “I’m not going to - die, Jimmie Boy—not so long as you need me. If I were lying here - dead and you were to call, I—I should get up and come to you, Jimmie - Boy. ’Dearie, I say unto thee arise’—that’s what you’d say, I - expect, like Christ to the daughter of Jairus—‘Dearie, I say unto - thee arise.’” - </p> - <p> - A third person, who had been sitting on the counterpane, playing with her - hand, looked up. “And would you if I said it?” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps, but I’m not going to give you the chance—not yet.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m glad,” sighed the little boy, “’cause, you know, I might - forget the words.” - </p> - <p> - The ghost of a laugh escaped the woman’s lips and quickly spent itself. - “Jimmie Boy’s glad too, only he’s such an old Awkward, he won’t tell. He - hates being laughed at, even by his wife.” - </p> - <p> - The man raised his shaggy head. His voice sounded gruff and furious. “If - you want to know, Jimmie Boy’s doing his best not to cry.” - </p> - <p> - His head jerked back upon his breast. - </p> - <p> - The woman lay still, gazing at him with adoring eyes. He cared—he - was trying not to cry. She never quite knew what went on inside his head—never - quite knew how to take him. When others would have said most, he was most - silent He was noisy as a child over the little things of life. He did - everything differently from other men. It was a proof of his genius. - </p> - <p> - In the presence of her frailty he looked more robust, more of a Phoenician - pirate than ever. She gloried in his picturesque lawlessness, in the - unrestraint of his gestures, in his uncouth silences. What a lover for a - woman to have! As she lay there in her weakness she recalled the passion - of his arms about her: how he had often hurt her with his kisses, and she - had been glad. She wished that she might feel his arms about her now. - </p> - <p> - “Who is she?” she asked again. - </p> - <p> - Her question went unanswered. She turned her head wearily to the little - boy. “Teddy, what’s my old pirate been doing? Who is she? You’ll tell.” - </p> - <p> - Before Teddy could answer, her husband laughed loudly. “If you’re jealous, - you’re not going to die.” - </p> - <p> - The riot of relief in his voice explained his undemonstrativeness. Tears - sprang into her eyes. How she had misjudged him! She rolled her head - luxuriously from side to side. “You funny boy—die! How could I, when - you’d be left?” - </p> - <p> - Running across the room, he sprawled himself out on the edge of the bed. - Forgetting she was fragile, he leant across her breast and kissed her - heavily on the mouth. She raised herself up to prolong the joy and fell - back exhausted. “Oh, that was good!” she murmured. “The dear velvet jacket - and the smoky smell—all that’s you! All that’s life! I’m not jealous - any longer; but who is she?” - </p> - <p> - He pulled the loose ends of his tie and shook his head. “Don’t know, and - that’s a fact. She just turned up and wanted to be painted. When I’d - smarted, I lost my head; couldn’t stop; got carried away. Don’t know - whether you’d like her, Dearie; she’s a wonderful person. Sings like a - bird—sets me thinking—inspires. Work! Why, I’ve not worked so - steadily since—I don’t know when. I was worried about you and glad - to forget Hard luck on you, Dearie; I’m a stupid fellow to show my sorrow - by stopping away. But as to who she is, seems to me that Teddy can tell - you best.” - </p> - <p> - She squeezed the little boy’s hand. “Who is she, Teddy?” Teddy looked - blank. “Don’t know—not exactly. She was in Mrs. Sheerug’s house with - Hal, and—and then she came and sang to me in bed.” - </p> - <p> - “She did that?” His mother smiled. “She must be a good woman to love my - little boy.” Then to her husband, after a moment’s reflection: “But what’s - the picture?” - </p> - <p> - His face lit up with enthusiasm. “It’s going to do the trick this time. - It’ll make us famous. We’ll move into a big house. You’ll have breakfast - in bed with a boudoir cap, and all your gowns’ll come from Paris.” - </p> - <p> - She stroked the sleeve of his jacket affectionately. “Yes, that’s sure to - happen. But what’s it all about?” - </p> - <p> - He commenced reciting, “‘She feedeth among the lilies. A garden enclosed - is my sister: a spring shut up, a fountain sealed. Awake, O north wind, - and come thou south. Blow upon my garden that the spices thereof may flow - out.’ Catch the idea? It was mine; Teddy didn’t have a thing to do with it - See what I’m driving at?” - </p> - <p> - He sat back from her to take in the effect. She drew him near again. “It - sounds beautiful; but I don’t quite see all of it yet.” - </p> - <p> - He knotted his hands, trying to reduce his imagination to words. “It’s the - women who aren’t like you, Dearie—the women who love themselves. - They feed among lilies; the soul of love is in ’em, but they won’t - let it out They’re gardens enclosed, fountains sealed, springs shut up. - Now are you getting there? The symbolism of it caught me. There I have - her, just as she is in her bang-up modern dress, feeding among the lilies - of an Eastern garden. Everything’s heavy with fragrance, beautiful and - lonely; the hot sun’s shining and nothing stirs. The windows of the harem - are trellised and shut. From under clouds the north and south wind are - staring and puffing their cheeks as though they’d burst. Through a locked - gate in the garden you get a glimpse of an oriental street with the dust - scurrying; but in my sister’s garden the air hangs listless. The fountain - is dry; the well is boarded over. And here’s the last touch: halting in - the street, peering in through the bars of the gate is the figure of Love. - The woman doesn’t see him, though he’s whispering and beckoning. Love’s - got to be stark naked; that’s how he always comes. Because he’s naked he - looks the same in all ages. D’you get the contrast between Love and the - girl’s modern dress? There’s where I’ll need you, Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy blushed. He spoke woefully. “But—but I’m not going to undress - before her.” - </p> - <p> - For answer his father laughed. - </p> - <p> - “But can’t I have any clothes at all—not even my shirt?” - </p> - <p> - “Not even your shirt. She won’t see you, old man; in the picture she’s - looking in the other direction. And as for the real live lady, we’ll paint - you when she’s not on hand.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s roo-ude,” Teddy stammered. “Besides, it’s silly. Nobody eats lilies; - they’re for Easter and funerals, and they’re too expensive. And—and - can’t I wear just my trousers?” - </p> - <p> - His father frowned in mock displeasure. “For a boy of ideas and the son of - an artist you’re surprisingly modest. Now if you were Jane I could - understand it. Love would always put on trousers when he went to visit - her. But you’re Dearie’s son. I’m disappointed in you, Teddy; you really - ought to know more about love.” - </p> - <p> - “But I do know about love.” Teddy screwed up his mouth. “I’ve learnt from - Harriet.” - </p> - <p> - “And who’s Harriet?” - </p> - <p> - “A kind of princess.” - </p> - <p> - “Pooh!” His father turned to Dearie. “What d’you think of ‘<i>A Garden - Enclosed Is My Sister’’</i>?” - </p> - <p> - Dearie kissed his hand. “Splendid! But does the lady expect to be painted - like that?” - </p> - <p> - He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m not telling - her.” - </p> - <p> - The violet eyes met his. “Dear old glorious Impractical. Perhaps she’s - like Jane and’ll want her love in trousers.” Jimmie wagged his head from - side to side in negation. “If I’m any judge of character, she isn’t easily - shocked.” He rose and stood staring out of the window. His shadow blotted - out the bar of sunlight and lay across her breast He turned. “This light’s - too good to lose. I must get back to my work.” - </p> - <p> - She clung to his lips. Until he had completely vanished her eyes followed. - </p> - <p> - “Teddy, is she beautiful?” Her whisper came sharply. “The most beautiful—after - you, mother, she’s the most beautiful person in the world.” - </p> - <p> - She closed her eyes and smiled. “After me! I’m glad you put me first.” She - stretched out her hand and drew him to her. “Now I’m ill, he’s lonely. - He’s got no one to care for him. Don’t let him be by himself.” - </p> - <p> - “Not at all, Mummie?” - </p> - <p> - “Not for a moment. You’d better go to him now.” - </p> - <p> - He was on his way to the door when she beckoned him back. “What’s she - called, Teddy?” - </p> - <p> - “Vashti.” - </p> - <p> - “Vashti.” She repeated the word. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t let him be lonely, Teddy—not for a moment alone with her. - Good-by, darling. Go to him now.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XI—THE LITTLE GOD LOVE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>n the wall a clock - was ticking; that and the rustling of the fire as the coals sank lower - were the only sounds. Like a white satin mantle that had drifted from - God’s shoulders, the snow lay across the world. The sun flashed down; the - studio was flooded with glory. - </p> - <p> - About the snow and how it came Jimmie Boy had been inventing stories. It - was the angels’ washing day up there and some of their wings had blown off - the clothes line. No, wa it wasn’t. This was how the snow really happened. - The impatient little children who were waiting to be born had had a - pillow-fight, and had burst their pillows. - </p> - <p> - But his father hadn’t spoken for a long time. The fire was going out. - Vashti might arrive at almost any moment And, alas, Teddy was naked. He - was posing for the figure of Love, peering in forlornly through the - fast-locked gate. He hadn’t wanted to do it; even now he was filled with - shame. But Jimmie Boy had offered him money—and he needed money; and - Dearie had begged him not to leave Jimmie Boy for a single second. When he - had crept up to her room to visit her, she had seized his hands and - whispered reproachfully, “Go back to him. Go back.” The best way to be - always with his father had been to pose for him. - </p> - <p> - And there was another reason: by making himself necessary to the picture - he had been able to see Vashti. Day after day he had sat in the studio, - mouse-quiet, watching her. At night he had made haste to go to sleep that - the next day might come more quickly. In the morning, when he had wakened, - his first thoughts had been of her; as he dressed, he had told himself, “I - shall see her in three hours.” Vashti hadn’t seen her portrait yet; she - had been promised that this time she should see it—that this time it - should be done. The promise had been made before, but now it was to be - kept. So to-day was the last day. - </p> - <p> - “Please, mayn’t I move?” - </p> - <p> - “Not yet That’s the sixth time you’ve asked me. I’d have finished if you’d - kept quiet.” - </p> - <p> - “But—but I’m all aches and shivers.” - </p> - <p> - “Nonsense! You can’t be cold with that great fire.” His father was too - absorbed; he hadn’t noticed that the fire had gone out “I know what’s the - matter with you, Teddy: you’re afraid she’ll be here before you’re - dressed. Pooh! What of it? Now stop just as you are for ten minutes, and - then——” - </p> - <p> - He left his sentence unended and fell to work again with concentrated - energy. His mind was aflame with the fury of his imagination. He was far - away from reality. It wasn’t Teddy he was painting; it was Love, famished - by indifference and tantalized by yearning—Love, bruising his face - against the bars which forever shut him out. This wasn’t a London studio, - ignobly contrived above a stable; it was a spice-fragrant garden of the - East, stared at by the ravishing eye of the sun, where a lady of dreams - stooped feeding among tall lilies. - </p> - <p> - “When am I to see it?” Teddy questioned. - </p> - <p> - “When she sees it.” - </p> - <p> - “Not till then?” - </p> - <p> - “Be still, and don’t ask so many questions.” - </p> - <p> - “I wanted to see it before her,” explained Teddy, “because I’m hoping I - don’t show too much.” - </p> - <p> - His father wiped a brush on the sleeve of his jacket and wriggled his - eyebrows. “Take my word for it, sonny, you look much better as you are - now. It’s a shame that we ever have to cover you up.” He laid aside his - palette. “There, that’s the last touch. It’s done. By Mohammed, it’s - splendid. Jump into your duds, you shrimp. I’m going to tell Dearie before - Miss Jodrell comes.” - </p> - <p> - The wild head vanished through the hole in the floor. Teddy heard his - father laughing as he passed through the stable. Creeping to the window, - he watched him cut across flower-beds towards the house, kicking up the - snow as he ran. - </p> - <p> - <i>It was done</i>. The great exhilaration was ended. Tomorrow, when he - awoke, it would be no good saying, “I shall see her again in three hours.” - At night he would gain nothing by going to sleep quickly; the new day when - it came would bring him nothing. The studio without her would seem empty - and dull. If only he had been fortified by the possession of five pounds, - he would have boldly reminded her of her promise. Six-and-sixpence was the - sum total of his wealth; it was hidden away in an old cigar box which he - had labeled MARRIAGE. If a husband didn’t have at least five pounds, his - wife would have to go out charing. He couldn’t imagine Vashti doing that. - </p> - <p> - Shivering with cold, yet drenched in sunlight he stood hesitating by the - window. His body gleamed white and lithe; behind him, tall as manhood, - stretched his shadow. Clasping his hands in a silent argument he stepped - back and glanced towards the easel. Her face was there, hidden from him - behind the canvas. Only his father had seen it yet; but he, too, wanted to - see it—he had more right than any one in the world. - </p> - <p> - He tiptoed a few steps nearer, his bare feet making no sound; halted - doubtfully, then stole swiftly forward, lured on by irresistible desire. - </p> - <p> - He drew back amazed. What had his father done? It was intoxicating. The - breath of the lilies drifted out; he could feel their listlessness. An - atmosphere of satiety brooded over the garden—a sense of too much - sweetness, too much beauty, too much loneliness. The skies, for all their - blueness, sagged exhausted. The winds puffed their cheeks in vain, - hurrying strength from the north and south. They could not rouse the - garden from its contentment. It stifled. - </p> - <p> - Centermost a woman drooped above the lilies, an enchantress who was - herself enchanted. Dreamy with contemplation, she gazed out sideways at - the little boy. Her eyes slanted and beckoned, but they failed to read his - eyes. Her lips, aloof with indifference, were wistful and scarlet as - poppies. - </p> - <p> - The face was Vashti’s—a striking interpretation; but—— - </p> - <p> - Some latent hint of expression had been over-emphasized. One searched for - the difference and found it in the smile that hovered indolently about the - edges of her mouth. It wounded and fascinated; it did not satisfy. It - seemed to say, “To you I will be everything; to me you shall be nothing.” - </p> - <p> - Clenching his fists, Teddy stared at her. Tears sprang into his eyes. He - was little, but he loved her. She called to him; even while she called, it - was as though she shook her head in perpetual denial. Naked in the street - outside the garden he saw himself. He was whispering to her, striving to - awake her from the trance of the flowers. His face was pressed between the - bars and drawn with impatience. - </p> - <p> - Slowly he bent forward, tiptoeing up, his arms spread back and balanced - like wings. His lips touched hers. Hers moved under them. He dashed his - fingers across his mouth; they came away blood-colored. He trembled with - fear, knowing what he had done. - </p> - <p> - A rush of footsteps behind him. He was caught in her embrace. It was as - though she had leapt out from the picture. She was kneeling beside him, - her arms about him, kissing the warm ivory of his body. His sense of shame - was overpowered by his sense of wonder. - </p> - <p> - “The poor little god!” she whispered. “That woman won’t look at him. But - when you are Love, Teddy, I open the gate.” - </p> - <p> - Some one was in the stable; feet were ascending. Shame took the place of - wonder at being found naked in her presence. - </p> - <p> - “Quick. Run behind the curtain and dress,” she muttered. - </p> - <p> - From his place of hiding he heard his father enter. - </p> - <p> - “Hulloa! So you got here and saw it without me! Why, what’s this?” And - then, “Your lip’s bleeding, Miss Jodrell. Ah, I see now. Vanity! Been - kissing yourself; didn’t know the paint was wet. Jove, that’s odd!” He was - bending to examine. “The blurring of the lips has altered the expression. - There’s something in the face that I never intended.” - </p> - <p> - “It makes me look kinder, don’t you think?” - </p> - <p> - James Gurney stood up; he was still intent upon his original conception. - “I’ll put that right with half-an-hour’s work.” - </p> - <p> - “You won’t; it’s my picture. It’s more like me, and I like it better.” She - spoke with settled defiance; her voice altered to a tone of taunting - slyness. “You’re immensely clever, Mr. Gurney, but you don’t know - everything about women.” - </p> - <p> - She liked it better! Teddy couldn’t confess that his lips had carried the - redness from the picture to her mouth. There was a sense of gladness in - his guilt. Because of this he believed her irrevocably pledged to him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XII—DOUBTS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was the early - morning of the last day of the year. Staring out into the street, Teddy - flattened his nose against the window. He was doing his best to make - himself inconspicuous; neither Jane nor his father had yet noticed that he - was wearing his Eton suit on a week-day. That his father hadn’t noticed - was not surprising. For Jane’s blindness there was a reason. - </p> - <p> - Jane’s method of clearing the table would have told him that last night - had been her night out. She would be like this all day. Dustpans would - fall on the landings. Brooms would slide bumpity-bump down the stairs. The - front-door bell would ring maddeningly, till an exasperated voice called - not too loudly, “Jane, Jane. Are you deaf? Aren’t you ever going?” It was - so that Vashti might not be kept waiting that Teddy was pressing his nose - against the window. - </p> - <p> - This was to be his great day, when matters were to be brought to a crisis. - In his secret heart he was wondering what marriage would be like. He was - convinced he would enjoy it. Who wouldn’t enjoy living forever and forever - alone with Vashti? Of course, at first he would miss his mother and father—he - would miss them dreadfully; but then he could invite them to stay with him - quite often. He was amused to remember that he was the only person in the - world who knew that this was to be his wedding day. Even Vashti didn’t - know it. He was saving the news to surprise her. - </p> - <p> - At each new outburst of noise his thoughts kept turning back to - speculations as to what might have caused this terrific upsetting of Jane. - She herself would tell him presently; she always did, and he would do his - best to look politely sympathetic. Perhaps her middle-aged suitor from the - country had pounced on her while out walking with her new young man. He - might have struck him—might have killed him. Love brought her - nothing but tragedy. It seemed silly of her to continue her adventures in - loving. - </p> - <p> - Crash! He spun round. The tray had slipped from Jane’s hands. In a mood of - penitence she stood gaping at the wreckage. His father lowered his paper - and gazed at her with an air of complete self-mastery. He was always - angriest when he appeared most quiet “Go on,” he encouraged. “Stamp on - them. Don’t leave anything. You can do better than that.” - </p> - <p> - “If I don’t give satisfackshun——” Jane lifted her apron and - dabbed at her eyes. “If I don’t give satisfackshun——-” - </p> - <p> - Teddy heard his father strike a match and settle back into his chair. In - the quiet that followed, Teddy’s thoughts returned to the channels out of - which they had been diverted. - </p> - <p> - Funny! Love was the happiest thing in the world, and yet—yet it - hadn’t made the people whom he knew happy. - </p> - <p> - Harriet was in love; and Hal with Vashti; and Vashti—— - </p> - <p> - He remembered another sequence of people who hadn’t been made happy by - love. Mrs. Sheerug hadn’t, even though she was the daughter of a Lord - Mayor of London and had run away with Alonzo to get him. Mr. Hughes - hadn’t, for his Henrietta had gone up in a swing-boat and had failed to - come down. Most distinctly Jane hadn’t. And his mother and his father—concerning - them his memories contradicted one another. Was Dearie afraid of the - ladies who came to have their portraits painted? Why should she be, when - Jimmie Boy was already her husband? - </p> - <p> - He shifted his nose to a new place on the window; the old place was - getting wet. - </p> - <p> - And then there was Mr. Yaffon. Mr. Yaffon lived next door and seemed to - sum up the entire problem in a nutshell. - </p> - <p> - His neighbors accounted for his oddities by saying that long ago he had - had an unfortunate heart affair. - </p> - <p> - He had a squeaky voice, was thin as a beanpole and very shabby. His legs - caved in at the knees and his shoulders looked crushed, as if a heavy - weight was perpetually pressing on his head. He didn’t go to business or - paint pictures like other people. In winter he locked himself in a - backroom and studied something called philosophy; the summers he spent in - his garden, planting things and then digging them up. He was rarely seen - in the street; when he did go out his chief object seemed to be to avoid - attracting attention. By instinct he chose the side which was in shadow. - Hugging the wall, he would creep along the pavement, wearily searching for - something. At an interval of a dozen paces a fox terrier of immense age - followed. Teddy had discovered the dog’s name by accident He had stopped - to stroke it, saying, “He’s nearly blind, poor old fellow.” Mr. Yaffon had - corrected him with squeaky severity: “Alice is not a fellow; she’s a - lady-dog.” That was the only conversation he and Mr. Yaffon had ever held. - Since then, without knowing why, he had taken it for granted that the - adored one of the unfortunate heart affair had been named Alice. He - accounted for their separation by supposing that Mr. Yaffon’s voice had - done it. The reason for this supposition was the green parrot. - </p> - <p> - The green parrot was a reprobate-looking bird with broken tail-feathers - and white eyelids which, when closed, gave him a sanctimonious expression. - When open, they revealed Satanic black eyes which darted evilly in every - direction. During the winter he disappeared entirely; but with the first - day of spring he was brought out into the garden and lived there for the - best part of the summer. From the bedroom windows Teddy could watch him - rattling his chain and jigging up and down on his perch. He would make - noises like a cork coming out of a bottle and follow them up with a - fizzing sound; then he would lower his white lids in a pious manner and - say, deep down in his throat, “Let us pray.” He seemed to be trying to - create the impression that, whatever his master was now, there had been a - time when he had been something of a hypocrite and a good deal of a devil. - </p> - <p> - But the parrot’s great moment came when his master pottered inoffensively - up the path towards him. The bird would wait until he got opposite; then - he would scream in a squeaky voice, an exact imitation of Mr. Yaffon’s, - “But I love you. I love you.” The old gentleman would grow red and shuffle - into the house, leaving the bird turning somersaults on his perch and - flapping his wings in paroxysms of laughter. - </p> - <p> - That was why, whatever calamity had occurred, Teddy supposed that Mr. - Yaffon’s voice had done it Try as he would, whichever way he turned, he - could find no proof that love made people happy. That didn’t persuade him - that love couldn’t. It only meant that grown people were stupid. In his - experience they often were. - </p> - <p> - The bell of the front door rang. It rang a second time. - </p> - <p> - “Who is it?” asked his father. - </p> - <p> - Teddy turned; his face was glowing with excitement. “It’s Vashti.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIII—SHUT OUT. - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t’s to be our day, - Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - The gate swung to behind them with a clang. He looked back and saw his - father, framed in the window; then the palings of the next-door garden - shut him out He was alone with her. It was as though with the clanging of - the gate he had said “good-by” to childish things forever. - </p> - <p> - The world shone forth to meet them, romantic with frost and lacquered with - ice. It was as though the sky had rained molten glass which, spreading out - across trees, houses and pavements, had covered them with a skin of - burning glory. Eden Row sparkled quaint and old-fashioned as a Christmas - card. The river, which followed its length, gleamed like a bared saber. - Windows, in the cliff-line of crooked houses, were jewels which glittered - smoothly in the sunlight In the park, beyond the river, black boughs of - trees were hieroglyphics carved on glaciers of cloud. Chimneys were - top-hatted sentinels, crouching above smoldering camp-fires. Overhead the - golden gong of the sun hung silent At any moment it seemed that a cloud - must strike it and the brittle boom of the impact would mutter through the - heavens. It was a world transformed—no longer a prison swung out - into the void in which men and women struggled, and misunderstood, and - loved and, in their loving, died. - </p> - <p> - Vashti felt for his hand. He wanted to take it and yet—— If he - did, people who didn’t understand would think him nothing but a little - boy. What he really wanted was to take her arm; he couldn’t reach up to - that “Don’t you want to hold it?” - </p> - <p> - He laughed shyly and slipped his fingers softly into hers. - </p> - <p> - As they passed Orchid Lodge, standing flush with the pavement, she glanced - up at the second story, where the line of windows commenced. - </p> - <p> - “The people who live there hate me. They’ll hate me more presently. I - can’t blame them.” - </p> - <p> - She hurried her steps. Drawing a breath of relief, she whispered, “Look - back and tell me whether anybody saw us.” - </p> - <p> - He looked back. Two figures were emerging from the doorway—one - excessively fat, the other so lean that he looked like a straight line. - </p> - <p> - “Only the murd—— I mean Mr. Sheerug and Mr. Hughes. I don’t - think they saw us.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s all right.” - </p> - <p> - She laughed merrily—not on one note as most people laugh, but all up - and down the scale. The sparkle of morning was in her voice. Like a flash - out of a happy dream she moved through the ice-cold world. People turned - to gaze after her. A policeman, stamping his feet on the look-out for some - attractive housemaid, touched his helmet She nodded. - </p> - <p> - “D’you know him?” - </p> - <p> - “Never clapped eyes on him in my life. A pretty woman belongs to the whole - world, Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - Butcher boys, hopping down from carts, stood thunderstruck. After she had - passed they whistled, giving vent to their approbation. Teddy had the - satisfaction of knowing that he was envied; he snuggled his hand more - closely into hers. Even Mr. Yaffon, the man who was as faded as a memory, - raised dim eyes and shrunk against the wall, stung into painful life. His - little dog waddled ahead, doing her best to coax him to come on, trying to - say, “None of that, Master. You’ve done it once; please not a second - time.” - </p> - <p> - Was it only Teddy’s fancy—the fancy of every lover since the world - was created—that everything, animate and inanimate, was jealous of - him? Streets seemed to blaze at her coming. Sparrows flew down and chirped - noisily in the gutters, as though they felt that where she was there - should be singing. Famished trees shivered and broke their silence, - mumbling hoarse apologies: “It isn’t our fault Winter’s given us colds in - the head. If we had our way, we’d be leafy for you.” - </p> - <p> - Years later Teddy looked back and questioned, was it love that the little - boy felt that winter’s morning? He had experienced what the grown world - calls real love by then, and yet he couldn’t see the difference, except - that real love is more afraid, thinks more of itself and is more exacting. - If love be a divine uplifting, a desirable madness, a mirage of fine - deception which exists only in the lover’s brain, then he felt it that - morning. And he felt it in all its goodness, without the manifold doubts - as to ulterior motives, without the unstable tenderness which so swiftly - changes to utterest cruelty, and without the need to crush in order to - make certain. In his love of Vashti he came nearer to the white standards - of chivalry than was ever again to be his lot In later years he asked - himself, was she really so incredibly beautiful? Did her step have the - lightness, her face the bewitching power, her voice the gentleness he had - imagined? By that time he had learnt the cynical wisdom which wonders, - “What is this hand that I hold so fast, more than any other hand? What are - these lips? Flesh—-there are others as warm and beautiful Is this - meeting love or is it chance?” - </p> - <p> - He was far from that blighting caution yet Merely to be allowed to serve - her, if it could help her to be allowed to die for her, to be allowed to - give his all—he asked no more. He carried his all in an ill-wrapped - parcel beneath his arm. She observed it. - </p> - <p> - “Holloa! Brought your luggage?” - </p> - <p> - “Not my luggage.” - </p> - <p> - “Then what?” - </p> - <p> - He flushed. “Can’t tell you yet.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, but tell me!” - </p> - <p> - “I—I couldn’t here—not where every one’s passing.” - </p> - <p> - “Something for me?” she guessed. - </p> - <p> - He nodded. - </p> - <p> - Higher up the street, outside a public house, a hansom cab was standing. - </p> - <p> - “I must know,” she laughed. “Can’t wait another second. We’ll be alone in - that.” - </p> - <p> - “Where to?” asked the cabby, peering through the trap. - </p> - <p> - “Anywhere. Piccadilly Circus.” - </p> - <p> - The doors closed as if folded by invisible hands. The window lowered. They - were in a little house which fled across main thoroughfares, up side - streets, round corners. He was more alone with her than ever. He could - feel the warmth of her furs. He could hear her draw her breath. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” she asked. - </p> - <p> - As he placed it in her lap the parcel jingled. “I saved it,” he explained, - “for us—for you and me, because of what somebody told me.” - </p> - <p> - She tore the paper off. In her hands was a wooden box with MARRIAGE inked - across it. - </p> - <p> - “Marriage!” She raised it to her ear and shook it “Money!” - </p> - <p> - Teddy gazed straight before him. The pounding of the horse’s hoofs seemed - no louder than the pounding of his heart. ’Harriet said that five - pounds were the least that a lady would expect. “And so—and so—— - There’s five pounds.” - </p> - <p> - He wasn’t looking at her. He didn’t dare to look at her. And so he - couldn’t be sure whether she had sighed or laughed. A horrible fear struck - him: she might be wondering how so young a person could come honestly by - so large a fortune. He spoke quickly. “It’s mine, all of it I asked for - money for Christmas. Jimmie Boy paid me for going into his picture; and - Hal and Mrs. Sheerug—they gave me——” - </p> - <p> - “And it’s for me?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, of course.” - </p> - <p> - “And it’s all you’ve got—everything you have in the world?” Her arm - slipped about him. “You’re the little god Love, Teddy; that’s what you - are.” - </p> - <p> - Traffic was growing thick about them. They came to a crossing where a - policeman held up his hand. Through the panes misted over by their breath, - they watched the crawling caravan of carts and buses. In the sudden - cessation from motion it seemed to Teddy that the eyes of the world were - gazing in on them. “A little boy and a grown lady!” they were saying. “He - wants to be her husband!” And then they laughed. Not till they were - traveling again did he pick up his courage. - </p> - <p> - “Can we—can we——” - </p> - <p> - “Can we what?” - </p> - <p> - “Be married to-day? You said ‘some day’ when you promised.” - </p> - <p> - For her it was a strange situation, as absurd as it was pathetic. For a - moment she tried not to take him seriously, then she glanced down at the - eager face, the Eton suit, the clasped hands. In his childish world the - make-believe was real. For him the faery tale, enacted for her own - diversion, had been a promise. She felt angry with herself—as angry - as a sportsman who, intending to miss, has brought down a songbird. - Playing at love was her recreation. She couldn’t help it—it was in - her blood: her approach to everything masculine was by way of fascination. - She felt herself a goddess; it was life to her to be worshiped. All men’s - friendships had to be love affairs or else they were insipid; on her side - she pledged herself to no more than friendship. Not to be adored piqued - her. - </p> - <p> - But to have flirted with a child! To have filled him with dreams and to - have broken down his shyness! As she sat there with his box, labeled - MARRIAGE, in her lap, she wondered what was best to be done. If she told - him it was a jest, she would rub the dust off the moth-wings of his faith - forever. There was only one thing: to continue the extravagant pretense. - </p> - <p> - “It’s splendid of you, Teddy, to have saved so much.” - </p> - <p> - “Is it much? Really much?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, isn’t it?” - </p> - <p> - His high spirits came back. He laughed and leant his head against her - shoulder. “I don’t know. I’m not very old yet.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s because of that——” She knitted her brows, puzzling how - she could break the news to him most gently. In the back of her mind she - smiled to remember how much this consideration would have meant to some of - her lovers. “It’s because you’re not so very old yet, that I think we - ought to wait a year.” - </p> - <p> - “A year!” He sat up and stared. “But a year’s a whole twelve months!” - </p> - <p> - She patted his hand. “You wouldn’t like to have people laugh at me, would - you? A year would give you time to grow up. And besides, before I marry, - there are so many things to be done. I haven’t told you, but I’m going to - America almost directly—going to sing there. Five pounds is a - terrific lot of money in England, but in America it would soon get spent. - Even though you were my husband, you wouldn’t be able to come. You’d have - to stay here alone in our new house, and that wouldn’t be very jolly.” - </p> - <p> - He saw his dream crumbling and tried to be a man; but his lip trembled. “I - don’t think—— Perhaps you never meant your promise.” - </p> - <p> - The trap-door in the roof opened. The hoarse voice of the cabby intruded. - “’Ere we are. Piccadilly Circus.” - </p> - <p> - Vashti felt for her purse in her muff. It wasn’t there. She thought for a - minute, then gave the man an address and told him to drive on. - </p> - <p> - “But I did mean my promise,” she assured Teddy. “Why, a year’s not long. - Cheer up. Think of all the fun we’ll have writing letters. Harriet can’t - have told you properly about marriage. One has to be very careful. One has - to get a house and buy things for it. There are heaps of things to be - bought when one gets married.” - </p> - <p> - “And wouldn’t five pounds be enough?” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head sorrowfully. “Not quite enough. But don’t let’s think - about it. This is our day, Teddy, and we’re going to be happy. Guess where - I’m taking you; it proves that I meant my promise.” - </p> - <p> - When he couldn’t guess, she bent over him and whispered. He clapped his - hands. “To see a house!” - </p> - <p> - “To see our house,” she corrected, smiling mysteriously. “I always knew - that some day I’d meet the little god Love; and so I got a house ready for - him. It’s a faery house, Teddy; only you and I can see it. If you were - ever to tell any one, especially Mrs. Sheerug, it would vanish.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll never, never tell. I won’t even tell Dearie. And does nobody, nobody - but you and me, know about it?” - </p> - <p> - She hesitated; then, “Nobody,” she answered. - </p> - <p> - To have a secret with her which no one else shared, almost made up for the - disappointment of not being married. Holding her hand, he watched eagerly - the flying rows of houses, trying to guess which was the one. - </p> - <p> - “It’s in nearly the next street, Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - “This one?” - </p> - <p> - “Not this one. Ours has a little white gate and a garden; it’s ever so - much cosier.” - </p> - <p> - They had left the traffic where the snow was churned into mud. Once more - it was a world of spun glass, of whiteness and quiet, that they traversed. - To Teddy it seemed that the cab was magic; it knew its way out of ugliness - to the places where dreams grow up. - </p> - <p> - The cab halted; the window flew back and the doors opened of themselves. - They stepped out on to the pavement. The little white gate was there, just - as Vashti had said. A path led up, through snow as soft as cotton-wool, to - a red-brick nest of a house. A look of warmth lay behind its windows. - Plants, leaning forward to catch the light, pressed against the panes. A - canary fluttered in a gilded cage like a captured ray of sun. - </p> - <p> - A maid in cap and apron answered the bell. She was not at all like Jane, - who never looked tidy till after lunch. - </p> - <p> - “Lost my purse, Pauline,” Vashti pouted. “I couldn’t pay my fare, so had - to drive home. The cabman’s waiting.” Pauline had been watching the - strange little boy with unfriendly eyes. “If you please, mam, he’s here.” - She sank her voice. Teddy caught the last words, “In the drawing-room, - playing with Miss Desire.” - </p> - <p> - Vashti frowned. She looked at Teddy as Pauline had done. He felt at once - that a mistake had been made, that there was something that he must not - see and that, because of the person in the drawing-room, he was not - wanted. - </p> - <p> - “What shall I do? Stupid of me!” Turning to the maid, Vashti spoke in a - lowered voice, “Go up to my room quietly and bring me down my money. We’ll - be sitting in the cab and you can bring it out—— No. That - won’t do. He might think that I hadn’t wanted to see him. There’d be a - fuss. What am I to do, Pauline? For heaven’s sake suggest something.” - </p> - <p> - “Couldn’t the little boy go and sit in the cab, while you——” - </p> - <p> - Vashti had her hand on the latch to let Teddy out when shrill laughter - rang through the house. A door in the hall burst open and a small girl ran - out, pursued by a man on his hands and knees. He had a rug flung over his - head and shoulders, and was roaring loudly like a lion. The little girl - was too excited to notice where she was going or who were present. - </p> - <p> - She ran on, glancing backward, till she charged full tilt into Teddy. - “Save me,” she cried, clinging to him and trying to hide herself behind - him. He put his arms about her and faced the lion. - </p> - <p> - Balked of his prey, the lion halted. No one spoke. In the unaccounted-for - silence the lion lost his fierceness. Throwing back the rug, he looked up. - Teddy found himself gazing into a face he recognized. - </p> - <p> - “Of all the——” - </p> - <p> - Hal rose to his feet and dusted his knees. He glanced meaningly from Teddy - to Vashti. “Is this wise?” - </p> - <p> - “Shish!” Her lips did scarcely more than frame the warning. “Hal, I never - told you,” she said gayly, “Teddy’s in love with me and one day we’re - going to be married. That’s why I brought him to see the house. He’s - promised never to breathe a word of what he sees, because it’s a faery - house and, if he does, it’ll vanish.” - </p> - <p> - Hal tried to look very serious. “Oh, yes, most certainly it’s a faery - house. I’m only allowed here because I’m your champion.” - </p> - <p> - The boy’s quick instinct told him that an attempt was being made to - deceive him. He wondered why. Who was the little girl who had nestled - against him? Finding that he was a stranger she had become shy. He looked - at her. She was younger than himself. Long curls, the color of Vashti’s, - fell upon her tiny shoulders. She was exquisitely slight Her frock was a - pale blue to match her eyes, and very short above her knees. She looked - like a spring flower, made to nod and nod in the sunshine and to last only - for a little while. More spirit than body had gone to her making; a puff - of wind would send her dancing out of sight. - </p> - <p> - “Desire, come here, darling. Say thank you to the boy for saving you from - the lion.” - </p> - <p> - Kneeling, Vashti took the little girl’s reluctant hand and held it out to - Teddy. Desire snatched it away and began to cry. A knocking at the door - caused a diversion; it was the cabman demanding his fare and asking how - much longer they expected him to wait Hal paid; Teddy noticed that Vashti - let him pay as if it were his right. - </p> - <p> - He was mystified; the house and what happened in it were so different from - anything he had expected. Vashti had been so emphatic that no one but - herself and himself were to know about it, and here were Hal and Pauline - and the little girl who knew about it already. Hal’s expression, when he - had thrown the rug from his shoulders, had been that of a man who was - found out. But his eyes, when they had met Vashti’s, had become daring - with gladness. Teddy was aware that he had been brought unintentionally to - the edge of a big secret which he could not understand. - </p> - <p> - The cabman had been gone for a long time. Teddy had been left to amuse - himself in the room where the canary hopped in its cage and the plants - leant forward to catch the sunlight. It was a long room, running from the - front of the house to the back and was divided by an archway. In the back - part a fire burned and a couch was drawn up before the fire. He hadn’t the - heart to go to it, but stood gazing out between the plants into the street - in the exact spot where Vashti had left him. Every now and then the canary - twittered, as if trying to draw him into conversation; sometimes it - dropped seeds on his head. He didn’t know quite what it was he feared or - why. On an easel in the archway he espied <i>The Garden Enclosed</i>, - which his father had painted. The little god was still peering in through - the gate. Teddy had hoped that by now he might have entered the garden. - Like the little god he waited, with ears attentive to catch any sound in - the quiet He seemed to have been waiting for ages. - </p> - <p> - A door in the back half of the room opened. Hal and Vashti came in, - walking near together. Vashti looked round Hal’s shoulder and called to - Teddy, “Not much longer now. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Then they both - seemed to forget him. - </p> - <p> - Seated on the couch before the fire, their heads nearly touching, they - spoke earnestly. Perhaps they didn’t know how far their voices carried. - Perhaps they were too self-absorbed to notice. Perhaps they didn’t care. - Hal held her hand, opening and closing the fingers, and stooping sometimes - to kiss the tips of them. - </p> - <p> - “I’d come to the breaking point,” he whispered; “I either had to have you - altogether or to do without you. It was the shilly-shallying, the neither - one thing nor the other, that broke me down.” He laughed and caught his - breath. “I tried to do without you, Vashti; there were times when I almost - hated you. You seemed not to trouble that I was going out of your life. - But now—— Well, if you must keep your freedom, we’ll at least - have all the happiness we can. I’ll do what you like. I’m not going to - urge you any more, but I still hope for Desire’s sake that some day we’ll——” - </p> - <p> - “Poor boy, you still want to own me. But tell me, was it hearing that I - was going to America that brought you back?” - </p> - <p> - “Brought me back!” He pressed her open palm against his mouth. “To you, - dearest, wherever you were, I should always be coming back. How could I - help it? Hulloa! That’s fine.” His eyes had caught the picture. “Where did - you——” - </p> - <p> - “All the while you were angry with me I was having it painted for you. But - I shan’t be giving it to you now.” She glanced sideways at him with - mocking tenderness. “You won’t need it. It was to be a farewell present to - some one who had changed his mind.” - </p> - <p> - He drew her face down. “My darling, my mind will never change.” - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she broke from his embrace and glanced back into the room, - raising her voice. “You know it’s Teddy that I’m going to marry, if ever I - do marry. Why, we almost thought we’d get married this morning. Come here, - my littlest lover. Don’t look so downhearted. Champions are allowed to - kiss their ladies’ hands. Didn’t Hal tell you? Well, they are, and you may - if you like.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy didn’t kiss her hand. He cuddled down on the hearthrug with his head - against her knees, feeling himself like Love in the picture, forever shut - out. The soul had vanished from his glorious day. He was hoping that Hal - would go; she didn’t seem to belong to him while he stayed. Lunch went by, - tea came, and still he stayed. A blind forlornness filled his mind that he - couldn’t be a man. In spite of her caresses he felt in his heart that all - her promises had been pretense. - </p> - <p> - Not until night had fallen and she got into the cab to take him home did - he have her to himself. The lamps stared out on the snow like two great - eyes. Once again it was a faery world of mysterious hints and shadows. - </p> - <p> - She drew him to her. She realized the dull hopelessness of the child and - wondered what would be his estimate of her, if he remembered, when he - became a man. Would he think that he had been tampered with and made the - plaything of a foolish woman’s idleness? She wanted to provide against - that. She wanted him always to think well of her. She felt almost humble - in the presence of his accusing silence. She had a strange longing to - apologize. - </p> - <p> - “It hasn’t—hasn’t been quite our day, Teddy—not quite the day - we’d planned. I’m dreadfully sorry; I wouldn’t have had it happen this way - for the world.” - </p> - <p> - He didn’t stir—didn’t say a word. She made her voice sound as if she - were crying; he wasn’t certain that she wasn’t crying. - </p> - <p> - “You’re not angry with me, are you? It’s so difficult being grown up. - Sooner or later every one gets angry, even Hal. But I thought that my - littlest lover would be different—that, though he didn’t understand, - he’d still like me and believe that I’d tried——” - </p> - <p> - His arms shot up and clasped her neck. In the flashlight of the passing - street lamps she saw his face, quivering and tear wet. She couldn’t - account for it, why she, a woman, should be so deeply moved. She had - conjured dreams of a man who would one day gaze into her eyes like that, - believing only the best that was in her and, because of that belief, - making the best permanent. She had experimented with the world and knew - that she would never meet the man; love lit passion in men’s eyes. But for - a moment she had found that faith in the face of a little child. The - fickleness and wildness died down in her blood; the moment held a - purifying silence. Taking his face between her hands, she kissed his lips. - </p> - <p> - “I’m going away,” she whispered. “Whatever you hear, even when you’ve - become a man, believe always that I wanted to be good. Believe that, - whatever happens. Promise me, Teddy. It—it’ll help.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIV—BELIEVING HER GOOD - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>or a week he had - no news of her. Then his father said to him one morning, “Oh, by the way, - <i>The Garden Enclosed</i> is going to be exhibited. I asked Miss Jodrell - to lend it to me.” - </p> - <p> - “Will—will she bring it herself?” he asked, trying to disguise his - anxiety. - </p> - <p> - “Herself! No. She’s rather an important person. She’s gone to America.” - </p> - <p> - Then the news leaked out that Hal had gone too. - </p> - <p> - Some nights later he was driving back down Eden Row with his father. They - had been to the gallery where the picture was hanging. Without warning the - cab pulled up with a jerk; he found himself clinging to the dashboard. His - eyes were staring into the gas-lit gloom of Eden Row. - </p> - <p> - Almost touching the horse’s nose, two men, a fat and a lean one, had - darted out from the shadow of the pavement They were shouting at something - that sat balanced, humped like a sack, on the spiked palings which divided - the river from the road. They had all but reached it; it screamed, shot - erect, and jumped. There was a sullen splash, then silence and the - gurgling of the river as the ripples closed slowly over it. - </p> - <p> - The silhouette of the fat man bent double; the silhouette of the lean man, - using it as a stepping stone, climbed the palings and dived into the - blackness. It would have been a dumb charade, if the fat man hadn’t said, - “Um! Um!” when he felt the lean man’s foot digging into his back. - </p> - <p> - Teddy was hauled out into the road by his father. Grampus puffings were - coming from the river, splashings and groanings. The cabman was standing - up in his seat, profanely expressing his emotions. A police-whistle called - near at hand. A hundred yards away another answered. Through the emptiness - of night the pounding of feet sounded. - </p> - <p> - In an instant, as though it had sprung out of the ground, a crowd had - gathered. People started to strike matches, which they held out through - the palings in a futile endeavor to see what was happening. - </p> - <p> - A policeman came up, elbowing and shoving. He caught the horse’s head and - whisked the cab round so that its lamps shone down on the river. They - revealed Mr. Hughes, his bowler hat smashed over his forehead, swimming - desperately with one hand and towing a bundle towards the bank. - </p> - <p> - Men swarmed over the palings and dragged him safe to land. Clearing his - throat, he commenced explaining to the policeman, “As I was walkin’ with - my friend, I sees ’er climbin’ over. I says to ’im, That’s - queer. That ain’t allowed.’ And at that moment——” - </p> - <p> - Teddy lost the rest. Letting go his father’s hand, he was wriggling his - way to the front through the legs of the crowd. He reached the palings and - peered through. - </p> - <p> - Stretched limply on the bank, her hair broken loose, the policeman’s - bull’s-eye glaring down on her, was Harriet. - </p> - <p> - Vashti’s name was never mentioned in connection with the attempted - suicide, but he quickly knew that in some mysterious way she was held - responsible. When he asked his mother, “Was it because Hal went to - America?” she answered him evasively, “Harriet’s a curious girl—not - quite normal. That may have had something to do with it.” - </p> - <p> - For many months, as far as Orchid Lodge was concerned, Vashti’s memory was - a hand clapped over the mouth of laughter. Harriet broke dishes now only - by accident and never in temper. She went about her work without singing. - Mrs. Sheerug put away her gay green mantle; after Hal left, she dressed in - black. She spoke less about men being shiftless creatures. If she caught - herself doing it from habit, she stopped sharply, fearing lest she should - be suspected of accusing some one man. Her great theme nowadays was the - blighting influence of selfishness. She was always on the look-out for - signs of selfishness in Teddy. Once, at parting with him, she refrained - from the usual gift of money, saying, “My dear, beware of selfishness. I’m - afraid you come here not because you love me, but for what you can get” - She spent much of her time in covering page after page of foreign - notepaper in the spare-room where the gilded harp stood against the - window. She did it in the spare-room because, if it so happened that she - wanted to cry, no one could see her there. Questioned by careless persons - about Hal, she would answer, “He’s gone to America. He’s doing splendidly. - He’ll be back some time. No, I can’t say when.” - </p> - <p> - Her other two children, Ruddy and Madge, didn’t interest her particularly. - Ruddy was redheaded and always pulling things to pieces to see how they - worked. Madge was twenty, a cross girl who loved animals and pretended to - hate men. - </p> - <p> - When at the end of two months the portrait came back from the gallery, a - dispute arose which brought home to Teddy the way in which Vashti was - regarded. She had written none of the promised letters, so Jimmie Boy - didn’t know her address. He might have asked Mrs. Sheerug, but the matter - was too delicate. He made up his mind to hang the picture in his house and - had set about doing so, when Dearie put her foot down. - </p> - <p> - “I won’t have it.” - </p> - <p> - “But it’s my best work. What’s got into your head, Dearie, to make you so - prudish? You might as well object to all Romney’s Lady Hamiltons because - she——” - </p> - <p> - “Lady Hamilton’s dead. Romney wasn’t my husband, and Nelson’s mother - wasn’t my friend.” - </p> - <p> - Dearie was obstinate and so, as though it were something shameful, - Vashti’s portrait was carried down to the stable. There, among the dust - and cobwebs, with its face to the wall like a naughty child, <i>The Garden - Enclosed</i> was forbidden the sunlight. Only Teddy gave it a respite from - its penance when, having made certain that he was unobserved, he lifted it - out to gaze at it. But because she never wrote to him, he went to gaze at - it less and less. Little by little she became a beautiful and doubtful - memory. He learnt to smile at his wistful faery story, as only a child can - smile at his former childishness. - </p> - <p> - New interests sprang up to claim his attention; the chief of these was a - gift from Mr. Sheerug of a pair of pigeons. In giving them to him he - explained to Teddy, “My friend, Mr. Ooze—he’s a rum customer—drops - his aitches and was born in a hansom cab, but he knows more about pigeons - than any man in London. Trains mine for me—goes out into the country - and throws ’em up. That’s where he’s gone now. When he lost his - precious Henrietta he nearly went off his head. His hobby saved him. A - hobby’s a kind of life-preserver—it keeps you afloat when your - ship’s gone down.” - </p> - <p> - His pigeons, more than anything else, helped him to forget Vashti. His - soul went with them on their flights through wide clean spaces. The sense - gradually grew up within him that she had betrayed him; this was partly - due to the hostile way in which she was regarded by others. At the time - when she had tampered with his power of dreaming he had been without - consciousness of sex; but as sex began to stir, he felt a tardy - resentment. This was brought to a climax by Mr. Yaffon. - </p> - <p> - Looking from his bedroom window one morning across the neighbors’ - walled-in strips of greenness, where crocuses bubbled and young leaves - shuddered, he noticed that in Mr. Yaffon’s garden the parrot had been - brought out. It was a sure sign that at last the spring had come. As he - watched, Mr. Yaffon pottered into the sunlight to make an inspection of - his bulbs. Several times he passed near the perch; each time the parrot - jigged up and down more violently, screaming, “But I love you. I love - you.” - </p> - <p> - As if unaware that he was being taunted, the old gentleman took no notice. - But the parrot had been accustomed to measure success by the fear he - inspired. When his master tried neither to appease nor escape him he - redoubled his efforts, making still more public his shameful imitation of - a falsetto voice declaring love. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Yaffon rose from examining a bed of tulips; blinking his dim eyes, he - stood listening, with his head against his shoulder. Deliberately, without - any show of anger, he sauntered up to the parrot, caught him by the neck - and wrung it. It was so coolly done that it seemed to have been long - premeditated. It looked like murder. The gurgling of that thin voice, so - like Mr. Yaffon’s, protesting as it sank into the silence, “But I love - you. I love you,” gave Teddy the shudders. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Yaffon got a spade, dug a hole, and buried the parrot. When he had - patted down the mold, he went into the house and returned in a few minutes - with a basketful of letters. With the same unhurried purpose, he walked - down the path towards his tool-shed, made a pile of dead branches, and set - a bonfire going. A breeze which was blowing in gusts rescued one of the - papers and led Mr. Yaffon a chase across lawns and flower beds. Just as he - was on the point of capturing it, the wind lifted it spitefully over the - wall into Mr. Gurney’s garden. - </p> - <p> - Teddy, who had watched these doings with all his curiosity aroused, lost - no time in hurrying down from the bedroom. In a lilac bush he found the - lost paper. It was a letter, yellowed by age, charred with fire and - written in a fine Italian hand—a woman’s. It read: - </p> - <p> - <i>My dear Penny-Whistles, </i> - </p> - <p> - You don’t like me calling you Penny-Whistles, do you? You mustn’t be angry - with me for laughing at your voice: I can laugh and still like you. But - can I laugh and still marry you? That’s the question. I’m afraid my sense - of humor—— - </p> - <p> - Teddy stopped. He realized that he was spying. He knew at last what Mr. - Yaffon had been doing: burning up his dead regrets. The letter had already - slipped from his hand, when the ivy behind him commenced to rustle. The - top of a ladder appeared above the wall, followed by Mr. Yaffon’s head. It - sounded as though the parrot had come to life. - </p> - <p> - “Little boy,” he said, in his squeaky voice, “a very important letter has—— - Ah, there it is. To be sure! Right at your feet, boy. Make yourself tall - and I’ll lean down for it. There, we’ve managed it. Thank you.” - </p> - <p> - When the head and the ladder had vanished, Teddy stood in the sunshine - pondering. The spring was stirring. Everything was beginning afresh. Then - he, too, lit a fire. When it was crackling merrily, he ran indoors to a - cupboard. Standing on a chair, he dragged from a corner a box across whose - lid was scrawled the one word MARRIAGE. Tucking it under his jacket, he - escaped into the garden and rammed the box well down into the embers. As - he watched it perish, he whispered to himself: “Silly kid—that’s - what I was.” - </p> - <p> - No doubt Mr. Yaffon was telling himself the same thing, only in different - language. - </p> - <p> - Then the child, on his side of the wall, strolled away to dream of - pigeons; and the older child, on the other side, stooped above his - flowers. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XV—THE FAERY TALE BEGINS AGAIN - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he memories of a - man are of the past. A child has no past; his memories are of the imagined - future. His soul, in its haste for new experience, rushes on, - outdistancing life. - </p> - <p> - After his false awakening by Vashti, the world which Teddy annexed for - himself was composed of sky and pigeons. Often as he watched his birds - rise into the air, he would make his mind the companion of their flight. - It seemed to him that his body was left behind and that the earth lay far - below him, an unfolding carpet of dwarfed trees and houses as small as - pebbles. By day his thoughts were of wings. By night, gazing from his - bedroom window when the coast-line of the clouds had grown blurred, he - would watch the Invincible Armada of the stars, plunging onward and ever - onward through the heavens. The little he had learnt of life had pained - him; so he took Mr. Sheerug’s advice and remade the world with a hobby. - When the stars winked, he believed they were telling him that they knew - that one day he would be great. - </p> - <p> - His pigeons and the wide clean thoughts they gave him, kept his mind from - morbid physical inquiries. The school he attended in Eden Row was - conducted by an old Quaker, a man whose gentle religion shamed the boys of - shameful conversations. - </p> - <p> - The inklings of life which he had gained through Vashti, made him re-act - against further knowledge. Love in her case had begun with beauty, but it - had ended with the wretched face of a woman and a policeman’s bull’s-eye - staring down on it. Perhaps love always ended that way, causing pain to - others and ugliness. He shrank from it. Like a tortoise when its head has - been touched, he withdrew into his shell and stayed there. He was content - to be young and to remain incurious as to the meaning of his growing - manhood. The days slipped by while he lived his realities in books and - pigeons, and in his father’s paintings. Not until he was fifteen did he - again awaken, when the door unexpectedly opened, leading into a new - experience. - </p> - <p> - It was an afternoon in July, the last day of the summer term. The school - had broken up. The playground was growing empty. With the last of the boys - he came out of the gate and stood saying “Good-by.” They had told him - where they were going—all their plans for the green and leafy - future. They were going to farmhouses in the country and to cottages by - the sea. Some of them were not returning to school; they were going to the - city to become men and to earn money. He watched them saunter away down - Eden Row, joking and aiming blows at one another with their satchels. - </p> - <p> - From across the river, softened by distance, came laughter and the - pitter-pat of tennis. In the golden spaces between trees of the park, - girls advanced and retreated, volleying with their racquets. Their hair - rose and fell upon their shoulders as they twisted and darted. They were - as unintelligible to Teddy as if they had spoken a different language. - </p> - <p> - What was it that he wanted? It was something for which he never found a - name—something which continually eluded his grasp. He was haunted by - desire for an intenser beauty. All kinds of things, totally unrelated, - would stab him into yearning: sometimes a passage in a book; sometimes the - freedom of a bird in flight; and now the music of girlish laughter. He was - burdened with the sense that life would not wait for him—would not - last; that it was escaping like water through his fingers. He wanted to - live it fully. He wanted to be wise, and happy, and splendid. And yet he - was afraid—afraid of disillusion. He feared that if he saw anything - too closely, it would lose its fascination. Those girls, if he were to be - with them, he could not laugh as they laughed; he would have nothing to - say. And yet, he knew of boys—— - </p> - <p> - Hitching the strap of his satchel higher, he smiled. These thoughts were - foolish; they had come to him because he had been saying good-by. They - always came when he felt the hand of Change upon his shoulder. - </p> - <p> - Before his home a cab was standing. On entering the hall he heard the - murmurous sound of voices. A door opened. His mother slipped out to him - with the air of mystery that betokened visitors. - </p> - <p> - “How late you are, darling! Run and get tidy. Some one’s been waiting for - you for hours.” - </p> - <p> - As he made a hasty schoolboy toilet he wondered who it could be. His - mother had seemed flustered and excited. No one ever came to see him; to - him nothing ever happened. Other boys went away for summer holidays; he - knew of one who had been to France. But to stir out of Eden Row was - expensive; all his journeys had to be of the imagination. When one had a - genius for a father, even though he was unacknowledged, one ought to be - proud of poverty. To be allowed to sacrifice for such a father was a - privilege. That was what Dearie was always telling him. - </p> - <p> - The room in which the visitor was waiting was at the back of the house. It - had folding windows, which were open, and steps leading down into the - garden. Evening fragrances drifted in from flowers. In the waning sunlight - the garden became twice peopled—by its old inhabitants and by their - shadows. On the lawn a sprinkler was revolving, throwing up a mist which - sank upon the turf with the rustle of falling rain. - </p> - <p> - A man rose from the couch as he entered—a fair, thin man with blue - impatient eyes and a worn, wistful expression. He looked as though he had - been always trying to clasp something and was going through life with his - arms forever empty. He placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders, gazing at - him intently. - </p> - <p> - “Taller, but not much older. In all the time I’ve been away you’ve - scarcely altered. Do you know me?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, of course. It’s Mr. Hal.” - </p> - <p> - “No, just Hal. You didn’t used to call me ‘Mister.’ You can’t guess why - I’ve come. I’ve told your mother, and she’s consented, if you are willing. - I want your help.” Teddy glanced at his mother. Her eyes were shining; she - had been almost crying. What could Hal have said to make her unhappy? How - could he, a boy, help a man? In the silence he heard the sprinkler in the - garden mimicking the sound of rain. - </p> - <p> - Hal’s voice grew low and embarrassed. “I want your help about a little - girl. She’s lonely. I call her little, but in many ways she’s older than - you are. She’s living in a house in the country, and she wants some one to - play with. I’ve been so long out of England that I’d forgotten how tall - you’d been getting. But, perhaps, you won’t mind, even though she’s a - girl. It’s a pretty place, this house in the country, with cows and wild - flowers and a river. You’d enjoy it, and—and you’d be helping me and - her.” - </p> - <p> - “Sounds jolly,” said Teddy; “I’d like to go most awfully, only—only - what makes you and mother so sad?” - </p> - <p> - Hal tried to appear more cheerful. “I’m not sad. I was worried. Thought - you wouldn’t come when you heard it was to play with a girl.” - </p> - <p> - “He’s not sad,” said Dearie; “it’s only that, if you go, we mustn’t tell - anybody—not even Mrs. Sheerug; at least, not yet.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy chuckled. At last something was going to happen. “That’ll be fun. - But how glad Mrs. Sheerug must be to have you back.” - </p> - <p> - Hal rose to his feet. “She isn’t That’s another of the things she doesn’t - know yet. I must be going. Your mother says she can have you ready - to-morrow, so I’ll call for you.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy noticed how he dashed across the pavement to his cab. He felt - certain that his reason was not lack of time, but fear lest he might be - observed. He questioned his mother. She screwed her lips together: “Dear - old boy, I’m not allowed to tell.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVI—A WONDERFUL WORLD - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>uring the train - journey Hal kept his face well hidden behind a newspaper. It wasn’t that - he was interested in its contents, for he had turned only one page in half - an hour. Teddy glanced at him occasionally. Funny! Why was it? Grown - people seemed to enjoy themselves by being sad. - </p> - <p> - The train halted in a quiet station. An old farmer with screwed-up, merry - eyes, white whiskers like a horse-collar about his neck, and creaking - leather gaiters, approached them. - </p> - <p> - “Mornin’, mister. I was on the lookout for ’ee. I’ve brought the - wagonette; it’s waitin’ outside. Jump in, while I get the luggage.” When - he came back carrying the bags, his eyes winked meaningly both together at - Teddy: “The little missie, she war that excited, I could scarce persuade - her from comin’.” - </p> - <p> - He lumbered to his seat and tugged at the reins. The horse whisked its - tail and set off at a jog-trot through the sleepy town. Houses grew fewer; - the country swam up, spreading out between trees like a green swollen - river. - </p> - <p> - As they passed by gates and over bridges, it was as though doors flew open - on stealthy stretches of distance where shadows crouched like fantastic - cattle. - </p> - <p> - Hal was speaking. He turned to him. “I was saying that we rather tricked - you, Vashti and I. What did you think of us? We often wondered.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy laughed. “I was little then. I was angry. You see, I believed - everything; and she said so positively that we were going to be married. I - must have been a queer kid to have believed a thing like that.” - </p> - <p> - The old horse jogged on, whisking his tail. The farmer sat hunched, with - the reins sagging. Hal felt for his case and drew out a cigarette. As he - stooped to light it, he asked casually, “Do you ever think about her—ever - wonder what’s become of her?” - </p> - <p> - The boy flushed. It was Vashti, always Vashti, when Hal spoke to him. - </p> - <p> - “I think of her only as a faery story. It’s silly of me. I don’t think - about her more often than I can help.” - </p> - <p> - “Than you can help!” Hal leant forward with a strained expression. “You - can’t help. You always remember. That’s the curse of it. The doors of the - past won’t keep shut; they slam and they slam. They wake you up in the - night; you can’t rest. You’re always creeping down the stairs and finding - yourself in the rooms of old memories. Would you know her again if you saw - her?” - </p> - <p> - Teddy looked up at the question. “I’d know her voice anywhere.” Then, with - an excitement which he could not fathom, “Am I going to——?” - </p> - <p> - Hal shook his head. “I asked you because, if you do see her, you must send - me word.” - </p> - <p> - They turned in at a gate off the highroad. It was scarcely more than a - field-track that they followed. Ahead a wood grew up, which they entered. - On the other side of it, remote from everything, lay a red farmhouse. A - big yard was in front of it, with stacks standing yellow in the sun and - horses wandering aimlessly about. Cocks were crowing and on the thatch, - like flakes of snow, white fan-tails fluttered. At the sound of wheels, an - old lady, in a large sunbonnet, came out and shaded her eyes, peering - through her spectacles. - </p> - <p> - “Hulloa, Sarie!” cried the farmer. “Where’s the missie? We’ve brought ’er - a young man.” - </p> - <p> - Sarie folded her hands beneath her apron. “She’s in the garden, as she - always is, Joseph.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy entered the cool farmhouse, with its low rafters and spotlessness. - Everything was old-fashioned, even the vague perfume of roses which hung - about it. - </p> - <p> - Hal touched him on the arm. “Let’s go to her. She’ll be shy with you at - first Even though we called, she wouldn’t come.” - </p> - <p> - He led the way through a passage into a garden at the back. It lay like a - deep green well, wall-surrounded and content in the shade of fruit-trees. - The trees were so twisted that they had to be held up like cripples on - crutches. Paths, red-tiled and moss-grown, ran off in various directions. - The borders of box had grown so high that they gave to the whole a - mazelike aspect. - </p> - <p> - “She’s here somewhere,” Hal whispered, with suppressed excitement. “Step - gently and don’t pretend you’re looking.” - </p> - <p> - They sauntered to and fro, halting now and then to listen. They came to a - little brook that dived beneath the wall and ran through the garden - chattering. Hal was beginning to look worried. “I wish she wouldn’t be - like this. Perhaps she’s crept round us and got into the house without our - knowing.” - </p> - <p> - At that moment, quite near them, they heard a sound of laughter. It was - soft and elfin, and was followed by the clear voice of a child. - </p> - <p> - “You’re a darling. You’re more beautiful than any one in the world.” - </p> - <p> - A turn in the path brought them within sight of a ruined fountain. In the - center, on a pedestal, stood the statue of a boy, emptying an urn from - which nothing fell. In the gray stone basin that went about the pedestal - was a pool of water, lying glassy and untroubled. Through a hole in the - trees sunlight slanted. Kneeling beside the edge of the basin was a little - girl, stooping to kiss her own reflection. - </p> - <p> - “Desire.” - </p> - <p> - She started to her feet with the swiftness of a wild thing. She would have - escaped if Hal had not caught her. Across his shoulder she gazed - indignantly at Teddy. - </p> - <p> - “He saw me do that,” she said slowly. - </p> - <p> - Teddy gazed back at her and smiled. He wanted to laugh, but he was stayed - by her immense seriousness. - </p> - <p> - “I’m sorry,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “You’re not one bit,” she retorted. - </p> - <p> - She struggled down from Hal’s arms. “You may shake hands with me if you - like.” - </p> - <p> - Very formally he shook hands with the little girl. - </p> - <p> - In the old garden Hal lost his sadness. It was late in the afternoon, when - he was leaving, that she asked the question that brought it back, “When is - mother coming?” - </p> - <p> - “Presently. Presently,” he said quickly. - </p> - <p> - As he climbed into the wagonette, he signed to Teddy. - </p> - <p> - Bending down he whispered: “If you should see her——You know - whom I mean? I’ll be stopping at Orchid Lodge; you can reach me there.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVII—DESIRE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>ext morning he was - up so early that the farmhouse was still asleep when he tiptoed down the - creaking stairs. As he opened the door into the orchard, a puppy squirmed - from under the currant bushes and approached him with timid tail-waggings. - He had the easily damped enthusiasm of most puppies; he was by no means - certain that he might not be in disgrace for something. Nature had - originally intended him for a bull-terrier; before finishing her work, she - had changed her mind and decided that he should be a greyhound. The result - was an ungainly object, white in color, too high on the legs, with - red-rimmed eyes which blinked continually. Teddy knelt down and cuddled - him, after which they were friends. - </p> - <p> - How still the world was! Now that no one was about, the garden seemed no - longer a dumb thing, but a moving fluttering personality. Dew sparkled on - the red-tiled paths. It glistened in spider-webs. It put tears into the - eyes of flowers. A slow wind, cool with the memory of night, rustled the - tree-tops; it sounded like an unseen woman turning languidly in bed. - Through leaves the sunlight filtered and fell in patches. A sense of - possession came upon the boy—it was all his, this early morning - world. - </p> - <p> - The puppy kept lagging behind, collapsing on his awkward haunches, and - turning his head to gaze back at the house. Teddy became curious to see - what he wanted and let him choose the direction. Under a window in the - thatch to which the roses climbed, he laid himself down. - </p> - <p> - “So you’re thinking of her, too?” he whispered. - </p> - <p> - They watched together. The sun climbed higher. Inside the farmhouse sounds - began to stir. - </p> - <p> - When she appeared at breakfast, she chose to be haughty. After she had - stalked away with Fanner Joseph, Mrs. Sarie explained to Teddy his breach - of etiquette: he had failed to address her as “Princess.” - </p> - <p> - “She’s full o’ fancies,” said Mrs. Sarie, clearing away the dishes; “full - o’ fancies. I’ve ’ad ten children in my time, but not one of ’em - like ’er. She won’t let none of us be what we are; she makes us - play every day that we’re something different. She’s a captive Princess - to-day, and Joseph’s a giant and I’m a giantess.” - </p> - <p> - Peering through the curtain which hung before the window, he saw Desire, - seated astride an ancient horse, which plodded round and round in the - farmyard drawing water from a well. - </p> - <p> - He smiled. He knew little about feminine perversity. Picking up a book, he - went into the orchard and threw himself down where the brook ran singing - to itself. - </p> - <p> - Footsteps! She came walking sedately, pretending that she did not know - that he was there. He buried his nose in his book. She went by, waited, - came back. He heard a swishing sound behind him and glanced across his - shoulder. She was standing with a twig in her hand, her face flushed with - anger, striking at some scarlet poppies. “Hulloa! What are you doing?” - </p> - <p> - “They’re people who don’t love me. They’re beasts, and I’m cutting off - their heads.” - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn’t do that. They’re so pretty, and they don’t have long to live, - anyhow. Besides, you’re making the puppy frightened.” - </p> - <p> - The puppy was escaping, his tail quivering like an eel between his legs. - Directly her attention was called to his terror, she threw the stick - aside. - </p> - <p> - “Poor old Bones, she didn’t mean to frighten him. She wouldn’t do anything - to hurt him for the world.” - </p> - <p> - She gathered him into her arms, and sat herself down beside the brook - about a yard away from Teddy. - </p> - <p> - “Bones does love me; but some people don’t. We call him Bones ’cause - he’s got hardly any flesh.” - </p> - <p> - She glanced shyly at Teddy to see whether he was taking her remarks - impersonally or as addressed to himself. - </p> - <p> - He was smiling, so she edged a little nearer and smiled back. - </p> - <p> - “People aren’t kind to Bones,” she said; “they throw things at him. He’s - such a coward; people only respect dogs when they bite. You shouldn’t be - so nice; you really shouldn’t, Bones.” And then, significantly: “If you’re - too nice to strangers at first, you aren’t valued.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy laughed softly. “So that was why you bit me this morning, Princess, - after I’d got up so early and waited for you?” - </p> - <p> - She tossed her curls and lowered her eyes. “Did I bite? For the fun of it, - I’m always being cross like that. I’m even cross to my mother—my - beautiful mother. She’s the darlingest mother in the world.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy closed his book and leant out, bridging the distance. “Is she? Where - is she now?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know, only—only I know I want her. Don’t get afraid; I - never cry. P’raps she’s in America. He says that she’ll come to me here, - but I don’t believe him.” Suddenly with a gesture that was all tenderness, - she slipped out her hand. “I was so lonely till you came. Together we may - find her. I’m going to have a little girl myself one day, and I know I - should cry and cry if I lost her.” - </p> - <p> - “You’d have to get married first. When I was very little, I once——” - </p> - <p> - She interrupted. “Oh, no! Ladies don’t have to. When they want babies, - they speak to God about it. I know because—— Is your mother - married?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, my mother’s married. My father paints pictures.” - </p> - <p> - “Is it nice to have a father?” - </p> - <p> - “Very nice. Just as nice as to have a mother, only in another way.” - </p> - <p> - “Do—do all boys have fathers?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, yes. And all girls.” - </p> - <p> - “They don’t. I’ve asked my beautiful mother about it so often, because I——” - </p> - <p> - She fell silent, gazing straight before her with the cloud of thought in - her eyes. Bones, sprawling across her lap, licked her hand to attract her - attention; she drew her hand away, but took no other notice. The brook - bubbled past her feet; its murmurous monologue emphasized her silence. - Through lichened trees the farmhouse glowed red. In and out the shadows - the sunshine danced like a gold-haired child. - </p> - <p> - “If fathers are really nice,” she sighed wistfully, “p’raps I ought to - have a father for my little girl. When we’re both growed up, I might ask - you. Would you be her father, per—perhaps?” - </p> - <p> - Stretched at her side, he glanced up to see the mischief creep about the - edges of her mouth. But her face was no longer elfin; it was earnest and - troubled with things beyond her knowledge. When she looked like that she - seemed older than twelve—almost the same age as himself; there were - so many things that he, too, could not understand. He reflected that they - both were very like Bones with their easily damped enthusiasm. A wave of - pity swept through him; she was so slight, so dainty, so unprotected. He - forgot his pigeons; he forgot everything that had happened before meeting - her. He felt that of all things in the world, were he given the choice, he - would ask that she might be his sister. Stooping his head, he kissed the - white petal of a hand where it lay unfolded in the grass. - </p> - <p> - She looked down at him quietly. “My darling mother would say, ’You - mustn’t let boys do that.’ But I expect she would let you do it. Do you—do - you think I’m an odd child? Every one says I am.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed with a thrill of excitement; she made him feel so much younger - than his yesterday self. “I couldn’t tell you, Princess. I’ve never known - any girls. But you’re beautiful, and you’re dear, and you’re——” - </p> - <p> - “Let’s be tremenjous friends,” she whispered. - </p> - <p> - Through the long summer days that followed they lived in a world of - self-created magic—a world which, because they had made it, belonged - wholly to themselves. Its chief delight was that they alone could see it. - No one else knew that the brook was a girl and that the mountain-ash that - grew beside it was her lover. The boy turned back from his dreams of - manhood to meet the childhood of the little girl; it was one last glorious - flash of innocence before the curtain fell But in the presence of Farmer - Joseph and Sarie, and of Hal when he came to visit them, he was shy of his - friendship with Desire. - </p> - <p> - “You’re ashamed of me because I’m a girl and little,” she said. “But I - know more than you do about—oh, lots of things!” - </p> - <p> - She did. She knew that gentlemen when they were in love with ladies, gave - their ladies flowers. She knew much about lovers’ secret ways. When asked - how she knew, she shook her curls and looked exceedingly wise. She could - be impishly coquettish when she liked. There were times when she refused - to let Teddy touch her because she would become ordinary to him, if it - were always allowed. And there were times when she would creep into his - breast like a little tired bird, and let him tell her stories by the hour. - She tried to tantalize him into jealousy; Bones was usually the rival for - her affections. When she did that, she only amused him, making him - remember that he was older than herself. But when he made her feel that he - was older, she would stamp her feet with rage. “You’ll be sorry when I - wear long frocks,” she would threaten. “I shall pretend to despise you. I - shall walk past you with my head held high.” - </p> - <p> - When she showed him how she would do it, creating the picture by puckering - her nose and mincing her steps, she would only increase his merriment Then - suddenly her wounded vanity would break and she would fly at him with all - her puny strength. “You shan’t laugh at me. You shan’t I can’t bear it Oh, - please say you forgive me and like me.” - </p> - <p> - In the lumber-room, which was across the passage from where she slept, - they spent most of their rainy days. It was dirty and it was dusty, but it - had something which compensated for dust and dirt—a box full of - old-fashioned clothes and largely flowered muslins. Nothing pleased her - better than to dress herself up and perform, while he played audience. She - would go through passionate scenes, making up a tune and singing words. At - the end of them she would explain, “My mamma does that.” And then: “Oh, I - wish she would come. When I ask him, he always says, ’Presently. - Presently.’ Can’t you take me to her, Teddy?” - </p> - <p> - It was in the lumber-room that she confided to Teddy how she came to leave - America. “It was one day when mother was out. He came. He hadn’t come for - a long while before that. He was very fond of me and brought me things; so - I was very glad. We drove about all day and when it was time for me to go - home to bed, he took me to a big ship—oh, a most ’normous - ship. Next day, when I woke up, it was all water everywhere and he said - I’d see my mamma when we got to land. But we got to land, and I didn’t. - And then he said I’d see her here; but I didn’t. And now he says, - ‘Presently. Presently.’ Oh, Teddy, you won’t leave me? I may never see her - again.” And then, after he had quieted her: “If we stay here till we’re - quite growed up, you’ll escape with me, won’t you, and help me to find - her?” - </p> - <p> - She invariably spoke of Hal as <i>he</i>; she never gave him a name. Teddy - felt that it would not be honorable to question her, but he kept his eyes - wide for any clew that would solve the mystery. In Hal’s absence he would - become bitter towards him, because he had dared to hurt Desire. But when - he came to the farm with his arms full of presents, so hungry to win her - love, he felt that somewhere there had been a big mistake and that whoever - had been cruel, Hal was not the person. - </p> - <p> - It was Hal who, having heard them speak of knights and sorcerers, brought - them <i>The Idylls of the King</i>. Many a golden day they spent reading - aloud, while the sunlight dripped from leaves overhead, dappling the - pages. - </p> - <p> - “I like Sir Launcelot best.” - </p> - <p> - -“But you mustn’t,” said Teddy; “King Arthur was the good one. If Sir - Launcelot hadn’t done wrong, everything would have been happy always.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but if everything had been happy always, there wouldn’t have been - any story,” she objected. She made bars of her fingers before her - mischievous eyes; it was a warning that she was going to be impish. “I - expect, when I grow up, I shall be like that story; very interesting and - very bad.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy’s shocked appearance surpassed her expectations. Gapping her hands, - she rose into a kneeling position and mocked him. “Teddy doesn’t like - that. He doesn’t like my loving Sir Launcelot best. And I know why. It’s - because he’s a King Arthur himself.” - </p> - <p> - All that day she irritated him by calling him King Arthur. They had - quarreled hopelessly by supper-time. She went to bed without saying - “Good-night,” and he wandered out into the dusky silence. He felt angry - with her. Why had he ever liked her? So girls could be spite-full The - worst of it was that it was true what she had said. He <i>was</i> a proper - person. He would always be a proper person; and proper persons weren’t - exciting. He felt like doing something desperate just to prove that he - could be bad. Then his superiority in years came to his consolation. Why - should he worry himself about a little girl who was younger than himself? - When next Hal came to the farm, he would tell him that he was leaving. - </p> - <p> - It was in his bedroom, where the moonlight fell softly, that memories of - her sweetness tiptoed back. He remembered the provocative tenderness of - her laughter, the velvet softness of her tiny hands, and the way she had - wreathed him with flowers, pretending that he was her knight. Life would - never be the same without her. Romance walked into his day only when she - had passed down the stairs. Not having had a sister, he supposed that - these were the emotions of all brothers. She had conquered him at last: - though he was in the right, he would ask her forgiveness to-morrow. She - had been trying to make him do that from the first morning when he had - failed to call her “Princess”—trying to make him bow to her - prerogative of forgiving for having done wrong herself. He fell asleep - smiling, but he was not happy. - </p> - <p> - He awoke with a start The house was still as death. The moon hung snared - in a tree; his window was in shadow. Between the long intervals of silence - he heard the sound of stifled sobbing. - </p> - <p> - “Who are you? What is it?” he whispered. - </p> - <p> - In the doorway he made out a blur of whiteness. Slipping from his bed, he - stole towards it. Stooping, he touched it. - </p> - <p> - “You!” - </p> - <p> - Her arms flew up and tugged at him passionately. Her tears were on his - cheeks. For the first time she kissed him. - </p> - <p> - “You’re cold, darling little girl.” - </p> - <p> - And then for the first time he kissed her mouth. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I don’t want you to think that I’m bad. I’m not bad, Teddy. And I - like you to be King Arthur or Sir Launcelot, or—or anybody.” - </p> - <p> - He fetched his counterpane and wrapt it round her, coaxing, her just - inside the doorway so that they might not be heard. Together, crouched - against the wall, with their arms about each other’s necks, they huddled - in the darkness. - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t mind—not really.” Since she had kissed him, he was fully - persuaded of the untruth himself. “I shouldn’t really mind whatever you - called me. Little Desire, I thought you never cried. You do believe me, - don’t you?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I do want my mother so,” she whispered, drawing deep sobs between her - words. “If you was to help me to escape to your mother, I’m sure we could - find her. And then, you could come and stay with us, and I could come and - stay with you. And we should be always and always together.” - </p> - <p> - In defiance of Hal, he promised to help her at the first opportunity. - To-morrow? Perhaps. He saw her safely back to her room, kissing her in the - darkness on the threshold. - </p> - <p> - But to-morrow held its own surprise. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVIII—ESCAPING - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>armer Joseph’s - place was empty at breakfast next morning. It was market-day, and he had - made an early start for town. Teddy pressed Desire’s foot beneath the - table; when Mrs. Sarie wasn’t looking, he nodded towards the window and - his lips formed the word, “To-day.” - </p> - <p> - The opportunity had come sooner than he had expected. It was quite - necessary that, when he helped her to escape, Fanner Joseph’s back should - be turned. The old man with’ the merry screwed-up eyes and the white - horse-collar of whiskers round his neck, was always watching. He seemed to - know by instinct every time that they wandered out of sight of the - farmhouse. Sooner or later, as they sat in a field reading or telling - stories, his face would peer above the hedge. - </p> - <p> - In the passage he caught Desire’s hand. “Run upstairs. Get your hat and - jacket.—No, wait Mrs. Sarie might see them. Drop them out of the - window to me in the garden.” He felt immensely excited. If he could get - her to the station undetected, they would travel up to London. When it was - evening he would smuggle her past Orchid Lodge, and then—— He - supposed she would spend the night at his father’s, and all the other days - and nights till her mother was found. But why had Hal stolen her? “Here, - catch.” - </p> - <p> - The hat and jacket tumbled down. He caught a glimpse of the laughing face - in the thatch. It was going to be a tremendous lark—almost as good - as a King Arthur legend. The next moment she rejoined him. - </p> - <p> - “Sir Teddy, what are we going to do now?” She clung to his arm, jumping - with excitement. - </p> - <p> - “Hulloa!” he exclaimed, “the babies have come into your eyes.” He told her - that the babies came into her eyes when they became especially gray and - round. - </p> - <p> - They tiptoed out of the garden into the passage of the house. All the - downstair rooms were quiet; Mrs. Sarie’s footsteps overhead and the smacks - she gave the pillow were the only sounds. They crossed the farmyard, - walking unhurriedly as though nothing were the matter. From the gateway - they glanced back. The white fan-tails fluttered and cooed on the thatch. - The curtains blew in and out the open windows. Gaining the path which led - across the meadows, they ran—ran till they were breathless. - </p> - <p> - Across the fields, with his nose to the ground, came another fugitive. As - he caught sight of them, he expressed his joy in a series of sharp yaps. - </p> - <p> - “I say, this’ll never do. He’ll give us away before we know it Go back, - bad dog. Go back.” - </p> - <p> - Bones came a little nearer, crawling on his stomach, making abject - apologies, but positively refusing to go back. - </p> - <p> - They walked on together, the white cur following at their heels till lapse - of time should have made him certain that his permission to follow was - irrevocable. - </p> - <p> - They had been walking along the main-road, on the alert to scramble into - the hedge at the first sign of any one approaching. It was just such a day - as the one on which he had arrived, only dog-roses were fuller blown and - blackberries were growing ripe. The wheat was yellowing to a deeper gold - and the misty fragrance of meadow-sweet was in the air. - </p> - <p> - “Ha! Here’s one at last.” - </p> - <p> - It was a post with three fingers pointing. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, we’re all right. This one, sticking out the way we’re going, says To - Ware; but it says that it’s nine miles. D’you think, with those little - legs, you can manage it, Princess?” - </p> - <p> - She lowered her head, looking up through her lashes. - </p> - <p> - “They’re very strong little legs, and if you talk to me and talk to me, so - that I forget—— If I get very tired, I’ll let you carry me.” - </p> - <p> - They struck into fields again, clambering through hedges and over gates, - judging their direction by the road. Teddy was afraid to keep to the road - lest they should meet Farmer Joseph coming back from market, or lest Mrs. - Sarie, when she missed them, should send some one driving after them to - bring them back. - </p> - <p> - It was pleasant in the fields. Rambling along, they almost lost their - sense of danger and forgot they were escaping. Everything living seemed so - friendly. Crickets in the grass chirped cheerily. Birds jumped out of - their houses, leaving their doors wide open, Teddy said, to see them pass. - He invented stories about the things they saw to prevent the little legs - from thinking of their tiredness. Only the cows suspected them of - escaping; they whisked their tails and blinked their eyes disapprovingly, - like grandmothers who had had too many calves to be deceived by a pair of - children. - </p> - <p> - Lunch time came and they grew hungry, but to buy food at a farmhouse was - too risky.. They quenched their thirst at a stream and pictured to - themselves the enormous meal they would eat when they got to London. - </p> - <p> - “Tired?” - </p> - <p> - “No. I’m not tired.” - </p> - <p> - “Let’s pretend I’m your war-horse,” he suggested. - </p> - <p> - The finger went up to her mouth. “That’ll be just playing; it won’t be the - same as saying that I’m tired.” - </p> - <p> - He assured her that it wouldn’t; so she consented to straddle his neck, - clasping his forehead with her sticky little hands while he held her legs - to help her keep her balance. - </p> - <p> - Bones ran ahead with his ridiculous red tongue flapping, barking at - whatever interested him and paying no attention when he was told to stop. - Towards evening, as the sun’s rays were shortening and trees were - lengthening their shadows, he made the great discovery of his puppyhood. - It was in a field of long grass, the other side of a gate, well ahead of - the children. With quick excited yelps and pawings, springing back in fear - and jumping forward with clumsy boldness, he commenced to advertise his - adventure. - </p> - <p> - Desire, riding shoulder-high, could see further than Teddy. “Oh, hurry. Be - quick. He’s killing something. Let me down.” - </p> - <p> - When they had climbed the gate, they found themselves in a narrow pasture, - hedge-surrounded, at the far end of which the road ran. Bones was rolling - a cage over and over, in which a bird fluttered. It was a decoy placed - there by bird-catchers, for in a net near by wild birds struggled. They - dragged the puppy off and cuffed him. He slunk into the background and - squatted, blinking reproachfully with his red-rimmed eyes. His noblest - intentions perpetually ended in misunderstandings. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, the poor darlings! How cruel! Teddy, you do it; they peck my - fingers.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy looked across the field growing vague with shadows. No one was in - sight. Going down on his knees, with Desire bending eagerly across his - shoulder, he set to work to free the prisoners. - </p> - <p> - They were so engrossed that they did not notice a rough-looking man who - crept towards them. The first thing they knew was the howl of Bones as he - shot up, lifted by a heavy boot; the next, when Desire was grabbed from - behind and her mouth was silenced against a dirty coat. - </p> - <p> - Teddy sprang to his feet, clenching his fists. “You put her down.” His - voice was low and unsteady. - </p> - <p> - “And wot abart my burds?” retorted the man, in jeering anger. “Yer’ll ’ave - ter pay me for every damned one of ’em before I lets ’er go. - I don’t know as I’ll let her go then—taken a kind o’ fancy to ’er, - I ’ave. I’ll put ’er in a cage and keep ’er, that’s - wot I’ll do. Now then, all yer money. ’And over that watch. Fork - h’out.” - </p> - <p> - “Put her down.” - </p> - <p> - He looked round wildly. Hal’s warnings of danger then, they hadn’t been - all inventions! Far off, at the end of the field, he-saw the real culprit, - Bones, slipping through the hedge into the road. Along the road something - was passing; he made out the top of a cart above the brambles. He thought - of shouting; if he did, the man might kill Desire. At that moment she - freed her mouth: “Teddy! Oh, Teddy!” - </p> - <p> - He threw himself upon the ruffian, kicking and punching. The man let her - go and turned upon the boy. - </p> - <p> - “Yer’ve brought this on yerself, my son, and now yer go in’ ter ’ave - it.” - </p> - <p> - He stepped up furiously, his hand stretched out to seize him by the - throat. The fingers were on the point of touching; there was a thud. The - thick arm hesitated and fell limply. On the man’s forehead a red wound - spread. - </p> - <p> - “My-Gawd!” - </p> - <p> - His body crumpled. It sank into the grass and lay without a motion. “Is he - dead?” Desire whispered. - </p> - <p> - “No fear. It ’ud take more than a stone to kill him. Come on, you - kids, let’s run for it.” - </p> - <p> - They turned. Standing behind them in the evening quiet was a Puck-like - figure. He was broad, and short, and grinning, and cocky. He wore a - midshipman’s suit with brass buttons, which looked dusty and spotty. He - had red hair, and was a miniature edition of Mrs. Sheerug. - </p> - <p> - “Why, Ruddy,” gasped Teddy, “where did you spring from?” - </p> - <p> - “Where didn’t I spring from? Ha! Get away from him and I’ll tell you. He’s - stirring.” - </p> - <p> - The bird-catcher was struggling into a sitting position. He glared evilly - at the children. “You just wait till I get yer,” he muttered. “Skin yer, - that’s wot I’ll do. Boil yer. Tear every——” - </p> - <p> - They didn’t wait to hear more of what he would do. Each taking a hand of - the little girl, they started to run—ran on and on across twilit - meadows, till the staggering figure of the man who followed and the sound - of his threats had utterly died out. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIX—THE HIGH HORSE OF ROMANCE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">Y</span>ou’re a kind of - Bible boy, aren’t you? - </p> - <p> - They were resting on the edge of a wood, half hidden in bracken, - recovering their breath. Oak-trees, overhanging them, made an archway. - Behind, down green fern-carpeted aisles, mysterious paths led into the - unknown. In front a vague sea of meadows stretched, with wild flowers for - foam and wheat-fields for sands. In the misty distance the window of a - cottage caught the sunset and glowed like the red lamp of a ship which - rode at anchor. - </p> - <p> - “A Bible boy! Not if I know it.” Ruddy grinned, and frowned, and scratched - his leg. He was embarrassed in the presence of feminine beauty. If - anything but feminine beauty had called him “a Bible boy,” he would - certainly have punched its head. “Not if I know it,” he said. “I’m no - little Samuel-Here-Am-I, praying all over the shop in a white - night-shirt.” - </p> - <p> - Again he scratched his leg; he wished that feminine beauty didn’t make him - itch so. - </p> - <p> - The little girl rested her white petal of a hand on his grubby paw. “I - didn’t mean anything horrid, only—just that it was so like David and - Goliath, the way you made the stone sink into his forehead.” - </p> - <p> - “Yah!” He swelled with a sense of valor, now that his prowess was - acknowledged. “I did catch ’em a whopper, didn’t I? If I hadn’t, - you kids would be dead.” - </p> - <p> - Desire drew herself up with childish dignity. “It was nice of you, Boy; - Teddy and I both thank you. But—but you mustn’t call me ’kid.’ - Teddy always calls me ’Princess.’” - </p> - <p> - Ruddy’s good-humored, freckled face grew puzzled. “Princess? But, look - here, are you?” - </p> - <p> - Teddy was wondering whether he ought to confide in Ruddy, when Desire took - the matter out of his hands. “I expect I am. I’m a little girl who was - stolen from America. We were ’scaping when you found us.—What’s - in that box you’re carrying?” - </p> - <p> - Her eyes had been on it from the first. It was full of holes; inside - something live kept moving. - </p> - <p> - “Teddy knows. It’s one of Pa’s pigeons. Didn’t think I’d get home to-night - when I came to look for you, so I brought it to let ’em know not to - expect me.” - </p> - <p> - “When you came to look for us!” Teddy leant forward. “Did you come to look - for us? Who sent you?” - </p> - <p> - Ruddy winked knowingly. He was enjoying the mystery, and prolonged the - ecstasy of suspense. Pulling a packet of Wild Woodbines from his pocket, - he lit one and offered one to Teddy; but Teddy shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “Ma doesn’t know I do it,” he explained. “I chew parsley and peppermints - so she shan’t smell my breath. Bible kids don’t do that. I’m a real bad - boy—a detective.” - </p> - <p> - “But tell us—tell us. Did you know we were here? Did you come by - accident?” - </p> - <p> - Ruddy pushed his midshipman’s cap back from his forehead. “It wasn’t by - accident,” he said solemnly. “Since Hal’s come home, he’s been funny. It’s - been worryin’ Ma; I’ve heard her talk about it. He’s brought dolls and - silly things like that; and then he’s gone away with the dolls, without - saying where he was going, and come back without ’em. He’s been - acting kind o’ stealthy; we wouldn’t even have known they were dolls - except for Harriet She looked among his socks and found ’em. I read - ha’penny-bloods about detectives; one day I’m goin’ to be the greatest - detective in the world. So I said to myself, ’I’ll clear up this - mystingry and put Ma’s mind at rest’ I looked in Hal’s pockets and found a - letter from a Farmer Joseph, posted at Ware. There you are! All the rest - was easy.” - </p> - <p> - “But what were you doing on the road?” - </p> - <p> - Ruddy blew a cloud of smoke through his nose to let Desire see that he - could do it. “Pooh! It was Farmer Joseph’s cart that I was following when - the dog came running through the hedge.” He threw away his cigarette. - “Going to toss up the pigeon while there’s some light left.” - </p> - <p> - To Desire this was the crowning marvel—that a boy could tie a - message to a bird and tell it where to go. She watched Ruddy scrawl on the - thin slip of paper and tiptoed to see the slate-blue wings beat high and - higher towards the clouds. When it was no more than a speck, the Pucklike - figure started laughing. - </p> - <p> - “What’s the matter?” asked Teddy. - </p> - <p> - “I was picturing Ma’s face when Pa comes in and shows her.” - </p> - <p> - “What did you write?” - </p> - <p> - “That I wouldn’t be home and that I’d found Hal’s princess.” - </p> - <p> - “But you didn’t tell her where we are, or anything like that?” - </p> - <p> - “I gave her Farmer Joseph’s address; it was written on the cart.” - </p> - <p> - “You ass! Hal may catch us because of that.” - </p> - <p> - Ruddy looked crestfallen; then he brightened. “No fear. Ma won’t tell Hal - till she’s come to see for herself.” - </p> - <p> - Desire had sunk back upon the bed of bracken. “Oh, dear, I’m so hungry. My - shoes is full of stockings and I can’t go any further. Poor Teddy’s tired, - too; and I wouldn’t let a strange boy carry me. It wouldn’t be modest.” - </p> - <p> - Her escort drew away to consult in whispers as to what was to be done for - her. - </p> - <p> - “Good egg!” Ruddy tossed his cap into the air. “I’ve got it. I’ve always - wanted to do it. It’s a warm night and it won’t hint her. Let’s camp out. - I’ll go and buy some grub—be back inside of an hour.” - </p> - <p> - Desire clapped her hands. “Just like knights and fair ladies in a forest! - Oh, Teddy, it’ll be grand!” - </p> - <p> - There was nothing else to do. Farmer Joseph would soon be out searching. - Ware seemed an interminable distance. The boys counted their money, and - the red-headed rescuer tramped off sturdily to purchase food. Long after - he had disappeared, they could hear his jaunty whistling. - </p> - <p> - “Teddy, let me cuddle closer. You weren’t jealous, were you?” - </p> - <p> - “Jealous!” - </p> - <p> - “Of the boy who threw the stone.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course I wasn’t.” - </p> - <p> - She laughed secretly, and pressed her face against his shoulder. “Oh, you! - You were, just the same as you were jealous of Bones.” - </p> - <p> - “Bones was a dog. How silly you are, Princess.” - </p> - <p> - “Not silly.” Her voice sounded far away and elfin. “You want me to like - only you. You wish he hadn’t come; now don’t you?” - </p> - <p> - It was Teddy’s turn to laugh. Was it true? He didn’t know. “It is nicer, - isn’t it, to be just by our two selves?” - </p> - <p> - “Heaps nicer,” she whispered. “But, oh, I am hungry. Let’s talk to make me - forget.” - </p> - <p> - “You talk,” he said. “Tell me about your mother. She must be very good to - have a little girl like you.” - </p> - <p> - “My beautiful mother!” She clasped her hands against her throat. - </p> - <p> - From across misty fields came a low whistle. A stumpy dwarf-like figure - crawled through the hedge and darted forward, crouching beneath the - twilight and glancing back for an enemy in the most approved - penny-dreadful manner. Rabbits, nibbling at the cool wet turf, sat up and - stared before they scattered, mistaking him at first for an enlarged - edition of themselves. - </p> - <p> - “My eye,” he panted, “but they’re looking for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Really or just pretence?” asked Teddy. - </p> - <p> - Ruddy scratched his red head. “More than pretence. I met Fanner Joseph on - the road, and he stopped his horse and questioned me. Come on. Catch hold - of some of the grub. Let’s be runaway slaves with bloodhounds after us.” - </p> - <p> - They waded through bracken dew-wet, clinging and shoulder-high. Above them - trees grew gnarled and dense, shutting out the sky. At each step the world - grew more hushed and quiet. The sleepy calling of birds faded on the night - Dank fragrances of earth and moss and bark made the air heavy. Little - hands touched them; the hands of foxgloves and ferns and trailing vines. - They seemed to pat them more in welcome than affright. - </p> - <p> - In a narrow space where a tree had fallen, they lit a fire and nestled. As - the flames leapt up, they revealed the whole wood moving, tiptoeing - nearer, so that trees and foxgloves and ferns sprang back every time the - flames jumped higher. - </p> - <p> - A green moon-drenched, imaginative night! As they sat round the sparkling - embers and munched, they spoke in whispers. What were they not? They were - never themselves for one moment. They were sailors, marooned on a. desert - island. They were Robin Hoods. Ruddy’s fancies proved too violent for - Desire—they savored too much of blood; so at last it was agreed that - they should be knights from Camelot and that Desire should be the great - lady they had rescued. - </p> - <p> - “I’m so cosy,” she whispered. “So happy. You won’t let anything bad get - me, will you, Teddy?” - </p> - <p> - He put his arms about her. “Nothing.” - </p> - <p> - He thought she had drowsed off, when she drew his head down to her. “I - forgot. I haven’t said my prayers.” - </p> - <p> - The sleepier she grew, the more she seemed a dear little weary bird. Her - caprice went from her, her fine airs and her love of being admired. Even - when her eyes were fast locked and her breath was coming softly, her - fingers twitched and tightened about her boy-protector’s hand. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XX—THE POND IN THE WOODLAND - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ome one was - kicking his foot He awoke to find Ruddy, hands in pockets, grinning down - on him. - </p> - <p> - “Been op for hoars,” he whispered; “been exploring. Found a ripping pool - Want to swim in it?” - </p> - <p> - Teddy eased his arm from under the little girl and nodded. “Let’s light a - fire first. She’ll know then that we’re not far away, and won’t be - nervous.” - </p> - <p> - The blur of foliage quivered with mysteries of a myriad coinings and - goings. Everywhere unseen paths were being traveled to unseen houses. - Within sight, yet sounding distant, a woodpecker, like a postman going his - rounds, was tap-tap-tapping. - </p> - <p> - Ruddy knelt and struck a match; tongues of scarlet spurted. The camp-fire - became a beating heart in this citadel of gray-green loneliness. - </p> - <p> - Desire lay curled among withered leaves, her face flushed with sleep, her - lips parted. At sound of the fire snapping and cracking, she stirred and - opened her eyes slowly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, don’t leave me. Where are you going?” - </p> - <p> - “To have a swim,” they told her. - </p> - <p> - “But mayn’t I come? I promise to sit with my back turned. I promise not to - look, honestly.” - </p> - <p> - Behind a holly, within sight of the pond, they left her. “Oh, dear, I wish - I were a boy,” she pouted. “Boys have fathers and they can bathe and—and - they can do almost everything.” - </p> - <p> - While they undressed, she kept on talking. - </p> - <p> - “It’s the same as if you weren’t there, when I can’t see you. Splash loud - when you get into the water.” - </p> - <p> - As she heard them enter, “Splash louder,” she commanded. “Girls don’t have - to be truthful. If you don’t make a noise I’ll look round.” - </p> - <p> - “Pooh! Look round. Who cares!” cried Ruddy. - </p> - <p> - “No, don’t—not yet,” shouted Teddy. - </p> - <p> - Then the sound of their laughter came to her, of the long cool stretch of - arms plunging deep and panting growing always more distant. - </p> - <p> - She couldn’t resist. The babies came into her eyes and her finger went up - to her mouth. She turned and saw two sleek heads, bobbing and diving among - anchored lilies. Beneath the water’s surface, as though buried beneath a - sheet of glass, the ghost of the wood lay shrouded. Trees crowded down to - the mossy edge to gaze timidly at the wonder of their own reflection. - Across the pond flies zigzagged, leaving a narrow wake behind them. A fish - leapt joyously and curved in a streak of silver. With his chin resting in - the highest branches, the sun stared roundly and smiled a challenge. - </p> - <p> - “I will be a boy,” she whispered rebelliously. - </p> - <p> - Her arms flew up and circled about her neck. Lest her daring should go - from her, she commenced unbuttoning in a tremendous hurry. - </p> - <p> - “Hi, Princess, what are you doing?” - </p> - <p> - She was busy drawing off her stockings. - </p> - <p> - “I say, but you can’t do that.” - </p> - <p> - “No, you can’t do that.” - </p> - <p> - The scandalized duet of protests continued. Her knight-errants watched her - aghast. - </p> - <p> - Sullen gray eyes glared defiance at them; yet they weren’t altogether - sullen, for a glint of mischief hid in their depths. - </p> - <p> - “I am doing it. You daren’t come out to stop me.” - </p> - <p> - “We’ll come out if you’ll promise to turn round. We’ll do anything, - Princess. You can have the pond all to yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t want the pond all to myself, stupids.” - </p> - <p> - She began to slip off her petticoat. Two shocked backs were turned on her. - As the boys retreated further into the lilies, their pleadings reached her - in spasms. Their agony at the thought of violated conventions made her - relentless. - </p> - <p> - She was tired of being a girl; tired of being without a father. “I’ll be a - boy,” she whispered, “and wear knickerbockers and have a father, like - Teddy.” She really thought that, in some occult way, her outrageous - conduct would accomplish that. It was all a matter of dress. She chuckled - at imagining her mother’s amazement. The still sheet of water was a Pool - of Siloam that would heal a little girl of her sex. - </p> - <p> - “When she’s once got in,” whispered Ruddy, “it won’t be so bad. We can——” - </p> - <p> - Teddy grabbed his shoulder fiercely. “You shan’t see her. We’ll stay just - as far away as——” - </p> - <p> - A scream startled the air. They swung about. Knee-deep in the pool, at bay - and pale as a wood-nymph, was Desire. - </p> - <p> - “I won’t come out,” she was shouting, “and I’m not a naughty girl.” - </p> - <p> - Leaning out from the bank, trying to hook her with an umbrella, was a - balloon-shaped old lady. - </p> - <p> - Behind her, peering above the bushes, was the face of Farmer Joseph, his - merry eyes screwed up with amusement. - </p> - <p> - “But you’ll catch cold, darling,” Mrs. Sheerug coaxed. “Oh, dear, oh, - dear! What shall I do? Please do come out.” - </p> - <p> - “I shan’t catch cold either. And if I do come out you’ll only be cross - with me.” - </p> - <p> - “I won’t be cross with you, darling. I’m too glad to find you for that.” - </p> - <p> - “Did my beautiful mother send you?” - </p> - <p> - With what guile Mrs. Sheerug answered the boys could only guess by the - effect. - </p> - <p> - “Well, then,” came the piping little voice, “tell Farmer Joseph to stop - looking, and you stop poking at me. I don’t like your umbrella.” - </p> - <p> - They saw her wade out, drops of water falling from her elfin whiteness - like jewels; then saw her folded in the bat-like wings of the - faery-godmother’s ample mantle. The glade emptied. The wood grew silent - They dared to swim to land. - </p> - <p> - Ruddy was the first to say anything. “Ma—Ma’s a wonder. I oughtn’t - to have sent that pigeon till this s’moming.” Then, in a burst of - penitence for his zeal, “I’m afraid I’ve spoiled—— I say, I’m - beastly sorry.” - </p> - <p> - He had spoiled everything; there was no denying it There would be no more - camp-fires, no more slaying of bird-catchers, no more pretending you were - a war-horse with a rescued Princess from Goblinland riding on your back. - Teddy was too unhappy to blame or forgive Ruddy. He pulled on his shirt - and indulged in reflections. - </p> - <p> - “Wonder how they found us?” muttered Ruddy. “Must have seen the smoke of - our fire. That wasn’t my fault anyhow; you did agree to lighting that.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, be quiet,” growled Teddy. “What does anything matter? Who cares now - how they found out?” - </p> - <p> - Ruddy stole away to see what was happening, thinking that he might prove - more acceptable elsewhere. - </p> - <p> - Teddy stared at the pool. Birds flew across its quiet breast; fish leaped; - the sun smiled grandly. Everything was as it had been, yet he was altered. - They would take her away from him; of that he was certain. Perhaps they - would put her on another ship and send her traveling again across the - world. There would be other boys who had never had a sister. He hated - them. Because he was young, he would have to stay just where he had been - always—in Eden Row, where nothing ever happened. The tyranny of it! - </p> - <p> - He was roused by hearing his name called softly. She was tiptoeing down - the glade, dragging Mrs. Sheerug by the hand. Mrs. Sheerug’s other hand - still clasped her umbrella. - </p> - <p> - As he turned, the child ran forward and flung her arms about his neck. - “Oh, Teddy, this person says perhaps she’ll help us to find her.” Then, in - a whisper, bringing her face so dose that the thistledown of her hair - brushed his forehead and his whole world sank into two gray eyes, “The - Princess wasn’t very nice this morning—not modest, so this person - says. But you don’t mind—say you don’t I did so want to be like you - and to do everything that boys do,” and then, long drawn out, when he - thought her apology was ended, “Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sheerug trundled up, her hands folded beneath her mantle, and looked - down at them benevolently. - </p> - <p> - “Boys aren’t to be trusted; they shouldn’t be left alone with girls, <i>shouldn’t</i>.” - Having uttered the moral she felt necessary, she allowed herself to smile - through her shiny spectacles. “She’s fond of you, Teddy—a dear - little maid. Ah, well! We must be getting back with Farmer Joseph to - breakfast.” - </p> - <p> - In the wagonette, as they drove through the golden morning, few words were - said. Mrs. Sheerug sat with Desire cuddled to her, kissing her again and - again with a tender worship. Teddy-couldn’t divine why she should do it, - since she had never seen her until that morning. He was conscious of a - jealousy in Mrs. Sheerug’s attitude—a protective jealousy which made - her want to keep touching Desire, the way Hal did, to realize her - presence. It was as though they both shared his own dread that at any - moment they might lose her. - </p> - <p> - It was in the late afternoon when Mrs. Sheerug left. Before going she led - him aside. “I want to talk to you.” Her cheeks quivered with earnestness. - “You did very wrong, my dear, very wrong. Just how wrong you didn’t know. - Something terrible might have happened. That little girl’s in great - danger. You must keep her in the garden where no one can see her. Promise - me you will. I’d take her back to London to-night, only Hal doesn’t know - I’ve found out I want to give him the news gently.” She broke off, - wringing her hands and speaking to herself, “Why, oh why, was he so - foolish? Why did he keep it from me?” Then, recovering, “Either Hal or I - will come and fetch her to-morrow. Don’t look so down-hearted, my dear. If - the good Lord remembers us, everything may turn out well. If it does, I’ll - let you come and see her. Perhaps,” her dim eyes flickered with - excitement, “I shall be able to keep her always and make sure that she - grows into a good woman. Perhaps.” - </p> - <p> - She caught the boy to her breast. She was trembling all over and on the - verge of tears. When she had climbed into the wagonette, with Ruddy seated - beside her, and had lumbered slowly out of the farmyard, she left Teddy - wondering: Why had she said “a good woman”? As though there was any doubt - that little Desire would grow up good! - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXI—VANISHED - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E had searched the - farmhouse, calling her name softly. He had peered into the lumber-room, - where shadows were gathering. He had looked everywhere indoors. Now he - stepped into the orchard and called more loudly, “Desire. Desire. - Princess.” - </p> - <p> - Leaves shuddered. Across moss-grown paths slugs crawled. Everything - betokened rain; all live things were hurrying for shelter. Behind high red - walls, where peach-trees hung crucified, the end of day smoldered. The - west was a vivid saffron. To the southward black clouds wheeled like - vultures. The beauty of the garden shone intense. The greenness of - apple-trees had deepened. Nasturtiums blazed like fire in the borders of - box. The air was full of poignant fragrances: of lavender, of roses, and - of cool, dean earth. - </p> - <p> - To-morrow night all that he was at present feeling would have become a - memory. He called her name again and renewed his search. To-morrow night - would she, too, have become a memory? How loud the whisper of his - footsteps sounded I And if she had become a memory, would she forget—would - the future prove faithless to the past? - </p> - <p> - The garden would not remember. The brook would babble no less contentedly - because he was gone. All these flowers which shone so bravely—within - a week they, too, would have vanished. The birds in the early morning - would Scarcely notice his absence. In the autumn they would fly away; in - the spring, when they returned, they would think no more of the boy who - had parted the leaves so gently that a little girl might peep into their - nests. And would the little girl remember? Even now, when he called, she - did not answer. - </p> - <p> - In an angle of the garden, most remote from the farmhouse, he espied her. - Something in her attitude made him halt Her head was thrown back; she was - staring into a chestnut which tumbled its boughs across the wall. Her lips - were moving. She seemed to be, talking; nothing reached him of what was - said. At first he supposed she was acting a conversation. - </p> - <p> - “Desire,” he shouted. “Princess.” - </p> - <p> - She glanced across her shoulder and distinctly gave a warning. The - chestnut quivered. He was certain some one was climbing down. She kissed - her hand. The bough was still trembling when he reached her. - </p> - <p> - “Who was it?” - </p> - <p> - She pressed a finger to her lips. - </p> - <p> - “Was it Ruddy? But it couldn’t have been Ruddy unless——” - </p> - <p> - Beyond the wall he heard the sound of footsteps. They were stealing away - through grass. - </p> - <p> - When he turned to her, she was smiling with mysterious tenderness. - </p> - <p> - “Who was it?” - </p> - <p> - She slipped her hand into his. “I <i>am</i> fond of you, dear Teddy, but I - mustn’t, mustn’t tell.” - </p> - <p> - They walked in silence. Rain began to patter. They could hear it hiss as - it splashed against the sunset. - </p> - <p> - “Best be getting indoors,” he said. - </p> - <p> - In the lumber-room, where so many happy hours had been spent, they sat - with their faces pressed against the window. - </p> - <p> - “Do you want to play?” - </p> - <p> - He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “You’re not sulky with me, Teddy, are you? It would be unkind if you were. - I’m so happy.” She flung her arms about his neck, coaxing him to look at - her. “What shall I do to make you glad? Shall I make the babies come into - my eyes?” - </p> - <p> - He brushed his face against her carls. “It isn’t that. It’s not that I’m - sulky.” Her hands fluttered to his lips that he might kiss them. “It’s—it’s - only that I want you, and I’m afraid I may lose you.” - </p> - <p> - She laughed softly. “But I wouldn’t lose you. I wouldn’t let anybody, not - even my beautiful mother, make me lose you. I would worry and worry and - worry, till she brought me back.” She lowered her face and looked up at - him slantingly. “I can make people do most anything when I worry badly.” - </p> - <p> - He smiled at her exact self-knowledge. She knew that she was forgiven and - wriggled into his arms. “Why do you want me? I’m so little and not nice - always.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know why I want you, unless——” - </p> - <p> - “Unless?” she whispered. - </p> - <p> - “Unless it’s because I’ve been always lonely.” - </p> - <p> - She frowned, so he hastened to add, “But I know I do want you.” - </p> - <p> - “When I’m a big lady do you think you’ll still want me?” - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” He tried to imagine her as a big lady. “You’ll be proud then, I - expect. I once knew a big lady and she wasn’t—wasn’t very kind. I - think I like you little best.” Outside it was growing dark. The rain beat - against the window. The musty smell of old finery in boxes fitted with the - melancholy of the sound. - </p> - <p> - “I’m glad you like me little best, because,” she drew her fingers down his - cheek, “because, you see, I’m little now. But when I’m a big lady, I shall - want you to like me best as I am then.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed. “I wonder whether you will—whether you’ll care.” - </p> - <p> - “You say all the wrong things.” She struggled to free herself. “You’re - making me sad.” - </p> - <p> - “D’you know what you’ll be when you grow up?” - </p> - <p> - She ceased struggling; she was tremendously interested in herself. - </p> - <p> - “What?” - </p> - <p> - “A flirt.” - </p> - <p> - “What is a flirt?” she asked earnestly. - </p> - <p> - “A flirt’s a——” He puzzled to find words. “A flirt’s a very - beautiful woman who makes every one love her especially, and loves nobody - in particular herself.” - </p> - <p> - She clapped her hands. “Oh, I hope I shall.” - </p> - <p> - Outside her bedroom at parting she stopped laughing. “I <i>am</i> fond of - you, dear Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course you are.” - </p> - <p> - She pouted. “Oh, no, not of course. I’m not fond of everybody.” - </p> - <p> - He had set too low a value on her graciousness. He had often done it - wilfully before for the fun of seeing her give herself airs. “I didn’t - mean ‘of course’ like that,” he apologized; “I meant I didn’t doubt it.” - </p> - <p> - “But—but,” she sighed, “you don’t say the right things, Teddy—no, - never. You don’t understand.” - </p> - <p> - What did she want him to say, this little girl who was alternately a baby - and a woman? When he had puzzled his brain and had failed to guess, he - stooped to kiss her good-night She turned her face away petulantly; the - next moment she had turned it back and was clinging to him desperately. “I - don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to leave you.” - </p> - <p> - “You shan’t.” He had caught something of her passion. “Mrs. Sheerug has - promised. She lives quite near our house, and you’ll be my little sister. - You shall come and feed my pigeons, and see my father paint pictures. My - mother’s called Dearie—did I tell you that? Don’t be frightened; - I’ll lie awake all to-night in case you call.” - </p> - <p> - “No, sleep.” She drew her fingers down his face caressingly. “Sleep for my - sake, Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - He tried to keep awake, but his eyes grew heavy. Farmer Joseph and Mrs. - Sarie came creaking up the stairs. The house was left to shadows. Several - times he slipped from his bed and tiptoed to the door. More than once he - fancied he heard sounds. They always stopped the second he stirred. The - monotonous dripping of rain lulled him. It was like an army of footsteps - which advanced and halted, advanced and halted. Even through his sleep - they followed. - </p> - <p> - It seemed the last notes of a dream. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Where - was he? In his thoughts he had gone back years. He ought to have been in - Mrs. Sheerug’s bedroom, with the harp standing thinly against the panes - and the kettle purring on the fire. He was confused at finding that the - room was different. While that voice sang on, he had no time for puzzling. - </p> - <p> - It came from outside in the darkness, where trees knelt beneath the sky - like camels. Sometimes it seemed very far away, and sometimes just beneath - his window. It made him think of faeries dancing by moonlight It was like - the golden hair of the Princess Lettice lowered from her casement to her - lover. It was like the silver feet of laughter twinkling up a Beanstalk - ladder to the stars. It was like spread wings, swooping and drifting over - a faery-land of castellated tree-tops. It grew infinitely distant. He - strained his ears; it was almost lost It kept calling and calling to his - heart. - </p> - <p> - Something was moving. A shadow stole across his doorway. It was gone in an - instant—gone so quickly that, between sleeping and waking, it might - have been imagined. His heart was pounding. - </p> - <p> - In her room he saw the white blur of her bed. Timid lest he should disturb - her, he groped his hand across her pillow. It was still warm. - </p> - <p> - As he ran down the passage a cold draught met him. The door into the - farmyard was open. He hesitated on the threshold, straining his eyes into - the dusk of moonlight that leaked from under clouds. As he listened, he - heard Desire’s laugh, low and secret, and the whisper of departing - footsteps. Barefooted he followed. In the road, the horses’ beads turned - towards the wood, a carriage was standing with its lamps extinguished. The - door opened; there was the sound of people entering; then it slammed. - </p> - <p> - “Desire! Desire!” - </p> - <p> - The driver humped his shoulders, tugged at the reins, and lashed - furiously; the horses leapt forward and broke into a gallop. From the - window Vashti leant out. A child’s hand fluttered. He ran on breathlessly. - </p> - <p> - Under the roof of the woods all was blackness. The sounds of travel grew - fainter. When he reached the meadows beyond, there was nothing but the - mist of moonlight on still shadows—he heard nothing but the sullen - weeping of rain-wet trees and grass. He threw himself down beside the - road, clenching his hands and sobbing. - </p> - <p> - Next day Hal arrived to fetch him back to London. The wagonette was - already standing at the door. He thought that he had said all his - farewells, fixed everything indelibly on his memory, when he remembered - the lumber-room. Without explanation, he dashed into the house and climbed - the stairs. - </p> - <p> - Pushing open the door, he entered gently. It was here, if anywhere, that - he might expect to find her—the last place in which they had been - together. Old’ finery, dragged from boxes by her hands, lay strewn about. - The very sunshine, groping across the floor, seemed to be searching for - her. He was going over to the place by the window where they had sat, when - he halted, bending forward. Scrawled dimly in the dust upon the panes, in - childish writing, were the words, “I love you.” And again, lower down, “I - love you.” - </p> - <p> - His heart gave a bound. That was what she had been trying to make him say - last night, “I love you.” He hadn’t said it—hadn’t realized or - thought it possible that two children could love like that. He knew now - what she had meant, “You don’t say the right things, Teddy—no, - never. You don’t understand.” He knew now that from the first he had loved - her; his boyish fear of ridicule had forbidden him to own it. There on the - panes, like a message from the dead, soon to be overlaid with dust, was - her confession. - </p> - <p> - Voices called to him, bidding him hurry. Footsteps were ascending. Some - one was coming along the passage. The writing was sacred. It was meant for - his eyes alone. No one should see it but himself. He stooped his lips to - the pane. When Hal entered the writing had vanished. - </p> - <p> - “You—you played here,” he said. All day he had been white and silent - “I’m sorry, but we really must be going now, old chap.” - </p> - <p> - On the stairs, where it was dark, he laid an arm on the boy’s shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “You got to be very fond of her? We were both fond of her and—and - we’ve both lost her. I think I understand.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXII—THE FEAR OF KNOWLEDGE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he journey back to - London was like the waking moments of a dream. He gazed out of the - carriage window. He couldn’t bear to look at Hal; his eyes seemed dead, as - though all the mind behind them was full of darkened passages. It wasn’t - easy to be brave just now, so he turned his face away from him. - </p> - <p> - “Teddy.” There was no one in the carriage but themselves. “Did she ever - say anything about me?” - </p> - <p> - “She said that you were fond of her.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, yes, but I don’t mean that. Did she ever say how she felt herself?” - </p> - <p> - “About you?” - </p> - <p> - “About me.” - </p> - <p> - There was hunger in Hal’s voice—hunger in the way he listened for - the answer. - </p> - <p> - “Not—not exactly. But she liked you immensely. She really did, Hal. - She looked forward most awfully to your coming.” - </p> - <p> - “Any child would have done that when a man brought her presents. Then she - didn’t say she loved me? No, she wouldn’t say that.” - </p> - <p> - Hal spoke bitterly. Teddy felt that Desire was being accused and sprang to - her defense. “I don’t see how you could expect her to love you after what - you had done.” The man looked up sharply. “After what I had done! D’you - mean kidnaping her, or something further back?” - </p> - <p> - “I mean taking her away from her mother.” - </p> - <p> - Hal laughed gloomily. “No, as you say, a person with no claims on her - couldn’t expect her to love him after that.” - </p> - <p> - Sinking his head forward, he relapsed into silence and sat staring at the - seat opposite. When the train was galloping through the outskirts of - London, he spoke again. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve dragged you into something that you don’t understand. Don’t try to - understand it; but there’s something I want to say to you. If ever you’re - tempted to do wrong, remember me. If ever you’re tempted to get love the - wrong way, be strong enough to do without it. It isn’t worth having. You - have to lie and cheat to get it at first, and you have to lie and cheat to - keep some of it when it’s ended.” He turned his face away, speaking - shamefully and hurriedly. “I sinned once, a long while ago—I don’t - know whether you’ve guessed. I’m still paying for it. You’re paying for - it. One day that little girl may have to pay the biggest price of any of - us. I was trying to save her from that.” - </p> - <p> - Through the window shabby rows of cabs showed up. A porter jumped on the - step, asking if there was any luggage. Hal waved him back. Turning to - Teddy, he said, “When you’ve sinned, you never know where the paying ends. - It touches a thousand lives with its selfishness. Remember me one day, and - be careful.” - </p> - <p> - Driving home in the hansom, he referred but once to the subject “I’ve made - you suffer. I don’t know how much—boys never tell. I owed you - something; that’s why I spoke to you just now.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy’s arrival home scattered the last mists of his dream-world. As the - cab drew up before the house, the door flew open and his father burst out, - bundling a mildly protesting old gentleman down the steps. - </p> - <p> - “No, I don’t paint little pigs,” he was shouting, “and I don’t paint - little girls sucking their thumbs and cooing, ‘I’m baby.’ You’ve come to - the wrong shop, old man; no offense. I’m an artist; the man you’re looking - for is a sign-painter. Good evening.” - </p> - <p> - The door banged in the old gentleman’s face. Jimmie Boy was so enjoying - his anger that he didn’t notice that in closing the door he was shutting - out his son. - </p> - <p> - When Teddy had been admitted by Jane, he heard his mother’s voice dodging - through his father’s laughter like a child through a crowd. - </p> - <p> - “You needn’t have been so sharp with him, Jimmie. He only wanted to buy - the kind of pictures you don’t paint You can’t expect every one to - understand. Now he’ll go the rounds and talk about you, and you’ll have - another enemy. Why do you do it, my silly old pirate?” - </p> - <p> - The old pirate pretended to become suspicious that his wife was trying to - lower his standards—trying to persuade him to paint the rubbish that - would sell She protested her innocence. Long after Teddy had made his - presence known the argument continued, half in banter, half in - seriousness. Then it took the familiar turning which led to a discussion - of finance. - </p> - <p> - He stole away. The impatient world had swept him back into its maelstrom - of realities. It had taken away his breath and staggered his courage. - Hal’s harangue on the consequences of sin had made him see sin everywhere. - He saw his father as sinning when he indulged his genius by pushing - would-be purchasers down his steps. Hal was right—he and Dearie - would have to pay for that; all their lives they had been paying for his - father’s temperament. They had had to go short of everything because he - would insist on trying to exchange his dreams for money. - </p> - <p> - He wandered out into the garden where his pigeons were flying. - Instinctively his steps led him to the stable. From the stalls he dragged - out <i>The Garden Enclosed</i>, which was to have made his father famous. - He gazed at it; as he gazed, the world seemed better. The world must be a - happy place so long as there were women in it like that. People said that - his father hadn’t succeeded; but he had by being true to what he knew to - be best. - </p> - <p> - He climbed the ladder to the studio where, through long years of - discouragement, his father had refused to stoop below himself. Leaning - from the window, he gazed into the garden. The dusty smell of the ivy came - to him. - </p> - <p> - There in the darkness his mother found him. Coming in quietly, she - crouched beside him, taking his hands. - </p> - <p> - “Mother, you’re very beautiful.” - </p> - <p> - Her heart quickened. “Something’s happened. Once you wouldn’t have said - that.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ve been thinking about so many things,” he whispered, “about how it - must have helped a man to have had some one like you always to himself.” - </p> - <p> - “You were thinking,” she brushed his cheek with hers, “you were thinking - about yourself—about the long, long future.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” His voice scarcely reached her. “I was growing frightened because - of Hal. I was feeling kind of lonely. Then I thought of you and Jimmie - Boy. It would be fearful to grow up like Hal.” - </p> - <p> - “You won’t, Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - There was a long silence. They could hear each other’s thoughts ticking. - At last he whispered, “Desire said she never had a father.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor little girl! You must have guessed?” - </p> - <p> - “Hal?” - </p> - <p> - Choking back her tears, she nodded. - </p> - <p> - “Things like that——” He broke off, staring into the darkness. - “Things like that make a boy frightened, when first they’re told him.” She - drew his head down to her shoulder. He lay there without speaking, feeling - sheltered for the moment. All the threats of manhood, the fears that he - might fail, the terror lest he might miss the highest things like Hal, - drew away into the distance. - </p> - <p> - In the night, when he awoke and they returned, he drove them off with a - new purpose. The pity and white chivalry of his boyhood were aflame with - what he had learnt. Until he met her again, he would keep himself - spotless. She should be to him what the Holy Grail was to Sir Gala-had. He - would fight to be good and great not for his own sake—that would be - lonely; but that he might be strong, when he became a man, to pay the - price for Desire that Hal’s sin had imposed on her. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIII—TEDDY AND RUDDY - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>ear is a form of - loneliness; it was Ruddy who cured Teddy of that. - </p> - <p> - For years they had met in Orchid Lodge and up and down Eden Row, nodding - to each other with the contemptuous tolerance of boys whose parents are - friends. It was the shared memory of the adventure in the woodland that - brought them together. - </p> - <p> - Two days after his return from the farm he stole out into Eden Row as - night was falling. In the park, across the river, the bell for closing - time was ringing. On tennis courts, between slumbering chestnuts, men in - flannels were putting on their coats and gathering their shoes and - rackets, while slim wraiths of girls waited for them. They swept together - and drifted away through the daffodil-tinted dusk. Clear laughter floated - across the river and the whisper of reluctantly departing footsteps. Park - keepers, like angels in Eden, marched along shadowy paths, herding the - lovers and driving them before them, shouting in melancholy tones, “All - out. All out.” They seemed to be proclaiming that nothing could last. - </p> - <p> - “Hulloa!” - </p> - <p> - Teddy turned to find the sturdy figure in the midshipman’s suit leaning - against the railings beside him. - </p> - <p> - “Must be rather jolly to be like that.” - </p> - <p> - “Like what?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, don’t be a sausage.” Ruddy smiled imperturbably. “To be like them—old - enough to put your arm round a girl without making people laugh.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - Ruddy sank his voice. “Wonder where they all come from. Suppose they look - quite proper by daylight, as though they’d never speak to a chap.” - </p> - <p> - The crowd was pouring out from the gates and melting away by twos and - twos. Each couple seemed to walk in its own separate world, walled in by - memories of tender things done and said. As they passed beneath lamps, the - girls drew a little apart from their companions; but as they entered long - intervals of twilit gloom their propriety relaxed. - </p> - <p> - Turning away from the river, the boys followed the crowd at random. Once - Ruddy hurried forward to peer into a girl’s face as she passed beneath a - lamp. She had flaxen hair which broke in waves about her shoulders. - </p> - <p> - Teddy flushed. He had wanted to do it himself, but something had - restrained him. Secretly he admired Ruddy’s boldness. “Don’t do that,” he - whispered. - </p> - <p> - “She looked pretty from the back,” Ruddy explained. “Wanted to see by her - face whether her boy had been kissing her. You are a funny chap.” - </p> - <p> - They got tired of wandering. On the edge of a low garden wall, with their - backs against the railing, they seated themselves. It was in a road of - small villas, dotted with golden windows and shadowy with the foam of - foliage. - </p> - <p> - Ruddy pulled out a cigarette. “I liked her most awfully. Us’ally I don’t - like girls.” - </p> - <p> - “Desire?” Teddy’s heart bounded at being able to speak her name so - frankly. - </p> - <p> - “Desire. Yes. I’ve got an idea that she’s a sort of relation. Ma won’t - tell a thing about her. I can’t ask Hal—he’s too cut up. When I - speak to Harriet, she says ‘Hush.’ There’s a mystingry.” - </p> - <p> - For a week Ruddy opened his heart wider and wider, till he had all but - confessed that he was in love with Desire. Then one day, with the - depressed air of a conspirator, he inveigled Teddy into the shrubbery of - Orchid Lodge. - </p> - <p> - “Want to ask you something. You think I’m in love with that kid, Desire, - don’t you? Well, I’m not.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m glad you’re not, because—you oughtn’t to be. Why you oughtn’t - to be, I can’t tell you.” - </p> - <p> - “But I never was.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, weren’t you?” Teddy shrugged his shoulders. - </p> - <p> - Up went Ruddy’s fists. His face grew red and his eyes became suspiciously - wet. “You’re the only one who knows it. You’ve got to say I wasn’t. If you - don’t, I’ll fight you.” - </p> - <p> - “But you’ve just said that I’m the only one who knows it. You silly chump, - you’ve owned that you were in love.” - </p> - <p> - Ruddy stood hesitant; his fists fell “Don’t know what God’ll do to me. - I’ve been in love with my——” He gulped. “I’m her uncle.” - </p> - <p> - For a fortnight he posed as a figure of guilt and hinted darkly at - suicide. But the world at fifteen is too adventurous a place for even a - boy who has been in love with his niece to remain long tragic. It was on - this dark secret of his unclehood, that his momentous friendship with - Teddy was founded. Mrs. Sheerug approved of it; she did all that she could - to encourage it. She sent him to Mr. Quickly’s school in Eden Row which - Teddy attended. From that moment the boys’ great days began. - </p> - <p> - It was Ruddy who invented one of their most exciting games, <i>Enemies or - Friends</i>. This consisted in picking out some inoffensive boy from among - their school-fellows and overwhelming him with flatteries. He was made the - recipient of presents and invited to tea on half-holidays, till his - suspicions of evil intentions were quite laid to rest. Then one afternoon, - when school was over, he was lured into Orchid Lodge to look at the - pigeons. Once within the garden walls, Orchid Lodge became a brigand’s - castle, the boy a captive, and Ruddy and Teddy his captors. The boy was - locked up in the tool-shed for an hour and made to promise by the most - fearful threats not to divulge to his mother what had delayed him. - Intended victims of this game knew quite well what fate was in store for - them; a rumor of the brigands’ perfidy had leaked out. The chief sport in - its playing lay in the Machiavellian methods employed to persuade the - latest favorite that, whatever had happened to his predecessors, he was - the great exception, beloved only for himself. - </p> - <p> - Opportunity for revenge arrived when Teddy’s first attempt at authorship - was published. Mr. Quickly, the Quaker headmaster, brought out a magazine - each Christmas to which his students were invited to contribute. Teddy’s - contribution was entitled <i>The Angel’s Sin</i>. Perhaps it was inspired - by remorse for his misdoings. Dearie nearly cried her eyes out when she - read it, she was so impressed by its piety. But it moved his - school-fellows to ridicule—especially the much-wronged boys who had - spent an hour in the tool-shed. They recited it in chorus between classes; - they followed him home reciting it; they stood outside the windows of his - house and bawled it at him through the railings. “Heaven was silent, for - one had sinned. Before the throne of God a prostrate figure lay. But the - throne was wrapped in clouds. A voice rang out,” etc. - </p> - <p> - “They have no souls,” his mother whispered comfortingly. - </p> - <p> - <i>The Angel’s Sin</i> cost the brigands many bruises and their mothers - much repairing of torn clothing. Teddy’s mother declared that it was all - worth it—she had spent her life in paying the price for having - genius in her family; Mrs. Sheerug was doubtful Ruddy was loyal in his - public defense of Teddy, but secretly disapproving. “Stupid ass! Why did - you do it? Why didn’t you write about pirates? Might have known we’d get - ragged.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy shook his head. He was quite as much puzzled as Ruddy. “Don’t know. - It just came to me. I had to do it.” - </p> - <p> - The Christmas holidays brought a joyous week. Teddy had a cold and was - kept in bed. The light was too bad for painting, so his father came and - sat with him. - </p> - <p> - “You’re younger than you were, chappie—more like what I used to be - at your age. That young ruffian’s doing you good. What d’you play at?” - </p> - <p> - When penny dreadfuls were mentioned, Jimmie Boy closed one eye and - squinted at his son humorously. “That’s not much of a diet—not much - in keeping with <i>The Ange’s Sin</i> and a boy who’s going to be a - genius. Tell you what I’ll do; let’s have Ruddy in and I’ll reform you.” - </p> - <p> - Then began a magic chain of nights and days. As soon as the breakfast-tray - had been carried down, Jimmie Boy would commence his reading. It was <i>Margaret - of Valois</i> that he chose as being the nearest thing in literature to a - penny dreadful. Teddy, lying cosily between sheets, would listen to the - booming voice, which rumbled like a gale about the pale walls of the - bedroom. Seated in a great armchair, with his pipe going like a furnace - and his knees spread apart before the fire, his rebel father acted out - with his free hand all the glorious love scenes and stabbings. Ruddy, - stretched like a dog upon the floor, his elbows digging into the carpet, - gazed up at Jimmie Boy adoringly. For a week they kept company with kings - and queens, listening to the clash of swords and witnessing the intrigue - of stolen kisses. They wandered down moonlit streets of Paris, were - present at the massacre of St. Batholomew’s Eve, and saw the Duchess of - Guise, having rescued Coconnas from the blades of the Huguenots, hide him, - dripping with blood, in her secret closet. - </p> - <p> - When <i>Margaret of Valois</i> was ended, <i>Hereward the Wake</i> - followed, and then <i>Rienzi</i>. - </p> - <p> - “And that’s literature,” Jimmie Boy told them. “How about your penny - dreadfuls now?” - </p> - <p> - In the afternoons Dearie would join them. “You three boys,” she called - them. She always made a pretense that she was intruding, till she had been - entreated in flowery romance language to enter. Then, sitting on the bed - like a tall white queen, her hand clasped in Teddy’s, she would watch - dreamily, with those violet eyes of hers, the shaggy head of Jimmie Boy - tossing in a melody of words. - </p> - <p> - It was this week, with its delving into ancient stories, that taught him - what his parents’ love really meant—it was a rampart thrown up by - the soul against calamity. They had been poor and harassed and - disappointed. There had been times when they had spoken crossly. But in - their hearts they still stood hand-in-hand, always guarding a royal place - in which they could be happy. - </p> - <p> - “I say,” whispered Ruddy, “your people—they’re toppers. Let’s go - slow on the penny dreadfuls.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIV—DUKE NINEVEH ENTERS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>s the years passed - the two boys grew into explorers of the undiscovered countries that lie - behind the tail-treed reticence of people’s minds. Their sole equipment - for these gallant raids was a daring sort of kindness. - </p> - <p> - Ruddy’s actions were inspired by good nature and high spirits; Teddy’s by - introspection and a determination to inquire. He was possessed by a - relentless curiosity to find out how things worked. - </p> - <p> - By a dramatic turn of luck their faculty for curious friendships flung the - whole Sheerug household, and Jimmie Boy with it, high up on the strand of - what Mrs. Sheerug would have termed “a secure nincome.” - </p> - <p> - At the time when this happened Teddy was already getting his hand in by - helping his father with the letter-press for his illustrated volumes. - Ruddy, much to Mrs. Sheerug’s disgust, had announced his intention of - “going on the sands,” by which he meant becoming a pierrot. - </p> - <p> - One sparkling morning in June they were setting out for Brighton. Ruddy - had heard of a troupe who were playing there and was anxious to add to his - store of pierrot-knowledge. At the last moment, as the train was moving, a - distinguished looking man who had been dawdling on the platform seemed to - make up his mind to travel by it Paying no heed to the warning shouts of - porters, as coolly as if he had been catching a passing bus, he leapt on - the step of the boys’ third-class smoker, unlocked the door and entered. - </p> - <p> - “Handy things to keep about you,” he said, “keys to Tallway carriages. Oh, - a third! Thought it was a first. Too bad. Make the best of it.” - </p> - <p> - There was a cheerful insolence about the way in which he sniffed, “Oh, a - third!” addressing nobody in particular and thinking his thoughts aloud. - He had a fine, rolling baritone. His aristocratic, drawling way of talking - set up an immediate barrier between himself and the world—a barrier - which he evidently expected the world to recognize. - </p> - <p> - Ruddy raised a democratic foot and tapped him on the shin. “Your ticket’s - a third. It’s in your hand.” - </p> - <p> - The distinguished looking man leant down and flapped his trousers with his - glove where the democratic foot had touched it Then he fixed Ruddy with a - haughty stare. “Ah! So it is. Chap must have given it me in error.” - </p> - <p> - He settled himself in a corner, paying the utmost attention to his - comfort, screwed a monocle in his eye and spread a copy of <i>The Pink - </i>’<i>Un</i> before him. - </p> - <p> - The boys threw inquiring glances at each other. Why should this ducal - looking individual, with his complete self-assurance and patronizing - vastness, have worried himself to try to make them believe that he was - traveling third-class by accident? Was he an escaping criminal or a - lunatic? Had the porters who had shouted warnings at him been disguised - detectives? Was there any chance of his becoming violent when they entered - the Box Hill Tunnel? - </p> - <p> - They scrutinized him carefully. He was probably nearing forty; he wore a - straw hat, a black flannel suit with a thin white stripe running down it, - patent-leather shoes and canvas spats. Everything about him was of - expensive cut and bore the stamp of fashion. His face was wrinkled like a - bloodhound’s, his hair sleek and tawny, his complexion brick-red with good - living. His nose was slightly Roman, his eyes a sleepy gray; his attitude - towards the world one of fastidious boredom. He was a large-framed man and - would pass for handsome. - </p> - <p> - Ruddy was not easily awed. Reaching under the seat, he drew out one of the - boxes which Mr. Hughes had entrusted to him. - </p> - <p> - “What message shall we send? The usual?” - </p> - <p> - On a narrow strip of paper he wrote, “<i>We have just completed another - murder</i>.” As the train slowed down at Red Hill, he leant out of the - window and tossed the pigeon up. - </p> - <p> - “Never trouble trouble, till trouble troubles you.” - </p> - <p> - The distinguished looking person had laid aside his paper. - </p> - <p> - “Excuse me,” he said, and with that he drew off his patent-leather shoes - and rested his feet on the window ledge to air them. - </p> - <p> - “Tight?” suggested Teddy politely. - </p> - <p> - “Very,” said the distinguished looking person. “To tell the truth, they’re - not mine. I’m too kind-hearted.” - </p> - <p> - He picked up his paper and wriggled his toes in his silk socks. It was - difficult to trace the connection between wearing tight shoes and - kind-heartedness. - </p> - <p> - “A mystingry,” whispered Ruddy. - </p> - <p> - “Eh! What’s that?” The Roman nose appeared for an instant above <i>The - Pink </i>’<i>Un</i> and the lazy gray eyes twinkled. “I’m wearing ’em - easy out of affection for a dear friend. No splendor without pain. I take - the pain and leave him the splendor.” - </p> - <p> - Both boys nodded as though his explanation had made his conduct, which had - at first seemed unusual, entirely conventional. Teddy drew a pencil from - his pocket and commenced to make a surreptitious sketch. If the imposing - stranger were anything that he ought not to be, it might come in useful. - </p> - <p> - “What are you doing?” The paper was tossed aside. “Humph! Colossal! If I - may, I’ll keep it I’m a black-and-white artist myself.” He narrowed his - eyes as if to hide their real expression. “You won’t know my name. I’m - what you might call a professional amateur. Could make a fortune at it, - but won’t be bothered with the vulgarity of selling.” And then, with an - airy wave of his hand, flicking the ash off his cigarette: “Of course I - don’t need to.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course not,” said Teddy, with winning frankness. - </p> - <p> - “Of course not,” echoed Ruddy, with a sly intonation, winking at the - patent-leather shoes. - </p> - <p> - The stranger, who had been using the seat as a couch, shifted his position - and glanced at Ruddy. “My dee-ar boy, I meant that. If you have very - affectionate friends and enough of them, you never need to earn money. It - was only when I was young—about as young as you are—that I was - fool enough to labor.” He pronounced it “laybore.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I’ve not been fool enough to ’laybore’ yet,” said Ruddy, - with sham indignation, as though defending himself from a shameful - accusation. - </p> - <p> - “If you do what I do, there’ll be no necessity.” The stranger closed his - eyes. “If you cater to the world’s vanity you can live well and do - nothing. There’s nothing—absolute—” he yawned widely, “—lutely - nothing to prevent you.” - </p> - <p> - They waited for his eyes to open. If he wasn’t mad, he was the possessor - of a secret—a secret after which all the world was groping: nothing - more nor less than how to fare sumptuously and not to work. But his eyes - remained shut. Ruddy spoke. “I wish you’d tell us how.” - </p> - <p> - The stranger didn’t answer; he appeared to be sleeping—sleeping, - however, with considerate care not to crumple the beautiful flannel suit - The train raced on. A clear, sea-look was appearing above the Sussex - Downs, like the bright reflection of a mirror flashing. It was - exasperating. They would soon be at Brighton and this man would escape - them with his valuable knowledge. - </p> - <p> - On the second message they sent back to Mr. Hughes they wrote, “<i>A - mystingry</i>.” On the third, “<i>The mystingry deepens</i>.” - </p> - <p> - Brakes began to grind, slowing down the train as they neared their - destination. The man sat up. “Best be putting on my shoes.” - </p> - <p> - Ruddy seized his last opportunity. “Look here, it ’ud be awfully - decent of you if you’d tell us.” - </p> - <p> - “Tell you?” - </p> - <p> - “How to cater to people’s vanities. How to live without doing a stroke of - work. My father’s been trying for years—he’s a promoter. You might - tell us.” - </p> - <p> - “So your father’s a promoter!” The man was pulling on his spats. “Well, - I’ll give you a hint and let you reason the rest out There are more women - in the world than men, aren’t there? The women are always trying to win - the men’s affection. The way in which they think they can do it is by - being beautiful. There!” - </p> - <p> - “That’s a long stoop,” said Ruddy; “let me button them for you.” - </p> - <p> - By the time the spats were buttoned they had come to a halt in the - station. - </p> - <p> - The man stood up. “Here’s my card. We may meet again.” - </p> - <p> - He jumped out of the carriage, leaving Ruddy turning his card over. It - bore no address, only a name, <i>Duke Ninevah</i>. - </p> - <p> - “Not <i>the Duke of</i>,” whispered Teddy, peering over his shoulder, “so - it can’t be a title.” - </p> - <p> - “Here, come on,” said Ruddy. “Let’s follow him.” - </p> - <p> - Further down the platform they saw Duke Ninevah helping a lady from a - first-class carriage. She was slight and extremely stylish; even at that - distance they guessed she must be beautiful. They had begun to follow when - they remembered that they had left the empty pigeon boxes behind. They - dashed back to find them; when they again looked up and down the platform, - Duke Ninevah and his lady had vanished. - </p> - <p> - “Must be traceable,” said Ruddy. “Here, let’s leave these things at the - parcel-room and clear for action. Now then, let’s use our intellecks. What - does one come to the seaside for? To see the sea. We’ll find him either in - it or beside it Why does one bring a lady to Brighton? To make love to - her, and to make love one needs to be private. We’ve to find a private - place by the sea, and then he’s cornered.” - </p> - <p> - “And what about the pierrots?” - </p> - <p> - “Let ’em wait. Humph!” - </p> - <p> - As they came down on to the promenade the waves heliographed to them. A - warm south wind flapped against their faces. The air was full of voices, - rising and falling and blending: ice-cream men shouting their wares; - cabmen inviting hire; an evangelist, balancing on a chair and screaming - “Redemption! Redemption!”; a comedian, dressed like a sultan and bawling - breathlessly, “I’m the Emperor of Sahara, Tarara, Tarara”; the - under-current chatter of conversation, and the laughing screams of girls - as they stepped down from bathing huts and felt the first chill of the - bubbling surf. Wriggling out like sea-serpents, their tails tethered to - the land, were piers with swarms of insect-looking objects creeping along - their backs. Gayety everywhere, and somewhere the man who knew how - pleasure could be had without working! “By the sea with privacy,” Ruddy - kept murmuring; the more remote their chances grew of finding him, the - more certain they became that Duke Ninevah had a secret worth the knowing. - </p> - <p> - They had searched everywhere. It was afternoon and soon they would have to - be returning. “Why not try the piers,” suggested Teddy; “if I wanted to - gaze at the sea and make love to anybody——” - </p> - <p> - “Good idea. So would I.” - </p> - <p> - They passed through the turnstile and recommenced their quest On - approaching a shelter, halfway down the pier, their attention was arrested - by a slight and lonely figure. She was crouched in a corner with her head - sunk forward. - </p> - <p> - “Hulloa! Left his girl. Let’s present his card and talk with her.” - </p> - <p> - But when they had walked round the glass shield of the shelter, they saw - that she was sleeping. She must be sleeping soundly, for the insistent - yapping of a Pomeranian did not seem to disturb her. Her hands lay loosely - folded in her lap; in one of them a crumpled hankerchief was clutched. It - was plain that she had been crying. - </p> - <p> - “She’s pretty!” They stole nearer. Then, “Jumping Jehosaphat!” - </p> - <p> - The tears had washed the color from her cheeks in places; they still hung - sparkling on her painted lashes. With the sagging of her head her hat had - slipped, and with it her wig, so that a scanty lock of white hair escaped - across her forehead. But none of these things had called for the - exclamation; they were apprehended at the same moment by something far - more startling. - </p> - <p> - The lady’s head had came forward with a jerk; her mouth opened; her - girlish beauty became convulsed, and then crumbled. As though a living - creature were forcing an exit, something white and gleaming shot from her - mouth. A complete set of excellent false teeth were only prevented from - falling into the sea by the excited Pomeranian, who pounced on them and - raced away, as though it were in expectation of precisely this event that - he had been waiting. - </p> - <p> - In a flash the boys gave chase, leaving the distressed, scarcely awakened - lady gazing after them and clasping imploring hands. - </p> - <p> - “Here’s a go!” panted Ruddy as they dodged through the crowd. “She’ll lose - ’em for a cert. Why, I could have been in love with her myself if - this hadn’t—— What a rumpage!” - </p> - <p> - They were nearing the turnstile. Above the turmoil of their pursuit they - heard the comedian on the sands still declaring, “I’m the Emperor of - Sahara, Tarara, Tarara.” Probably he was. In Brighton anything was - possible. To Teddy it seemed a mad romance, a wild topsy-turvy, a staged - burlesque in which Arthurian knights rescued ladies’ teeth instead of - their virtue. Of the two, in Brighton, false teeth were the more precious. - </p> - <p> - The day was hot The Pomeranian was fat Perhaps in Pomerania false teeth - are more nutritious. He was beginning to have doubts as to their value, - for he had twice turned his head, wondering whether peace might be patched - up with honor. He was turning for a third time when he blundered full tilt - into a nursemaid’s skirts. He was so startled by the weight of the child - she dropped on him that he abandoned his loot and fled. Of the two - pursuers Teddy was the first to arrive. Snatching up the teeth, before - they could be trampled by the crowd which the child’s screams were - attracting, he wrapped them in his pocket-handkerchief, hiding them from - public view, and strolled back unconcernedly. But what to do next? How to - return them? How to put the lady to least shame? - </p> - <p> - “Well, they <i>are</i> hers,” Ruddy argued. “She knows that we know she - wears ’em. They’re no good to us; and we shouldn’t have chased the - dog unless we’d thought that she’d like to have ’em. You’re too - delicate-minded.” - </p> - <p> - Seen from a distance as they approached her, she looked slight as a - schoolgirl. Is was impossible to believe that she was really an old woman. - She came hurrying towards them with one hand held out and the other - pressed against her mouth. Not a word was said as her lost property was - returned. The moment she had it, she walked to the side of the pier and - gazed seawards, while both boys turned their backs. She was closing her - vanity-case when she called to them. - </p> - <p> - They stared. The powder-puff and mirror had done their work. To the not - too observing eye she was a girl. - </p> - <p> - “I want to thank you.” She gave them each a small gloved hand. “I’d like - to send you a reward if you’ll give me your address. May I?” - </p> - <p> - They shook their heads. Ruddy acted spokesman. “No. But let us stay till - Mr. Nineveh comes back.” - </p> - <p> - “Duke! You know him?” - </p> - <p> - She had a charming, flute-like note in her voice when she asked a - question. - </p> - <p> - “We’ve been hunting him all day.” - </p> - <p> - “Why?” - </p> - <p> - “He said he knew how to get pleasure without,” Ruddy’s face puckered with - genial impertinence, “without ’laybore’.” - </p> - <p> - The lady laughed. “I think I could tell you how he does it. You’ll never - guess what the naughty man did to me. He brought me down here for one dear - little day to our two selves and then,” she raised her shoulders ever so - slightly, “he saw a pretty face and left me in the shelter to wait for - him. I’ve waited; I’ve not had any lunch.” - </p> - <p> - “Had no lunch!” Teddy spoke in the tones of one to whom a missed meal - spelled tragedy. - </p> - <p> - “You see, he carries my purse,” she explained. - </p> - <p> - The boys asked each other questions with their eyes, jingled the coins in - their pockets and nodded. - </p> - <p> - “If you wouldn’t mind coming with us——” - </p> - <p> - She looked at them, this young girl, who was old enough to be their - grandmother. “You’re very kind.” She smiled mysteriously. “Yes, I’ll let - you treat me.” - </p> - <p> - They took her to the confectioner’s in a side street where they had had - their midday meal. It was inexpensive. Seated at a marble-topped table, - while trippers came in and out for buns, she looked strangely and - exotically elegant. - </p> - <p> - She noticed that they weren’t eating. “Aren’t you having anything - yourselves?” - </p> - <p> - “Not hungry.” - </p> - <p> - She guessed their shortage of funds. “You’re kinder than I thought First - you prevent me from—well, from becoming seventy and then you take - care of me with the last of your money. I’ve known a good many boys and - men—they were all greedy, especially the men. But there’s something - still more wonderful—something you haven’t done. You didn’t laugh at - me when—— I’m always losing them one way or another. I’m in - constant dread that Duke’ll see me without them. I know you won’t tell.” - </p> - <p> - “Has your husband got your ticket?” asked Teddy. He was wondering how they - could get her to London. - </p> - <p> - She looked puzzled. “My husband?” She gave a comic little smile. “My - husband—oh, yes! We can meet him at the station. I know the train by - which he’ll travel.” - </p> - <p> - Then she commenced to coquette with them till they blushed. “I’m a silly - old woman trying to be young, but you like it all the same.” - </p> - <p> - They did, for when she bent towards them laughing, fluttering her gay - little hands, they forgot the strand of white hair and the way in which - they had seen her beauty crumble. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, but when I was a girl, really a girl, not a painted husk, how you - would have loved me! All the men loved me—so many that I can’t - remember. What a life I’ve had! And you—you have all your lives - before you.” - </p> - <p> - She made them feel that—this unaccountable old woman—made them - throb to the wonder of having all their lives before them. She told them - stories of herself to illustrate what that meant—<i>risqué</i> - stories which failed of being utterly improper by ending abruptly. It was - done with the gravest innocence. - </p> - <p> - They wandered out on to the promenade. The sun was going down. The waves - were tipped with a flamingo redness. It was as though scarlet birds were - darting so swiftly that they could not see their bodies. - </p> - <p> - “Let me be old,” she whispered, “what I am, before I see him. It’s such a - rest.” - </p> - <p> - From frivolity she grew confessional. It seemed as though her false youth - fell away from her and only the tell-tale paint was left “If I’d been - wiser, I’d have had two boys like you for grandsons. But I’ve not been - wise, my dears. I’ve always wanted to be loved; I’ve broken hearts, and - now—— When a woman gets to my age, she’s left to do all the - loving. I’m condemned to be always, always young. I’d like best, if I - could choose, to be just a simple old woman. I’d like to wear a lace cap - and no, corsets, and to sit rocking by a window, watching for you boys to - come and tell me your hopes and troubles. You must have very dear mothers. - I wonder—— If I asked you to visit me—not the me I look - now, but the real me—would you come?” - </p> - <p> - At the station they were climbing into a third, when Duke Nineveh came - breezily up. - </p> - <p> - “Ha! How d’you manage that? Made friends with Madame Josephine, have you?” - Then to Madame Josephine, “I say, it’ll hurt business if you’re seen - traveling third. Appearances, appearances, my dear—they’ve got to be - kept up.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Duke, for once I’m not caring.” - </p> - <p> - She sat herself down between the two boys, like the little old lady she - was, holding a hand of each in her lap. Duke Nineveh waited till her head - was nodding, then drew off his shoes softly. “They’ve hurt most - confoundedly all day.” He turned to Ruddy. “So your father’s a promoter! - Is he any good at it?” - </p> - <p> - “Good at it! Phew! A regular steam-engine when he gets started.” - </p> - <p> - “Does he promote everything? I mean, he’s not too particular about what he - handles?” - </p> - <p> - The description Ruddy gave of his father’s capacities would have compelled - hair to grow on Mr. Ooze’s head, especially that it might stand up. - </p> - <p> - “Humph!” Mr. Nineveh rubbed his chin. “Here’s my address. If he cares to - call on me, we might make each other’s fortunes.” - </p> - <p> - As the train was thundering between the walls of London, Madame Josephine - woke up. Drawing out her vanity-case, she renewed her complexion. It was - so elaborate an undertaking that it was scarcely completed when they came - to a halt in the station. “We’re going to meet again,” she said. - </p> - <p> - As they watched her drive away in the brougham that was waiting for her, - accompanied by the man who never had to work, they could scarcely believe - that she was not what she looked at that distance—a girl of little - more than twenty. - </p> - <p> - “A fine old world!” Ruddy stuck his hands in his trousers pockets. “One’s - always walkin’ round the corner and findin’ something. It’s the walkin’ - round the corner that does it.” - </p> - <p> - “Seems so,” Teddy assented. - </p> - <p> - They climbed on a bus and drove back through the evening primroses of - street-lamps to Eden Row. After all, in spite of Mr. Yaffon, Mr. Ooze, - Hal, and all the other disappointed persons, it must be a fine old world - when it allowed boys to be so young. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXV—LUCK - </h2> - <p> - “Not a word to your mother,” Mr. Sheerug had warned Ruddy after his first - interview with Duke Nineveh. “She wouldn’t understand—not yet. Um! - Um!” - </p> - <p> - What he had meant was she would have understood too well. Ruddy - communicated this urgent need for secrecy to Teddy. “Can’t make it out—what - he’s up to.” - </p> - <p> - They watched carefully, feeling that whatever Mr. Sheerug was up to, it - was something in which they also were concerned. - </p> - <p> - The first thing they noticed was that a proud-boy look was creeping over - him—what Ruddy called an I-ate-the-canary look. For all his fatness - he began to bustle. He began to make fusses if the meals weren’t punctual, - to insist on his boots being properly blacked and to behave himself in - general as though he were head of his household. He spoke vaguely of - meetings in the city—meetings which it was vital that he should - attend “punkchully.” - </p> - <p> - “If I’m not punkchull,” he said, “everything may go up the spout.” He - didn’t explain what <i>everything</i> was; he was inviting his wife to ask - a question. - </p> - <p> - She knew it—sensible woman. “Meetings in the city,” she thought to - herself; “meetings in the city, indeed. Pooh! Men are all babies. If he - thinks that he’s going to get me worked up——” - </p> - <p> - She had shared too many of his ups and downs to allow her excitement to - show itself. She denied to herself that she was excited. These little - flares of good fortune had deceived her faith too many times. So she - treated her Alonzo like a big spoilt child, humoring his whims and - feigning to be discreetly unobserving. She forbade the display of - curiosity on the part of any of her family. “If you go asking questions,” - she said, “you’ll drive him to it.” - </p> - <p> - She had seen him driven to it before—<i>it</i> was the moment when - the dam of piled-up ambitions burst and they scrambled to save what they - could from the whirlpool of collapsed speculations. The end of <i>it</i> - had usually been a hasty retreat to a less expensive house. - </p> - <p> - Every day brought some new improvement in his dress. Within a fortnight he - was looking exceedingly plump in a frock-coat and top-hat He hadn’t been - so gorgeous in a dozen years—not since he had kept a carriage in - Kensington. Each morning, shortly after nine, he left Orchid Lodge and - marched down Eden Row, swinging his cane with a Mammon-like air of - prosperity. When he came back in the evening, as frequently as not he had - a flower blazing in his button-hole. - </p> - <p> - There were times when he strove to revive husbandly gallantries—little - acts of forethought and gestures of tenderness. He had grown too fat and - had been too long out of practice to do it graciously, and Mrs. Sheerug—she - blinked at him with a happiness which tried in vain to conceal itself. - They were Rip Van Winkles waking up to an altered world—a world in - which a husband need no longer fear his wife, and in which there were more - important occupations than talking Cockney to Mr. Ooze as an escape from - dullness. - </p> - <p> - It took just three months for the suppressed expectations of Orchid Lodge - to reach their climax. It was reached when Alonzo, of his own accord, - without a helping hint or the least sign of necessity, offered his wife - money. It happened one September evening, in the room with the French - windows which opened into the garden. It was impossible for a natively - inquisitive woman to refuse this bait to her curiosity. - </p> - <p> - “A hund—a hundred pounds! Why, Alonzo!” - </p> - <p> - Teddy and Ruddy were seated on the steps. At the sound of her gasping cry, - they turned to gaze into the shabby comfort of the room. She stood - tiptoeing against him, clinging to his hand and scanning his face with her - faded eyes. Her gray hair straggled across her wrinkled forehead; her lips - trembled. Her weary, worn-out, kindly appearance made her strangely - pathetic in the presence of his plump self-assertiveness. - </p> - <p> - “Struck it,” he said gruffly, almost defiantly. “Going to do a splash. All - of us. Um! Um! Those boys helped.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” She shuddered. “Ah, my dear, my splashing days are ended. Even if - it’s true, I’m too old for that.” - </p> - <p> - “Too old!” For the first time that Ruddy could remember, his father took - the withered face between his hands. “Too old! Not a bit of it! Going to - make a splash, I tell you. Going to be Lord Mayor of London. Going to be a - duke, maybe an earl. Beauty forever. Appeals to women’s vanity. Going up - like a rocket till I bust. Only I shan’t bust Um! Um! Going up this time - never to come down.” - </p> - <p> - “Never to come down,” she whispered, “<i>never</i>.” The words seemed the - sweetest music. She laughed softly to make him think that she did not take - him seriously. - </p> - <p> - They strolled out into the evening redness and sat beside the boys on the - steps. Sparrows were rustling in the ivy. The drone of London, like a - mill-wheel turning, came to them across the walls. In the garden there was - a sense of rest Mr. Sheerug’s portly glory looked out of place and - disturbing in its old-fashioned quiet He must have felt that, for he stood - up and removed his frock-coat, loosened his waistcoat buttons, and sat - down in his shirt-sleeves. He looked less like Mr. Sheerug, the conqueror, - who had eaten the canary, and more like the pigeon-flying Mr. Sheerug now. - </p> - <p> - With unwieldly awkwardness he put his arm about her shoulder and drew her - gray head nearer. “Don’t mind, do you?” His voice was husky. “Can’t do it, - somehow—never could unless I was making money. Oughtn’t to have - married you. Uml Um! Often thought it Dragged you down. Well——” - </p> - <p> - And then he told them. He began with Duke Nineveh. “He’s a chap who - introduces outsiders to something that he says is society. Tells ’em - where to buy their clothes and all that. Gets tipped for it. Calls himself - a black-and-white artist. Maybe he is—I don’t know: but he’s a man - of ideas. His great idea is Madame Josephine—she’s in love with - him.” - </p> - <p> - At mention of Madame Josephine Mrs. Sheerug fluttered. “But Alonzo, she - can’t be the same Madame Josephine——” - </p> - <p> - “The same,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “The woman who used to dance at——?” - </p> - <p> - He nodded. “A long time ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Who caused such a scandal with the Marquis of —————?” - She whispered behind her hand. “And was the mistress of——————?” - Again she whispered. - </p> - <p> - “That’s who she is,” he acknowledged. “But don’t you see that all that - helps? It’s an advertisement. She’s the best preserved woman of seventy in - London.” - </p> - <p> - “She’s a notorious character,” Mrs. Sheerug said firmly. “Alonzo, you’ll - have nothing to do with her.” - </p> - <p> - His arm slipped from her shoulder. She stood up and reentered the window. - Before she vanished, she came back and patted him kindly. “You won’t, - Alonzo. You know you won’t.” - </p> - <p> - The mill-wheel of London droned on, turning and always turning. The - sparrows grew silent in the ivy; shadows stole out Soon a light sprang up - in the spare-room. They could hear the harp fingered gently; it brought - memories of the ghost-bird of romance, beating its wings against the - panes, struggling vainly to get out. - </p> - <p> - “Too righteous,” Mr. Sheerug muttered. “Not a business woman.” And then, - as though stoking up his courage, “Won’t I? I shall.” - </p> - <p> - He heaved him up from the steps and wandered off in the direction of the - shrubbery to find comfort with his pigeons. - </p> - <p> - It was Duke Nineveh, with his knowledge of human vanity, who won Mrs. - Sheerug. He spoke to her as an artist to an artist, and asked permission - to see her tapestries. He spent an entire afternoon, peering at them - through his monocle. Next day he returned. - </p> - <p> - “Colossal! A shame the world shouldn’t know about them! It’s genius—a - lost art recovered. Now, when we’ve built our Beauty Palace, if we could - give an exhibition——” - </p> - <p> - So Beauty Incorporated was launched without Mrs. Sheerug’s opposition. - Almost over night the slender white turrets of the Beauty Palace floated - up. Madame Josephine began to appear in the West End, looking no more than - twenty as seen through the traffic. She drove in a white coach, drawn by - white horses, with a powdered coachman and lackeys. The street stopped to - watch her. People went to St. James’s to catch a glimpse of her as she - flashed down The Mall. She became one of the sights of London and was - talked about. - </p> - <p> - Hints concerning her romantic career crept into the press. Old scandals - were remembered, always followed by accounts of her beauty discoveries. - Her discoveries, with her portrait for trade-mark, became a part of the - stock-in-trade of every chemist: Madame Josephine’s Hair Restorer; Madame - Josephine’s Face Cream; Madame Josephine’s Nail Polish. At breakfast when - you glanced through your paper, her face gazed out at you, saying, “YOU - Can Be Always Young.” It was on the hoardings, on the buses, in your - theatre program. It was as impossible to escape as conscience. From - morning till night it followed you, always saying, “YOU Can Be Always - Young.” The world became self-conscious. It took to examining its - complexion. It went to The Beauty Palace out of curiosity, and stayed to - spend money. Madame Josephine became the rage: a theme for dinner - conversations—a Personage. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVI—DREAMING OF LOVE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he immediate - outcome of this was money—more money than Eden Row had ever - imagined. Mrs. Sheerug refused to leave Orchid Lodge. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll help you splash,” she told Alonzo, “but I won’t move out of Orchid - Lodge.” - </p> - <p> - As a compromise, Orchid Lodge was re-decorated in violent colors, and a - carriage and pair waited before it. Mrs. Sheerug used her carriage for - hunting up invalids that she might dose them with medicines of her own - invention. She inclined to the garish in her method of dress, wearing - yellow feathers and green plush, as in the old days when Jimmie Boy had - dashed to the window to make sketches of her for the faery-godmother. And - to him she was a faery-godmother, for she bought his pictures and insisted - on having an exhibition of them at The Beauty Palace. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, my dear,” she would say, crossing her hands, “God sends us poverty - that we may be kind when our money comes.” - </p> - <p> - Was she happy? Teddy wondered. Sometimes he fancied that she coveted the - days of careless uncertainty and happy-go-lucky comfort. One of her chief - hobbies had been taken from her: it was no longer possible to get into - debt And her gifts didn’t mean so much, now that her giving could be - endless. It would be absurd for the wife of the great Alonzo Sheerug to - produce black bottles from under her mantle and thrust them at people with - the information that the contents would “build you up.” She had to send - whole cases of wine now, and there wasn’t the same personal pleasure. - </p> - <p> - She had saved the spare-room from the imagination of the decorators. More - than once Teddy caught her there, shuffling about in her woolen slippers - and plum-colored dressing-gown. She seemed more natural like that It was - so that he loved her best. - </p> - <p> - For him the success of Beauty Incorporated brought two results: an income - and a friend. Mr. Sheerug had rewarded his escapade at Brighton by - allotting him shares in the company. The boom increased their value beyond - all expectations; he found himself possessed of over three hundred pounds - per annum. But the more valuable result was the knowledge of life which he - gained from his friendship with Madame Josephine. - </p> - <p> - To the world in general she was a notorious woman who had sinned - splendidly and with discretion. She seemed to deny the advantages of - virtue. Was she not beautiful? Was she not young? Hadn’t she wealth? Teddy - had come to an age when youth tests the conventions; it was Madame - Josephine who answered his doubts on the subject. - </p> - <p> - The Madame Josephine he knew was a white-haired old lady who liked him to - treat her as a grandmother. She would talk to him by the hour about books - and dead people, and sometimes about love. - </p> - <p> - There was an adventure in going to see her, for she only dared to be old - in his presence—to the rest of the world it was her profession to be - young. As Duke Nineveh was always telling her, appearances had to be kept - up. - </p> - <p> - She had a secret room at the top of her house to which Teddy alone was - admitted. The servants were ignorant of what went on there. They invented - legends. - </p> - <p> - He had to speak his name distinctly; then a chair would be pushed back, - footsteps would sound, and the key would turn. The moment he was across - the threshold, the lock grated behind him. And there, after all these - mysteries, was an old lady, sweet-featured and wistful-looking—an - old lady who an hour before had been admired for her youth by the London - crowds. - </p> - <p> - Hanging from the ceiling was a cage with a canary. On the sill were - flower-boxes. From the window, across trees, one could catch a glimpse of - Kensington Gardens and the blown petals of children. It was an old lady’s - room, filled with memories. On the walls were faded photographs with - spidery signatures; on the table a work-basket; beside the table a rocking - chair. - </p> - <p> - “Here’s where my soul lives,” she said. “The other person, phew!” Her - hands opened expressively. “She’s the husk. Those who live to please, must - please to live, Teddy. It’s a terrible thing to have to go on shamming - when you’re seventy—shamming you’re gay, shamming you’re flippant, - shamming you’re wicked. So few things matter when you’re seventy. Money - doesn’t.” - </p> - <p> - She caught the question in his eyes. “Ah, my dear, but when all your life - has been lived for adoration, you miss it The poison’s in the blood. At my - age one has to pay a long price even for what looks like love.” - </p> - <p> - That was the nearest she ever came to explaining her relations with Duke - Nineveh. She liked to forget him when Teddy was present. It was the - ideality of the boy that appealed to her. She wanted to give wisdom to his - sentiment, to forewarn his courage and to save him from disappointment It - was a strange task for a woman with her record—a woman who had lived - garishly, and was remembered for the careers she had ruined. Little by - little she drew from him the story of Vashti, and later of Desire. - </p> - <p> - He looked up at her smiling, trying to treat his confession lightly. - “Curious how people come into your life and make your dreams for you.” - </p> - <p> - She bent over him, taking his hands gently. “Curious! Not curious. People - are the most real dreams we have.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but——” He hesitated. “Desire’s not as I remember her any - longer. She’s growing up. I wonder what she’s like. If I met her, I might - not recognize her. We might pass in the street, my dream and I. And yet——” - </p> - <p> - He lifted his face to hers. “You know I still think of her—of the - price. It’s idiotic, because,” his voice fell, “I know nothing about - girls.” - </p> - <p> - She drew him closer. “D’you know what women need most in this world? - Kindness. Good men, like you’ll be,” she seemed to remember, “they’re - harsh sometimes. They make women frightened. A good man’s always better - than the best woman—that’s a truth that few people own to - themselves. If you do find her or any one else, don’t judge—try to - understand.” And later, “Never try to be fair to a woman, Teddy; when a - good man tries to be fair, he’s unjust.” - </p> - <p> - From time to time, as they sat together in that locked room, she told him - of herself. She gave him glimpses of passion and the despair of its - ending. “It doesn’t pay. It doesn’t pay,” was the burden of what she said. - One night, it was four years since he had known her, they forgot to turn - on the light. Across the ceiling, like a phantom butterfly, the flare from - the street-lamps fluttered. - </p> - <p> - “None of those others that I have told you about were love,” she - whispered. “There was a good man in my life once. Whenever you see a woman - like me, you may be sure of that. It’s the good men who make us women bad; - they expect too much—build their dreams too high. There was a man——” - She fell silent “You’re like him. That’s why.” - </p> - <p> - When he was leaving, she put her arms about him. “When you find her, don’t - try to change her. Women long to be trusted. Be content to love.” - </p> - <p> - For the time being he tried to satisfy his heart-with work. His passion to - be famous connected itself with his passion to love. He had an instinct - that he must win fame first, and that all the rest would follow. - </p> - <p> - Much of what Madame Josephine told him about women he applied to Vashti. - It made him look on all women with new eyes—the eyes of pity for - their frailty. And all these emotions he wove about the figure of Desire. - </p> - <p> - In the writing of his first book—the book which brought him - immediate success, <i>Life Till Twenty-one</i>—was un-cannily - conscious of her presence. He would find himself leaving off in a sentence - to sketch her face for one of those quaint little marginal drawings. It - was as though she had come into the room; by listening intently, he would - be able to hear her breathe. Working late at night, he would glance across - his shoulder, half expecting to find her. He told himself that she was - always standing behind him; why he never saw her was because she dodged in - front when he turned his head. It was the old game that she had played in - the farmhouse garden, when she had hidden in the bushes at the sound of - his coming. He explained these fancies by telling himself that somewhere, - out there in the world, she was remembering, and that her thoughts, flying - across the distance, had touched him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - BOOK II—THE BOOK OF REVELATION - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I—THE ISLAND VALLEY - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was a golden - summer’s evening. In his little temperamental car he was chugging through - the Quantock Hills. His car was temperamental chiefly because he had - picked it up as a bargain second hand. In his wanderings of the last month - he had established a friendship with it which was almost human, as a man - does with a piece of machinery when he is lonely. - </p> - <p> - When the tour had first been planned it had included Ruddy; but at the - last moment Ruddy had joined a pierrot-troupe, leaving Teddy to set off by - himself. That vacant place at his side reproached him; a two-seater is so - obviously meant for two persons. He had told himself faery-tales about how - he might fill it. Sometimes he had invented a companion for himself—a - girl with gray eyes and bronze-black hair. She seemed especially real to - him when night had fallen and the timid shadows of lovers pressed back - into the hedges as his lamps discovered them on the road ahead. - </p> - <p> - For the past month his mind had been ablaze with an uplifted sense of - beauty. He had come down from London by lazy stages, halting here a day - and there a day to sketch. Every mile of the way the air had been - summer-freighted; the freedom of it had got into his blood. Everywhere - that he had gone he had encountered new surprises—gray cathedral - cities, sleepy villages, the blue sea of Devon; places and things of which - he had only heard, and others which he hadn’t known existed. Dreams were - materializing and stepping out to meet him. Eden Row, with its recluse - atmosphere, was ceasing to be all his world. His emotions gathered - themselves up into an urgent longing—to be young, to live intensely, - to miss nothing. - </p> - <p> - To-day he had crossed Exmoor, black with peat and purple with heather, and - was proposing to spend the night at Nether Stowey. He had chosen Nether - Stowey because Coleridge had lived there. He had sent word to his mother - that it was one of the points to which letters could be forwarded. When he - had written his name in the hotel book, the proprietress looked up. “Oh, - so you’re the gentleman!” - </p> - <p> - “Why? Have you got such stacks of letters for me?” - </p> - <p> - “No. A telegram.” - </p> - <p> - He tore it open and read, “<i>However late, push on to-night to The - Pilgrims? Inn, Glastonbury</i>.” The signature was “Madame Josephine.” - </p> - <p> - He looked to see at what time it had been received. It had arrived at - three o’clock; so it had been waiting for him five hours. - </p> - <p> - “I’m sorry I shan’t need that room,” he said. “How far is it to - Glastonbury?” - </p> - <p> - “About twenty-three miles. I suppose you’ll stay to dinner, sir? It’s - being served.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m afraid not.” - </p> - <p> - Without loss of time, he cranked up his engine, jumped into his car and - started. - </p> - <p> - “<i>However late, push on to-night to Glastonbury</i>.” Why on earth? What - interest could Madame Josephine have in his going to Glastonbury, and why - to-night so especially? He had planned to go there to-morrow—to make - a dream-day of it, full of memories of King Arthur and reconstructions of - chivalrous history and legend. He had intended reading <i>The Idyls of the - King</i> that evening to key himself up to the proper pitch of enthusiasm. - It seemed entirely too modern and not quite decent, to go racing at the - bidding of an unexplained telegram into “The Island Valley of Avilion, - where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow.” - </p> - <p> - As he hummed along through the green-gold country he gave himself up to - the mood of enchantment. In the transforming light of the fading sunset it - seemed certain that a bend in the road would bring to view champions of - The Round Table riding together. - </p> - <p> - He smiled and shook his head at himself; he hadn’t grown much older since - those old days at Ware. It was this sight that he and Desire had expected—the - sight of knights in clanking armor and ladies with flowing raiment, - sauntering together in a magic world. It had seemed to them that the - enraptured land which their hearts-imagined, must lie just a little - further beyond the hills and hedges. To find it, it was only necessary to - go on and on. - </p> - <p> - He recalled how he had read to her those legends as they had lain side by - side, hidden in tall meadow-grasses from Fanner Joseph. He remembered how - they had quarreled when she had said, “I like Sir Launcelot best.” - </p> - <p> - “But you mustn’t. King Arthur was the good one. If Sir Launcelot hadn’t - done wrong, everything would have been happy always.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but if everything had been happy always, there wouldn’t have been - any story, Teddy. I know why you don’t like my loving Sir Launcelot: it’s - because you’re a King Arthur yourself.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed. How hurt he had felt at her accusation that he was a proper - person! - </p> - <p> - And there was another memory: how, after playing at knights and ladies, - she had tried to make him declare that she was beautiful. “Do you think - I’m beautiful, Teddy?” And he, intent on keeping her vanity hungry, “You - have beautiful hands.” - </p> - <p> - He had always promised himself that some day, if they ever met, one of the - first places they would visit should be Glastonbury. It would add a last - chapter to those chivalrous games which they had played together as - children. - </p> - <p> - Far away in the orchard valley lights were springing up. Out of the misty - distance came the lowing of cattle. Like a cowled monk, with peaceful - melancholy, the gloaming crept across the meadows. - </p> - <p> - As he approached the town, it came as something of a shock to notice that - its outskirts bore signs of newness. But as he drove into the heart of it, - medieval buildings loomed up: gray, night-shrouded towers; stooping houses - with leaded windows; the dusky fragrance of ivy, and narrow lanes which - turned off into the darkness abruptly. Somewhere in the shadows was - Chalice Hill, where the cup of the Last Supper lay buried. Not far - distant, within the Abbey walls, the coffin of King Arthur was said to - have been found. His imagination thrilled to the antiquity of the legend. - </p> - <p> - With reluctance he swung his mind back to the present. Pulling up outside - The Pilgrims’ Inn, he left his car and entered. - </p> - <p> - “If you please, has any one been inquiring for me? My name’s Gurney.” - </p> - <p> - The landlady inspected him through the office-window. She was a - kind-faced, motherly woman; the result of her inspection pleased her. She - laid down her pen. - </p> - <p> - “Gurney! No. Not that I remember.” - </p> - <p> - “Puzzling!” He took her into his confidence, handing her the telegram. “I - received that at Nether Stowey. I was going to have stayed there, and - should have come on here to-morrow. But you see what it says, ’However - late, push on to-night to The Pilgrims’ Inn, Glastonbury.’ So—so I - pushed on.” He laughed. - </p> - <p> - “This Madame Josephine who signs it,” the landlady was turning the - telegram over, “d’you know her?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes. I know her.” - </p> - <p> - “I asked because—— Well, ladies do play jokes cm gentlemen. - And we’ve a lot of actor-folk in Glastonbury at present—larky kind - of people. I don’t take much stock in them myself. Shouldn’t think you did - by the look of you.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t.” - </p> - <p> - The landlady put her elbows on the desk and crouched her face in her - hands. “I didn’t think you would. These people, they’ve been here a week - for the Arthurian pageant Some of them stay with me; I’ve seen all I want - of ’em. Too free in their manners, that’s what I say. It don’t seem - right for girls and men to be so friendly. I wasn’t brought up that way. - It puts false notions into girls’ heads, that’s what I say. I suppose - you’ve dined already?” - </p> - <p> - “I haven’t. I hope it won’t put you to too much trouble.” - </p> - <p> - She led the way through the low-ceilinged hostel, explaining its history - as she went. How in the middle-ages it had been the guest-house of the - Abbey and the pilgrims had stayed there at the Abbot’s expense. How they - had two haunted rooms upstairs, in one of which Anne Boleyn had slept. How - the walls were tunneled with secret stairways which led down to - subterranean passages. When the meal had been spread she left him, - promising to let him know if there were any inquiries. - </p> - <p> - Odd! All through dinner he kept thinking about it. To have found out where - to reach him Madame Josephine must have inconvenienced herself. Probably - she’d had to send to Orchid Lodge, and Orchid Lodge had had to send to his - mother. She wouldn’t have done all that unless her reason had been - important. - </p> - <p> - He went down to the office. “Has any one called yet?” - </p> - <p> - “Not yet.” - </p> - <p> - He glanced at the clock; it was ten. Nobody would come now. He walked out - into the High Street to garage his car and to take a stroll before turning - in to bed. - </p> - <p> - The town lay silent. Here and there a faint light, drifting from a - street-lamp or from behind a curtained window, streaked the darkness. No - people were about. Stars, wheeling high above embattled house-tops, were - the only traffic. - </p> - <p> - “The Island Valley of Avilion, where falls not hail, or rain, or any - snow.” The words sang themselves over as he wandered. What if the telegram - had been a bait to lure him back into the past? What if the door of - forgotten ages had opened to him and closed behind him, as in William - Morris’s romance of <i>The Hollow Land?</i> - </p> - <p> - He played with the fancy, embroidering its extravagance. To-morrow he - would awake in the ancient hostel to find that the landlady had changed - into a fat old abbot. Pilgrims would be passing to and fro below his - window; ladies on palfreys and palmers whose sandaled feet had brought - them home from the Holy Land. What if he should remain a captive to the - past and never find his way into the present? - </p> - <p> - He drew up sharply. Wailing music came to him, made by instruments that he - had never heard before. It rose into a clamor and sank away sobbing. He - tried to follow it, but it seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all in the - same moment It lost itself in the echoing of overhanging walls. At last, - turning down a passage, he traced it to a barnlike building. As he got - there the doors were flung wide and people came pouring out. - </p> - <p> - He was amused; he had almost been persuaded that he had stumbled on the - supernatural. Glancing in, he saw the orchestra gathering up their - old-fashioned horns and wind-instruments. The curtain bad been partly - raised; slipping from under it the performers, still in costume, were - climbing down and mingling with the thinning audience. For the moment the - audience seemed the unreal people and the performers the people of his - world. - </p> - <p> - He went out into the darkness and stood back a little from the passage - that he might retain the medieval illusion as they passed. He made guesses - at their characters. Here came Sir Galahad in silver armor, joking with - Merlin, who carried his beard across his arm to prevent it from sweeping - the ground. King Arthur, with his sword rattling between his legs, was - running to catch up with Sir Launcelot. The girls were more difficult to - identify; in their long robes, with their bare arms and plaited hair, - there was nothing to distinguish them. As he watched, he saw one with a - crown upon her head. The stones in it glinted as she approached. Queen - Guinevere, he thought. - </p> - <p> - She was supple and slight and tall. She walked unhurriedly, with an air of - pride, as though she had not yet shaken off her part. A man accompanied - her. He was speaking earnestly; she gazed straight before her, taking - little notice of what he said. Her hair was brushed back from her forehead - to reveal the curve of her ears and the gleam of her shoulders. Her - garment was of green and gold, caught in at the waist with a golden - girdle; on her feet were golden sandals, which twinkled. The white - intensity of her face and throat shone in the darkness. There was an - ardency about her that arrested attention. - </p> - <p> - “It can’t be helped,” she spoke shortly, “so there’s no use talking. I’ve - got to get there, whatever happens.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy followed her down the street. At the sound of her voice his heart - had quickened. He wished she would turn her head beneath a lamp that he - might see her clearly. Before The Pilgrims’ Inn there was a crowd; when he - came up to it she had vanished. - </p> - <p> - On entering, he found a scene which might have walked out of the brain of - Chaucer, so utterly were the costumes in keeping with the hostel. He cast - his eyes about, seeking for Queen Guinevere. - </p> - <p> - As he stood hesitating between pursuing his fancy further or going to bed, - the landlady came out from her office. Catching sight of him, she elbowed - her way towards him. - </p> - <p> - “News for me?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “Not exactly.” She frowned slightly. “I thought you said you didn’t know - any of these actor-folk?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, there’s one of them in there,” pointing back into the office, - “who’s got a telegram. She says you’re the man she’s expecting, though she - wouldn’t know you from Adam. She says she’s sure you’re the man because - you’ve got a car.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think I am. But I’ll go and find out.” - </p> - <p> - The landlady smiled disapprovingly: “I begin to have my doubts about you, - sir.” - </p> - <p> - In the office the girl who had played the part of Guinevere was standing. - The moment he caught her eyes he was certain. Excitement ran through him - like a sword. - </p> - <p> - He felt himself trembling. He wanted to rush forward and claim her. He - wanted to go down on his knees to her. Most of all, he wanted to see her - recognize him. But she stood there smilingly distant and gracious. - </p> - <p> - “I’m so sorry to trouble you,” she said. “I’m afraid our introduction’s a - trifle unconventional, but I’m in rather a pickle. You see, I want to go - to London to-night. In fact, I must go to London, and there are no trains - till to-morrow. I have a friend who’s—— But there, read my - telegram. It’ll save explan—— to London to-night. In fact, I - must go to London, and there are no trains till to-morrow. I have a friend - who’s—— But there, read my telegram. It’ll save explanations.” - </p> - <p> - He took it from her hand and read: - </p> - <p> - “<i>Dear little D.—Got to sail New York to-morrow. Train leaves - Euston at twelve. Have booked your berth. Ask for a man at Pilgrims’ Inn - with telegram signed Madame Josephine. Madame Josephine says, if you ask - him nicely, he’ll bring you to London in his car. Tell him she suggested. - Awful sorry to rush you. Real reason Horace too pressing. My excuse - engagement with Freelevy. Love and kisses. Fluffy.</i>” - </p> - <p> - As he reached the end, she came close and took it from him. He could hear - the circlet about her waist jingle; her breath touched him. - </p> - <p> - “Your hand’s trembling most awfully.” she laughed. “Is it too much of a - shock?” And then, before he could answer: “Madame Josephine keeps The - Beauty Palace. We go there to be glorified. You know Madame Josephine, - don’t you?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” His voice hardly came above a whisper. - </p> - <p> - “Then, you are the man?” - </p> - <p> - Was he the man? He wanted to tell her. He had planned this meeting so - often—staged it with such wealth of romance and tenderness. And this - was how it had happened! - </p> - <p> - “Then, you are the man?” - </p> - <p> - Perhaps his nod didn’t carry sufficient enthusiasm. She began to explain - and apologize. She made the babies come into her gray eyes, the way she - used to as a child when she wanted anything. “I know it’s a lot to ask of - a stranger, robbing him of his night’s rest and all. But you see I can’t - help it. My friend, Fluffy, is an actress and—— Well, you know - what actresses are—she’s very temperamental Of course that part - about Freelevy may be true. He’s the great American producer. She wouldn’t - tell a downright fib, I’m sure. But the part about Horace is truer; I - expect he’s wanting to marry her and—and the only way she can think - of escaping him and not hurting his feelings—— You understand - what I mean, don’t you? As for me, I have a beautiful mother in America - who let me come abroad with Fluffy; so of course I have to go back with - her. You see, I’m not an actress yet—I’m only an amateur.” She - rounded her eyes and made them very appealing. “If I don’t sail to-morrow, - I’ll have to go back unchaperoned, and that—— Well, it - wouldn’t be quite proper for a young girl. So you will take me to London - to-night, won’t you?” - </p> - <p> - He burst out laughing. If this wasn’t Desire, it was some one - extraordinarily like her—some one who knew how to use the same dear - inconsequent coaxing arguments. Who but Desire would urge the propriety of - a night ride to London with an unknown man to save the impropriety of an - unchaperoned trip across the Atlantic? - </p> - <p> - She spread her fingers against the comers of her mouth to prevent her lips - from smiling. “Why do you laugh? I rather like you when you laugh.” - </p> - <p> - He wasn’t going to tell her—at least, not yet. “I thought I’d strike - a bargain with you. If you’ll promise not to change that dress, I’ll take - you.” - </p> - <p> - “But why this dress?” - </p> - <p> - He hunched his shoulders. “A whim, perhaps.” - </p> - <p> - “All right. I’ll go up and pack.” - </p> - <p> - She walked slowly out of the office, her brows drawn together with - thought. At the door she turned: - </p> - <p> - “You remind me of some one I once knew. I can’t remember who it was. He - used to screw up his shoulders just like that.” - </p> - <p> - Before he could make up his mind whether or not to assist her memory, she - was gone. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II—A SUMMER’S NIGHT - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e had hurried so - as not to keep her waiting. By the time he had brought his car round to - the hotel the clocks were striking eleven. He throttled down his engine; - it didn’t seem worth while shutting it off, since she might appear at any - moment. Its muffled throbbing in the shadowy street seemed the panting of - his heart How impatient he was to see her! Running up the steps, he peered - into the hall. - </p> - <p> - The landlady approached him with a severe expression. “She sent word for - me to tell you she’d be down directly. These—these are strange - goings-on. Dangerous vagaries, I call them. It’s none of my business—me - not being your mother nor related; but I do hope you know what you’re - doing, young gentleman.” - </p> - <p> - The young gentleman laughed. “We shan’t come to any harm,” he assured her. - </p> - <p> - The company was breaking up. The vaulted hall and passages echoed with - laughter, the jingling of armor and snatches of songs. Knights and ladies - were bidding each other extravagant farewells, enacting the gallantries - which went with their parts. Men dropped to one knee and pressed their - lips to slender hands. Flower faces drooped above them mockingly—and - not so mockingly after all, perhaps; for when the Pied Piper of Love makes - his music, any heart that is hungry may follow. Those of them who were - stopping at the inn caught up their lighted candles. By twos and threes, - with backward glances, casting long shadows on the wall, they drifted up - the wide carved stairs. Others, who had cheaper quarters, sauntered out - into the summer stillness. The porter, like a relentless guardian of - morals, stood with his hand upon the door, waiting sourly for the last of - them to be gone. - </p> - <p> - Teddy followed them out. As the girls passed beneath the hotel windows, - they dragged on their escorts’ arms, raising their faces and calling one - final good-night to their friends who were getting into bed. Heads popped - out, and stared down between the stars and the pavement. All kinds of - heads. Heads with helmets on. Close-cropped ordinary heads. Heads which - floated in a mist of trailing locks. Some one struck up a song; there, in - the medieval moonlit street, these romance people danced. Away through the - shadows they danced, the booming accompaniment of the men’s voices growing - fainter, fainter, fainter, till at last even the clear eagerness of the - girls’ singing was lost. - </p> - <p> - When Teddy turned to reenter the inn, the porter had barred the door. From - the steep wall of windows which rose sheer to the stars all the different - kinds of heads had been withdrawn. The only sound was the - throb-throb-throbbing of the engine like the thump-thump-thumping of his - heart. - </p> - <p> - He sat down on the steps to wait for her. She was a terribly long while in - coming. It was nearly half-past eleven. Thirty minutes ago she had sent - him word that she would be down “directly.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course,” he told himself, “there’s no need for hurry. It’s about a - hundred and forty miles to London, and we’ve all the night before us.” - </p> - <p> - He was trying to decide to ring the bell, when the door opened noisily, - and the porter stumbled out, bringing her luggage. As he helped Teddy - strap it on the back of the car, he answered his questions gruffly: - “Doin’! I don’t know wot she’s doin’. Said she’d be down direckly, which - means whenever she chooses. The inkinsideration of these actresses beats - all. Hurry ’er! Me hurry ’er! No, mister, she’s not the - hurryin’ sort; she hurries other folk instead. I don’t know wot the - world’s comin’ to, I’m sure. Thank you, sir.” He slipped the half-crown - into his pocket “She’s a ’andsome lady; I will say that for ’er.” - </p> - <p> - And then she appeared, standing framed in the doorway, with the weak light - from the hall throwing a golden mist about her. Over her head a hood was - drawn, shadowing her features. Her cloak was gathered round her, so that - beneath its folds she was recognizable only by her slightness. He felt - that, however she had disguised herself, there would have been something - in her presence that would have called to him. - </p> - <p> - “Have I kept you waiting long?” In the old days her apologies had always - taken the interrogative form; now, as then, she hurried on, not risking an - answer: “You see, I had to say ’good-by’ to everybody. It wouldn’t - have been kind to have slipped off and left them. I felt sure you’d - understand. And I did send down messages. You’re not cross?” - </p> - <p> - Cross! She spoke the word caressingly. Her voice sank into a trembling - laugh, as though she herself was aware of the absurdity of such a - question. Her explanation was totally inadequate, and yet how adorable in - its childlike eagerness to conciliate and to avoid unpleasantness! - </p> - <p> - “Cross! Why, of course not. I was only anxious—a tiny bit afraid - that you weren’t coming.” - </p> - <p> - He sounded so friendly that he convinced her. She sighed contentedly. “Has - it seemed <i>very</i> long?” - </p> - <p> - He looked up from inspecting his lamps. She had come down the steps to the - pavement. The porter had entered the hotel; inside he was shooting the - last bolt into its socket. - </p> - <p> - He held his breath. In the moon-washed street after all these years he was - alone with her. - </p> - <p> - “Without you, waiting would always seem long.” - </p> - <p> - She started. Glanced back across her shoulder. The sounds on the other - side of the door had stopped. There was no retreat. Turning to him with - girlish dignity, she said: “It’s very kind of you to have offered to help - me, but—— I don’t want you to say things like that. We’ll - enjoy ourselves much better if we’re sensible.” - </p> - <p> - He felt a sudden shame, as though she had accused him of taking advantage - of her defenselessness. All the things he had been on the point of telling - her—he must postpone them. Presently she would remember; her own - heart would tell her. - </p> - <p> - “It was foolish of me,” he said humbly. - </p> - <p> - She laughed softly and shook back her head. Her hair lay upon her - shoulders like a schoolgirl’s. “There now, we understand each other. Why - do men always spoil things before they’re started by making stupid love?” - </p> - <p> - “Do they?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, don’t they?” She smiled tolerantly. “Let’s be friends. If we’re - sensible, we can have such a jolly trip to London—such a lark. No - more sentimentals—promise—— Shake hands on it.” - </p> - <p> - As she held out both her hands, the cloak fell open, revealing her pageant - costume. She noticed that his eyes rested on it. “Yes, I kept my bargain—even - to the sandals.” The glimmer of her feet peeped out for a second beneath - the hem of her skirt. “Now, how about making a start?” - </p> - <p> - He helped her into the seat which, up to now, had reproached him with its - emptiness. He didn’t have to imagine any longer. - </p> - <p> - He climbed in beside her. “Are you warm?” - </p> - <p> - “Very comfy.” - </p> - <p> - “What time do you want to get there? I can get you there by seven or - eight, doing twenty an hour—that’s to say, if nothing goes wrong.” - </p> - <p> - “Do me splendidly. I ought to tell you while I remember: I think this is - awfully decent of you.” - </p> - <p> - “Not decent at all” He hesitated. “It’s not decent because—well, - because I always told myself that I’d do something like this some day.” - </p> - <p> - “Remember your promise.” She held up a warning finger. - </p> - <p> - “You didn’t let me finish. What I meant to say was that, ever since I was - a little kid, I’ve played at rescuing princesses.” - </p> - <p> - She looked up at him searchingly, then bit her lip to keep back her - thoughts. “What a queer game to play!” That was all. - </p> - <p> - Like a robber bee, seeking honey while the garden of the world slept, the - car sped humming through the silver town. Gray, shuttered houses faded - upon the darkness like a dream that was spent. They were in the open - country now, the white road before them, trees and hedges leaping to - attention like lazy sentinels as the lamps flared on them, and throwing - themselves down to rest again before the droning of the engine was gone. - </p> - <p> - “‘The Island Valley of Avilion, where falls not hail, or rain, or any - snow.’ Know that?” - </p> - <p> - She nodded. “It sounds so peaceful, doesn’t it? Like a cold hand laid on - an aching forehead. That’s the way those words have felt to me sometimes - in the glare and bustle of New York. They’ve come to me when I’ve been - walking up Fifth Avenue, and it’s been like a door opening into a green - still orchard, somewhere inside my head.” - </p> - <p> - “You’re sorry to leave it? Why should we leave it? Let’s turn back.” - </p> - <p> - He slowed down the car. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you foolish! I’ve got to catch my boat to-morrow. And besides——” - She paused and reflected. “Besides, I’m never so very sorry to leave - anything. I’m an odd girl” (The same old phrase, “D’you think I’m an odd - child, Teddy?”) “I’m never too sorry to say good-by. I want to push on and - on. I’m always looking ahead.” - </p> - <p> - “To what?” - </p> - <p> - “Things.” She glanced away into the vagueness of the ghostly meadows. “The - kind of things that people do look forward to.” - </p> - <p> - He wanted to get her to talk about herself—about her past. He could - make sure, then, and tell her—tell her everything without - frightening her. So he said: “I don’t mean people. I mean girls. What kind - of things do girls look forward to?” - </p> - <p> - Had she shared his hours of remembering? Had it really been her thoughts - that had touched him in that little room in Eden Row? He stooped his head - nearer to listen. It seemed to him that, above the throbbing of the - engine, he could hear the blood dripping in his heart. - </p> - <p> - She stared into his eyes with her old suspicion—the veiled stare, - half hostile, which a girl gives a man when she fears that he is going to - kiss her. - </p> - <p> - “Girls look forward to—what kind of things?” she echoed. “I can’t - tell. The same kind of things that men look forward to, I expect. The - surprise things, and—yes, the excitements, most of all.” - </p> - <p> - “Like our meeting—it was a surprise thing, wasn’t it?” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose so.” She slipped back her cloak from her white shoulders. - “Heaps of things are surprise things like that.” - </p> - <p> - It was as though she had said, “This meeting of ours—it’s of no - importance.” He loved her for the way she was treating him. He knew now - why she had dared to risk herself with a man who, so far as her knowledge - went, was a complete stranger. - </p> - <p> - They both fell silent. He felt that there was only one thing that he could - talk about, and he didn’t know when or where to start. He wanted above all - things to say nothing only to take her in his arms; to kiss her lips, her - hair, her hands and to kneel to the little sandaled feet that peeped out - from below her queenly robe. He hardly dared to look at her lest, then and - there, he should leave the wheel and do it. All that his heart asked was - to be allowed to touch and reverence her. - </p> - <p> - As he stared between the rushing eyes of the car, watching the road ahead, - his imagination painted pictures on the darkness. He saw her lifting her - arms about his neck. He saw her lying close against his breast. He heard - her whispering broken phrases—words which said so much by leaving so - much unsaid. But whenever he stole a glance at her, he saw her gray eyes - closed like a statue’s and her white hands folded. - </p> - <p> - He was wasting time—it would so soon be morning. She was going to - America. She must not go, and yet he was helping her. If he could only - find words to tell her. He had never thought it would be so difficult. Ah, - but then he had imagined a child-Desire, just grown a little taller. But - this Desire was different—so self-possessed and calm, with so many - new interests and unknown friends estranging her from the faery-Desire of - the farmhouse garden. - </p> - <p> - They passed through Wells, where the cathedral lay like a gigantic coffin - beneath the stars. Having panted up the steep ascent beyond the town, they - commenced the twenty-mile downhill run to Bath. - </p> - <p> - He heard a stirring beside him. Her eyes were open, quite near to his and - shining with friendliness. - </p> - <p> - “What’s the matter? We’ve both gone silent.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought you were tired, so I didn’t disturb you.” - </p> - <p> - “Tired! Perhaps I was. But I’m all right now. Isn’t it magic with all the - stars, and the mist and the being away from every one? Don’t you want to - smoke? Here, I’ll hold the wheel while you light a cigarette. Yes, I know - how.” - </p> - <p> - She leant across him to do it, her shoulder resting against his arm. The - wind of their going fluttered her hair against his cheek. For a moment he - was possessed with a mad longing to crush her to him. - </p> - <p> - “Haven’t you a match?” - </p> - <p> - She seemed utterly unconscious of her power to charm; yet instinctively - she used it. - </p> - <p> - “All right?” she asked. “I wonder whether you’d mind——” Her - finger went up to her mouth and her gray eyes coaxed him. - </p> - <p> - “I shouldn’t mind anything.” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head emphatically. “No. I won’t do it. People remember first - impressions. You’d think me fast.” - </p> - <p> - “I shouldn’t I couldn’t ever think that.” - </p> - <p> - “Are you sure? Well, may I——?” She made a gesture imitative of - withdrawing a cigarette from her lips. “I don’t smoke often—only - when I feel like it. And, oh, I do feel so happy to-night.” - </p> - <p> - She lit her cigarette from his, steadying herself with her hand on his - shoulder. Then she lay back, staring up at the fleecy sky where the moon - tipped clouds to a silver glory. She began to sing softly between her - puffs: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - The night has a thousand eyes, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And the day but one; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Yet the light of a whole world dies - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - With the dying sun.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - She sang the same verse over three times, pausing between each singing as - if she were repeating a question. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you know the second verse?” he asked unsteadily. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I know it.” - </p> - <p> - “Won’t you sing it? The whole meaning of life and everything is in the - last two Unes.” - </p> - <p> - “D’you really want me to? I don’t care for it so much because it’s about - love. I don’t think love ever made anybody happy.” - </p> - <p> - For a moment he was tempted to argue this heresy. “But sing it,” he urged. - </p> - <p> - In a soft sleepy voice she sang: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “The mind has a thousand eyes, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And the heart but one; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Yet the light of a whole world dies - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - When love is done.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - He waited for her to repeat it When she remained silent, he stopped the - car. She turned to him lazily: “Something gone wrong with the engine?” - </p> - <p> - He was certain she knew what had gone wrong, and was equally certain that - she was wilfully pretending to misunderstand him. Far below in the valley, - like a faeryring, the lights of Bath winked and twinkled. The silence, - after the sound of their going, breathed across the country like a - prolonged sighing. How should he tell her? How did men speak to the women - they loved? He turned aside from his purpose and procrastinated. “Sing it - again,” he pleaded, “the last verse. Now, that everything’s quiet.” - </p> - <p> - “No.” She sat up determinedly. “It’s very beautiful; especially that part - about light dying when love is done. But it isn’t true. People love heaps - of times, and each new time they get more sensible. It’s like climbing a - ladder: you see more as you go higher. Besides, that last verse makes me - cry.” - </p> - <p> - “Love makes people happy.” His voice was low and trembling. “You shouldn’t - pretend to be a cynic. You’re too beautiful.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, well, perhaps you are right, but——” She threw away her - cigarette. “Please be nice. You don’t know what things I’ve had done to me - to make me talk like that” She touched him on the arm ever so lightly: - “When we’re traveling, we talk so much better. Hadn’t we better be going?” - And then, when they were again humming down the long hill, with the white - lamps scything the shadows: “This really is fun. It’ll be something to - remember.” - </p> - <p> - “Something to talk about together,” he said. - </p> - <p> - She cuddled herself down into the seat. “Not much time for that with me - sailing for America. But you’ve not told me what you think of my telegram. - Wasn’t it a quaint, jumpy message? That’s just like Fluffy to decide a - problem in five minutes that other people would take five months over. If - she finds that anything’s worrying her, she moves away from it This - Horace, he’s Horace Overbridge, the playwright, and he’s in love with her. - Ever since we landed in April they’ve been going about together, having - motor-trips into the country and picnics on the river, and—oh, so - many good times. Of course I’ve been there, too, to take care of her. But - the trouble is he wants to marry her and, if he did, he’d never let her do - what she likes. He can’t understand that it means just as much to her to - be an actress as it does to him to be a playwright Men aren’t very - understanding. Of course, while they’re not even engaged, he raves about - her acting and helps her all he can. But she knows perfectly well that all - that would end with marriage. And then she doesn’t love him. So you see——” - </p> - <p> - “But you said she’d let him take her about and give her good times.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, certainly. If a man chooses to do that it’s his own affair. And then - Fluffy’s very dear and beautiful, and she wouldn’t let many men be in love - with her. You did sound shocked when you said ‘But!’” - </p> - <p> - “I was thinking that she hadn’t played fair. She must have led him on. You - don’t think that’s fair, do you?” - </p> - <p> - “Fair!” She pursed her lips. “He enjoyed himself while it lasted, and it’s - his own fault if he’s spoilt it.” She threw back her head and trilled - gayly. “Oh, I can see her stamping her little foot and saying, ’No. - No. No, Horace.’ And then, I expect, she jumped straight into a cab and - booked our berths on the very first ship that was sailing. You—you - don’t approve of her?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know her. It wasn’t very thoughtful of her to give you such short - notice.” - </p> - <p> - “But if I don’t mind—you see, it’s my business.” - </p> - <p> - He shrugged his shoulders. “Then I have no right to mind. But I’m - wondering where you’d have been if I hadn’t turned up.” - </p> - <p> - “I! Oh, I’d have hired a car, I suppose, and Fluffy’d have had to pay for - it, or Horace, or somebody.—I wish I could remember who it was - shrugged his shoulders the way you do.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps it was——” - </p> - <p> - He glanced at her and broke off. This didn’t seem the propitious time to - assist her memory. She was frowning. He had displeased her. The flippancy - of Fluffy’s way of loving had cheapened all passion for the moment. - </p> - <p> - They were coming into Bath, with its narrow streets and wide spaces, its - fluted columns and Georgian mansions. - </p> - <p> - “When we get into the country on the other side,” he thought, “I’ll tell - her.” - </p> - <p> - But on the other side he found that her eyes were shut She lay curled up, - with her child’s face turned towards him and her cheek pillowed against - her hand. - </p> - <p> - “Desire,” he whispered. “Desire.” - </p> - <p> - She sighed, but her eyes did not open. - </p> - <p> - “It’s Teddy. Don’t you remember?” - </p> - <p> - She did not stir. - </p> - <p> - Very tenderly, lest he should wake her, he tucked her cloak closer, and - buttoned it across her breast. By degrees he pulled the hood up over her - ears and forehead. He stooped to kiss her, but drew back at the last - moment To kiss her, sleeping, seemed too much like theft; “I love you, - dearest,” he whispered. “I love you.” - </p> - <p> - She made no answer. - </p> - <p> - He drove on, dreaming, through the summer night. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III—A SUMMER’S MORNING - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>tars were - weakening in their shining. He wished she would wake up. It was still - night, but almost imperceptibly a paleness was spreading. The sky looked - mottled. As he passed through an anonymous, shrouded village a clock was - striking. One, two, three! If he kept up this pace, they would be in - London, at the latest, by seven. - </p> - <p> - He began to calculate his respite. The boat-train left Euston at noon; if - she allowed him to stay with her to the very last moment, he had—how - much? About nine hours more of her company. - </p> - <p> - But probably she wouldn’t let him stay with her. She’d have packing to do. - This Fluffy person would want to carry her off and gossip about Horace—what - he had said to her and what she had said to him, and how thoroughly - justified she was in her treatment of him. And so—he widened his - mouth bitterly—and so she would blow out of his life like - thistledown. This splendid meeting, which had been the dream of his - boyhood, would be wasted—cold-shouldered into oblivion by. - trivialities. - </p> - <p> - In his desperation he invented a dozen mad schemes for detaining her. It - was on the cards that his car might break down. Unfortunately it showed - every healthy sign of living beyond its reputation. Well, if it didn’t do - it voluntarily, he might help it—might lose a spark-plug or loosen - something. <i>He might</i>, but it wasn’t in him to do it. The moment he - met her truthful gray eyes he’d be sure to shrive his conscience—then - she’d detest him. No, if he was going to be a young Lochinvar, he had far - better play the game boldly—swing off into side-roads and, when she - wakened, explain to her laughingly: “You won’t catch your boat now, little - Desire. I’ve made you lose it on purpose because—because I love - you.” - </p> - <p> - Humph! And she’d be amiable, wouldn’t she? Some men might be able to carry - that off. He couldn’t. He’d feel a cur; he’d look it. So he drove on - through the darkness, cursing at every new mile-stone because it brought - him nearer to the hour of parting. - </p> - <p> - He wished to heaven she would wake up. While he fumed and fretted, he - built topply air-castles. Couldn’t he marry her—propose clean off - the bat and get it over? Such things had happened. The idea allured him. - He began to reckon his finances to see whether he could afford it. He had - saved seven hundred pounds from his Beauty Incorporated dividends; every - year there would be three hundred more. Then he had his future. His work - was in demand. Several commissions had been offered him. No fiction-writer - since Du Maurier, so the critics told him, had illustrated his own stories - quite so happily. His next book was going to make him famous—he was - sure of it. Oh, yes, so far as money went, he was eligible. - </p> - <p> - From somewhere at the back of his mind a wise voice kept warning: “You - have to live all your life with a woman; marrying’s the least part of - marriage. Go slowly. How d’you know that she isn’t another Fluffy?” - </p> - <p> - It was just as though Mrs. Sheerug were talking. He argued angrily against - her disillusions. “But she’s not selfish like Vashti; and, anyway, you - weren’t fair to Vashti. You wouldn’t believe that she was good—you - wouldn’t even let Hal believe it. That was why he lost her.” - </p> - <p> - Then Madame Josephine took a hand: “When you find her, don’t try to change - her. Women long to be trusted. Be content to love.” - </p> - <p> - He gasped. What a lot Madame Josephine knew about men and women. He was - doing what all men did—and he had promised himself so faithfully to - be the exception. Already he was wanting to change Desire: wanting to make - her give up such friends as Fluffy; wishing she didn’t smoke cigarettes, - though so long as she wasn’t married to him he found it rather - fascinating; feeling shocked that she had trusted a strange man so - carelessly, though, when he happened to be her chance-selected companion, - he had been glad to profit by her carelessness. - </p> - <p> - And then—he didn’t like to own it—he felt piqued by her lack - of curiosity. She had taken him so quietly for granted. She hadn’t asked - who he was, or why he, of all men, had been sent to her rescue. Any man - would have done, provided he had had a car. It was A Man with A Car that - she had wanted. When the emergency was ended and he had served his - purpose, she would dismiss him with a polite “Thank you,” and put him out - of her memory. Thistledown—that was what she was. - </p> - <p> - He bent over her. Still sleeping! Her red lips were parted, the glint of - her white teeth showing. One hand was beneath her cheek, the other against - her breast like a crumpled petal. Below her eyes the long lashes made - shadows. How sweet she was, how fragile, how trusting—how like the - child-Desire who had snuggled into his arms in the woodland! With a sudden - revulsion he despised his fault-finding. Chivalry and tenderness leapt up. - He must make it a law with himself to believe the highest of her, whatever - happened or had happened. - </p> - <p> - He longed to waken her. He imagined how her eyes would tremble on him if - she awoke to find him bent above her hands. But would they? Because he - wasn’t sure, he cursed his inherited reticence. - </p> - <p> - Out of the east, driving his misty sheep before him, the shepherd of the - dawn came walking. Like a mischievous dog, with his red tongue lolling, - the sun sprang up and scattered the flock through many pastures. - </p> - <p> - Still she slept. - </p> - <p> - Outside Reading the engine went wrong. For a moment he hoped—— - But, no, it was nothing serious. In making adjustments he made much more - noise than was necessary. She did not rouse. - </p> - <p> - Nearly five o’clock! Other people would claim her in two hours. For the - next forty minutes that thought, that other people would claim her, - provided him with exquisite torture. Some of those other people would be - men—how could any man be near her without loving her? - </p> - <p> - He reached Maidenhead and came to the bridge—came to the river - winding like a silver pathway between nose-gays of gayly painted - houseboats. - </p> - <p> - “Ho-ho!” - </p> - <p> - Jamming on the brakes in the middle of the bridge, he brought the car to a - halt. Her hand fluttered up to her mouth in a pretty pretense at checking - the yawn. She rubbed her eyes. “Morning! Didn’t I choose a good place to - wake up? Where are we?” She sat upright. “My, but I am cramped. And, oh, - look at my dress! It’ll embarrass you most horribly when we get to London. - The police’ll think you’re eloping with a faery.” - </p> - <p> - He crouched above the wheel, clutching it tightly, fearing what he might - do with his hands. Her casual cheerfulness stifled his words. It was like - a blow across his lips. What he had intended to say was so serious. His - eyes felt hot. He had a vision of himself as a wild unkempt being, almost - primeval, who struggled and panted. He was filled with a sickening sense - of self-despising and dreaded lest at any moment he might hear her - laughing. - </p> - <p> - “What a shame!” She stroked his sleeve gently. Her voice was concerned. “I - am a little beast. You’ve been at it all night while I’ve been——” - She rippled into laughter. “Do tell me whether I snored. Why don’t you say - something? You’ll get me frightened; you look most awfully strange and - funny.” And then, softly: “Poor you! You’re very tired.” - </p> - <p> - He was like a man turned to stone. She listened for any sound of - footsteps; she might need help. Except for the sunshine, the lapping of - the river and the careless singing of birds, the whole world was empty. - </p> - <p> - She swept the hair back from her forehead and gazed away from him. She - mustn’t let him know that he’d upset her. - </p> - <p> - “The river! Isn’t it splendid? And all the little curly mists. Why, this - must be Maidenhead. Yes, there’s the place where we hired the boat when I - came here with Horace and Fluffy. I hate to leave it, but—— - We’d better be getting on to London, hadn’t we?” - </p> - <p> - He didn’t answer. Slowly she turned and regarded him. Was he sulky, or - ill, or——? - </p> - <p> - “I’m doing my best to be pleasant.” There was a hint of tears in the way - she said it. “You won’t let me help you—won’t tell me what’s the - matter. I suppose that’s because I look untidy and ugly.” - </p> - <p> - “Princess!” - </p> - <p> - Tremblingly he seized her hands. She drew back from him: “Oh, please! - You’re hurting.” - </p> - <p> - His eyes had touched hers for a second, penetrating their cloudiness. He - let her slip from his grasp. “I’m sorry. I thought—I thought you - were some one else.” - </p> - <p> - He was on the point of starting when she rose and jumped out - </p> - <p> - “I’m stiff. Let’s say ’Good-by’ to the dear old Thames. It won’t - take a minute.” And then, over her shoulder, as she leant across the - parapet: “You thought I was some one else. Who knows? Perhaps I am.” - </p> - <p> - All that he could see of her was her slight figure and the back of her - pretty head. He went and stood near her, within arm-stretch. - </p> - <p> - Without looking at him she asked a question. “Why do you beat about the - bush? Last night you had something on your mind that you wouldn’t tell. - This morning it’s worse. What makes you so timid? I’m only a girl.” - </p> - <p> - “Because——” - </p> - <p> - “Go on.” - </p> - <p> - “Because it’s something that would offend you if you weren’t——” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. “I’m never offended. I’m too understanding. Perhaps—— - Were you fond of this some one?” - </p> - <p> - “Fond, I?” The river grew blurred “It was years ago. I was a boy and she - was only a little girl. It’s like a story—like some one I read - about, and then went out to try and discover.” - </p> - <p> - A market-cart rumbled across the bridge, mountain-high with vegetables. - When the sound of its going had died out, she moved closer. - </p> - <p> - “I knew a boy once who called me ’Princess.’ He used to tell me—it - was a queer, dear thing to tell me—he used to tell me that the - babies came into my eyes when I was happy. But that was only when I’d been - awfully nice to him.” When he stared at her, she nodded. “Really. He did. - I’m not joking.” - </p> - <p> - How long had she recognized him? Had she been cruel on purpose? Had she - kept him on tenter-hooks for her own diversion? He laughed softly. It - wasn’t quite the rushing together of two souls that imagination had - painted. And yet, there were compensations: the sleeping houses with their - blinds discreetly lowered; the sparkling river; the spray of plunging - clouds; on the bridge, suspended between sky and river, this pale queenly - sprite of a girl. The golden girdle about her waist jingled. He took no - notice the first time and the second; but the third it seemed a challenge. - He reached out his arm. - </p> - <p> - Tossing back her hair, she slipped from him. “Not allowed. You go too - fast; you were too slow at first. Why on earth didn’t you tell me last - night, instead of—— Think what a splendid time we might have - had. And now we’ve only a few hours.” - </p> - <p> - He seized her hands and held them, palm to palm. This time she made no - complaint that he hurt. “You’re not going.” He was breathing quickly. - “You’re never going unless——” - </p> - <p> - Her half-closed eyes mocked him with their old impishness. “But you - mustn’t hold me like that. It isn’t done in the best families—not in - public, anyway—even by the oldest friends.” - </p> - <p> - She broke from him and stepped into the car. “Let’s be nice to each other. - We haven’t been very nice yet.” - </p> - <p> - Very nice! He’d sat up all night and tossed his holiday plans to the winds - for her. He grinned to himself as he cranked the engine. This was the same - Desire with a vengeance—the old Desire who had tried to make people - ask pardon when she was the offender. - </p> - <p> - They were traveling again. His hands were occupied; he could make love to - her with nothing more alarming than words. She felt safe to lower her - defenses. - </p> - <p> - “You were just a little judging last night.” - </p> - <p> - “Was I?” - </p> - <p> - “Just a little. About Fluffy. You don’t even know her We were stupid to - quarrel.” - </p> - <p> - “It wasn’t as bad as that.” - </p> - <p> - “It was. You were, oh, so extremely righteous. But I’d have been just as - angry in your defense, or any one else’s whom I liked. I make a loyal - little friend.” - </p> - <p> - “Would you truly quarrel in my defense?” - </p> - <p> - She patted his hand where it rested on the wheel “Of course I would. But - last night you hurt me so much that—— I wonder if I dare tell - you. You see, it hurt all the more because we’d only just met. I pretended——” - </p> - <p> - He finished her sentence: “To be asleep.” - </p> - <p> - She bit her lip. “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you heard?” - </p> - <p> - “Heard what?” - </p> - <p> - “What I said when I buttoned your cloak about you?” She made her eyes - innocently wide. “Did you do that? That was kind.” - </p> - <p> - She was dodging him. He knew it; yet he wondered. Had she heard him - whisper that he loved her? If she had—— He glanced sideways; - all he saw was the gleam of her throat through her blowy hair. - </p> - <p> - His mind went back across the years. How much he had lost of her—a - child then, a woman now! If they were to bridge the gulf, it would be - wiser to start with memories. - </p> - <p> - “I found what you’d written on the window—found it next morning, - after you’d left.” - </p> - <p> - “Did I write anything? It’s so long ago. How wonderful that you should - have remembered!” - </p> - <p> - “Not wonderful at all. If you’d meant it, you’d remember.” - </p> - <p> - She had gone too far with her evasions. Snuggling closer, their shoulders - touching, she bent across him till their eyes met. - </p> - <p> - “I did mean it then. But you shouldn’t expect a girl to own it. I can - prove to you that I meant it. I wrote, ’I love you,’ and then, - lower down, ’I love you.’ I’ve—I’ve often thought about you, - and about—— What times we had! D’you remember the bird-catcher - and Bones? Poor Bones! How jealous you were of him, and I expect he’s - dead.” She laughed: “So you needn’t be jealous any longer. And d’you - remember how I would bathe? Shocking, wasn’t it? I thought it would change - me from a girl to a boy. And how I called you King Arthur once, and made - you angry? I think—— No, you won’t like me to say that.” - </p> - <p> - He urged her. - </p> - <p> - “I think you’re still a King Arthur or else—you wouldn’t have - objected to Fluffy, and you wouldn’t have made such a mess about - recognizing me.” - </p> - <p> - Stung by the old taunt he grew reckless. “I did tell you. You heard what I - said, but you tricked me by pretending you were sleeping.” - </p> - <p> - “A Sir Launcelot wouldn’t have, been put off by pretense. He’d have shaken - me by the shoulders. Oh, don’t look hurt. Let’s talk of something else. - What d’you suppose I’ve been doing with myself?” - </p> - <p> - As they drove through the morning country, between hedges cool with dew - and fragrant with opening flowers, she told him. - </p> - <p> - “After my father had kidnaped me” (so she knew that Hal was her father!) - “my beautiful mother took me to America. Sometimes we traveled in Europe, - but she was afraid to bring me to England so long as I was little. This - summer’s the first time I’ve been back. She let me come with Fluffy. I’m - going to be an actress—going to start next fall in New York, I - expect, if my mother allows me. Fluffy’s promised to help. She’s a star. - Janice Audrey’s her real name. You must have heard of her. No! Oh, well, - she’s quite famous, even if you haven’t. So you see why it’s so important - for me to sail with her.” - </p> - <p> - “You’re not going to sail with her.” - </p> - <p> - “I am.” She caught her breath and gazed at him wonderingly. “How foolish - of you! That’s why we’ve driven all night, and——” - </p> - <p> - “You’re not going to now.” - </p> - <p> - She threw herself back in the seat a little contemptuously. “It’s nonsense - to discuss it. I’d like to know what makes you say it.” - </p> - <p> - “Because——- It’s difficult to tell you. Because I couldn’t - bear to lose you the moment we’ve met. I don’t think—well, of - course, you can’t understand what you’ve been in my life. Don’t laugh, - Desire; I’m not flirting—not exaggerating. I’ve always believed that - I’d find you. I’ve lived for that. I’ve worked, and tried to be famous and - worthy so that—so that you’d like me. I had an idea that somewhere, - far out in the world, you were thinking of me and waiting for me.” He - glanced at her shyly. “Were you?” - </p> - <p> - She was sitting motionless, staring ahead. - </p> - <p> - “Were you?” - </p> - <p> - Tears came into her eyes. “It’s very beautiful—what you’ve told me. - It makes me feel—— Oh, I don’t know—that I wish I were - better. You see, you’ve thought of me as a dream-person, as some one very - wonderful. I’m only a reality—an ordinary girl with a little - cleverness, who wants to be an actress. Yes, I’ve thought about you - sometimes. Mother and I have often talked about you—but not in the - way you mean, I expect.” - </p> - <p> - He thrilled. She had thought about him. She owned it “You couldn’t be - better than you are,” he whispered. - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. “You haven’t known me long enough. I’m disappointing.” - </p> - <p> - He smiled incredulously. - </p> - <p> - “But I am,” she pouted, with a touch of petulance. “Then I’ll have to know - you long enough. You’ll have to give me the chance to be disillusioned; - that’s only fair. All the while you were sleeping I was planning a way to - keep you from going. At first I hoped the car would break down. When it - didn’t, I was tempted to loosen something so that we’d get stuck on the - road. Not at all a King Arthur trick, that! But I couldn’t bring myself to - do it after you’d trusted me. Then I thought I’d run off with you—let - you wake up in Devon, miles from any railway, with no time to get back. - Somehow, from what I remembered of you, I didn’t think that that would - make you pleasant. Then I had a mad notion.” - </p> - <p> - “What was it?” - </p> - <p> - “You won’t laugh at me?” - </p> - <p> - “Honest Injun. I promise.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought I’d propose to you the moment you woke and we’d get married.” - </p> - <p> - “You thought of that all by your little self!” Her voice rose in a clear - carol of music. “You quaint, funny person.” Catching her humor, he joined - in her laughing. “It seemed tremendously possible while you slept. I even - reckoned up my bank-account. But I’ve a real scheme now. When we ran away - from Fanner Joseph, I was going to take you to my mother. D’you remember?” - </p> - <p> - “Well?” - </p> - <p> - “Let’s pick up our adventure where we dropped it. I’ll take you to her.” - </p> - <p> - “Dreamer! What about my sailing, and my mother waiting for me, and - Fluffy?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, hang Fluffy! She’s always intruding.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s not kind. Besides, I don’t want Fluffy hanged. If she were, she - couldn’t help me to be an actress.” - </p> - <p> - “But you’re not going to be an actress. I’d hate to think of you being - stared at by any one who could pay the money. An actress marries the - public, but you—— Look here, I’m serious.” - </p> - <p> - “You think you are. I never met any one like you. You weave magic cloaks - in your imagination and try to make live people wear them. If the magic - cloaks don’t fit, you’ll be angry. So don’t weave one for me; I warn you. - What’s the time? Then in less than seven hours I sail for America.” - </p> - <p> - He felt like a kite, straining toward the clouds, which the hand of a - child was dragging down to earth. Her voice uttered prose, but her eyes - smiled poetry. She seemed to be repeating disenchanted phrases which she - had borrowed without comprehending. Every time he looked at her she - inspired him to flights; but she refused to follow him herself. Because of - that he fell silent. - </p> - <p> - Streets commenced. The smoke of freshly kindled fires boiled and bubbled - against the sky. Frowsy maids knelt whitening doorsteps, as though saying - their prayers. Blinds shot up at second-story windows. The world was - getting dressed. It was the hour when dreams ended. - </p> - <p> - Desire drew her cloak closer, hiding the green and gold of her romance - attire. - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t mean to be horrid. Don’t think that I don’t appreciate——” - </p> - <p> - Whatever it was she said was lost in the clatter of a passing tram. - </p> - <p> - “You weren’t horrid.” He spoke quietly. “Even if you had been, I deserved - it. I’ve been,” he hesitated and shrugged his shoulders expressively, - “just a little mad. What’s the address? Where am I to drive you?” - </p> - <p> - They had entered Regent’s Park. For a moment the spell of the country - returned. In fields, beyond the canal, sheep were grazing. - </p> - <p> - “Can’t we go more slowly?” She touched his arm gently. - </p> - <p> - “We can. But, if we do, I’ll have more time to make a fool of myself, and - I’ve done that pretty thoroughly.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think so.” - </p> - <p> - “But I have and I owe you an apology. You see, all my life you’ve been an - inspiration. I’ve imagined you so intensely that I couldn’t treat you - politely as a stranger—as what you call a ’real’ person.” - </p> - <p> - Her face trembled. All the mischief had gone out of it. Her hands moved - distressfully as though they wanted to caress him, but didn’t dare. She - crouched her chin against her shoulder and gazed away through the sun and - shadows of the park. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t want you to be polite to me,” she faltered. “I don’t think you - understand how difficult it is to be a girl. We neither of us know quite - what we want.” She looked at him wistfully. “Disappointed in me already! - Didn’t I warn you? And yet, if you’d take the trouble to know me, you’d - find that I’m not—not so bad and heartless.” - </p> - <p> - “Little Desire, I never thought you were bad and heartless—never for - one moment.” - </p> - <p> - The babies came into her eyes and her finger went childishly to her mouth. - “No, you wouldn’t have the right to; but I’m ever so much nicer than you - suspect.” - </p> - <p> - He slowed down the engine. His face had gone white beneath its tan. They - were both stirred; they seemed to listen to the beating of each other’s - heart “Give me another chance,” he urged unsteadily. - </p> - <p> - “But how? I must sail.” She gazed at him forlornly. “Here we are. You were - going past it.” - </p> - <p> - They drew up before a tall, buff-colored house, standing in a terrace. As - though glad to escape from their emotional suspense, she jumped out the - moment they had stopped, ran up the steps and rang the bell. While she - waited for her ring to be answered, she kept her back towards him. The - door was opened by a maid in a white cap and apron. - </p> - <p> - “Hulloa, Ethel! So you see I’ve got back. How’s Miss Janice? Busy - packing?” - </p> - <p> - “Still in bed, Miss Desire. I was just going up to help her dress.” - </p> - <p> - “Out last night with Mr. Horace?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. He’s to be here to breakfast He’s going to the station to see you - off.” - </p> - <p> - “All right. I’ll be in in a moment You needn’t stop.” - </p> - <p> - She came tripping down the steps to Teddy. He had got out of the car and - had been standing watching her. He had feared that she would glance across - her shoulder and dismiss him with a nod. - </p> - <p> - She rested her hand upon his arm and looked up at him timidly with an - expression that was more than pity. The leaves of the park fluttered and - the flakes of sunlight fell. - </p> - <p> - “If I wasn’t going——” The rumble of London shook the heavy - summer stillness, hinting at adventures awaiting their exploring. “If only - I wasn’t going—— I’m beginning to like you most awfully, the - way I did once when—— But I must go. I can’t help it You’ll - stay to breakfast, won’t you? Then we can drive to the station together.” - </p> - <p> - “I’d like to. But would they like it?” - </p> - <p> - “Who? Fluffy and Horace? I don’t suppose so.” - </p> - <p> - “Then breakfast with me somewhere else?” - </p> - <p> - She played with the temptation, raising his expectations. Then, “No. I’ve - too much to do—packing and all sorts of things. Perhaps you’re right - We’d be awkward with each other before them. We’d better say ’Good-by’ - now.” - </p> - <p> - But she didn’t say it. Her hand still rested on his arm and the gold-green - leaves of the park fluttered. - </p> - <p> - “I can’t let you go like this,” he whispered hoarsely. - </p> - <p> - “No. I know it. But what can we do? Poor you! I’m so sorry.” - </p> - <p> - Her mood changed swiftly. “Oh, how stupid we are! Give me a pencil and - some paper. Now put your foot on the step of the car and make a table for - me.” - </p> - <p> - As she stooped to his knee to write, her hair fell back, exposing the - whiteness of her neck. The familiarity with which she was filling these - last moments sent all his dreams soaring. The daintiness, the slimness, - the elfin beauty of her quickened his longing. His instinct told him that - she was hoping that he would kiss her; but he guessed that, if he did, she - would repulse him. “You go too fast for me,” she had said. Once again his - imagination wove a magic garment and flung it about her shoulders. There - was no one like her. She was called Desire because she was desired. If - love could compel love, she should come into his life. He vowed to himself - that he would win her. - </p> - <p> - “There.” - </p> - <p> - As he took the paper from her, their fingers touched and clung together. - “What’s this? Your New York address? You mean that we can write to each - other?” - </p> - <p> - Her eyes mocked his trouble with tenderness. “That wasn’t what I meant.” - </p> - <p> - “Then what?” - </p> - <p> - “That you’ll know where to find me when you come to America.” - </p> - <p> - “But I can’t I——” - </p> - <p> - She broke from him and ran up the steps. As she crossed the threshold she - let her cloak slip from her. He saw again for one fleeting moment her - sandaled feet and her pageant costume. - </p> - <p> - The door was closing. Before it shut she kissed the tips of her fingers to - him. - </p> - <p> - “You can if you really care.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV—HAUNTED - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e eyed the windows - furtively, hoping to catch her peering out. He commenced to tinker with - his engine to give himself an excuse for delaying. Why hadn’t he accepted - her breakfast invitation? Without her he felt utterly desolate. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps, if he stayed there long enough, she would come to him. The door - would open and he would hear her saying shyly, “Ha! So it did break down!” - Of course the sensible thing to do would be to walk boldly up the steps - and ask for her. But love prefers strategy. - </p> - <p> - A man came strolling along the terrace. He was in gray flannels, wore a - straw hat and was swinging a cane jauntily. He had a distinct waist-line - and humorous blue eyes. He was the kind of man who keeps a valet. - </p> - <p> - “Hulloa! Something wrong?” - </p> - <p> - Teddy unstooped his shoulders. “Nothing much. Nothing that I can’t put - right.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I’m going in here.” The man glanced across his shoulder at the - house. “If it’s water you want or anything like that, or if you’d care to - use the phone——” - </p> - <p> - Teddy flushed scarlet beneath his tan. So this cheerful looking person was - Horace who, cooperating with Fluffy, had set an example that had cheapened - all love’s values? - </p> - <p> - “I won’t trouble you. Thanks all the same.” - </p> - <p> - Had he dared, he would have accepted the proffered assistance. But Desire - would guess; they all would guess that he had acted a lie to gain an - entrance. Contempt for the foolishness of his situation made him hurry. - The car made a miraculous recovery—so miraculous that the blue eyes - twinkled with dawning knowledge. - </p> - <p> - “Come a long way to judge from the dust! From Glastonbury, perhaps?” - </p> - <p> - Teddy jumped to the seat and seized the wheel. “Yes, from Glastonbury,” he - said hastily. - </p> - <p> - As he drove away he muttered, “Played me like a trout! He’s no cause to - laugh when he’s been refused himself.” - </p> - <p> - From the end of the terrace, he glanced back. The man, with leisurely - self-possession, was entering the house. He felt for him the impotent envy - that Dives in torment felt, when he saw Lazarus lying on Abraham’s bosom. - He tried to jeer himself out of his melancholy. “I’m very young,” he kept - saying. But when he imagined the party of three at breakfast, he could - have wept. - </p> - <p> - Now that she had vanished, he remembered only her allurement. Her faults - became attractions: her coldness was modesty; her defense of Fluffy, - loyalty; her unreasonable request that he should come to America, love. - What girl would expect a man to do that unless she loved him? - </p> - <p> - The reality of his predicament began to grow upon him. This wasn’t a - romance or a dream he had invented; it had happened. - </p> - <p> - In a shadowed spot, overlooking the canal, he halted the car. He must - think matters out—must get a grip on himself before he went further. - Water-carts were going up and down. Well-groomed men were walking briskly - through the park on their way to business. Boys and girls on bicycles - passed him, going out by way of Hampstead for a day in the country. The - absolute normality of life, its level orderliness, thrust itself upon him. - He looked at the sedate rows of houses, showing up substantially behind - sun-drenched branches. He saw their window-boxes, their whitened - doorsteps, their general appearance of permanency. The men who lived in - those houses wouldn’t say to a girl, “I love you,” in the first half-dozen - hours of acquaintance. But neither would the girls say to a seven-hour-old - lover, “Come to America”; they wouldn’t even say, “Run down to Southend,” - for fear of being thought forward. - </p> - <p> - How distorted the views seemed to him now that he had held on the journey - up from Glastonbury! They were the result of moonlight and of the pageant - emotions stirred by a medieval world. How preposterously he had acted! - </p> - <p> - He tried to put himself in Desire’s place that he might judge her fairly. - Irresponsible friends send her a telegram, saying that a man is coming to - fetch her. Of course she believes that the man is to be trusted; but the - first thing he does is to make love. In spite of that, she has to go with - him; he is her one chance of getting to London. He at once commences to - take advantage of her; she gets frightened and pretends to go to sleep in - order to escape him. In the morning she discovers that he’s an old friend, - but there’s too little time to replace the bad impression. At the last - moment she feels sorry for him—begins to feel that she really does - care for him; so she says the only thing possible under the circumstances, - “Come to America.” - </p> - <p> - Obviously she wasn’t going to give herself away all at once. In that she - had been wise, for, though he had wanted her to, he knew that if she had, - she would have lowered her value. - </p> - <p> - But he wished she had shown more curiosity. She’d talked all about herself - and hadn’t asked him a single question. She hadn’t even called him by his - name—not once. - </p> - <p> - Then the cloud of his depression lifted. The truth came home to him in a - flash: all these complaints and this unhappiness were proofs positive that - at last he was in love. The splendor of the thought thrilled him—in - love. The curtain had gone up. His long period of lonely waiting was - ended. For him the greatest drama that two souls can stage had begun. - Whither it would lead he could not guess. Everything was a blank except - the present, and that was filled with an aching happiness. She was going - from him. Already she was out of sight and sound; in a few hours he would - be cut off from all communication with her. Yet he was happy in the - knowledge that, however uncertain he might be of her, he belonged to her - irrevocably. He longed to give himself to her service in complete - self-surrender. His work, his ambitions, everything he was or could be, - must be a gift for her. But how to make her understand this, while there - was yet time? - </p> - <p> - He drove out of the park, passing by her house. Of her there was no sign. - He wondered what they were doing in there. Was the man with the blue eyes - taking his place and helping to strap her trunks? Or was he making love to - Fluffy, while Desire looked on wistfully and wished—wished what he - himself was wishing? - </p> - <p> - “You were a little judging?” - </p> - <p> - Yes, he had been judging. It had all taken place so differently from - anything that he had conjectured. She herself was so different from the - Desire he had imagined. All these years he had been preparing for her - coming, but to her his coming had been an accident. That had hurt—hurt - his pride, to have to acknowledge that she had almost forgotten the old - kindnesses. And then she had tantalized him—-had taken a pleasure in - treating him lightly. Perhaps all girls did that; it might be their way of - defending themselves. Probably she hadn’t meant one half of what she had - said, and had been trying to shock him. He couldn’t bear that she should - think him narrow or censorious. The more he condemned himself, the more he - longed to convince her of his breadth and generosity. - </p> - <p> - He found a florist’s and ordered a quantity of flowers. - </p> - <p> - “Shall I enclose your card, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “It doesn’t matter.” - </p> - <p> - He was afraid that, if she knew for certain they were from him, she might - not accept them. - </p> - <p> - “The lady’s leaving Euston on the boat-train for Liverpool, so you must - get them to her at once.” - </p> - <p> - “You shall see the boy start, sir. Going on a liner, is the lady, sir?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, to America.” - </p> - <p> - “Then, may I make a suggestion?” Desire would have said that the florist - was very understanding; he rubbed his hands and looked out of the window - to avoid any needless causing of embarrassment. “If I might make a - suggestion, sir, I would say it would be very nice to send the lady seven - bouquets—one for every day of the voyage.” - </p> - <p> - “But can it be done? I mean, will the flowers keep fresh?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, sir. It’s quite the regular thing. We pack them in seven boxes - and we mark each box for the day on which it’s to be opened. We send - instructions with them for the lady to give to the purser, to keep them on - ice. Usually we slip five shillings into the envelope with the - instructions. Then the lady finds her bouquet waiting for her on her plate - each morning with her breakfast. The idea is that she’ll think of the - gentleman who sent them.” This florist understood too much. He treated - love as a thing that happened every day, which, of course, it didn’t. - Teddy assumed an off-hand manner. “If it won’t take too long to make up - the bouquets, I’ll have them as well.” - </p> - <p> - “As well as the cut flowers?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - He helped to select the rosebuds, orchids and violets that were to lie - against her breast It gave him a comforting sense of nearness to her. When - the man’s back was turned he stooped to catch their fragrance and brushed - his lips against their petals. Perhaps she might do the same, and her lips - would touch the flowers where his had touched. By subtler words than - language they would explain to her his love. When she landed in that - far-away New York, he would be with her, for the flowers would have kept - his memory fresh. - </p> - <p> - “Certain you won’t send your card, sir? It’s quite etiquette, I assure - you.” - </p> - <p> - He shook his head irritably. The man took the hint and became absorbed in - his own affairs. The boxes were tied up, the bill settled. Teddy watched - the boy bicycle away on his errand and envied him the privilege of ringing - her door-bell. - </p> - <p> - Breakfast! He hadn’t had any. He was too excited to feel hungry. He didn’t - want to go home yet; he’d have to explain the abrupt ending of his - holiday. He was trying to make up his mind to go to the station to see her - off. As he drove about, killing time, he came to Trafalgar Square. That - made him think of Cockspur Street and the shipping offices. He pulled up - at Ocean House to find out what boats were sailing on that day. There were - three of them, any one of which might be hers. A mad whim took him. Of - course it was out of the question that he should go to America. How could - he explain such a voyage to his parents? He couldn’t say, “I met Desire - for a handful of hours and I’m in love.” Besides, he would never let any - one suspect that he was in love. He wouldn’t even be able to mention his - night ride from Glastonbury. It would sound improper to people who weren’t - romance-people. He could see the pained look that would steal into his - mother’s eyes if he told her. Nevertheless, although it was quite - impossible, he asked for a list of sailings and made inquiries as to - fares. - </p> - <p> - Then he drove to Gatti’s for breakfast and a general tidy-up. Something - was the matter with the mirrors this morning. He saw himself with humble - displeasure. Until he had met Desire, he had felt perfectly contented with - his appearance; he had found nothing in it at which to take offense. But - now he began to have a growing sense of injury against the Almighty. As he - sat in the mirrored room, waiting for his meal to be served, his - reflections watched him from half-a-dozen angles. They seemed to be saying - to him, “Poor chap! May as well face up to the fact. This is how you look; - and you expect her to love you.” - </p> - <p> - He compared himself with her. He thought of her eyes, her lips, her hair, - the grace of her figure, the wonderful smallness of her hands. Her voice - came back to him—the sultry, emotional, coaxing way she had of using - it The arch self-composure of her manner came back—the glances - half-mocking, half-tender which she knew how to dart from under her long - lashes. She was more elf than woman. - </p> - <p> - All her actions and speech were unconsciously calculated to win affection. - Her beauty was without blemish; the memory of her filled him with - self-ridicule. He regarded himself in the mirrors with sorrowful - despising. His face was too long, his eyes too hollow, his mouth too - sensitive—nothing was right. How could she ever bring herself to - love him? How monstrous it seemed to him now that he should have dared to - criticize her! There was only one way to win her approbation—to make - her admire his talent A thought struck him. Leaving his meal untasted, he - ran out in search of a bookshop. - </p> - <p> - “A copy of <i>Life Till Twenty-One</i>. Yes, by Theodore Gurney. Can you - deliver it?... No, that’s too late. It’s got to be there by eleven. If you - can send a boy now, I’ll give him half-a-crown for his trouble. I’ll drive - him in my car to within a hundred yards of the house. It’s most important. - The people who want it are sailing for America.” - </p> - <p> - As the shopman wrapped it up, he remarked, “You were in luck to get a - copy. There’s been a run on it. The publishers are out of stock. This is - our last one.” - </p> - <p> - Once again he came within sight of her house. At a discreet distance he - set his messenger down and saw the book delivered. His heart fluttered as - the door opened; she might—it was just possible—she might come - out. But no, all he had was a fleeting glimpse of the maid in the white - cap and apron. - </p> - <p> - The moment the deed was done, he was assailed by trepidations. It might - seem egotistical to her, bad taste, vaunting. He could almost hear her - laughing. Oh, well, if she troubled to read it—and surely she would - do that out of curiosity—she would learn exactly how much she had - meant to him. She would see her own face looking out from the pen-and-ink - drawings that dodged up and down the margins. - </p> - <p> - Within the next hour he sent her three telegrams. The first simply gave - his address in Eden Row. The second said, “Please write to me.” The third - was a bold optimism, “Perhaps coming.” After that he had to stop, for the - time was approaching when she would be leaving for the station. The - signing of the telegrams gave him much difficulty. The first bore his - signature in full, “Theodore Gurney”; the next was less formal, - “Theodore”; the last touched the chord of memory, “Teddy.” His difficulty - had arisen because he couldn’t remember that she had called him anything. - </p> - <p> - She lived in his thoughts as a phantom—too little as a creature of - flesh and blood. Within the brief space that had elapsed since he had - touched her, she had become again a faery’s child. The sound of her - laughter was in his ears. He imagined how her finger had gone up to her - mouth and the babies had come into her eyes, each time the bell had rung - and something fresh had been handed in to her. “Very queer and dear of - him,” she had said—something like that. - </p> - <p> - It was nearly twelve. He was torn between his anxiety to see her and his - shyness at intruding. If he had had only her to face, he would have gone - to Euston; but she’d be surrounded by friends. When it was too late, he - cursed his lack of enterprise. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps she had sent him an answer to his telegrams. He hurried back to - Eden Row. As he came in sight of the tree-shadowed street, with the river - gleaming along its length and the staid, sleepy houses lining its - pavement, the calm normality of an orderly world again accused him. To - have suggested to Eden Row a trip to America merely to see a girl would - have sounded like an affront to its sanity. As he passed by Orchid Lodge, - the carriage-and-pair was waiting for Mrs. Sheerug to come out. For - fifteen years she had been going through the same curriculum of - self-imposed duties—playing her harp, working at her tapestries, - scattering her philanthropies. How could he say to her, “I’m going to - America,” without stating an adequate reason? - </p> - <p> - His mother met him in the hall. “Why, Teddy, back! What’s the matter? You - didn’t send us warning.” - </p> - <p> - “I got tired of roving,” he said. “Has anything come?” - </p> - <p> - “Come! No. I forwarded your last letters to Glastonbury. I thought you - were to be there this morning.” - </p> - <p> - “So I was to have been, but—I changed my mind suddenly.” - </p> - <p> - “You look awfully tired.” - </p> - <p> - “I am.” He forced a laugh. “I haven’t slept. I drove all night for the fun - of it. I think I’ll go and lie down.” In the room where he had passed his - boyhood dreaming of her, he sat down to wait for her message. He looked - out of the window. How unaltered everything was, and yet how different! - The pigeons fluttered. In the studio at the bottom of the garden he could - make out the figure of his father, standing before his easel. Across the - wall, Mr. Yaffon carried cans of water back and forth among his flowers. - He remembered the great dread he had had that nothing would ever happen. - And now it had happened—money, reputation, and at last Desire. He - ought to be feeling immensely glad; he was in love—the make-believe - passions of childhood on which he had fed his imagination were ended. The - real thing had come. If he could only have one sign from her that she - cared—— - </p> - <p> - He listened. Every time he heard the bell ring he went out on to the - landing and called, “Anything for me? What is it?” - </p> - <p> - Afternoon lengthened out. He manufactured reasons for her silence. She had - probably intended to telegraph him from Euston, but had been rushed at the - last minute. She would do it from Liverpool before she sailed. That would - mean that he would hear from her by seven. Anyway she had his flowers and - she had his book—so many things to remind her of him. He pictured - her curled up in a corner of the railway-carriage, blind to the flying - country, deaf to what was going on about her, smiling over the pages of <i>Life - Till Twenty-One</i>, and recognizing what poetry he had brought to his - loving of her. She wouldn’t be hard on him any longer for his behavior on - the ride from Glastonbury. She would understand why he hadn’t liked her to - speak of love as though it were flirtation. Perhaps already she was - feeling a little proud of him—nearly as proud as he felt of her. - </p> - <p> - Seven struck on the clock downstairs. Eight, nine, ten! No message would - come till morning now; but he would not let himself believe that she had - not sent one. Probably she had given it to Horace, and he had slipped it - into his pocket and forgotten. Something like that! Or else, being a girl - and afraid to appear forward, she would write a letter on the ship and - send it ashore by the pilot. A letter would seem to her so much less - important than a telegram. - </p> - <p> - His mother looked in on her way to bed. “Still up? You’ve been hiding all - evening. What have you been doing? Working?” - </p> - <p> - She slipped her arm about his neck and laid her face against his cheek. - She was trying to sympathize—trying to draw him out. What did she - suspect? Instinctively he barricaded his privacy. He felt a cruel shame - that his secret should be guessed. Why he should feel ashamed of love—of - love which was so beautiful—he could not tell. “What have you been - doing, Teddy?” - </p> - <p> - He smiled cheerfully. “Doing! I’ve had an idea. A good one. I’ve been - thinking it out.” - </p> - <p> - “For your next book?” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps.” - </p> - <p> - When she was gone, he turned out his light. He knew she would be watching - for its glow against the trees. If she did not see it, she would believe - him sleeping and her mind would be at rest. Then he seated himself by the - open window in the darkness. - </p> - <p> - He thought of Vashti, who had not married Hal. Did Desire know that her - mother had not married? He remembered the horror he had felt when he had - learnt that fact—the chivalrous pity for Desire it had aroused. It - was then that he had planned, when he became a man, to help her in the - paying of the price. And now—— - </p> - <p> - He smiled frowningly. She didn’t seem to need his help. She was the - happiest, most radiant person he had ever met. She had found the intenser - world, for which he had always been searching—the world which is - forever somewhere else. His world—his poor little world, which he - had tried to make so fine that he might offer it to her—his world - seemed dull in comparison. - </p> - <p> - “Come to America,” she had said, as though the people she knew were those - lucky persons who are at all times free to travel, and never need to - trouble about expense. It hadn’t seemed to enter her head that he might - have obligations or a living to earn. She hadn’t even inquired; she had - just said, “Come to America,” as another might say, “If you care to call, - you’ll find me at home on Fridays.” - </p> - <p> - He adored her the more, as is the way with lovers, for the magnificent - inconsequence of her request. It was the standard she set for his need of - her—the proof she required. The more he thought, the more certain he - was of that. - </p> - <p> - Next morning brought neither telegram nor letter. All day he stayed at - home, fearing that, if he went out, something might arrive in his absence. - Her silence drove him to distraction. Could it be that she was offended? - Was she annoyed because he had put her into a book? Had she expected him - to turn up at Euston for a final farewell? He must get some word to her. - There were three ships, any one of which might be carrying her. He went - out that evening and addressed a wireless message to her on each of them: - “Thinking of you. Longing to hear from you. Love.” He felt very - discomforted when the clerk, before accepting them, insisted on reading - them over aloud. Again he hoped vainly that she might guess his suspense—perhaps - gauge his by her own—and return a wireless. Nothing. - </p> - <p> - The next three weeks were the longest in his memory. He became an expert - on transatlantic sailings. Every day he covered several pages to her. He - filled them with sketches; he put into them all the emotion and cleverness - of which he was capable. He said all the tender and witty things he had - intended to say to her when they met. - </p> - <p> - He burlesqued his own shyness. He recalled happenings of the old farmhouse - days which even he had all but forgotten. As an artist he knew that he was - outdoing himself. His letters were masterpieces. He laughed and cried over - some of the passages in the same breath. They couldn’t fail to move her. - When three weeks had elapsed he began to look for an answer. None came. It - was as though she mocked him, saying: “Come to America if you really - care.” - </p> - <p> - He grew hurt. For a month he tried the effect of not writing. Then he - tried to forget her, and did his best to become absorbed in his work. But - the old habits of industry had lost their attraction; every day was a gray - emptiness. His quietness seemed irrecoverable. She haunted him. Sometimes - the wind was in her hair and her face was turned from him. Sometimes her - gray eyes watched him cloudily, and her warm red lips pouted with tender - melancholy. He saw her advancing through the starlit streets of - Glastonbury, walking proudly in her queen’s attire. He saw her in a - thousand ways; every one was sweet, and every one was torturing. - </p> - <p> - “This is love,” he told himself; “love which all the inspired people of - the world have painted and described and sung.” - </p> - <p> - The odd thing was that, much as it made him suffer, he would not have been - without it. - </p> - <p> - His mother noticed his restlessness and would have coaxed hi$ secret from - him, but his lips were obstinately sealed. He could not bring himself to - confess. He resorted to evasions which he felt to be unworthy. - </p> - <p> - Gradually the determination grew up in him to go to America. He sought for - an excuse that would disguise his real purpose. It came to him in a letter - from a New York editor, offering prices, which sounded fabulous by English - standards, for a series of illustrated reminiscences of childhood similar - to those contained in <i>Life Till Twenty-one</i>. - </p> - <p> - He read the letter aloud at the breakfast table. “I’m going,” he said, “to - talk it over.” - </p> - <p> - “Going where?” his father questioned. - </p> - <p> - “To America.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, nonsense!” - </p> - <p> - He let the subject drop for the time being; but a few days later he walked - out of Ocean House and whistled his way down Cockspur Street to Trafalgar - Square. He halted in the drowsy August sun and pulled the ticket from his - pocket to examine it. He could scarcely credit the reckless length to - which his infatuation had carried him. - </p> - <p> - He seemed to see her again, standing on the threshold in her - green-and-gold pageant costume, whispering tauntingly, “Come to America if - you really care.” - </p> - <p> - She would have to acknowledge now how much she meant to him. He couldn’t - wait to tell her. Crossing the street to Charing Cross Telegraph Office, - he cabled her the date of his arrival, the ship on which he was sailing - and the one word, “Coming.” Then he turned thoughtfully homeward, to break - the news to Eden Row. - </p> - <p> - Her masterly faculty for silence had conquered. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V—SUSPENSE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>ot until the - shores of England had faded behind him did he realize the decisiveness of - the step he had taken. Divorced from his familiar surroundings, in the - No-Man’s-Land of shipboard, he had an opportunity of taking an outsider’s - view of his actions. Now that there was no going back, a fatalistic calm - settled down on him. During the past weeks he had lived in a tempest of - speculations, of wild hopes and unreasonable doubts. He had had to hide - his emotions, and yet had dreaded lest they were suspected. The fear of - ridicule had been heavy upon him. He had walked on tiptoe, always - listening for a voice which never answered. Now at last he regained - self-possession. - </p> - <p> - Lying lazily in his steamer-chair, with the sun-dazzled vacancy of ocean - before him, the bigness of life came acutely home to him. Looking back - over his few years, he saw that the supreme need for great living is - charity—to be content to love, as Madame Josephine would put it. He - saw something else: that life has amazing recuperative powers and that no - single defeat is overwhelming. Disappointment only becomes overwhelming - when it is used for bitterness, as it was used by Hal. - </p> - <p> - “Life’s an eternal picking one’s self up and going forward,” he told - himself. - </p> - <p> - And so, if the unthinkable were to befall him, and he were to fail to make - Desire love him—— He couldn’t believe that love could ever - fail to awaken love—not the kind of love he had for her; but, lest - that disaster should happen and that he might prevent it from crushing - him, he tried not to take the purpose of his voyage too seriously. He - pretended to regard it cavalierly as an adventure. He schooled himself in - the knowledge that he might not be wanted. Except for her having said, - “Come to America if you really care,” he had no grounds for supposing that - she would want him. Why should he be anything to her? She was only - something to him because, by reason of her parentage, she had appealed - powerfully to his imagination at the chivalrous period of adolescence. He - had woven his dreams about her memory, clothed it with affection and - brought it with him up to manhood; then, by pure accident, he had met her. - She herself had warned him that he did not love the actual Desire, but the - magic cloak in which he had enfolded her. Perhaps most men did that—worshiped - a fantastic ideal, till they became sufficiently humble to set out in - search of reality. - </p> - <p> - It didn’t follow that, because the child-Desire had cared for him, the - Desire of twenty was still fond of him. It was that supposition that had - made him so precipitate in his own actions, and so unreasonable in his - expectations of hers. She had cared for him so little that she had been in - England since April and hadn’t troubled to discover him. Well, if he found - that she didn’t care for him now, he would make his business the excuse - for his voyage and return directly it was ended. He wasn’t going to repeat - Hal’s humiliating performance and give himself hopelessly. He couldn’t, if - he would. He knew that ultimately, if a woman didn’t choose to make - herself important, his work would take him from her. That, at least, was - his compensation for being an artist and over-sensitive: when reality had - made him suffer, his dreams would again claim him. So, having assured - himself many times that he was calm, he came to believe that he was - fortified against disillusion and would remain unshaken by it. - </p> - <p> - He was living up to her test by coming to America—proving to her - beyond a doubt that he really did care. A few days would be sufficient to - let him know precisely how much that meant to her. At worst, he would have - enriched himself by an experience. And at best—at best, he would - have gained the thing which in all the world was most precious to him. - </p> - <p> - Thus armed with the cardboard weapons of a sham cynicism, he allowed - himself to wander, like a knight-errant, still deeper into the haunted - forest of his imagination. And there, as is the way with knight-errants, - he grew impatient with his caution. Why should he strive so desperately to - rein in his passion with doubts—this strange and wonderful passion - that was so new to him? Of course she had wanted him. At this very moment - she was thinking of him—ticking off the hours till they should be - together. If she hadn’t written, hadn’t cabled, had ignored him entirely, - it was because—— Perhaps because in the early stages women - show their love by hiding it, just as men show theirs by displaying it A - man’s excitement is to win; a woman’s to be won. Perhaps! He smiled - humorously; he had invented so many motives for her silence. The obvious - motive he had overlooked—that it was her silence that was compelling - him to her. - </p> - <p> - Probably his ardor had frightened her. Their introduction had been so - unusual that it afforded no basis for correspondence, though he had shut - his eyes to that. If Desire were here, and he were to ask her why she - hadn’t written, she would probably crouch her chin against her shoulder - and tell him, “It isn’t done in the best families.” - </p> - <p> - It wasn’t. But in New York conditions would be different. Vashti would be - there. Vashti for whom he had saved his marriage-box. Vashti who could - make Mrs. Sheerug believe that she was good only when she sang. Vashti - whose voice was like a beanstalk ladder by which lovers might escape to - the stars. Did she remember <i>The Garden Enclosed</i>, and how his boyish - kiss had changed her painted lips from an expression of brooding to one of - kindness? Odd to think of her as Desire’s mother! “My beautiful mother!” - Vashti would be generous; already he was counting on her alliance. When - Desire had her mother’s consent, she would no longer want to conceal her - affection. - </p> - <p> - His optimism caught fire. It was a wonderful world to which he was sailing—a - world of enchantment.- She might be on the dock to meet him. Would she - look very altered with her hair done like a woman’s? How would a modern - dress suit her? What fun it would be to go wandering through a strange - city at her side! - </p> - <p> - His thoughts ran madly ahead. Marriage!’ Where would they live? Would - Vashti want them to stay in America? Anyway, they’d go back to Eden Row - for their honeymoon. Hal would be happy at last In time he might meet - Vashti. They might learn to love each other afresh, and then—— - </p> - <p> - He drew up sharply, assuring himself gravely that all these peeps into the - future were highly problematic. The chances were that in two weeks’ time - he’d be sailing on the return-journey, doing his best to forget that he - had ever believed himself in love. - </p> - <p> - The blue trackless days passed quickly, while his mood alternated between - precautionary coldness and passionate anticipation. His thoughts spread - their wings, beating up into the unknown in broad flights of fancy. - </p> - <p> - The last morning. He had scarcely slept. The throb of the engines was - slower. Overhead he could hear the creaking of pulleys, and the commotion - of trunks being raised from the hold and piled upon the deck. He rose with - the first flush of dawn to see the wraith of land stealing nearer. He had - the feeling that, in so doing, he was proving his loyalty. Somewhere, over - there to the westward, her eyes were closed and she was dreaming of him. - It was his old idea that their thoughts could reach out and touch. - </p> - <p> - His heart was in his throat. He paced up and down in a vain endeavor to - keep it quiet. Gulls, skimming the foam with shrill cries, seemed her - messengers. Through the pearl-colored haze white shipping passed - noiselessly. The sun streamed a welcome. - </p> - <p> - As they crept up the harbor, he could no longer disguise his excitement. - It nearly choked him. He seemed disembodied; he was a pair of eyes. His - soul ran out before him. He felt sure she would be waiting for him. He saw - nothing of the panting little tugs, which pulled and shoved the liner to - her moorings. He hardly noticed the man-made precipices of New York, - rising like altar-steps to a shrine of turquoise. He was straining his - eyes toward the gaps in the dock-shed, white with clustered - indistinguishable faces. One of them must be hers. It seemed wrong that, - even at this distance, he should not be able to pick her out As they moved - slowly alongside, he kept persuading himself that he had found her and - waved furiously—only to realize that he had been mistaken. - </p> - <p> - He passed down the gang-plank with eager eyes, asking himself: “How shall - I greet her? What will she expect me to say to her?” On every side, - friends were darting forward, shaking hands, clasping each other and not - caring who witnessed their emotional gladness. At any minute he might see - her pressing through the crowd. - </p> - <p> - He had been searching for her for half-an-hour. “If your friends have come - to meet you,” an official told him, “they’ll look for you where your - baggage is examined. What’s your name? Gurney. Well, they’ll be waiting - for you under the letter G., if they’re waiting anywhere.” - </p> - <p> - His luggage had been passed by the inspector. The crowd was thinning. The - only people left were a few flustered passengers who were having trouble - with the customs. His hope was ebbing; after his high anticipations he was - suffering from reaction. Loitering disconsolately by his trunks, he - clutched obstinately at the skirts of his vanishing optimism. His brain - was fertile in producing excuses for why she had not met him. The news - that the ship had docked might not have reached her, or it might have - reached her too late. Perhaps at this very moment she was hurrying to him, - sharing his suspense. - </p> - <p> - He wouldn’t leave yet. It would seem as though he blamed her, didn’t trust - her, if she should arrive to find him gone. - </p> - <p> - Two hours had elapsed since he had landed. It wasn’t likely that she would - come now. As he drove to the Brevoort, he tried to explain the situation - to himself so that it might appear in its bravest aspect. She must know - that he had landed to-day; if his cable, telling her of his coming, had - failed to be delivered, he would have been notified. And if, when she had - received it, she hadn’t wanted him, she would have replied. Therefore, she - both wanted him and knew that he had landed. He came to the conclusion - that he had hoped for too much in expecting her to meet him. Until he had - got excited, he hadn’t really expected that. It was only at the last - minute that he had persuaded himself she would be there. To have had to - welcome him in public, knowing the purpose of his voyage and knowing so - little about him, would have been embarrassing. She was waiting for him to - go to her home where their meeting would be private. - </p> - <p> - At the Brevoort, the telephone-clerk found the phone-number of her - address. He was trembling as he slipped into the booth. He was going to - hear her voice. What would she say to him—to his daring at having - accepted her challenge; and what would he say to her? He took up the - receiver. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve come, Desire. Who’s this? Can’t you guess? It’s the person you used - to call Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - He listened. There was a pause. “Hulloa! Are you there?” - </p> - <p> - Muffled and metallic the answer came back: “Yes.—But Miss Desire’s - not at home. This is Madame Jodrell’s maid speaking.—No. Madame - Jodrell’s gone out. She won’t be home to lunch. She didn’t say when I was - to expect her.—Has she gone to the dock to meet some one? No. I’m - sure she hasn’t. Will you leave a message?” - </p> - <p> - He repeated his name and gave her his address. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll tell whichever of them gets home first,” the distant voice assured - him; then he heard the click of the receiver hung up. - </p> - <p> - He was bewildered. Things grew more and more discouraging. Desire must - have mistaken the day of his arrival. If not, however pressing her - engagement, she would have left him some word of welcome. - </p> - <p> - He had a lonely lunch at a table looking out on Fifth Avenue. From where - he sat he caught a glimpse of Washington Square—a glimpse which - suggested both Paris and London. He was inclined to feel angry; the next - moment he was amused at his petulance. A lover was always in haste. He - wouldn’t let himself feel angry. It would be time enough for that if he - found that she’d led him on a wild-goose chase. Then anger would help him - to forget. In the meanwhile he must take Madame Josephine’s advice and be - content to love. “Women long to be trusted.” Perhaps all this apparent - indifference was a part of Desire’s test; she was trying to discover how - far he would trust her. When he thought of her cloudy gray eyes, he felt - certain that any seeming unkindness wasn’t intended. “I’m far nicer than - you suspect,” she had told him. - </p> - <p> - Then, from anger he became all tenderness. What did a little postponement - matter? It would make their meeting all the finer. He wouldn’t ask her a - single accusing question..That was the kind of thing Hal would have done, - spoiling available happiness by a remembered grievance. Love, if it was - worth anything, was a rivalry between two people to be generous. The man - had to set the example; the girl didn’t dare. - </p> - <p> - As he passed out of the hotel, his eye caught a florist’s tucked away - behind the doorway. He ordered some lilies of the valley to be sent to - her. This time he inclosed his card. He smiled. If he took to sending her - presents at the rate he had in London, she’d have no excuse for not - knowing that he had landed. - </p> - <p> - “She feedeth among the lilies.” Where had he heard that? As he sauntered - up Fifth Avenue in the ripe September sunlight, the scene drew from out - the shadows of his memory: a little boy standing naked in a stable-studio, - while a piratical-looking wild-haired father worked upon a canvas and - chanted, “‘She feedeth among the lilies. She looketh forth in the morning, - fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners. - If a man give all his substance for love he cannot...’” He remembered how - his father had wagged his head at him: “No, he cannot, Teddy. Yet many - waters cannot quench love.” - </p> - <p> - “She feedeth among the lilies!” He wished he had sent her a different kind - of flower. - </p> - <p> - The magic of the streets took his interest—the elation of being in a - new country. He was conscious of a height, a daring, a vigor which were - novel in his experience. Mountains of concrete and steel met his gaze. - What kind of a people was this who raised soaring palaces, bigger than - cathedrals, and used them as offices? To get to the top must be a day’s - journey. The people who inhabited the highest stories must live among the - clouds and come down for week-ends. He watched the eagerness of the keen - alert faces which hurried past him on the pavements—the quick - tripping step of the girls, and the thin racing look of everybody. The - types of the faces were cosmopolitan, but their expression was one: they - all had the high-wrought look of athletes who were rushing to a future - which would not wait for them. He felt himself caught up, daunted, stung - into vitality, and whirled forward by a wave of monstrous endeavor. - </p> - <p> - That afternoon he visited the editor who was the excuse for his journey. - All the while, as he sat talking to him, he kept thinking: “The flowers - will have arrived by now. She’ll know that I have come.” - </p> - <p> - He talked prices which should have astounded him; but the only thought he - had was how much this influx of money and reputation would enable him to - do for her. When he had arranged the nature of his contributions, he was - on edge for his interview to end. The moment it was over, he dashed to the - elevator, found the nearest telephone and rang up his hotel. - </p> - <p> - “This is Mr. Gurney. Has a message been left for me?” - </p> - <p> - “None.” - </p> - <p> - Strange. There must be some reason. She would tell him when they met. - Should he call her up? Or go to her house and camp till she came back? He - shook his head. His pride warned him that that wouldn’t be policy. The - next sign must come from her. And then he wondered, was it right to have - either pride or policy when you were in love? It was pride and policy that - had made him waste his chances on that night drive from Glastonbury. - </p> - <p> - He went to see his publisher, who was astonished by his youth and had had - no idea that he was in America. He found himself treated as a personality—a - man to be reckoned with. It was exhilarating, flattering; but all that it - meant to him was something to tell Desire to make her glad. That was all - that any success meant now. - </p> - <p> - It was five o’clock when he returned to his hotel. He went to the desk. - </p> - <p> - “Any message?” - </p> - <p> - The clerk glanced down the row of pigeon-holes and drew out a slip of - paper. - </p> - <p> - “A lady called you up.” - </p> - <p> - With nervous fingers he took it from him and read: - </p> - <p> - “Come to dinner seven forty-five. Vashti Jodrell.” - </p> - <p> - From Desire nothing! - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI—DESIRE’S MOTHER - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he address which - Desire had given him was on Riverside Drive. Shortly after seven he left - the Brevoort and climbed to the roof of a passing bus. The polished - asphalt of Fifth Avenue gleamed like a waterway. Round and unwinking, like - tethered moons, arc-lights shone in endless lines. As he passed through - Madison Square, he had a glimpse of carnival—trolleys streaming like - comets, and Broadway seething in a blaze of light. Then, as though velvet - curtains had fallen, again the quiet. - </p> - <p> - With the secret magic and passivity of night, the city had undergone a - change. It had lost its haste. It went on tiptoe now. Tall buildings stood - silent as tombs, quarried from the granite of the dusk. Streets had become - orientalized. A spirit of poetry was abroad. Over the turrets of this - Babylon of a day the wings of Time brooded, shadowing its modern glare - with the pomp of a sombre and mysterious austerity. It had become a - metropolis of dreamers, as fitting a stage as Florence for any tale that - love might choose to tell. - </p> - <p> - Vashti! It was a far cry from this September night to the spare-bedroom at - Orchid Lodge, with the red winking eye of the winter’s fire, the tapestry - of Absalom swinging by his hair and the little boy sitting up in bed, - spellbound by the enchantment of a woman’s voice. A far cry to the - marriage-box, to the wistful consultations with Harriet and to that same - ecstasy of love, unfulfillable then, that he was dreaming now! He wondered - how much of his passion for Desire was the outcome of that ghostly passion - for her mother. It was like a faery-story which, with pauses and - diversions, had been telling itself throughout his life. Vashti had been - the enchantress who, by lifting her voice, had created his hopes and his - despairs. Her voice had lured Desire from him in the darkened silence of - the farmhouse. And now, with starry eyes, he was going to her that she - might give him back Desire. - </p> - <p> - The coolness and rustling of trees! To his left a river black and silent - To his right a rampart of houses, honey-combed with fire. Flitting on - speedy errands, cars darted through the shadows with staring eyes. He - caught glimpses of women, and of men who sat beside them. Men and women - always and everywhere together! Where were they going? What did they talk - about? With them lovers’ ways were an old story, but with him—— - </p> - <p> - The conductor called from the top of the steps and pointed to an - apartment-house. While his name was being telephoned up, he took in his - surroundings. All this was familiar to her. He compared it with Eden Row, - and was filled with hesitations. Everywhere his eye detected luxury. She - might be wealthy. He had never thought of that; he had only thought of - what he could give her. Their ways of life must be utterly divergent. What - had he to offer? And he had come to America to marry her! - </p> - <p> - He was told he was expected. The elevator shot up and halted; the boy - directed him to a door in the passage. As he stood waiting, he heard the - sound of a piano played softly. The moment he was admitted, the playing - stopped. - </p> - <p> - In a luxurious room illumined by a solitary shaded lamp, a woman was - seated with her hands upon the keyboard. The window was open and a breeze - rustled the curtains. Distant across the river in the abyss of night - lights twinkled like stars in an inverted firmament. The air was filled - with a summer fragrance: it drifted from a bowl of lilies of the valley - which had been placed on the piano beneath the lamp. - </p> - <p> - The woman turned her head slightly; he could just begin to see her - profile. Her voice reached him softly: - </p> - <p> - “Don’t speak. I was remembering. It pains, and yet it’s good to remember—sometimes, - Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - Her hands commenced to wander, picking out chords, starting little airs, - leaving them abruptly and starting them afresh. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder what you look like, and I’m afraid to find out. I’ve always - thought of you as still a little chap, and I don’t want to undeceive - myself. You used to be the faery-tale I told my little girl. ’Tell - me more about Teddy,’ she used to say. And then I’d invent such wonderful - stories. You were our dream-person.—She wouldn’t let you know that - for worlds; you mustn’t let her guess that you know. She’s like that—an - odd girl: she feels far more than she’ll ever express—goes out of - her way to make people misunderstand, to make them think she’s cold and - careless. It’s because—— Can you guess? It’s because she’s - afraid to love too much. Her mother let love have power over her and—she - got hurt. Oh, well!” She shrugged her white shoulders. “No use regretting. - Ah, this brings memories!” - </p> - <p> - In a half-voice, like a lark beating up into the clouds, she commenced to - hum to the accompaniment; then took up the words. In the dim-lit room, - with the blackness of night peering in at the window and the lilies - breathing out their exotic fragrance, all the wistful past came trooping - back. He forgot New York, forgot his anxiety and loneliness. Pictures - formed and melted under the spell of her singing. He remembered his - childish elation, when she had carried him back to the tapestried bedroom, - making him believe that she preferred him to Hal. He saw again the - tenderness in her face as she had bent over him by the firelight, - listening expectantly for Hal’s footstep in the passage. He felt again the - despair of his first disillusion, when the great day had been spoilt and - she had driven home with him through the lamp-smirched London night, - begging him to believe that she was good—that she was good whatever - happened. After all these years the memory of that childish tragedy burnt - again intensely. - </p> - <p> - Had love hurt her? A strange complaint to hear from Vashti! Hadn’t she - rather hurt herself? Her fatal sweetness must have proved cruel to many - men. - </p> - <p> - His mother, Mrs. Sheerug, every one had doubted her. Even Hal doubted her - now—Hal who had promised to follow her through the dark wood that - few women had dared to tread. What had happened to her in the dark wood? - Teddy could only guess; but because she was Desire’s mother, and still - more at this moment because she was singing, he could not help but think - that she was good. At last, after all these years of following, he had - come up with her. Did she need his help? Was she trying to tell him? - </p> - <p> - She swung round with a rippling laugh which had tears in it. “Have you - forgiven me, Teddy? A sentimental question! Of all the big sins I’ve done, - that’s the one that I’ve most regretted.—Ah, you’ll not say that you - havel Boys don’t forget things like that.” - </p> - <p> - He was filled with an immense compassion for her. Beneath her forced - gayety he suspected heart-hunger. She looked a proud woman, with just that - touch of distinction and mystery that makes for lurement. Her smile was a - mask, rather than a means of self-expression. She would impress a stranger - as being courteously on the defensive, yet anxiously ready for the - excitement of attack. “A woman of experience!” one would say. “A - proficient man-tamer! She fears nothing.” - </p> - <p> - Her face was made up; her lips too scarlet. Teddy could see that even in - the half-light. Her figure was finer than in the old days—more - rounded and gracious, but still sinuous in its lines. She possessed to an - even greater extent her dangerous power to fascinate. By a trick of - kindness, which might mean nothing, by a hint of restrained tenderness, - she could quicken the blood and set a man dreaming of goddesses in a riot - of blue seas, and the throb of Pan’s pipes heard distantly in sun-smitten - woodlands. Her eyes spoke of other things to Teddy. They had lost their - old contentment. He recognized in them the questing melancholy that he had - seen in Hal’s. - </p> - <p> - She was beautiful—in some ways more beautiful: haunting and - unsatisfying: an instrument for romance; a shuttered house from behind - whose windows there was a continual sense of watching. - </p> - <p> - Her forehead was intensely cold and white, contradicting the eagerness of - the rest of her expression. Her brows were like spread wings, hovering and - poised; her eyes vague as sea-clouds till they smiled, when they flashed - with gleams of blue-gray sunlight. Again he wondered whether his love for - Desire was an outcome of this earlier ghostly passion. They were more than - ordinarily alike, even to their gestures. The hair of both was the color - of ancient bronze, dark in the hollows and burnished at the edges. The - mouth of each gave the key to her character, becoming any shape that an - emotion made it: petulant and unreasonable; kind and gracious and adoring. - But there was this great difference: Desire’s beauty had youth’s conscious - certainty of conquest; in Vashti’s there was the pathetic appeal to be - allowed to conquer. Her throat was still her glory, throbbing like a - bird’s and slender as a flower. Rising from her low-cut gown, it showed in - its full perfection. - </p> - <p> - She clapped her hands, as Desire would have done, and laughed softly at - the impression she had created. “Nearly old enough to be your mother; but - still vain and pleased because you like me. I dressed especially for you, - my littlest lover. And now—now that I’ve seen you, I’m not sorry - that you’ve grown up.” She stretched out both her hands and drew him to - her. “You’re nice. You’re even nicer. So tall! So brave-looking! And - you’re still a dreamer, Teddy—a little god Love, peering in through - the gate.” - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she reached up her arms. “There! Why, you’re blushing, you dear - boy. We’re going to be great friends, you and I and Desire.” - </p> - <p> - He wanted to ask about Desire, but he couldn’t bring himself to frame the - question. He listened intently to catch the rustle of her approach. He - expected every minute to see her through the darkness, across the - threshold. Why didn’t Vashti tell him? Was her kindness a subtle way of - apologizing foe Desire’s absence? He had found hidden meanings in - everything that had been said: “She feels far more than she’ll ever - express—goes out of her way to make people misunderstand.” And then: - “We’re going to be great friends, you and I and Desire.” - </p> - <p> - Vashti touched his hand gently. “You’ve something on your mind.” - </p> - <p> - Would she never be frank with him? - </p> - <p> - “On my mind! No, really. It’s only seeing you and finding myself a man. - Last time,” he laughed into her eyes, “it was you that I thought I was - going to marry.” - </p> - <p> - “And wouldn’t you now? No, you wouldn’t. I can see that.” - </p> - <p> - A gong tinkled faintly. She slipped an arm through his. On the right-hand - side of the passage doors led off. He watched for one of them to open. - When they reached the small paneled dining-room at the far end, his heart - sank: only two places had been set. - </p> - <p> - “Let’s make it our day—the day that I promised you. Now tell me - everything. What brought you over?” - </p> - <p> - He glanced sharply across the table. Was she poking sly fun at him? - “Brought me over?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. That’s not such an unreasonable question. You can’t persuade me that - you came just to see me, Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - “And yet,” he said, “it was partly that.” - </p> - <p> - “And the rest?” - </p> - <p> - “Work. I’m a writer. I’ve had a little success. Don’t you remember how I - always said I was going to be famous? But aren’t you playing with me? - D’you really mean that you didn’t expect me?” - </p> - <p> - Vashti met his eyes quietly. “My baby-girl told me something. But how did - you discover our address?” - </p> - <p> - While he answered, he watched her narrowly to catch the flicker of any - tell-tale expression. “When she was in London this summer, she visited - Madame Josephine’s Beauty Parlors. Madame Josephine’s my friend. I’ve told - her a good many things about myself; amongst others—— You - spoke about dream-persons. I’ve had my dream-person for years—ever - since I was at the farmhouse. So there——! She spotted Desire - directly.” - </p> - <p> - Vashti raised her glass: “To our dream-persons; and may they not - disappoint us when they become realities.” There was a pause. He trembled - on the brink of a confession. The maid entered to change the dishes. When - she had gone, he leant towards Vashti. His voice was husky. “When shall I - see her?” - </p> - <p> - Vashti closed her eyes and caught her breath in a quick laugh. “That - depends—depends on how late you stay. Desire’s out at Long Island, - taking part in some amateur theatricals. She may ’phone me up - presently to say she’s stopping the night If she comes back, she’ll have - to get some man to drive her, She won’t arrive till after twelve.” - </p> - <p> - He had a curious feeling of impropriety in discussing Desire with her - mother. It was a stupid feeling to have just because, long ago, he had - given Vashti his boyish affection. Yet instinctively he felt that he might - rouse her jealousy if he laid too much stress on his change of homage. Was - that why she was evading him? How much did she know of what had happened? - He began to skirmish for information. - </p> - <p> - Speaking carelessly, he said, “So she’s not gone on the stage yet?” - </p> - <p> - Vashti betrayed surprise. “She wants to—but, how did you know?” - Then, finding her own explanation: “Madame Josephine again, I suppose. - Desire talks about her ambitions to every one.” - </p> - <p> - “You don’t want her to be an actress?” - </p> - <p> - “She’ll do what she likes. I shan’t thwart her. I’d much rather—— - It’s funny that I should tell you, Teddy. I’d much rather that she should - marry some nice boy, and have heaps of children. I’d like her to have all - the wholesome things that her mother hasn’t had—the really good - things—not the shams. It’s lonely to be forty and to have no one to - protect you. Unfortunately we don’t find that out till we’re forty, and we - can’t hand on our experience. She’s very young.—Tell me about - yourself. How’s that big father with the bushy head?” - </p> - <p> - While they talked of the past a closer sense of comradeship grew up - between them. He told her about Madame Josephine and Duke Nineveh, and how - the wonderful change in their fortunes had occurred. - </p> - <p> - “And Mrs. Sheerug,” she asked, “does she still wear green plush and yellow - feathers?” - </p> - <p> - “She still wears green plush and yellow feathers. But she does a bit of - splashing now—drives about in a carriage-and-pair. I don’t think she - likes it; she wants to please her Alonzo.—It is good to be able to - speak of Eden Row. Why, I don’t feel a bit homesick now.” - </p> - <p> - “Homesick!” She pushed back her chair and rose languidly. Her hand went - slowly to her heart. “My home’s hidden here; it’s an imagined place, - Teddy. I’ve lived always swinging on a perch. How I envy your being able - to feel homesick!—It’s seeing you that’s done it. I want to be - young, young, young again to-night.” - </p> - <p> - With the reflected light from the table drifting up across her breast and - her eyes brooding on him through the shadows, she looked both gorgeous and - tragic. He couldn’t think of anything to say; he had always pictured her - as wandering from happiness to happiness. While he struggled with his - silence, a sob escaped her; she hurried from him. - </p> - <p> - He followed her into the other room, where the shaded lamp shone softly on - the lilies. Ever since he had entered the apartment, he had had the sense - of a thinness of atmosphere, a temporary quality, a consciousness of - something lacking. He knew what it was that he had missed now; these rooms - were tenanted only by women. - </p> - <p> - She was beside the window, with one knee upon the couch, staring out to - where night yawned above the river and lights twinkled, like stars in an - inverted firmament. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Come</i>.” She slipped her arm about his shoulder. “Wouldn’t you have - loved me once for doing that? Am I terribly older—not quite what you - expected? No, don’t tell me. Don’t lie to me. Life! It goes from us. When - a woman’s lived merely to be beautiful, she’s reached the fag-end at - forty. Seeing you so brave and tall, has brought that home to me. I’ll - have to live whatever life I have left, through the beauty of Desire now. - A little hard for a selfish woman! I trusted to my beauty to do - everything. And I <i>was</i> beautiful when first you knew me.” - </p> - <p> - “And you’re still beautiful.” - </p> - <p> - “Dear of you to say so! Still beautiful! In a way, yes. But,” she laughed - scornfully, “with an effort—with such an effort. How I’d love to see - myself the way I was when your father painted me. A garden enclosed, he - called me, a spring shut up, a fountain sealed. You see, I remember. It - was my remoteness that attracted then. All the men were at my feet, even - your father. Oh, yes, he was; your mother knew it. Common men in the - street, and little boys like you, and—and poor old Hal—they’d - do anything for me if I raised an eyelash.” - </p> - <p> - The maid brought in coffee. - </p> - <p> - “Let’s sit down. No, not so far away—quite near to me, for old - times’ sake, my littlest lover. D’you mind if I smoke a cigarette? Mrs. - Sheerug, dear old Mrs. Sheerug, she wouldn’t approve of it. I always loved - her and wanted her to think well of me. She’d never believe that. You’re a - bit shocked yourself. I don’t often do it before my baby-girl. But tell - me,” she sank her voice, “what about Hal?” - </p> - <p> - He tried to think of things to tell her. What was there to tell? Good - fortune had worked no change in Hal. Money hadn’t made him happier. He was - a man thrust forward by the years, but always with his face turned back. - </p> - <p> - “Ah,” she whispered, “I know. Don’t go any further. He would be like that. - He lives remembering.” Her grip on Teddy’s hands tightened. “Learn a - lesson. Don’t be kind to women, Teddy. You’ll get no thanks. A woman’s - mean-hearted. If a man’s too good to her, she doesn’t try to be nobly good - in return; she takes advantage. She plays pranks with him—wants to - see how much he’ll forgive her; if he’s still magnanimous, she despises - him. It takes a good woman to appreciate a good man; few women are both - good and beautiful. It wasn’t till Mary Magdalene had lost her looks that - she broke the alabaster box of ointment. What I mean is that beautiful - women are cruel; God gives them too much power. Oh, yes, it’s true. - Desire’s like that—sweetly ungrateful. I can see myself in her. A - man’ll have to be a brute to make her love him.—Ah, you almost hate - me! I wish she could make you hate her so that you’d go home to Eden Row, - and—oh, do big work and marry another Dearie. I’m fond of you, - Teddy.” She let go his hands. “When we’re forty, we beautiful women learn - to be gentle, and—and you thank us, don’t you?” - </p> - <p> - She got up and buried her face in the lilies. “Sent them to her, eh? Hoped - you’d find her wearing them.” - </p> - <p> - She seated herself at the piano, looking back across her shoulder and - playing while she spoke, as though her hands were a separate personality. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. There was a garden enclosed—the gates - all locked, and Love gazed in at it! But there came a time when Love grew - tired. While he had waited, the garden had taken no notice. But when he - had gone, all the lilies, and sunflowers, and roses rushed to the gates - and clamored to follow him. But the locks had grown rusty. The garden - which had enclosed itself against Love, found itself shut out from Love. - Tra-la-la! Yea, verily.” - </p> - <p> - Her hands lay idle in her lap for a moment. “You mustn’t mind me. It’s a - luxury to indulge in self-pity. I shall be so gay to-morrow you won’t know - me. But just at present I’m wishing,” she mocked her own melancholy, - slanting her eyes at him, “rather wishing I were Mrs. Hal Sheerug—wishing - I were any good domestic woman instead of Vashti, the singer. And if I - were Mrs. Hal, I’d be as much of a curiosity as Eden Row set down on - Broadway.” - </p> - <p> - Again she took up her playing. “And yet—and yet life would be - tedious without love. We’re so afraid that love will never come to us, - aren’t we, Teddy? Afraid that our latest chance will be our last. You see, - I’m like that, too; I know all about it. You’re asleep. Perhaps we’re both - asleep—both dreaming of something more splendid than reality. Don’t - let’s wake up—we’ll be unhappy. Let’s go on dreaming together.” - </p> - <p> - She ceased speaking, but her hands wandered from melody to melody. She - played very softly. From far below in the darkness the hum of speeding - cars was like the drowsy trumpeting of gnats in an English garden. Through - half-closed eyes he watched her, trying to make himself believe she was - Desire. - </p> - <p> - Why had she so deliberately filled his mind with doubts? And Desire—why - had she gone away without mentioning him on the very day that he had - landed? Was it carelessness, or a young girl’s way of impressing him with - her value? “She feels far more than she’ll ever express.” It might be that—a - paradoxical way of showing affection. - </p> - <p> - Vashti gazed towards him and nodded, as much as to say, “I know what - thoughts are passing.” She struck three chords. - </p> - <p> - What happened next was like arms spread under him, carrying him away and - away from every trouble. “Oh, rest in the Lord, wait patiently for Him.” - Her voice sprang up like a strong white bird; at every beat of its wings - the accompaniment fluttered like the weak wings of small birds following. - “Oh; rest in the Lord”—the white bird rose higher with a braver - confidence and the little birds took courage, plunging deeper into the - grave and gentle stillness. “Oh, rest in the Lord”—it was like a - sigh of contentment traveling back from prepared places. The room grew - silent. - </p> - <p> - She was kneeling beside him—kneeling the way his mother would have - knelt, with her arms about him and her face almost touching. - </p> - <p> - “I’m really religious, Teddy. Won’t you trust me? Don’t you think that - there must be some good in me when I can sing like that?” It was like a - little child pleading with him. “I’ve tried to turn you back. Desire’s too - young and I don’t think—— But you won’t be turned back; so let - me help you. I don’t know much of what’s happened between you, but——” - </p> - <p> - In the hall a key grated. The sound of the door opening. A gust of - laughter—a man’s and a girl’s. - </p> - <p> - “Shish! It’s tee-rrifically late.—My goodness, Tom, but you were - reckless! I thought every moment we’d upset.” - </p> - <p> - “Some driving, wasn’t it? You oughtn’t to complain. You liked it.” - </p> - <p> - “Liked it! I should say so. But Twinkles didn’t like it Poor Twinkles was - mos’ awf’lly scared. Wasn’t ’oo, Twinkles?—Wonder if mother’s - in bed.” - </p> - <p> - “Coming. I have a visitor.” - </p> - <p> - After Vashti had left him, their voices sank to a whisper. - </p> - <p> - So she’d been out with another man! While he had been waiting, almost - counting the seconds, she’d been out with another man! They’d been driving - through the darkness together. Perhaps they’d been making love. No wonder - she hadn’t answered his letters or cables. “Come to America if you really - care.” She had said it lightly and forgotten. It had meant nothing to her. - And here he’d been finding delicate excuses to explain what was no more - than indifference. - </p> - <p> - A Pekinese lap-dog waddled in; catching sight of him, it sniffed - contemptuously. It was followed by a boy who had the perky air of an - impudent fox-terrier. He stared at Teddy with an amused gleam of - challenge. - </p> - <p> - “Here, all this evening! Oh, what a shame and me out!” It was Desire’s - piping voice. “Get out of the way, Tom, you’re blocking up everything.” - </p> - <p> - He saw her—her piquant face alight with welcome. She tripped across - the room, extending both her hands. Her eyes begged him to keep their - secret “It is good of you to visit us so promptly,” she said. “Fancy your - remembering! I didn’t think we’d see you till to-morrow at earliest.” - </p> - <p> - She waited for him to help her. Then: “Mother says you’re over on - business. Are you going to be here long?” His sense of injury died down. - He saw only the small penitent face, with its gray eyes and quivering - childish mouth. - </p> - <p> - “That depends.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, we’ll see heaps of you, won’t we?” - </p> - <p> - He couldn’t endure this pretending. He pushed aside her question. “What - are you doing to-morrow?” he asked abruptly. - </p> - <p> - “To-morrow! To-morrow!” - </p> - <p> - She gazed vaguely round. Her mother came to her rescue. “My baby-girl - never knows what she’s doing tomorrow. She never plans ahead. Better call - her up, Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - “Not too early,” Desire smiled poutingly. “I’m awfully tired. And Twinkles - is tired. Isn’t ’oo, Twinkles darling?” She stooped down and - touched the dog’s nose with the tip of her finger. “We shan’t get up till——” - </p> - <p> - “Call up at eleven,” said Vashti. “Before you go, I may as well introduce - you two men. If I don’t, you’ll glower at each other all the way down in - the elevator.” - </p> - <p> - He was passing out; Desire touched him on the arm possessingly. “I - couldn’t help it,” she whispered. “We’ll have all to-morrow to ourselves. - You’re not angry?” Angry! As though he’d come all the way to America to be - angry. - </p> - <p> - “Couldn’t ever be angry with you,” he whispered back. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VII—LOVING DESIRE - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>uring the past two - hours since he had breakfasted, he had watched the telephone as though it - were a live thing—as though it were her lips which might speak to - him at any moment He felt that she was there in the room with him, - obstinately keeping silent. - </p> - <p> - She had told him not to disturb her till eleven, but he had persuaded - himself that he would hear from her long before that—at nine, - perhaps; at ten, at latest. She had tried to appear offhand in arranging - the appointment because another man had been present He pretended to think - it rather decent of her to have let the chap down so lightly. - </p> - <p> - During every minute of the last two hours, he had been expecting to hear - the shrill tinkle of her summons. As he bent above his writing his heart - was in his throat He kept glancing up, telling himself that his sixth - sense had warned him that her voice was already asking its way across the - wires. Though previous premonitions had proved unwarranted, he was - confident that his latest was truly psychic. - </p> - <p> - Surely a girl who knew that she was loved wouldn’t sleep away the - freshness of a blue September morning! Curiosity, if nothing better, would - rouse her. It didn’t often happen that a man came three thousand miles to - do his courting. She’d kept him waiting so long. If she felt one-tenth - part of his impatience—— - </p> - <p> - He finished his letter to his mother. It was all about his voyage and the - interviews of yesterday. He ought to tell her more—but how, without - telling her too much? - </p> - <p> - He scrawled a postscript, “By the way, yesterday I met Vashti”; then - sealed the envelope. By the time an inquiry could be returned, he would - know everything. He would know for certain whether Desire loved him. He - pulled out his watch. A few minutes past ten! To keep his nerves quiet he - made a pretense at working. He would outline the first of his series of - articles. - </p> - <p> - But his thoughts wandered. There was no room in his mind for anything save - her. She possessed him. The birdlike inflexions of her voice piped in his - memory; he could hear her laughter, the murmur of her footsteps, the - rustle of her dress. The subtle fragrance of her presence was all about - him. In the silence of his brain she pleaded with him, taunted him, - explained her omissions of consideration. “You don’t know what things have - done to me—don’t know what things have done to me.” - </p> - <p> - It was useless; he gave up his attempt. All he had accomplished was to - fill a page with sketches of her face. Here she was as he had seen her - last night, fashionably attired, with her hair like a crown of bronze upon - her forehead. And here as the Guinevere of that bewildering drive, mystic - as the dawn in a web of shadows. And here as the coaxing, elusive sprite, - who had scribbled her heart upon the dusty panes of childhood. - </p> - <p> - Would he ever be able to work again, ever be able to pursue any ambition - or any dream in which she did not share? - </p> - <p> - He rose restlessly and fumbled for his watch. A minute to eleven! He - stepped across to the telephone. While the boy at the switchboard was - getting his number, he tapped with his foot, consumed with impatience. - </p> - <p> - “Madame Jodrell’s apartment?—I want to speak to Miss Desire.—Oh, - no, I’m sure she’s not sleeping. You’re mistaken.” He laughed nervously. - “This is Mr. Gurney. She asked me to ring her up at eleven.” - </p> - <p> - Silence. A long wait. “She’ll speak to you, sir.” The clicking of a new - connection. He heard the receiver taken down at the other end and a - curious sound which, after puzzling over, he decided must be the running - of bathwater. - </p> - <p> - “Are you there?” - </p> - <p> - He listened. - </p> - <p> - “Is that you, Desire?” - </p> - <p> - No answer. - </p> - <p> - Then she gave herself away. Across the wire came to him a stifled yawn, - followed by a bubbling little laugh. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, it’s Desire. What a lot of time you’re wasting. A whole minute! Time - enough to decide the destiny of nations. And weren’t you punctual!—Can - you come at once! Certainly not. Can’t you guess where I am? I shan’t be - ready till twelve.—Oh, well, if you don’t mind waiting, I’ll expect - you.” - </p> - <p> - He had intended to say more, but she rang off. - </p> - <p> - Streets were gilded with sunlight The sky was a smooth shell-like blue, - without a cloud. It seemed much more distant than any sky he had seen in - London. Over London the sky broods companionably; from London streets, - even at their merriest the hint of melancholy is never absent But here, in - New York, he was conscious of an invigorating reckless valor, a - magnificent and lonely daring. It was every man for himself. There was no - friendship between the city and the heavens; as ladders of stone were set - up higher against the blue, the heavens receded in challenge. - </p> - <p> - There was a tang of autumn in the air. Leaves on trees began to have a - brittle look. Everything shone: trolley-lines, windows, the slender height - of sky-scrapers. It was a wide day—just the day for adventures. - </p> - <p> - As he passed further uptown, he noticed that people walked more leisurely; - men’s faces grew rarer. He had a glimpse of the Park, a green valley of - coolness between the quarried, sun-dazzled crags of the metropolis. - Presently he turned off to the left, down one of those tunnels hewn - between apartment-houses and sacred to the morning promenades of yapping - dogs—proud little useless dogs like Twinkles, led on leashes by - lately-risen mistresses. Then, in a flash, he saw the Hudson, going from - one great quietness to another, sweeping down to the ocean full-bosomed - and maternal from its sanctuary in the hills. - </p> - <p> - The elevator-boy seemed to have been warned of his coming; when he gave - his name, he was taken up without suspicious preliminaries. - </p> - <p> - “Miss Desire hasn’t finished dressing yet,” the maid told, him. “If you’ll - wait in here, she’ll be with you presently.” - </p> - <p> - He was shown into the room in which Vashti had played to him. He hadn’t - taken much notice of it on his previous visit Now, as he tiptoed about he - saw that it was expressive of its occupants’ personalities. It had a gay, - delicate, insubstantial air. It didn’t look lived in. Everything could be - packed up within an hour. It wasn’t a home; it was what Vashti had called - a “perch.” - </p> - <p> - The furniture was slight and dainty, as though there for appearance rather - than for use. The sofa by the window seemed the only piece meant to be sat - on. On the table a dwarf Japanese garden was growing. Beside it lay a copy - of <i>Wisdom and Destiny</i>, opened and turned face down. The books - within sight were few, for the most part plays and the latest fiction. - They were strewn about with a calculated carelessness. On the walls was a - water-color of the Grand Canal and another of the Bay of Naples. The rest - of the pictures were elaborate photos of actresses, with spidery - signatures scrawled across them. One face predominated: the face of a - beautiful woman, with a vague smile upon her childish, self-indulgent - mouth and a soft mass of hair swathed about her head. She was taken in a - variety of poses, but always with the same vague smile and always with her - face stooping, as though she were trying to hypnotize the onlooker. One - might have supposed that this was the den of a man who was in love with - her. Scratched hurriedly in the corner of each of her portraits, prefaced - by some extravagant sentiment, was the name “Fluffy.” - </p> - <p> - On the piano stood the photo of the only man in the collection, signed “To - my dearest Girl.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy paused before it. He recognized the man who had brought Desire home - last night—the man who had kept her from him. “To my dearest Girl.” - He read and re-read it. Was that the secret of her indifference—that - she was in love already? But wouldn’t Vashti have warned him? He stared - his defiance. The more inaccessible she became to him, the more he felt - the need of her. Something of the valor and bright hardness of the day had - entered into his soul. He was like those tall buildings, climbing more - recklessly into the blue every time the sky receded from them. He didn’t - care who claimed her. He was glad that he would have to fight. She was his - by the divine right of the dreamer, and had been his for years. At - whatever sacrifice he would win her. Inconsistently, the more difficult - she became to him, the more certain he grew of success. - </p> - <p> - “Hulloa, King Arthur! Getting impatient? I’ll soon be> with you.” - </p> - <p> - He stepped to the door and looked out into the passage. “Impatient! Of - course I’m impatient. Where are you?” - </p> - <p> - Her laugh floated back. “Where you’re not allowed to come. You can’t - complain; I told you I wouldn’t be dressed till twelve.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s nearer one by now.” - </p> - <p> - “Is it? But you’ve nothing to do. If you hunt about, you’ll find some - cigarettes. Make yourself happy.” - </p> - <p> - He had hoped she would continue the conversation; but her voice grew - secret as she whispered to her maid. He heard cupboards and drawers being - opened and shut, a snatch of song, and, every now and then, the infectious - gayety of her laughter. - </p> - <p> - He came back into the room and smiled at the photo on the piano. “She - mayn’t be in love with me yet, but she’s certainly not in love with you,” - he thought. Then he stood gazing at his unresponsive rival, wondering how - much he could tell. - </p> - <p> - He was still intent upon the portrait when she danced across the - threshold, swinging her gloves. - </p> - <p> - “Taking a look at Tom? Be careful; you’ll make him jealous.” She slipped - her small hand into his. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you.” - </p> - <p> - “D’you mean that—that you’re really glad?” - </p> - <p> - Her eyes sparkled with mischief, but she said demurely: “Why shouldn’t I - mean it? I’m always glad to see my friends.—And now, don’t you think - you’ve held my hand long enough? See how lonely it looks, just as if it - were asking me to put on its glove.” - </p> - <p> - She tripped over to the window and gazed out. “Isn’t it glorious?—And - I feel so happy—so full of life, so young.” Her back was towards - him; she felt him drawing nearer. “I ought to tell you about my hands - before we know each other better. They have names. The right one is Miss - Self-Reliance, and the left Miss Independence. They’re both of them very - ambitious and—” she swung round, lowering her eyes—“and they - don’t like being held.” He glanced at the photo on the piano. “Did no one - ever hold them?” - </p> - <p> - “Hardly any one, truth and honest” She finished the last button and winked - at him solemnly. “Here have I been ready since eleven, sending you cables - and whole gardens of flowers.” She burst out laughing: “I’m glad you don’t - drizzle. Come on, I’m hungry for the sun.” - </p> - <p> - As they shot down in the elevator he asked her: “Drizzle! That’s a new - word. What do you mean by it?” - </p> - <p> - “You’ll know soon enough.” She nodded. “Sooner or later all men do it. Tom - drizzles most awfully. He drizzled last night, when I didn’t want him to - come up because I thought you’d be in the apartment.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you did think that? You hadn’t forgotten that it was the day I - landed?” - </p> - <p> - “Forgotten after you’d cabled me! You must think me callous.” - </p> - <p> - She gave her shoulders a haughty shrug and ran down the steps into the - sunlight. He followed, inwardly laughing. Already she had taught him one - way of stealing a march on the rest of her suitors. All the other men grew - gloomy—“drizzled,” as she called it—when they fancied that she - had hurt their feelings. He decided, then and there, that under no - provocation whatsoever would he drizzle. She might do what she liked to - him, he would always meet her smiling. <i>Amor Omnia Vincit</i> should be - the legend written on his banner. - </p> - <p> - “What shall we do?” She clasped her hands against her throat in a gesture - of ecstasy. - </p> - <p> - “Anything you like.” - </p> - <p> - “Anything! Really anything? Even something quite expensive?” - </p> - <p> - “Hang the expense.” - </p> - <p> - “Then come on.” - </p> - <p> - He had no idea where she was taking him, and he didn’t care. All places - were alike, so long as he was alone with her. They walked shoulder to - shoulder, their arms just touching. Sometimes in crossing a road they drew - apart and then, as if to apologize for their brief aloofness, came - together with a little bump on the farther pavement. They were - embarrassed, and glad to be embarrassed. When their silences had lasted - too long, they stole furtive glances at each other; when their eyes met, - they smiled archly. - </p> - <p> - They had passed through the tunnels where the dogs take their morning - walks, and had come out on to Broadway. Suddenly she stopped and regarded - him with an expression of unutterable calamity. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve got to go back.” - </p> - <p> - “No, don’t—please.” - </p> - <p> - “I must.” - </p> - <p> - He scented tragedy—a previous engagement, perhaps. “But why—why, - when we’ve only just met?” - </p> - <p> - “I’ve forgotten your lilies. I was going to wear them as—as an - apology.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed his relief. “Pooh! There are heaps more.” - </p> - <p> - “But it isn’t that. I wouldn’t accept any more. It’s the dear old ones - that I want—the ones you sent me almost the minute you landed.” - </p> - <p> - He glanced round sharply; a few doors off he saw a florist’s. “Don’t go - back,” he pleaded. And then, with a frankness which he feared might offend - her: “If you did go back, we might meet other people. I want you all to - myself to-day; I can’t spare a second of you to other persons. Promise to - stop here for me.” - </p> - <p> - “But I—perhaps I don’t want to lose a second of you to other - persons.” She rested her hand on his arm lightly. “Where are you going?” - </p> - <p> - “Be back before you can say Jack Robinson.” - </p> - <p> - He darted off. As he entered the shop, he caught her slow smile of - intelligence forbidding him. - </p> - <p> - While the flowers were being arranged, he kept his eyes turned to where - she hovered on the pavement; the anxiety that she might escape him was not - quite gone. He saw her hail a taxi. For a moment he thought—— - But, no, she was having an earnest conversation. - </p> - <p> - “It’s all arranged, brother. We’re going to drive down - </p> - <p> - “Don’t tell me.” He banged the door and settled himself beside her. - “Life’s much more surprising when you don’t know where you’re going.” He - laid the flowers in her lap. “For you. You won’t refuse them?” - </p> - <p> - She bent over them curiously, as though she hadn’t the least idea what he - had been purchasing. As she stripped the paper from them and the white cup - of the blossoms began to appear, she frowned severely. - </p> - <p> - “Lilies of the valley! You’re too good. You spoil me. And now you’ll think - that I was asking for them. No. I won’t wear them.” - </p> - <p> - Having registered her protest, she at once rewarded him with her - fluttering delight as she turned back her coatee and tried several effects - before finally deciding where to fasten them. - </p> - <p> - While he had walked at her side, he had been too embarrassed to take much - notice of how she was dressed. - </p> - <p> - Now that her attention was occupied, he grew bold to examine her toilet. - </p> - <p> - Her beauty was a subtle, intoxicating perfume, like incense suggesting the - spirit of worship. She was different from his mother—different even - from Vashti, and from any woman that he had known. Her difference might - not be the result of virtues—might even be due to omitted qualities. - He did not stop to analyze; to him the very newness of her type was a - fascination. - </p> - <p> - Nothing that she wore was useful. It was perishable as a spring garden. A - shower of rain, and it would be eternally ruined. None of it could be - employed as second-best when its first freshness was gone. It couldn’t - even be given to the poor: her attire was too modish—it bespoke - luxury and marked the wearer’s class in society. Her clothes were the whim - of the moment—utterly uneconomic. If Mrs. Sheerug had had to pass - judgment on them, she would have said that they weren’t sensible. - </p> - <p> - In the exact sense they weren’t even clothing; they were adornments, - planned with a view to exposing quite as much as to concealing the person. - To enhance the effect of beauty was their sole purpose. - </p> - <p> - The skirt was a creamy shade of muslin, with small green and blue flowers - dotted over it. It was thin and blowy, and so modeled as to pronounce - rather than to hide the lines of the figure. A pair of pretty feet peeped - from under; the kind of feet that demand a carriage and are not meant for - walking. They were clad in gossamer silk-stockings; the shoes seemed to - have been designed for dancing and were absurdly high in the heel. Both - shoes and stockings exactly matched the creamy tint of the muslin. Teddy - thought with joy that any one who wore them would be in constant need of a - man’s protection. There would be many puddles in life over which, with - such shoes, she would require to be carried. - </p> - <p> - The coatee was of apple-green satin, turned back from the neck and belted - in at the waist, revealing a gauzy blouse cut into a low V-shape, so as to - display the gentle breathing of the throat and breast. - </p> - <p> - His eyes stole up to her face. It was shadowed by a broad hat of limp - straw, trimmed with dog-roses and trailing cherry-colored ribbon. On her - fresh young cheeks was the faintest dust of powder, giving to them a false - bloom and smoothness. He wondered why she did that, when her unaided - complexion would have been so much more attractive. Below her left eye was - a beauty-patch. Behind her left ear hung a tremulous curl, which added a - touch of demure quaintness. In appearance she was like to one of Lely’s - portraits of the beauties of the Cavalier period—to a Nell Gwynn, - whose very aspect of innocence made her latent naughtiness the more - provocative. - </p> - <p> - Though he was exceptionally ignorant of the feminine arts and familiar - only with domestic types of women, Teddy thought that he now understood - why she had taken two hours to dress. For his sake she had made herself a - work of art. It was as though she had told him, “I want you to like me - better than any girl in the world, Teddy”—only, for some unexplained - reason, she had avoided calling him Teddy as yet. - </p> - <p> - He sat watching her as she pinned the lilies against her breast How pretty - her hair was, with its reddish tinge like specks of gold shining through - its blackness! And her ears—they were like pale petals enmeshed - within her tresses. - </p> - <p> - He couldn’t blame her if other men had loved her first; but he wished they - hadn’t. The knowledge had come as a shock. - </p> - <p> - “Been inspecting me for quite some time! Do I meet with monsieur’s - approval?” She leant her head at a perky angle and glanced up at him. - </p> - <p> - “Approval! My mind was made up before I started. I didn’t come to America - to——” - </p> - <p> - “No, I know.” She cut him short. “Mother told me: you’re a gree-at - success. You came on business.—Please don’t interrupt; I’ve - something most important to tell you. I do want you to approve of me - to-day— to-day most especially. That’s why I didn’t get up till - eleven.” She saw the smile creeping round the edges of his mouth. “I - didn’t mean that the way you thought. You’re looking sarcastic and—and - I hate sarcastic persons. I stayed in bed to get rested that I might look - my prettiest, because——- Presently I’ll tell you. I’ve done - something terrible; No, I won’t tell you now—later. But promise - you’ll forgive me.” - </p> - <p> - “Forgive you!” His voice trembled. Had he dared, he would have slipped his - arm about her; but she had huddled herself closer into her corner. “I’ll - forgive you anything, if you’ll do one thing to please me.” - </p> - <p> - He waited for her to ask him what it was; but her strategic faculty for - silence again asserted itself. She sat, not looking at him, with her eyes - shaded. - </p> - <p> - It was a childish longing that prompted him to make his request. “I want - to see your hands,” he whispered. “They’re so beautiful. It’s a shame to - keep them covered. On my word of honor,” he sank his voice, “I won’t—won’t - take advantage.” - </p> - <p> - She considered poutingly whether she would grant the favor. - </p> - <p> - “The first I’ve ever asked,” he urged. - </p> - <p> - The smile came like sunshine flashing through cloud. “That kind is rarely - the last.” - </p> - <p> - She pulled off the glove from her right-hand, Miss Self-Reliance, because - it was furthest from him. - </p> - <p> - “When I was very little,” she said, “I used to ask you whether I was - pretty. You used to drizzle in those days; all you’d tell me was, ’You - have beautiful hands.’ Then Bones and I would steal away and cry in the - currant-bushes. D’you remember?” - </p> - <p> - “I must have been a grudging little beast.” - </p> - <p> - “No, you were a nice boy when you weren’t quite horrid. But if I were to - ask you now, ’Do you think I’m pretty?’ Please don’t answer. I’m - not asking. But because of all that—the times we used to have—let’s - be good playfellows while it lasts. We won’t say silly things or do silly - things. Let’s be tremendously sensible. There! That’s a bargain.” - </p> - <p> - It wasn’t. If being in love wasn’t sensible, the last thing he wanted was - to be sensible. He hadn’t come to America to be sensible in her meaning of - the word. But the swiftness with which she took his consent for granted - left no room for argument. She might mistake his arguing for drizzling—the - fault which she held the most in contempt. So he kept both his tongue and - his hands quiet, doing his best to forget all the ardent scenes which his - imagination had conjured. - </p> - <p> - The lonely distance in the taxi between his corner and hers seemed to have - widened. They passed over a long cat’s-cradle of girders, spanning the - East River. She didn’t speak. She sat with her ungloved hand before her - eyes and her face averted. Any stranger who had glanced in on them at that - moment would have said they had quarreled. It felt very much like it to - Teddy. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VIII—FAITH RENEWS ITSELF - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>hey had traveled - for fully twenty minutes in silence; to Teddy it had seemed as many hours. - The patches of waste-land with hoardings, advertising chewing-gums and New - York plays, were growing less frequent. A sea-look was softening the - blueness of the sky. The greenness by the roadside remained unmarred for - longer and longer stretches. They skirted a little bay, where power-boats - lay tethered to buoys and a white-winged yacht was spreading sail. They - panted through a town of scattered wooden houses, cool with lawns and - shadowy with trees. Then they came to a sandy turf-land, across which a - horseman distantly galloped, leaping ditches and hurdles. - </p> - <p> - He paid scant attention to his changing surroundings. He kept gazing at - the girl at his side. He feared to raise his eyes from her for a second, - lest she should drift away like thistledown. - </p> - <p> - Was she asleep or pretending? Why should she be asleep, when they had so - much to say and she had been up for barely three hours? Her ungloved hand - screened her eyes. He suspected that she was spying on him through her - fingers. Did it amuse her to torment him with silence? She had done that - with variations from the moment of their meeting at Glastonbury. He - couldn’t understand her motive in trying to make him wretched. His - impulse, if he liked people, was to make them glad. He became ingenious in - unearthing reasons for her conduct. Perhaps she was getting ready to - confess the thing for which she had to ask his forgiveness. Perhaps she - was offended by his request that she should remove her glove. But she - hadn’t seemed offended at the time of asking. And, if she were, how - trivial! She need only have refused him. She’d given him far graver causes - for offense. - </p> - <p> - He had reached this point in his despair, when suddenly she uncovered her - face and sat up vivaciously. - </p> - <p> - “Smell the sea! Cheer up. We’re nearly there.” - </p> - <p> - Darting out her hand, she patted his knee, laughing gayly at her - familiarity. - </p> - <p> - “You are restful You don’t expect me to chatter all the time. People need - to be very good friends to be able to sit silent. I know men who’d be - quite snappy if I—— But you’re different.” - </p> - <p> - She spoke caressingly, giving him credit for a delicacy which he did not - merit. He felt cheap in the accepting of it He wasn’t at all convinced of - her sincerity. He had the uncomfortable sense that she was aware that he - wasn’t convinced of it. - </p> - <p> - “Poor you! You do look squashed. One would think you weren’t enjoying - yourself. Was it really only business that brought you to America?” - </p> - <p> - He smiled crookedly, making a lame effort to clamber back to her level of - high spirits. “Didn’t you arrange that we were going only to be sensible?” - </p> - <p> - She clasped her hands and gazed at him wistfully. “But we needn’t be - sensible quite always; it wouldn’t be fun. Besides, if it was just - business that brought you over, I ought to know, because——” - </p> - <p> - “Because,” he laughed, “if it was just business, then it wasn’t you that - brought me. And, if it wasn’t you, I’ll be going back directly. If it was - just business, the only way you could make me stop longer would be by - being more lavish with your sweetness. You’ve not changed. Desire; you’re - still the dear, imperious Princess, always kindest at the moment of - parting.‘’ - </p> - <p> - “Now you’re drizzling.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not. But you push me over precipices for the sheer joy of making me - thank you when you pull me back to safety. I’m most happy to thank you, - little Desire; but I’d be ever so much obliged if you wouldn’t try such - risky experiments. You see, you know you’re going to rescue me, but I’m - never certain.” - </p> - <p> - She drooped towards him fluttering with merriment “Oh, youl What a lot you - know!” - </p> - <p> - With a quick transition of mood, she sat erect and became severely solemn. - “I shan’t be nice all day unless you tell me. But if you do tell me——” - The blank was wisely left for his imagination to fill in with eloquent - promises. Then, putting all her charm into the question, “Why did you - come?” - </p> - <p> - He looked away, ashamed that she should see his unshared emotion. “You - know already.” - </p> - <p> - “But I’d rather hear it from your lips. It isn’t half as exciting to have - to take things for granted.” - </p> - <p> - “If you must have it, I came because of you.” - </p> - <p> - “And not one scrap because of business?” - </p> - <p> - “Not one scrap because of business. Business was my excuse to my people. I - had to tell them something.” - </p> - <p> - He was staring at her now. His soul stood beckoning in the windows of his - eyes, watching for an answering signal. - </p> - <p> - It was her turn to glance away. She had wakened something which both - thrilled and frightened her. She took refuge in disappointment. - </p> - <p> - “Then you didn’t mention me to them. My father doesn’t know. I wonder why - you didn’t mention me. Was it because they—all those old-fashioned - people—wouldn’t think me good enough?—No. No. Don’t touch me. - Perhaps, after all, it’s better to be sensible. Let’s talk of something - else.” - </p> - <p> - “We’ve got to finish this now that you’ve started it.” His face was stern - and he spoke determinedly. “I’d have passed over everything, for your - sake, Princess-gone on pretending to take things for granted. But-d’you - think you’re fair to me? You said, ‘Come to America if you really care.’ I - thought that meant that you’d begun to care.-I hope it does.” - </p> - <p> - She crossed her feet and resigned herself to the danger she had courted. - “You’re spoiling a most glorious day; but I suppose it’s best to get - things off one’s chest.” Then, in a composed, cool little voice, “Well?” - </p> - <p> - He surprised himself by a touch of anger. It came and was gone like a - flicker of lightning. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve obeyed you,” he said slowly; “I’ve come. I’ve done everything decent - that I could think of to keep you reminded of me. Since we said ’Good-by,’ - I’ve known nothing but purgatory. Even happy things haven’t been happy, - because you weren’t there to share. That’s the way I feel about you, - Desire: whatever I am or can be must be for you. But you—— - From the moment you sailed out of Liverpool, you dropped me. You didn’t - answer my letters. You went out of New York the day I landed, leaving no - message. When we met last night for five minutes, you were with another - man. This morning for about half-an-hour you did seem glad, but since then——” - </p> - <p> - He bit his lips and watched her. Outwardly she seemed utterly unmoved. - “Shall I go on?” - </p> - <p> - “Just as you like.” - </p> - <p> - His words came with a rush. “This means too much to me; it’s all or - nothing. If it means nothing to you, say so. I’m not playing. I can go - away now—there’s time; soon you’ll have become too much a part of - me.—When you’ve forced me up to the point of being frank, you say, - ’Let’s talk of something else.’ Can’t you understand that you’re - becoming my religion—that I do everything thinking, ’This’ll - make her happy,’ and dream about you day and night?” - </p> - <p> - She sat beside him motionless. He had expected her either to surrender or - to show resentment. She made no attempt to alter her position; their - shoulders were still touching. - </p> - <p> - At last, when he had come to the breaking-point, she lifted her grave gray - eyes. “You’re foolish,” she said quietly. “Of course I’m glad of you. But - you’ll spoil everything by being in such a hurry. You don’t know what kind - of a girl I am. We’ve not been together twenty-four hours all told, and - yet that’s been long enough to teach me that we’re totally unlike. I’m - temperamental—-one of those girls who alter with the fashions. - You’re one of the people who never change. You’re the same nice boy I used - to play with, and fancy that—oh, that on some far-off day I might - marry. You’re nearly famous, so mother says. I want to be famous, too; but - I’m younger than you—I’ve not had time. But I know much more about - the world. Don’t be hurt when I say it: your ideas about love and your - generosity, and everything you do, make me feel that you’re such a child. - I like you for it,” she added quickly. - </p> - <p> - Then, speaking in a puzzled way: “You make things difficult. I shouldn’t - be doing right by encouraging you, and——” She faltered over - her words. The innocent kindness shone in her eyes. “And I can’t bear to - send you away. I don’t know what to do. I’d have encouraged you if I’d - written to thank you for those flowers, shouldn’t I? But they made me just - as happy as—— I was a regular baby over them. Every morning - they lay there on my plate and I wore them the whole day. Fluffy used to - chaff me. You don’t like Fluffy.” She winked at him provokingly. “Oh, no, - you don’t! You think actresses improper persons. You needn’t deny it.—And - I do so want to be an actress, so as to prove to my father and Mrs. - Sheerug, and all the lot of them, that I’m worth knowing. Can’t you - understand? After I’m great, I might be content to chuck the stage and - become only a simple good little wife.” - </p> - <p> - “Wouldn’t it be as fine,” he whispered, “to share some one else’s - success?” - </p> - <p> - She gazed at him wisely. “Philanthropic egotist! You know it wouldn’t. Own - up—don’t you know it wouldn’t?” - </p> - <p> - “For a man it wouldn’t,” he conceded ruefully. - </p> - <p> - She smiled vaguely. “Then why for a woman? Only love could make it - different. You believe in love at first sight. I don’t At least, I’m not - sure about it.” - </p> - <p> - “But you can’t call ours love at first sight.” - </p> - <p> - “Ours!” She raised her brows. “Yours was. You had your magic cloak ready - to pop over me the moment you thought you’d found me. I’m only a lay - figure.” - </p> - <p> - “You’re not,” he protested hotly. “If you’d read my book, you’d know that. - Your face is on every page.” - </p> - <p> - “A lay figure,” she repeated imperturbably. - </p> - <p> - She did not gratify his curiosity as to whether she had read <i>Life Till - Twenty-one.</i> He waited. At last, driven to desperation, he asked, “What - am I to do?” - </p> - <p> - “Do?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I’ve nothing to keep me in America; I had nothing to bring me over - except you. If I stay here and don’t give my people an explanation, - they’ll begin to wonder. It won’t be playing the game. So if you don’t - care——” - </p> - <p> - She laughed so gayly that she made all his mountain difficulties seem - molehills. “What an old serious! You can’t set times and seasons for love. - Sooner or later, if you keep on jogging, everything turns out all right. - You’ve got to believe that. <i>It does</i>.” - </p> - <p> - Since she was his prophetess, he let her optimism go undisputed. He almost - shared it. But it didn’t provide him with a certain foundation for his - future. - </p> - <p> - “If you’ll stop drizzling,” she said, “I’ll set Miss Independence free for - a run. There!” She pulled the glove off her left hand and made it scamper - in the blue and green meadow of her gown. Then, of a sudden, the temptress - fingers shot out and caressed him for the merest second. - </p> - <p> - “Life’s so much more surprising when you don’t know where you’re going. - That’s what you said, King Arthur. We don’t know where we’re going—we’re - both too young. It’s silly to pretend we do. Let’s agree to be immensely - kind to each other. Don’t let’s try to be anything closer as yet. If we do—” - She wriggled her shoulders; the little curl trembled violently. “I do hate - quarreling.—Hulloa! There’s the sea. We’ll be there in a second.” - </p> - <p> - The taxi had halted in a line of automobiles. They were on a bare, - sun-baked road. On every side salt-marshes stretched away, criss-crossed - with ditches which drained into a muddy canal The canal crossed the road; - the bridge was up to allow a fishing-boat passage. Over to the left a - board-walk ran; behind it the sea flashed like a mirror. Straight ahead, - in a straggling line of diminishing importance, hotels rose up. A little - over to the right an encampment of match-box summer-cottages sweltered in - the glare. Hoardings met the eyes wherever they turned, announcing the - choicest places to lunch, to garage or to put up for the night in Long - Beach. At no great distance a wooden cow, of more than lifelike - proportions, gave a burlesque imitation of the rural, stooping its head as - if to graze while its back advertised a brand of malted milk. - </p> - <p> - The landscape would have been dreary enough without the people and the - sun. But the people lent the touch of vivacity. The bright colors of - women’s dresses stood out boldly in the strong, fluttering air. When seen - distantly clumped together, they looked like a stage-garden, a-blow with - artificial flowers. The men and women were for the most part in pairs and - young—only the older people were in parties. Teddy had the sense - that he had joined a carnival of irresponsible lovers. Probably all those - men had their problems. And the girls—they, too, didn’t know where - they were going. No one was indulging in the careful cowardice which takes - thought for the morrow. They were leaving all future evil to take care of - itself. They were finding to-day sufficient in its goodness; and of its - goodness they intended to miss nothing. - </p> - <p> - When he turned to Desire, he found her studying her face in a - pocket-mirror and dabbing a film of powder on her impertinent little nose. - He glanced away, thinking his watching would embarrass her. - </p> - <p> - She spoke with a bewitching self-composure, still scrutinizing her - reflection: “I could hear your brain ticking. I was right, wasn’t I? It’s - best at first not to be too much to each other?” - </p> - <p> - Her naive frankness in not attempting to hide her vanity, sent a wave of - affection tingling through him. It was as though by one foolish act she - had entrusted him with the key to her character—her unabashed - truthfulness. - </p> - <p> - He leant forward, brushing her shoulder intimately, and peered into the - mirror from which her eyes watched him. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve been an old serious,” he whispered tenderly. “But now I’ll be - anything you choose. Let’s be just as kind as we know how.” - </p> - <p> - “Let’s,” she nodded, “you convenient person.” The curl against her neck - shook roguishly. - </p> - <p> - They pulled up in the courtyard of a hotel. By its architecture it might - have been in Spain. Great palms in tubs cast heavy shadows. Somewhere - nearby, but out of sight, an orchestra twanged a ragtime tune. He held her - hand for one breathless moment as she alighted. - </p> - <p> - “What next? Are you hungry?” - </p> - <p> - She closed her eyes with feigned contempt: “Hungry! Glutton.” - </p> - <p> - Away she fled, light as pollen, dancing in her steps in unconscious rhythm - with the unseen orchestra. He caught her up where the flash of waves, - rising and falling, burst upon them in tumultuous glory. She was leaning - back, clutching at the brim of her hat, while the eager wind dragged at - her skirt like a child entreating her to join in its frolic. She laid her - hand on his arm. - </p> - <p> - “This is life. Doesn’t it wake you up—make you wonder why you ever - had the drizzles? We’re not the same persons. I’m not. Cling on to me. - I’ll blow away. You’ll have to chase me as you would your hat.” - </p> - <p> - They stepped down on to the sands and strolled along by the water’s edge, - watching the bathers bobbing and splashing. When they had reached the - point where the crowd grew less dense, they climbed to the board-walk for - the return journey. They had made a discovery which their action - confessed: aloneness brought silence; they spoke more freely when - strangers swarmed about them. - </p> - <p> - Teddy became aware that, wherever they passed, Desire roused comment. Men, - who were themselves accompanied, turned to gaze after him enviously. He - compared her with the other women; she was in a separate class—there - wasn’t one who could match her. She had a grace, a distinction, a subtlety—an - indescribable and exquisite atmosphere of freshness, which lifted her - beyond the range of competition. She was like a tropic bird which had - flown into a gathering of house-sparrows. Moreover, she had a knack, - highly flattering to his masculine vanity, of appearing to have - appropriated him, of appearing to be making him her sole interest. The - pride of possession shot through him that he, of all living men, should be - allowed to walk by her side as if she belonged to him. - </p> - <p> - “You’re creating quite a sensation,” he told her. - </p> - <p> - She affected an improvised boredom. “Oh, yes. I always do.” Then, with a - flash of girlishness: “Look here, you’re mine to-day absolutely, aren’t - you?” - </p> - <p> - “To-day and always.” - </p> - <p> - “We’ll leave out the always. But to-day you’ll do whatever I tell you.” - </p> - <p> - “Anything at all.” - </p> - <p> - “Then go and bathe.” - </p> - <p> - He grimaced his astonishment at the smallness of the request What was she - after? - </p> - <p> - “I’ll bathe,” he consented, “if you’ll come with me. But aren’t you - hungry?” - </p> - <p> - “Not a bit I breakfasted late.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, if you’ll wash first, I’ll let you feed after.” - </p> - <p> - “I—” he hesitated, “I don’t want to leave you.” - </p> - <p> - “But I’m keen to see you bathe,” she insisted childishly. Then, employing - her most winning manner, “I’ll sit here on the beach and watch you.” - </p> - <p> - He made a last effort to tempt her. “D’you remember the pool in the - woodland—the place where we camped? You thought it would make you a - boy. Perhaps, if you tried now——” - </p> - <p> - “Nonsense.” She shook her head determinedly and sat down. - </p> - <p> - The situation was too absurd to argue over. Before he left, he gave his - watch and money into her keeping. He derived a queer sensation from seeing - her pop them into her vanity-case. That was just the matter-of-fact way in - which she’d do it if they were married. - </p> - <p> - As he undressed in the concrete bathing-house, he puzzled to discover what - caprice had prompted her order. Had she done it to prove that she had - power over him? Or had she wanted to get rid of him? Had he bored her? He - reviewed their conversation. All small talk! Not very inspiring! His brain - had been weaving a lover’s phrases, which she wouldn’t permit him to - utter. The result was that the potentially eloquent lover, when stifled, - had been neither brilliant nor entertaining—in fact, a dull fellow. - </p> - <p> - A horrid little suspicion sprang up. He tried to stamp it out, but it ran - from him like flame through withered grass. Had she wanted to be alone to - enjoy the admiration she inspired? By Eden Row standards they had no right - to be out unchaperoned. It was still less respectable for her to be alone - in that fast crowd. - </p> - <p> - He hurried into his bathing-costume and stepped into the sunshine. She - wasn’t where he had left her. She was nowhere in sight He was half-minded - to go back and dress, but was deterred by her imagined laughter. He ran - down to the sea and swam about. Every time he rose on the crest of a wave - he watched for her. When he passed the spot again she was still absent. - </p> - <p> - Making haste over his dressing, he came out. She wasn’t there. Panic began - to seize him—all kinds of feverish alarms. He was setting out to - search, when he saw her coming sauntering along the beach. - </p> - <p> - “Hulloa!” she called breezily. “You haven’t been long. Did you only paddle - or did you duck your head as well?” - </p> - <p> - “Where’d you get to?” he asked pantingly. “I’ve been awfully nervous.” - </p> - <p> - She cocked her head on one side like a knowing little bird. - </p> - <p> - “Nervous! I’ve lived years and years without you to take care of me, and - haven’t come to much harm.—You silly old thing, I was getting - something for you.” She opened her vanity-case and pulled out a tin-type - photograph. “There!” - </p> - <p> - Then she noticed that his hand trembled. “Why—why, you <i>are</i> - upset I thought you were only cross. I’m awfully sorry.” - </p> - <p> - She melted and gazed at him penitently. In the next breath she was - chaffing. “If you go on this way, I shan’t bring you out for holidays. You - might die in my arms. Nice thing, that! It’d ruin my reputation.” - </p> - <p> - He was regarding the cheap little picture. It was of her, with the wind - breaking against her dress and the sea backing her. It was scarcely dry - yet. “For me?” - </p> - <p> - “Of course. And, before I lose them, here’s your watch and money.” - </p> - <p> - “And—and that’s why you insisted on my bathing: to get rid of me for - a little while so that——” - </p> - <p> - She cut him short. “Feeding-time. You ask too many questions.” - </p> - <p> - As they walked to the hotel, she chattered at length of her adventure. - “The man who took it, he thought I was an actress. Wanted to know in what - show I was playing.—You don’t consider that a compliment?” - </p> - <p> - “Not much.” - </p> - <p> - He was only half listening. He was remembering his unworthy suspicion, - that she had stolen a respite to court admiration. Perhaps all his - suspicions had been equally ill-founded. Perhaps behind each of her - inconsideratenesses lay a concealed kindness—a tender forethought. - If it had been so in one case, why not in all? - </p> - <p> - “Sweetly ungrateful,” Vashti had called her; “she feels far more than - she’ll ever express—goes out of her way to make people misunderstand - her.” And she’d added: “It’s because—— Can’t you guess? She’s - afraid to love too much. Her mother got hurt.” - </p> - <p> - He felt humiliated—unworthy to walk beside her. No wonder she’d - smiled at his ideas of love! He’d make it his life’s work, if need be, to - teach her what love really meant. He vowed to himself that whatever she - did, no matter how compromising the circumstances, for the future he would - give her the benefit of the doubt He would never again distrust her. He - would keep that pathetically cheap little photograph and gaze at it as a - poignant warning. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IX—SHE ELUDES HIM - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>hey were crossing - the hotel foyer, when something caught her attention. Without explanation, - she darted from his side. Thinking she had seen a friend, he did not - follow at first. She made straight for the news-stand; picking up a - magazine, she commenced skimming its pages. He strolled over and peered - across her shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “<i>The Theatre!</i> Something in it that you want? Shall I buy it for - you?” - </p> - <p> - She did not seem to hear him. He touched her hand, repeating his question. - For answer she turned back to the cover-design. “Isn’t she wonderful?” - </p> - <p> - He recognized the stooping face and the vague hypnotic smile that he had - seen in the many photographs that decorated the walls of the apartment. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t know about wonderful,” he said carelessly; “she’s all right.” - </p> - <p> - “All right!” Desire frowned her restrained annoyance. “No one who knows - anything about Fluffy would call her ‘all right.’ She’s wonderful. I adore - her.” - </p> - <p> - He chuckled. He hadn’t wakened to the enormity of his offense. “You’re a - curious girl Surely you, of all persons, don’t want me to adore her?” - </p> - <p> - Her frown did not lighten. - </p> - <p> - “Shall I buy it for you, Princess? You can glance through it while we’re - waiting for our meal to be served.” - </p> - <p> - She ignored his offer and drew out her purse. As they turned away she - said, “If you’d liked her, I’d have allowed you to pay for it.” - </p> - <p> - “But why should I like her? I’ve never met her. You talk as though I - detested her.” - </p> - <p> - “You do. And I know why. You’re jealous.” - </p> - <p> - Again her daring truthfulness took away his breath. She had discovered - something so latent in his mind that he hadn’t owned it to himself. He <i>was</i> - jealous of Fluffy—just as jealous as if she had been a man. He - resented her power to whisk Desire from his side. He dreaded lest she had - occupied so much of the girl’s capacity for loving that nothing worth - having was left He suspected that the use of powder, the trivial views of - marriage, the passion to go upon the stage were all results of her - influence. It wasn’t natural that a girl of twenty should focus all her - dreams on an older woman. She should be picturing the arrival of Prince - Charming, of a home and the graciousness of little children. - </p> - <p> - Desire lifted to him a face grown magically free from cloud. “That wasn’t - at all nice of me—not one bit ladylike. After all, I am your guest.” - </p> - <p> - Did she say it out of sweet revenge? It was as though she had told him, “I - keep my friendships in separate watertight compartments. To-day it’s your - turn to be taken but. To-morrow I shall lock you away and remember some - one else.” It hurt, this polite intimation of his standing. He wanted to - be everything to her—to feel all that she felt, to know her as his - very self. To him she was his entire life. And she—she was satisfied - to term herself his guest. - </p> - <p> - She led the way as they entered the grill-room. Heads were turned and - glances exchanged, in the usual tribute to her beauty. The orchestra was - still madly twanging. Between tables in the centre, a space had been - cleared that two paid artistes might give exhibitions of the latest - dance-steps. When they rested, the diners took their places and did their - best to copy their example. Doors and windows were open. In lulls, while - the musicians mopped their foreheads, the better music drifted in of waves - breaking and the long sigh of receding surge. They took their seats in a - sunlit corner, a little retired, to which they were piloted by a discreet - and perspiring waiter. As Desire examined the mena he inquired, “What will - madam have?” To every order that she gave he murmured, “Yes, madam. - Certainly, madam.” - </p> - <p> - When he had left, she glanced mischievously across at Teddy. “Why did he - call me that?” She knew the answer, but it amused her to embarrass him. - </p> - <p> - “Because—obviously, he thought we were married.” - </p> - <p> - “Married!” She was pulling off her gloves. “I shan’t be married for ages—perhaps - never. I expect he thought we were married because we looked so separate—so - uninterested.” - </p> - <p> - She didn’t speak again till she had satisfied herself, by means of the - pocket-mirror, that no irreparable ruin had befallen her pretty face since - the last inspection. Her action seemed prompted by childish curiosity - rather than by vanity. It was as though when she saw her own beauty, she - saw it with amazement as belonging to another person. It made him think of - the first sight he had had of her: a small girl kneeling beside the edge - of a fountain and stooping to kiss her own reflection. He remembered her - clasped hands and dismay when her lips had disturbed the water’s surface, - and her image had vanished. - </p> - <p> - The examination ended, she gazed at him thoughtfully. “I’ve still to tell - you about that—the thing for which I’ve to ask your forgiveness. - Shall I tell you now?—No. It’s about Fluffy, and——” Her - finger went up to her mouth. - </p> - <p> - “We don’t agree on Fluffy. And we’ve neither of us recovered from our last—— - Was it a quarrel?” She coaxed him with her smile, as though he were - insisting that it was. “Not quite a quarrel. Not as bad as that I expect - you and I’ll always have to be forgiving. I have a feeling—But - you’ll always forgive me, won’t you?” Before he could answer, she leant - companionably across the table, “Do you believe in romance? I don’t.” - </p> - <p> - His sense of humor was touched. One minute she rapped him over the - knuckles as though he were a tiny, misbehaving boy, the next it was she - who was young and he who was elderly. - </p> - <p> - “You’re irresistible.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” She gave a pleased little sigh. “When I choose to be fascinating—yes. - D’you think the waiter would call me madam, if he could see me now? But - tell me, do you believe in romance?” - </p> - <p> - “Believe in romance!” He felt her slippered foot touching his beneath the - table. “I couldn’t look at you and not believe in it. Everything that’s - ever happened to you and me is romance: the way Hal and Farmer Joseph - brought me to you; the way we met in the dead of night at Glastonbury; and - now—— I’ve come like a troubadour as far as Columbus, just to - be near you. Isn’t that romance? Romance is like happiness; it’s in the - heart It doesn’t shine into you; it shines out Even those people over - there, hopping about to rag-time, they don’t seem vulgar; they become - romance when you and I watch them.” - </p> - <p> - “But they’re not vulgar.” She spoke on the defensive. “If you could - turkey-trot, I’d be one of them. Oh, dear, what an awful lot of things you - disapprove of. I’ll have to make a list of them. There! You see——” - She spread out her appealing hands. “I’m being horrid again. I can’t help - it.” The babies crept into her eyes. “I’m not the girl you think me. I’m - really not.” - </p> - <p> - The slippered foot beneath the table had withdrawn itself. - </p> - <p> - “You’re better,” he whispered. “You’re unexpected. None of my magic cloaks - fit you. You’re surprising. A man likes to be surprised.” - </p> - <p> - She refused to look at him. With her chin tucked in the palm of her hand, - she gazed listlessly to where the dancers whirled and glided. When she - spoke, her voice sounded tired, as if with long contending. - </p> - <p> - “Why won’t you be disillusioned? Every time I show you a fault, you turn - it into a virtue. From the moment we met, I’ve acted as selfishly as I - knew how; and yet you still follow, follow, follow. Don’t you ever lose - your temper? You can’t really like me.” - </p> - <p> - To her bewilderment a great wave of gladness swept into his eyes. At last - he had stumbled on the hidden forethought that lurked behind all her - omissions of kindness. She had been trying to save him from herself. In - the light of this new interpretation, every grievance that he had harbored - became an infidelity. He stretched out his hand, as though unconsciously, - till the tips of his fingers were just touching hers. - </p> - <p> - “I shall always follow, and follow, and follow. I shall know now that, - even when you’re trying to be cross, it only means that you’re——” - </p> - <p> - What it would only mean he didn’t tell her; at that moment the waiter - returned. - </p> - <p> - When the covers had been removed from the dishes and they had something to - distract them from their own intensity, the gayety of the rag-time caught - them. - </p> - <p> - She flashed a friendly glance at him. “We’re always getting back to that - old subject, like sitting hens to a nest.” - </p> - <p> - “We hadn’t got there quite.” - </p> - <p> - She pursed her lips judiciously. “Perhaps not quite. Wouldn’t it be safer - to talk of something else?” - </p> - <p> - “About what? I can’t think of anything but you, Princess.” - </p> - <p> - She clapped her hands. “Splendid. Let’s talk about me. You start.” - </p> - <p> - He bent forward, smiling into her eyes, grateful for the chance. “There’s - so much to tell. All day I’ve been making discoveries. I’ve found out that - you’re half-a-dozen persons—not just the one person whom I thought - you, Desire. Sometimes you’re Joan of Arc, with dreams in your eyes and - your hands lying idly in your lap. Sometimes you’re Nell Gwynn, utterly - unshockable and up to any naughtiness. That’s the way you are now—the - way I like you best. And sometimes you’re a faery’s child, a Belle Dame - Sans Merci, a beautiful witch-girl, who won’t come into my life and won’t - let me forge.” - </p> - <p> - She became extraordinarily interested. At last he had absorbed her - attention. “That Belle Dam whatever you call her, she sounds rather lurid. - Tell me about her.” - </p> - <p> - All through the meal, to the alternate thunder of the sea and the jiggling - accompaniment of rag-time, he told her. How La Belle Dame Sans Merci lay - in wait in woodlands to tempt knights aside from their quests and, when - she had made them love her, left them spell-bound and unsatisfied. They - forgot time and place as they talked. The old trustful intimacy held them - hanging on each other’s words. They were children again in the meadows at - Ware, hiding from Farmer Joseph; only now Farmer Joseph was their fear of - their own shyness. - </p> - <p> - “I did something last summer,” he said; “it was just before I met you. - Perhaps it’ll make you smile. I’d just come to success, and I wanted to - tell you; but I hadn’t an idea where to find you in the whole wide world. - I tried to pretend that you were still in the woodland beside the pond. I - went there and stayed all day, willing that you should come. You couldn’t - have been so far away; you may have been in London. Well, I had that poem - with me, and—— You know the way one gets into moods? It seemed - to me that you weren’t a truly person and never had been—that you - were just a faery’s child, a ghost in my mind.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent25"> - ‘I set her on my prancing steed, - </p> - <p class="indent25"> - And nothing else saw all day long; - </p> - <p class="indent25"> - For sidelong would she bend, and sing - </p> - <p class="indent25"> - A faery’s song.’ - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “That sort of thing. Perhaps you were thinking of me at the very time.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps,” she nodded. “Coming back to England after all those years did - make me think of you. But how does the whole poem go? Can’t you repeat - it?” - </p> - <p> - He had come to, “And there I shut her wild, wild eyes with kisses four,” - when she stopped him. - </p> - <p> - “I should never let you do that If I did——” She bent towards - him flippantly, lowering her voice. “If I did, d’you know what I’d do - next? I should marry you.” The curl against her neck shook in emphatic - affirmative. “I’m not going to be La Belle Dame whatever you call her any - more. I’m going to try to be Nell Gwynn always. You must tell me next time - I’m that La Belle person, and I’ll stop it.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, but I can’t—that’s a part of the spell When you look that way I - can’t speak to you. I’m dazed. It’s as though you’d buried me beneath a - mountain of ice. I can only see you and feel unhappy. I can’t even stir.” - </p> - <p> - He fell to gazing at her. His silence lasted so long that she grew - restless. “Say it,” she urged. - </p> - <p> - “I was thinking that, in spite of all these people and the orchestra and - the dancing, we’re by ourselves—not afraid of each other the way we - were.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” She twisted her shoulders. “And now I’ll tell you why: it’s because - there’s a table between us and, however much you wanted, you couldn’t do - anything silly. So, you see, I’m safe, and can afford to be gracious.” - </p> - <p> - He knew at once that it was the truth that she had stated. How few girls - would have said it! They had finished their coffee. She had been very - pressing that he should smoke a cigar. He had just lighted one, and was - comfortably wondering what they should do next; a drive in the country - perhaps, and then back to the tall city lying spectral in moonlight. She - consulted her wrist-watch and pushed back her chair. “How about the taxi?” - </p> - <p> - He at once began to seek the connection between his smoking and the taxi. - Behind all her actions lay a motive, which she disguised with an - appearance of irresponsibility. Being in her company was like studying the - moves in a game of chess. Had she persuaded him to smoke in - self-protection, so that he might be occupied when they were alone - together? - </p> - <p> - “The taxi! It’s early. We don’t need to go yet. Or d’you mean that you - want to take a longer drive?” - </p> - <p> - “I’ve——” She winked at him. “This isn’t the great big - confession—— I’ve to get back for the theatre. Don’t look - crestfallen; you’re coming—just the two of us. If we don’t start - now, I shan’t have time to dress.” - </p> - <p> - As he followed her out into the courtyard, he made a mental note: her - insistance that he should smoke had been a precautionary measure for a - home-defense. Already her manner towards him was growing circumspect. When - she had given the driver instructions, she took her seat remotely in the - corner. There was one last flicker of her Nell Gwynn mood when she leant - out to gaze at the sea lying red behind the gray salt-marshes. - </p> - <p> - “Good-by, dear little day; you’ve been a sort of honeymoon.” She spied out - of the comers of her eyes at Teddy with an impish raising of her brows. It - was as though she were asking him whether the day need end. - </p> - <p> - “Why go back? Why ever go back? Why not get married?” The hand which he - tried to seize happened to be Miss Independence. It gave him a friendly - pat in rebuke as it escaped him. - </p> - <p> - “We’re getting stupid again.” Closing her eyes, she curled herself up - against the cushions. Her voice was small and tired. - </p> - <p> - In an instant he was miles away from her, buried beneath his mountain of - ice. She was La Belle Dame Sans Merd, chilling his affection with silence. - He was amused. He was beginning to understand her tactics. She was easy of - approach, but difficult of capture. He looked back; from a child she had - been like that. But he wished that she wouldn’t show distrust of him - whenever they were alone. It made love seem less gallant, almost ugly—a - thing to be dreaded. Was it what had happened to her mother that made her——? - “She’s afraid to love too much. Her mother got hurt.” Was this the price - of which Hal had spoken? Was his share of the paying to have his ideal - lowered by the girl by whom it had been inspired? - </p> - <p> - He sat in his corner, smoking and scrupulously preserving the gap that lay - between them. He was doing his best to show her by his actions that her - defensive measures were unnecessary. One hand shaded her eyes, the other - lay half open in her lap. Her head drooped forward slightly and her knees - were crossed. Her attitude was one of prayer. - </p> - <p> - “Please go on talking,” she murmured. “Don’t mind if I’m a little quiet.” - </p> - <p> - He tried to talk. His monologue grew halting. He asked a question; she - returned no answer. He ceased speaking to see if that would pique her and - rouse response. She seemed to have divined his intention; he felt that, if - he peeped behind her hand, he would find her laughing. - </p> - <p> - Easy of approach, but difficult of capture! If he didn’t take care, she - might keep him dawdling and spellbound forever. Ah, but when she began to - learn what love really was, not Fluffy’s kind of tepid flirtation, but the - kind of love that thinks no sacrifice too costly—— How long - would it take him to fire her with earnestness? - </p> - <p> - Traffic was thickening. Automobiles, snorting and tooting their horns, - came racing up behind and passed. The road ahead was a cloud of dust, - which the sunset tinted to a crimson glory. The laughter of women’s voices - was in the air. He had glimpses of their faces peering merrily into men’s. - In a flash they were gone; but his imagination followed, listening to the - happy tendernesses that were said. How closely these other lovers sat! - Sometimes beneath the dust-cloth that lay across their knees, he suspected - that hands were being clasped. At others he didn’t need to suspect; it was - done proudly and bravely. There were disadvantages in being in love with a - young lady who gave remarkable names to her hands. - </p> - <p> - He smiled grimly at the respectable distance that separated him from his - praying girl. It so honestly published to the world: “The two people in - this taxi are wasting an opportunity—they are not in love.” The - waiter, had he had to address her now, would certainly have called her - madam. - </p> - <p> - Teddy tried to see the humor of his situation. He wondered whether she was - really as indifferent as she pretended—whether she might not be glad - if he were to slip his arm about her? But he refrained from making the - experiment; he feared lest she should interpret his action flippantly or - resent it. When he pictured the kind of happiness they were losing, he - felt a little sick at heart. - </p> - <p> - They had come to the great cat’s-cradle of girders that spans the East - River. - </p> - <p> - “That’s better. I’m rested. You are good.” - </p> - <p> - She spoke gratefully and sat up. From his corner, making no attempt to - narrow the distance, he watched her quietly. “D’you always do that?” - </p> - <p> - “What?” - </p> - <p> - “Pretend to go to sleep when you’re unchaperoned? You don’t need to do it - with me. It’s the third time you’ve done it.” - </p> - <p> - She laughed tolerantly. “Oh, you! What old-fashioned notions! I never am - chaperoned.” - </p> - <p> - It was on the tip of his tongue to say that in her case it wasn’t - necessary. Instead he asked: “Do you do that with Tom? Does he appreciate - it?” - </p> - <p> - She threw up her hands in an abandonment to merriment “Tom! He hates it - Poor Tom! Haven’t I told you he drizzles?” - </p> - <p> - When no answer was returned, she began to sing provocatively: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent25"> - “If no one ever marries me, - </p> - <p class="indent25"> - And I don’t see why he should. - </p> - <p class="indent25"> - For Nurse says I am not pretty - </p> - <p class="indent25"> - And I’m very seldom good, - </p> - <p class="indent25"> - I’ll——” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - She broke off and glanced over at him, making her mouth sad. “You do sit - far away.” When he made no motion to accept her invitation, she smiled the - unreserved smile of friendship. “Look here, if I come half way over, will - you?” - </p> - <p> - She made the journey and waited for him to follow her example. He came - reluctantly, but not all the way; there was still a gap between them. - </p> - <p> - “Well, if you won’t, I’ll have to be forward.” She closed up the distance. - “There! Isn’t that happier?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. But what’s the good? We’re in the middle of streets and nearly there - now.” - </p> - <p> - “I was tired,” she said appealingly. “I thought you’d understand.” - </p> - <p> - It was impossible to resist her. Perhaps she had been tired. Perhaps she - had done with him what she would have dared to do with no other man; and - what he had mistaken for indifference and distrust had been a reliance on - his chivalry. - </p> - <p> - “I do understand.” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder.” - </p> - <p> - Ahead, across the misty greenness of the Park, the troglodyte dwellings of - the West Side barricaded the horizon. In some of the windows lights were - springing up. It was as though lonely people flashed unnoticed signals to - the cold hearts beating in the heavens. - </p> - <p> - “Desire, why do we try to hurt each other?” - </p> - <p> - “Do we? I wasn’t trying. I was thinking of something that Fluffy told - Horace. She said that men never married the women who said ‘Yes.’ It’s the - women who say ‘No’ sweetly that men marry.” - </p> - <p> - “So you were saying ‘No’ sweetly by keeping quiet.” - </p> - <p> - “I was looking back to find out if it was true.” - </p> - <p> - “And is it?” - </p> - <p> - She gazed down demurely at her folded hands. “I once knew a girl; she - didn’t care a straw for her man. He waited for her for five years always - hoping, and she made all kinds of cruel jokes about him. Then one night—she - didn’t know how it happened—all the ice broke and she felt that she - wanted him most awfully. They were alone. Suddenly, without warning and - without being asked, she kissed him and put her arms about his neck—— - Can you guess what he did? You’re a man. You ought to know.” - </p> - <p> - “He kissed her back again, I suppose, and after that they were married.” - </p> - <p> - “Wrong. He picked up his hat and walked out of the house. He’d made her - want him ten times worse than he’d ever wanted her. He never went back.” - </p> - <p> - “But why? I don’t understand.” - </p> - <p> - They were on Riverside Drive. The taxi was halting. She leant forward and - opened the door. “He’d won, don’t you see? Because she’d given in he - despised her. It was the holding off that made her value.” - </p> - <p> - “A parable?” - </p> - <p> - As she jumped out, she glanced roguishly across her shoulder. “No. A - fact.” - </p> - <p> - To save time, since they both had to dress, they arranged to meet at the - theatre. The curtain had gone down on the first act when they entered. - </p> - <p> - It was a first-night performance; the place was packed. Desire at once - became interested in the audience, spying round with her glasses and - picking out the critics, the actors and actresses who were present She - gave him concise accounts of their careers, surprising him with her - knowledge. She was intensely alive; it was difficult to recognize in her - the bored praying girl who had traveled with him from Long Beach on that - late September afternoon. In her low-cut evening-dress, with her white - arms and dazzling shoulders, he found her twice as alluring. But he wished - she would show more interest in him and a little less in the audience. - Every time he thought he had secured her attention, she would discover a - new face on which to focus her glasses. - </p> - <p> - The curtain had risen only a few minutes, when he realized why she had - brought him. From the wings Tom entered; from that moment she became - spellbound. Teddy tried to reason away his jealousy—his feeling that - he had been trapped into coming. It was quite natural that she should have - wanted to see her friend—there was nothing so disastrous in that. - But—— And he couldn’t get over that <i>but</i>. It would have - been fair to have warned him. - </p> - <p> - In the second interval he found that he was expected to eulogize his - rival’s acting. This time, cautioned by the error he had made over - Fluffy’s portrait, he was more careful in expressing his opinion. She - quickly detected the effort in his enthusiasm. “I didn’t like to tell - you,” she whispered apologetically; “but I had to come. Ever so long ago, - before I knew you’d be here, I promised him.” - </p> - <p> - “So that’s the confession that’s been worrying you?” - </p> - <p> - “One of them.” She touched his hand. - </p> - <p> - It wasn’t until midnight, when they had had supper and were flying uptown, - that she told him. - </p> - <p> - “We’ve had a good first day, Meester Deek, in spite—in spite of - everything.” - </p> - <p> - Mister Dick had been the name of the hero in the play; Meester Deek had - been the caressing way in which the Italian woman who loved him had - pronounced it. That Desire should call him Meester Deek seemed an omen. - </p> - <p> - He turned to her gladly. She was in her Nell Gwynn mood and at her - tenderest. Through the darkness he could see the convulsive little curl. - The beauty-patch seemed a sign put there to mark the acceptable place to - kiss her. - </p> - <p> - “So I’m Meester Deek! You won’t call me Teddy. I knew you’d have to find a - name for me.” - </p> - <p> - “D’you like my name for you, Meester Deek?” - </p> - <p> - She sat bending forward, her face illumined by the racing street-lights - and her body in darkness. He was tempted to trespass—tempted to - reach out for her hand and, if she allowed that, to take her in his arms. - She looked very sweet and unresisting, with her cloak falling back from - her white shoulders and her head drooping. But instinct warned him: she - beckoned attack only to repell it. He remembered what she had told him - about the women who said “No,” the women who eked out their affection. - </p> - <p> - “D’you like my name for you, Meester Deek?” There was all the passion of - the south in the way she asked it. - </p> - <p> - “I like it. But why don’t you call me by my own name? You speak of Horace - and Tom.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, that’s different.” - </p> - <p> - “How?” - </p> - <p> - She shrugged her shoulders and threw back her cloak. The fragrance of her - stole out towards him. - </p> - <p> - “They’ll be always just Horace and Tom to me, while you—perhaps. I - can’t explain, Meester Deek, if you don’t understand.” - </p> - <p> - In her own peculiar way, half shy, half bold, she had told him that, just - as he held her separate from all women, so she held him separate. - </p> - <p> - “I’d rather have you call me Meester Deek than—than anything in the - whole world, now that I know.” - </p> - <p> - “And will you forgive me the big confession?” - </p> - <p> - He laughed emotionally. “Anything.” - </p> - <p> - She shrank back into the shadow so that her face was hidden. “I’m just as - sorry as I can be. But I can’t break my word. Perhaps you’ll be so hurt - that you’ll sail back to England, and won’t wait for me.” - </p> - <p> - His heart sank. For a moment he had felt so sure of her. Again she was - planning to elude him. - </p> - <p> - “You don’t say anything, Meester Deek. I’m afraid you’re angry. It’s only - for two weeks. I start to-morrow.” Two weeks without her! It spelt - tragedy. He had a desperate inspiration, “Can’t I come with you?” - </p> - <p> - “Poor you! No.” She shook her head slowly. “I wish you could. You see, - I’ve got to do without you, too. But you don’t like her—I mean - Fluffy. She’s on the road in a try-out before she opens in New York.—Only - two weeks, Meester Deek! Look on the bright side of things. You can get - through all your work while I’m gone and then, when I come back, we can - play together.—If you stay,” she added softly. - </p> - <p> - Two weeks! It seemed a very short time to make a fuss over. - </p> - <p> - But in two weeks he had hoped to go so far with her. He had hoped to be - able to win a promise from her, so that he could send good news to Eden - Row. And now, at the end of two weeks, he would be just where he had - started. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll write to you, oh, such long letters.” And then, like a little child - on the verge of crying: “You said you’d forgive me. You’re not keeping - your promise.” - </p> - <p> - At the moment of parting, as she was stepping into the elevator, he drew - her back. “When d’you start? Mayn’t I come and fetch you, and see you - off?” - </p> - <p> - “It’ll be so early. Won’t that be a lot of trouble for a very little - pleasure?” - </p> - <p> - “But if I think the trouble’s worth it?” - </p> - <p> - “Then I’d love to have you.” - </p> - <p> - She held out her hand and let it linger in his clasp. Other revellers, - returning from theatres and dinners, passed them. For the first time that - day she didn’t seem to care who guessed that he loved her. - </p> - <p> - “It’s too late to ask you up,” she whispered regretfully. “It’s been a - nice day in spite of—of everything, Meester Deek. Thank you.” - </p> - <p> - She withdrew her hand and darted from him, as if fearing that, if she - stayed, she might commit herself irrevocably. He saw her gray eyes smiling - pityingly down on him as the iron cage shot up. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER X—AND NOTHING ELSE SAW ALL DAY LONG - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e had lost count - of days in the swiftness of happenings. As he drove uptown to fetch her, - he wondered why the streets were so quiet. He pulled out his watch; it was - past eight. Not so extraordinarily early! His watch might be wrong. His - eye caught a clock; it wasn’t Then the knowledge dawned on him that the - emptiness of the streets and his sense of earliness were due to the - leisure which betokens Sunday morning. - </p> - <p> - New York had a look of the rural. Now that few people were about, trees - claimed more attention and spread abroad their branches. Grass-plots in - squares showed conspicuously. It almost seemed that on these islands of - greenness, lapped by sun-scorched pavement, one ought to see rabbits - hopping. - </p> - <p> - When he reached the apartment, she wasn’t ready. From somewhere down the - passage she called to him: “Good-morning, Meester Deek. You’re early.” - Then he heard her tripping footsteps crossing and recrossing a room, and - the busy rustling of packing. - </p> - <p> - He leant out of the window, drinking in the sunny stillness. A breeze - ruffled the Hudson. The Palisades shone fortress-like. Far below, dwarfed - by distance beneath trees of the Drive, horsemen moved sluggishly like - wound-up toys. A steamer, heavily loaded with holidaymakers, churned its - way up-river; he caught the faint cheerfulness of brazen music. The - tension of endeavor was relaxed; a spirit of peace and gayety was in the - air. His thoughts went back to Eden Row, lying blinking and quaint in the - Sabbath calm. In this city of giant energies he smiled a little wistfully - at the remembrance. - </p> - <p> - He listened. The sounds of packing hadn’t stopped. Time grew short; it - wasn’t for him to hurry her. Secretly he hoped she would lose her train; - they might steal an extra day together. - </p> - <p> - She entered radiant and laughing. “You’ll think I always keep you waiting. - Come on. We’ve got to rush for it.” - </p> - <p> - “But let me have a look at you.” - </p> - <p> - “Time for that on the way to the station.” - </p> - <p> - When he had seen the luggage put on, he jumped in beside her—really - beside her, for she sat well out of the corner. - </p> - <p> - “Almost like a honeymoon,” he laughed, “with all the bags.” - </p> - <p> - “A spoilt honeymoon.” As they made a sharp turn into Broadway she was - thrown against him. “Poor old you, not to be coming!” - </p> - <p> - “Hulloa!” He looked at her intently. - </p> - <p> - “A discovery?” - </p> - <p> - “The beauty-patch has wandered. It’s at the corner of your mouth to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “Observing person! There’s a reason.” She leant nearer to whisper. “It’s a - sleep-walker.” - </p> - <p> - In the midst of her high spirits she became serious. “It’s mean of me to - leave you. If I’d known that it was only to see me that you’d sailed—— - I couldn’t believe it—not even when you’d cabled. I ought to feel - flattered. I shouldn’t think—shouldn’t think it’s often happened - that a man came so far on ’spec.’” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps never,” he said. “There was never a Desire——” - </p> - <p> - Then they felt that they had gone far enough with words, and sat catching - each other’s smile in silence. - </p> - <p> - “You don’t want to go?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “I oughtn’t to say that.” She frowned thoughtfully. “It would be - ungracious to Fluffy. But I don’t want to go much.” Then, letting her hand - rest on his for a second: “It’ll make our good times that are coming all - the better.” - </p> - <p> - All the way to the station, like shy children, without owning to it, they - were doing their best to comfort each other. - </p> - <p> - “I’m glad I had that photograph taken.” - </p> - <p> - “Was that why? Because——” - </p> - <p> - “Meester Deek, I didn’t know you so well then. It didn’t seem so terrible - to leave you. But—it was partly.” - </p> - <p> - The tiffs and aloofness of yesterday seemed as distant as a life-time. - </p> - <p> - “We were stupid to quarrel.” His tone invited her indorsement. - </p> - <p> - “We’ll do it again,” she laughed. - </p> - <p> - They swung into the Grand Central. She let him look to her luggage as - though it were his right. It was nearly as good as being married to her. - </p> - <p> - “Shall I take your ticket?” - </p> - <p> - “Let’s get it together.” - </p> - <p> - When they came to the window, she opened her bag and handed him the money. - </p> - <p> - “Where to?” he asked. Then he remembered: “Why, you haven’t given me your - address.” - </p> - <p> - “To Springfield. Here, I’ll scribble out the address while you get the - change. You’d better write your first letter to the theatre in care of - Fluffy. I’ll send you the names of the other towns later.” - </p> - <p> - At the barrier they met with an unexpected setback; the gateman refused to - let him see her off. “Not allowed. You ought to have a pass.” - </p> - <p> - It seemed hopeless. The man looked too righteous for bribery and too - inhuman for argument. Desire leant forward: “Oh, please, won’t you let my - brother——?” - </p> - <p> - Slowly and knowingly the man smiled. He glanced from the anxious little - face, doing its best to appear tearful, to the no less anxious face of - Teddy. He scented romance and signed to them to go forward. So Teddy had - proof that others could become weak when she employed her powers of - fascination. - </p> - <p> - He followed her into the train and sat down at her side. - </p> - <p> - “I wish I were coming.” - </p> - <p> - She gazed out of the window. He bent across to see her face. - </p> - <p> - “Why, Desire, you’re——” - </p> - <p> - “I’m silly,” she said quickly. “Parting with anybody makes me cry. Oh, - dear, I wish I wasn’t going.” - </p> - <p> - “Then don’t.” - </p> - <p> - He covered her hand in his excitement. There was no time to lose. The - conductor was calling for the last time; passengers were scurrying to get - aboard. - </p> - <p> - She considered the worth of his suggestion. “I must There’s Fluffy. But - why don’t you come? You can get back to-night.” - </p> - <p> - He wavered. She was always at her sweetest when saying good-by; if he went - with her, she might get “tired” and become the praying girl again. He had - almost made up his mind to accompany her when the train gave a preliminary - jerk, as though the engine were testing its strength. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, well, you know best.” Her expression was annoyed and her tone - disappointed. “Only two weeks, after all.” - </p> - <p> - “But two weeks without you.” He had not quite given up the idea of - accompanying her. - </p> - <p> - “Hurry up,” she said, “or you won’t get off.” - </p> - <p> - It was no good going with her now. From the platform he watched her. As - the train began to move, he ran beside her window. At the point of - vanishing she smiled forgiveness and kissed the finger-tips of Miss - Self-Reliance. - </p> - <p> - In passing out of the station it occurred to him to inquire how long it - took to get to Springfield. He wanted to follow her in imagination and to - picture her at the exact hour of arrival. He was surprised to find that it - was such a short journey and that she might have gone by a later train. If - she’d been so sorry, she needn’t have left him in such a hurry. When he - came to reason things out, he saw that she could have gone just as well on - Monday, since Fluffy’s company was evidently playing in Springfield - another night. Perhaps she had a good reason for going. It was some - comfort to remember that at the last train. If she’d been so sorry, she - needn’t have left him in such a hurry. When he came to reason things out, - he saw that she could have gone just as well on Monday, since Fluffy’s - company was evidently playing in Springfield another night. Perhaps she - had a good reason for going. It was some comfort to remember that at the - last moment she had wanted to stay. - </p> - <p> - Then began the long days of waiting, from which all purpose in living - seemed to have been banished. Ambitions, which had goaded him forward, - were at a halt. Everything unconnected with her took on an air of - unreality. His personality became distasteful to him because it seemed not - to have attracted her sufficiently. - </p> - <p> - Things that once would have brought him happiness failed to stir him. A - boom was being worked for him. He was on the crest of a wave. Interviewers - were continually calling to get personal stories. Articles appeared in - which he confided to the public: “How I Became Famous at Twenty-three,” - “Why I Came to America,” “What I Think of New York,” “Why I Distrust - Co-education.” There seemed to be no subject, however trivial, upon which - his views were not of value to the hundred million inhabitants of America. - He was continually finding his face in the papers. He sprang into an - unexpected demand both as writer and artist. - </p> - <p> - The fun he derived from this fluster was in imagining the added worth it - would give him in her eyes. He liked to think of her as dashing up to - news-stands and showering on him the enthusiasm he had seen her shower on - Fluffy. Success left him the more humble in proportion as it failed to - rouse her comment. If success couldn’t make her proud of him, there must - be some weakness in his character. He searched her letters for any hint - that would betray her knowledge of what was happening. Perhaps her very - omissions were a sign that she was feeling more than she expressed. At - last he wrote and told her. She replied inadequately, “How very nice for - you!” His hope had been that she would have included herself as a sharer - in his good fortune. - </p> - <p> - Though he sat for long hours at a stretch, he accomplished laborious - results. His attention refused to concentrate. He was always thinking of - her: the men who might be with her in his absence; the things she had said - and done; the things he had said to her, and which might have been said - better; her tricks of gesture and shades of intonation. Her very faults - endeared themselves in retrospect He coveted the least happy of the hours - he had spent in her company. - </p> - <p> - For the first day he was consoled by the sight of her tin-type photograph - on the desk before him. He glanced at it between sentences and felt that - she was near him. But soon he made a sad discovery: it was fast fading. As - the days went by he exposed it to the light more and more grudgingly. He - had the superstitious fear that, if it was quite dark before she returned, - his hope of winning her would be ended. - </p> - <p> - He lived for the arrival of her letters. His anxiety was a repetition of - what he had suffered after her departure from London. He left orders with - the hotel-clerk to have them sent up to his room at once. Every time a - knock sounded on his door he became breathless. - </p> - <p> - They came thick and fast, funny little letters dashed off at top-speed in - a round girlish handwriting and made to look longer than they were by - being sprawled out over many pages. They were full of broken phrases like - her speech, with dashes and dots for which he might substitute whatever - tenderness his necessity demanded. Usually they began “<i>Dear Miester - Deek</i>” and ended “<i>Yours sincerely, Desire</i>.” Once, in a glorious - burst of expansiveness, she signed herself “<i>Affectionately, Desire,</i>” - and scratched it out. He watched for the error to occur again; it was - never repeated. They were the kind of letters that it was perfectly safe - to leave lying about; his replies emphatically were not. He marveled at - her unvarying discretion. - </p> - <p> - She had a knack of reproducing the atmosphere of her environment. It was a - gay, pulsating world in which she lived. Like Flora, flowers and the - singing of birds sprang up where she passed. He contrasted with hers the - world he had to offer; it seemed a dull place. She had the keys to Arcady. - How false had been his chivalrous dream that a fate hung over her from - which she must be rescued! - </p> - <p> - His lover’s eye detected a wealth of cleverness in her correspondence. He - sincerely believed that she was more gifted as a writer than himself. Her - letters were full of descriptions of Fluffy in her part, thumb-nail - sketches of the other members of the cast and accounts of the momentously - personal adventures of a theatrical company on tour. She had a trick of - humor that made her intimate in an adjective, and made him laugh. She also - had a trick of allotting to him prejudices. “You’d call our leading man a - very bad character, but I like him: I think one needs to have faults to be - truly charitable. I’d ask you to join us, but—— You wouldn’t - get on with theatrical people; you rather—I know, so you needn’t - deny it—you rather despise them. I think they’re the jolliest crowd. - We dance every night when the show is ended and have late suppers, and—you - can guess.” - </p> - <p> - It was after receiving this that he made up his mind, in preparation for - her return, to learn the latest dances. He wondered where she could have - gathered the impression that he was puritanical. - </p> - <p> - But there were other letters in which she joined his future with hers. - “Perhaps you’ll write a great play one day, and allow me to be your - leading lady.” - </p> - <p> - He paused to let the picture form before he went further. It would be - rather fun. He saw himself holding hands with her and bowing to applauding - audiences. As husband and wife they’d travel the world together, - emancipated beings who never gave a thought to money, each contributing to - the other’s triumph. Fun! Yes. But unsettling. The life that he had always - planned was a kind of glorified Eden Row existence without the worries. He - thought of Jimmie Boy and Dearie, and all the quiet bonds of dependence - they had built up by living always in one place together. - </p> - <p> - His eyes went back to her letter. “You’ll come and see me, won’t you, - Meester Deek, if ever I become a great actress? And I shall.—Oh, did - I tell you? Horace is on his way over. I wonder what he and Fluffy will - do? Perhaps quarrel. Perhaps just dawdle.” - </p> - <p> - He was tempted to go to her; but she hadn’t really invited him. He felt - that she wouldn’t be his in her nomad setting. He couldn’t bear to have to - share her with these butterfly people who viewed love as a diversion, and - marriage as a catastrophe. - </p> - <p> - Sometimes he doubted whether he was as unhappy as he fancied. He searched - through books to prove to himself that his case was by no means solitary—that - it was the common lot of lovers. He became an admirer of the happy ending - in novels. He sought for fiction-characters upon whose handling of similar - situations he could pattern his conduct One writer informed him that the - secret of success in love was to keep a woman guessing; another, that with - blonde women a heated courting brought the best results, while with women - of a darker complexion a little coldness paid excellently. All this was - too calculating—too like diplomacy. He fell back on the advice of - Madame Josephine: “Don’t judge—try to understand. When a good man - tries to be fair, he’s unjust.” As an atonement for the disloyalty of his - research, he sent Desire a needlessly large box of flowers. - </p> - <p> - “It’s only two weeks, after all,” she had said. But the two weeks had come - and gone. All his plans were dependent on hers, and she seemed to be - without any. Already he was receiving inquiries from Eden Row as to when - he could be expected back. He could give no more definite answer than when - he had left; he procrastinated by enclosing press-cuttings and talking - vaguely about taking advantage of his American opportunities. His position - was delicate. He didn’t dare to use the argument with Desire that she was - his sole reason for remaining in New York; it would have seemed like - blackmailing her into returning. Meanwhile, since her letters arrived - regularly, he attributed her continued absence not to lack of fondness, - but to fear of facing up to a decision. He must do nothing to increase her - timidity. - </p> - <p> - On several occasions he visited Vashti. Each time other people were - present. He noticed that her eyes followed him with a curious expression - of amusement and compassion. At last one afternoon he found her alone. - </p> - <p> - She was curled up on the couch by the window, wearing a pale-blue peignoir - and a boudoir cap embroidered with tiny artificial roses. A novel lay face - downwards on the floor beside her, and she was playing with the silky ears - of Twinkles, who snuggled in her lap. As he entered, she reached out her - hand without rising and made a sign for him to sit beside her. - </p> - <p> - “Twinkles is lonely, too. Aren’t you, Twinkles? We’re all waiting for our - little mistress.” - </p> - <p> - She went on smiling and playing with the dog’s ears. Slowly she raised her - eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I can guess what you’re wishing. You’re wishing that I wore a little curl - against my neck and had a beauty-patch.” - </p> - <p> - “A beauty-patch that’s a sleep-walker,” he added. - </p> - <p> - She laughed softly. “And did she tell you that? I’ve been thinking about - you—expecting to hear any day that you were sailing to England.” - </p> - <p> - He shook his head. “I’m like Twinkles. I’m waiting.” - </p> - <p> - Vashti lifted herself from the cushions and gazed at him intently. “How - long are you prepared to wait?” - </p> - <p> - “D’you mean how long till she comes back?” - </p> - <p> - “No. For her. She’s young, Teddy, and she asks so much—so many - things that life’ll never give her. She’s got to learn. She may keep you - waiting a long, long while yet.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll wait.” He smiled confidently. - </p> - <p> - She leant forward and kissed him. “I’m glad. If you win, she’ll be worth - it.” - </p> - <p> - She went back to playing with Twinkles; he watched her in silence. - </p> - <p> - With her face averted she said: “At first you thought you had only to love - and she’d love you in return—wasn’t that it? With you to love her - has been a mission; that’s where you’re different from other men. Other - men start by flirting—they intend the run-away right up to the last - minute; then they find themselves caught But you—— It takes an - older woman than Desire to understand. You’re so impetuously in earnest, - you almost frighten her. You’re such a dreamer—the way you were - about the marriage-box. You always take a woman at her word; and a woman, - when she’s loved, means most by the things she leaves unsaid. What - happened to the marriage-box after you found me out?” - </p> - <p> - He blushed at the confession. “I burnt it.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah! Burnt me in effigy. That’s what Hal’s done, I expect. That’s where - men make mistakes; they’re so impatient. Often a woman’s love begins at - the point where a man’s ends. I wonder, one day will you get tired and do - something like that to her?” - </p> - <p> - He wanted to ask her whether her love had begun for Hal at the point where - his had ended; but he said, “I was a little boy, then.” - </p> - <p> - She took his hands and made him meet her eyes. “Little boys and men are - alike. Don’t wait at all, Teddy, unless you know you’re strong enough to - wait till she’s ready.” - </p> - <p> - “I am.” - </p> - <p> - “Easily said. A man once told me that. There came a time when I wanted him - badly; I turned round to give him all that he had asked; he was gone.” - </p> - <p> - She sank her voice. “Can you go on bearing disappointment without showing - anger? Can you go on being generous when she hides her kindness? You may - have to see her wasting her affection on all kinds of persons who don’t - know its value. She may stop away from you to punish herself—she - won’t tell you that; and perhaps all the time she’ll be longing to be with - you. That’s the kind of girl Desire is, Teddy; she leaves you to guess all - that’s best Can you stand that?” - </p> - <h3> - 280 - </h3> - <p> - He nodded. He couldn’t trust his voice to answer. - </p> - <p> - “Then, here’s a word of advice. Don’t let her see that you’re too much in - earnest.” She laughed, relieving the suspense. “Almost like the - wedding-service, wasn’t it?” - </p> - <p> - As he left, the last sight he had of her she was still sitting curled up - on the couch, in her pale-blue peignoir, with the sky behind her, playing - with the silky ears of Twinkles snuggled asleep in her lap. She, too, was - waiting. For whom? For what? - </p> - <p> - That night he wrote a letter to Hal; tore it up and rewrote it. Even then - he hesitated. At last he decided to sleep over the wisdom of sending it. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XI—THE KEYS TO ARCADY - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>f a sudden life - became glorious—more glorious than he had ever believed possible. It - commenced on the morning after he had written his letter to Hal. - </p> - <p> - He was seated in the white mirrored room of the Brevoort which looks out - on Fifth Avenue. From the kitchen came the mutter of bass voices, passing - orders along in French, and the cheerful smell of roasting coffee. - Scattered between tables, meditative waiters were dreaming that they were - artists’ models, each with a graceful hand resting on the back of a chair - in readiness to flick it out invitingly at the first sight of an - uncaptured guest. From the left arm of each dangled a napkin, betraying - that he had served his appenticeship in boulevard cafés of Paris. - </p> - <p> - Outside, at irregular intervals, green buses raced smoothly with a <i>whirr-whirr</i>, - which effaced during the moment of their passage the clippity-clap of - horses. Past the window, from thinning trees, leaves drifted. When they - had reached the pavement, the breeze stirred them and they struggled - weakly to rise like crippled moths. There was an invigorating chill in the - October air as though the sunshine had been placed on ice. Pedestrians - moved briskly with their shoulders flung back. They seemed to be smiling - over the great discovery that life was worth living, after all. - </p> - <p> - A boy halted under the archway and threw about him a searching glance. - Catching sight of Teddy, he hurried over and whispered. Teddy rose. In the - hall the telephone-clerk was watching. “Booth number three, Mr. Gurney.” - </p> - <p> - As he lifted the receiver he was still discussing with himself whether or - no he should send Hal that letter. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. It’s Mr. Gurney.” - </p> - <p> - A faint and unfamiliar voice answered—a woman’s voice, exceedingly - pleasant, with a soft slurring accent. It was a voice that, whatever it - said, seemed to be saying, “I do want you to like me.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t quite catch. Would you mind speaking a little louder?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - There was a laughing dispute at the other end; then the voice which he had - heard at first spoke again: - </p> - <p> - “This is Janice Audrey, Desire’s friend—Fluffy. Desire’s too shy to - phone herself, so I—— She’s here at my elbow. She says that - she’s not shy any longer and she’ll speak with you herself.” - </p> - <p> - It was as though he could feel her gray eyes watching. - </p> - <p> - A pause. Then, without preliminaries: “You can’t guess where I am. For all - you know, I might be dead and this might be my ghost.—No. Let me do - the talking. It’s long distance from Boston and expensive; I don’t know - how many cents per second. If you were here, I’d let you do the paying; - but since you’re not—— Here’s what I called up to tell you: - we’re coming in on the Bay State Limited at three o’clock.—I thought - you’d be interested. Ta-ta.” - </p> - <p> - He commenced a hurried question; she had rung off. - </p> - <p> - Adorably casual! Adorably because she contradicted herself. By calling him - up all the way from Boston she had said, “See how much I care.” By not - allowing him to speak, she had tried to say, “I don’t care at all.” It - amused him; the odd thing was that he loved her the more for her languid - struggles to escape him. He agreed with her entirely that the woman who - said “No” bewitchingly increased her value. As he finished his breakfast - he reflected: she was dearer to him now than a week ago, and much dearer - than on the drive from Glastonbury. Instead of blaming her for making - herself elusive, he ought to thank her. He’d been too headlong at the - start. He fell to making plans to take Vashti’s advice: he wouldn’t speak - to her of love any more—he’d try to hide from her how much he was in - earnest. - </p> - <p> - In his eagerness not to disappoint her, he had reached the Grand Central a - quarter of an hour too early. He was standing before the board on which - the arriving trains are chalked up, when from behind some one touched him. - </p> - <p> - “Seen you before. How are you? I expect we’re here on the same errand.” - </p> - <p> - He found himself gazing into the humorous blue eyes which had discovered - him playing tricks with his engine before the house in Regent’s Park. - </p> - <p> - “You’re Mr. Horace Overbridge, I think.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. I’m here to see <i>October</i> put on; that’s my new play in which - Miss Audrey is acting. What are you doing?” Then, because Teddy hesitated, - “Perhaps I oughtn’t to ask.” - </p> - <p> - At that moment the arrival-platform of the Bay State Limited was - announced; they drifted away at the tail of the crowd towards the barrier. - Teddy wanted to hurry; his companion saw it. “Heaps of time,” he laughed. - “If I know anything about them, they’ll be out last.” - </p> - <p> - His prophecy proved correct. The excited welcomes were over; the stream of - travelers had thinned down to a narrow trickle of the feeble or heavily - laden, when Desire, walking arm-in-arm with a woman much more beautiful - than her portraits, drew into sight behind the gates. After hats had been - raised and they knew that they had been recognized, they did not quicken - their pace. They approached still leisurely and talking, as much as to - say: “Let’s make the most of our opportunity before we sink to the level - of these male-creatures.” - </p> - <p> - Horace Overbridge, leaning on his cane, watched them with tolerant - amusement. “Take their time, don’t they?” he remarked. “One wouldn’t think - we’d both come three thousand miles to meet them. What fools men are!” - </p> - <p> - “Hulloa,” said Desire, holding out her hand gladly, “it’s good to see you. - So you two men have introduced yourselves! Fluffy, this is Mr. Gurney.” - </p> - <p> - It was arranged that the maid should be seen into a taxi to take care of - the luggage. When she had been disposed of, they crossed the street for - tea at the Belmont. Fluffy and Desire still walked arm-in-arm as though it - was they who had been so long separated. At the table Teddy found himself - left to talk to Fluffy; Desire and the man with the amused blue eyes were - engaged in bantering reminiscences of the summer. The game seemed to be to - pretend that you were not in love; or, if you were, that it was with some - one for whom actually you didn’t care a rap. - </p> - <p> - “Did it go well?” asked Teddy. - </p> - <p> - “Wonderfully.” - </p> - <p> - “I wish you’d tell me. Of course Desire wrote me; but I don’t know much.” - </p> - <p> - While she told him, he kept stealing glances at the others. He wondered at - what they were laughing; then he came to the conclusion that it wasn’t at - what was being said, but at the knowledge each had of the game that was in - the playing. He began to take notice of Fluffy. She had pale-gold hair—quantities - of it—a drooping mouth and eyes of a child’s clearness. She had a - way of employing her eyes as magnets. She would fix them on the person to - whom she talked so that presently what she said counted for nothing; - questions would begin to rise in the mind as to whether she was lonely, - why she should be lonely and how her loneliness might be dispelled. Then - her glance would fall away and she would seem to say: “I shall have to - bear my burden; you won’t help me.” After that all the impulse of the - onlooker was to carry her over rough places in his arms. Her voice sounded - as though all her life she had been petted; her face made you feel that, - however good people had been, she deserved far more. Why had Desire been - so positive that he wouldn’t like her? He did; or rather he would, if she - would let him. But he had the feeling that, while she was kind, she was - distrustful and had fenced herself off so that he could not get near her. - He had an idea that he had met her before; he recognized that grave - assured air of being worthy to be loved without the obligation of taking - notice of the loving. Then he spotted the resemblance, and had difficulty - to refrain from laughing. In her quiet sense of beautiful importance she - was like Twinkles. - </p> - <p> - “It’s wonderful,” she was saying; “I never had such a part. ‘Little girl,’ - Simon Freelevy said when he saw me, ‘little girl, you’ll take New York by - storm.’ And I shall.” She nodded seriously. “Simon Freelevy ought to know; - he’s the cleverest producer in America; I believe he was so pleased with - himself that he’d have kissed me if I hadn’t had my make-up on. And then, - you see, it’s called <i>October</i>, and we open in October. The idea’s - subtle; it may catch on.” - </p> - <p> - She spoke as though the play was a negligible quantity and any success it - might have would be due to her acting. Teddy caught the amused eyes of the - playwright opposite. He turned back to Janice Audrey. “What’s the plot?” - he asked. - </p> - <p> - “The plot! I’m the plot. You may smile, but I am.—I am the plot of - <i>October</i>—isn’t that so, Horace?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, Miss Audrey is the plot,” the playwright said gravely. “I have - nothing to do with it, except to draw my royalties.” He picked up the - thread of his conversation with Desire. - </p> - <p> - A puzzled look crept into Fluffy’s clear child’s eyes—a wounding - suspicion that she was being mocked. She put it from her as incredible. - </p> - <p> - “When I say I’m the plot, I mean I gave him the story. I told it to him in - a punt at Pangbourne this summer. It’s about a woman called October, who’s - come to the October of her beauty, but has spring hidden in her heart. - She’d loved a man excessively once, when she was young and generous; and - he hadn’t valued her love. After that she determined to wear armor, to - keep her dreams locked away in her heart and to leave it to the men to do - the loving. She becomes an actress, like me. Almost autobiography! At - last, when she realizes that her popularity depends on her beauty and she - hears the feet of the younger generation climbing after her—at last - he comes, the one wearing a smoke-blue corded velvet, trimmed with - gray-squirrel fur at the sleeves and collar. Her hat was the gray breast - of a bird and sat at a slant across her forehead. There was a flush of - color in her cheeks. Again the beauty-patch had wandered; it was on the - left of her chin now. As he watched, he felt the lack of something; then - he knew what it was. - </p> - <p> - “Why, what’s happened to your curl?” - </p> - <p> - She put her hand up to her neck and opened her eyes widely. “H’I sye, old - sort, yer don’t mean ter tell me as I’ve lost it?” - </p> - <p> - While he was laughing at this sudden change of personality, she commenced - searching her vanity-case with sham feverishness; to his amazement she - drew out the missing decoration. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, ’ere it is. You’re learnin’ h’all me secrets, dearie. It ain’t - wise. But, Lawd, ‘cause yer likes it and ter show yer ‘ow glad I am ter be - wiv yer——” - </p> - <p> - She deliberately pinned it into place behind her ear; it hung there - trembling, looking entirely natural. - </p> - <p> - Dropping her Cockney characterization, she bowed to him with bewitching - archness: “Do I look like Nell Gywnn now? I expect, if she were here for - an inquisitive person like you to ask, she’d tell you that hers were - false.” - </p> - <p> - He loved her for her honesty; if any one had told him a month ago that so - slight and foolish an action could have made him love her better, he would - have laughed them to scorn. - </p> - <p> - It was intoxicating—transforming. It was as though these - stone-palaces of Fifth Avenue fell back, disclosing magic woodlands—woodlands - such as his father painted through whose shadows pale figures glided. - People on the pavement were lovers, going to meetings which memory would - make sacred. Like Arcady springing out to meet him, the Park swam into - sight, tree-tufted, lagooned, embowered, canopied with the peacock-blue - and saffron of the sunset. - </p> - <p> - “It’s a pity,” Desire murmured, as though continuing a conversation, “that - they couldn’t have remained happy.” - </p> - <p> - “Who?” - </p> - <p> - “Those two. They were such good companions, till he began to speak of - love. I was with them all summer, wherever they went We used to talk - philosophy, and life, and—oh, everything. Then one day I wasn’t with - them; after that our happiness stopped.” - </p> - <p> - “But she must have known that he loved her before he told her.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course. That was what made us all so glad, because there was something - left unsaid—something secret and throbbing. It was all gone when - once it had been uttered.” - </p> - <p> - “It oughtn’t to have gone. It ought to have become bigger and better.” He - spoke urgently, hoping to hear her agree, “Yes. It ought.” - </p> - <p> - They were fencing with their problem, discussing it in parables of other - people’s lives. - </p> - <p> - “Why doesn’t she marry him?” he asked. “I expect I’ve been brought up to a - different set of standards, so I’m not criticizing; I’m trying to see - things from her angle. I’ve been brought up to believe that marriage is - what we were all made for; that it’s something gloriously natural and to - be hoped for; that to grow old unmarried is to be maimed, especially if - you’re a woman. All poetry and religion springs from motherhood; it’s the - inspiration of all the biggest painters. I never dreamed that there were - people who wilfully kept themselves from loving. I don’t know quite how to - express myself. But to see yourself growing up in little children has - always seemed to me to be a kind of immortality. There was a thing my - mother once said: that marriage is the rampart which the soul flings up to - guard itself against calamity. Don’t you think that’s true?” - </p> - <p> - “You put it beautifully. That’s the man’s view of it.” She smiled - broodingly; the plodding of the horse’s steps filled the pause. “When a - man asks a woman to marry him, he asks her to give up her freedom. Before - she’s married, she has the power; but afterwards—— When a man - tells her that he loves her, he really means that he wants to be her - master.” - </p> - <p> - “Not her master.” He had forgotten now that it was Fluffy they were - supposed to be discussing; he spoke desperately and his voice trembled. - “Women aren’t strong like men. They can’t stand alone and, unless they’re - loved, they lose half their world when their beauty’s gone. You say a - woman gives up her freedom, but so does a man. They both lose one kind of - freedom to get another. What he wants is to be allowed to protect her, to——” - </p> - <p> - “And what Fluffy wants is the right to fulfill herself,” she interrupted, - bringing the argument back to the point from which it started. “My - beautiful mother——” There she stopped. Their glances met and - dropped. He hadn’t thought of her mother. Everything that he had been - saying had been an accusation. “My beautiful mother——” She had - said it without anger, as though gently reminding him of the reason for - her defense. He felt ashamed; in uttering things that were sacred he had - been guilty of brutality. Would the shadow of Vashti always lie between - them when he spoke to her of love? - </p> - <p> - She came to the rescue. “You’ll think I haven’t any ideals; but I have.” - She laughed softly. “You men are like boys who make cages. Some one’s told - you that if you can put salt on a bird’s tail, you can catch it. Away you - go with your cages and the first bird you see, you start saying pretty - things to it and trying to creep nearer. It hops away and away through the - bushes and you follow, still calling it nice names. Presently it spreads - its wings and then, because you can’t reach it, you throw stones at it - That’s what Horace is doing to poor little Fluffy. He never ought to have - made his cage; if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have got angry.—But we’ve - not struck a happy subject, Meester Deek. Tell me, did you miss me much?” - </p> - <p> - It took one and a half times round the Park to tell her. That she cared to - listen was a proof to him that she wasn’t quite as interested in - preserving her freedom as she pretended. As he described his anxiety in - waiting for her letters, she made her eyes wide and sympathetic. Once or - twice she let her hands flutter out to touch him. He didn’t touch hers; it - was so important to hide from her how much he was in earnest. He mustn’t - do a thing that would startle her. - </p> - <p> - As darkness fell and her face grew indistinct, he found that he had less - difficulty in talking. Horsemen had disappeared. The procession of cars - and carriages was gone. They jingled through a No-Man’s-Land of whispering - leaves and shadows; lamps buoyed their passage like low-hanging stars. - </p> - <p> - Behind trees on a knoll, lights flashed. She pushed up the trap and spoke - to the driver: “Well stop here for dinner.” She turned to Teddy: “Shall - we? It’s McGown’s.” - </p> - <p> - He helped her out As they passed up the steps to the bungalow, he took her - arm and felt its shy answering pressure. In the hall she drew away from - him. - </p> - <p> - “Where are you going? Don’t go.” - </p> - <p> - “Only for a minute. Please, Meester Deek, I want to make myself beautiful - for you.” - </p> - <p> - “But I can’t spare a minute of you. I’ve lost you for so long.” - </p> - <p> - “Only one little minute,” she pleaded, “but if you don’t want me to be - beautiful——” - </p> - <p> - While she was gone he played tricks to make the time pass quickly. He - would see her returning by the time he had counted fifty; no, sixty; no, a - hundred. If he walked to the door and looked out into the Park, by the - time he turned round she would be waiting for him. At last she came—ten - minutes had elapsed; her eyes were shining. He guessed that she had - purposely delayed in order to spur her need of him. They seated themselves - by a window through which they could watch the goblin-eyes of automobiles - darting through the blackness, and the white moon climbing slowly above - tattered tree-tops. - </p> - <p> - She sat with her hand against her throat, gazing at him smilingly. - </p> - <p> - “What are you thinking, Princess?” - </p> - <p> - “Thoughts.” - </p> - <p> - “Won’t you tell me?” - </p> - <p> - “I was thinking that I say some very foolish things. I pretend to know so - much about life, and I don’t know anything. I borrow other people’s - disappointments—Fluffy’s, for instance. And then I talk to poor you, - as though you had disappointed me. I wish I were a little girl again, - asking you what it was like to have a father. D’you remember?—I - always wanted to have a father. Tell me about my father, please, won’t - you?” - </p> - <p> - His eyes had grown blurred. The witch-girl was gone. They had traveled - mysteriously back across the years to the old untested faiths and - loyalties. She had become his child-companion of the lumber-room days. On - her submissive lips, like parted petals, hovered the unspoken words: “I - love you. I love you.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t mean to make you sad,” she said gently, “so, if it’ll make you - sad to tell me——” Two fingers were spread against the comers - of her mouth to prevent it from widening into smiling. - </p> - <p> - “That’s what Mrs. Sheerug does when she doesn’t want to smile.” - </p> - <p> - When she asked him “What?” he showed her. - </p> - <p> - “Funny! The only time I saw her was when she fished me out of the pond - with her umbrella. She seemed a strict old lady. And there was a boy named - Ruddy; he was my cousin, wasn’t he? It’s a kind of romance to have a - father whom you don’t know. I sometimes think I’m to be envied. D’you - think I am, Meester Deek?—Ahl you don’t Never mind; tell me about - him.” - </p> - <p> - Then they fell to talking of Eden Row. He had to describe Orchid Lodge to - her and how he had first met her mother there, and had thought that she - had really meant to marry him. They got quite excited in building up their - reminiscences. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and you came to our house when my father, whom I didn’t know was my - father, was playing lions with me. And I ran to you for protection. When - Pauline took me away, I fought to get back to you and got slapped for it - You didn’t know that? Didn’t you hear me crying? Go on with what you were - saying. It’s fine to be able to remember. Don’t let’s stop.” - </p> - <p> - They were picking up the threads of each other’s lives and winding them - together. She told him about herself—how for long stretches, while - her mother had been on tour singing, she had been left in the care of - maids, and her favorite game had been to play that she was a great - actress. “And you’ll never guess why it was my favorite. I used to pretend - that my father was in the audience and came afterwards to tell me he was - proud of me. That’s why——— Do you think he would be - proud of me?” - </p> - <p> - “He’d be proud of you without that, wild bird.” - </p> - <p> - “Why do you call me wild bird, Meester Deek? But I know: because I’m - always struggling and flying beyond my strength. You think that, if I - became an actress, I wouldn’t succeed. You don’t believe in me very much. - I’ll have to show you—have to show you all. Everybody discourages - me.” - </p> - <p> - His heart was beating furiously. Where was the good of hiding things? She - knew he was in earnest “My dear,” he said, and a kind disapproval came - into her eyes, “I believe in you so much—more than in any woman. It - isn’t that; but I’m afraid that you’ll lose so many things that you’ll - some day want.” - </p> - <p> - “You mean that an actress oughtn’t to marry? That’s what Fluffy says—she - must be like a man and live for her art. If you married, you’d still go on - sketching and writing; but men expect their wives to drop everything. It’s - selfish of them and hard.” - </p> - <p> - “But it’s always been like that and you’re not an actress yet, and—and, - if you were, it would be terrible to think of you going through - love-scenes every night with some one else.” - </p> - <p> - She laughed into his eyes; he almost believed that her talk had been an - ambush to lead him on. “You could be very jealous.” - </p> - <p> - She rose from the table. When they were settled in the hansom, she - whispered: “Let me be little again, Meester Deek. Tell me abouts knights - and faeries, the way you did when you were only Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - “There was once a knight,” he began, “who dreamt always of a princess whom - he would marry. At last he found her, and she pretended that she didn’t - want him.” - </p> - <p> - “And did she?” - </p> - <p> - “She did at last The title of the story is <i>The Princess Who Didn’t Know - Her Heart</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Go on.” - </p> - <p> - “That’s all.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s very short.—That’s Miss Self-Reliance you’re holding, Meester - Deek. I don’t know whether she likes it.” And again she said in a drowsy - whisper, “I don’t know whether she likes it.” - </p> - <p> - They both fell silent, staring straight before them into the darkness. - </p> - <p> - “You don’t mind if I close my eyes, Meester Deek? I’m really tired.” - </p> - <p> - He answered her with a pressure of the hand. She drooped nearer. “You are - good to me.” - </p> - <p> - In a husky contented little voice, she began to sing to herself. It was a - darkie song about a pickaninny who had discovered that she was different - from the rest of the world because the white children refused to play with - her. To Teddy it seemed Desire’s pathetic way of explaining to him the - loneliness of her childhood. At the end of each verse the colored mammy - crooned comfortingly: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “So, honey, jest play in your own backyard, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Don’t mind what dem white chiles say.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - He stooped lower over her closed eyes and murmuring lips. She seemed aware - of him; she turned her face aside. He brushed her cool cheek and thrilled - to the touch of it. - </p> - <p> - He waited. She still sang softly with her eyes fast shut, as though - advising him: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “So, honey, jest play in your own backyard.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Over and over she hummed the line. He crept back into his place in the - darkness. - </p> - <p> - When they had drawn up before the apartment and he had jumped to the - pavement to help her out, she whispered reproachfully, “Meester Deek, you - did get out quickly.” Then, as they said good-by, “It’s been the nicest - time we’ve ever had.” - </p> - <p> - It was only after she had vanished that he asked himself what she had - meant, “You did get out quickly.” At the last moment was she going to have - kissed him, or to have given him her lips to kiss? And, “The nicest time - we’ve ever had”—did she know that he had been trembling to ask her - to marry him? - </p> - <p> - When he got back to the Brevoort he destroyed the letter he had written to - Hal. His optimism was aflame; soon he would have something better to write - him. He fell asleep that night with the coolness of her cheek upon his - lips. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XII—ARCADY - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>is first sensation - on awaking next morning was of that stolen kiss. All night he had been - dreaming of it. All night he had been conscious of the porcelain - smoothness of her hand held closely in his own. He closed his eyes against - the amber shaft of sunlight which streamed from the window across the - counterpane. He strove to recall those dreams; but the harder he strove - the dimmer grew the lamps in the haunted chamber of remembrance. He saw - vague shapes, which receded from him and melted. Since dreams failed him, - he flung wide the windows of imagination. - </p> - <p> - He saw himself walking with his arm about her, between pollarded trees - along a silver road. She clung against his breast like a blown spray of - lilac. Now he was stretched at her feet in the greenest of green meadows, - while above the curve of her knees her brooding smile watched him. He - pictured her, always in new landscapes of more than earthly beauty, - enacting a hundred scenes of uninterrupted tenderness. - </p> - <p> - The burden of his longing made him weary. Until he had kissed her, he had - had no real understanding of what love meant; she had been to him an idea—an - enchanting, disembodied spirit. Now she was white and warm, exquisitely - clothed with glowing flesh. It was not the magic cloak any longer, but - Desire herself, sweetly perverse and wilfully cold, that he worshiped. - </p> - <p> - How old he had become since last night, and yet how young! In kissing her - he had tasted of the Tree of Knowledge; from now on his thirst would grow - unquenchably till he knew her as himself. All that that knowledge might - mean passed before his mind in slow procession. Ominous as the rustle of - God’s feet in Eden, he could hear her humming her plaintive warning: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “So, honey, jest play in your own backyard.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - He threw back the clothes and jumped out. Such imaginings were not - allowed. But they returned. Like a snow-capped mountain in the dawning, - his manhood caught the rose-red glow of passion and trembled, a tower of - flame and ivory, above the imperiled valleys of experience. - </p> - <p> - As he dressed he molded the future to any shape he chose, rolled it into a - ball and molded it afresh. Now that he had kissed her, all things were - possible. His interest in all the world was quickened. His work and - success again became important. He thought of her thin little high-heeled - shoes, her dancing decorative way of walking, the costly frailty of her - dress. He would need money—heaps of it—to marry her. - </p> - <p> - It was half-an-hour later, while he sat at breakfast, that a small cloud - loomed on his horizon. It grew out of the sobering effect which comes of - being among everyday people. A doubt arose in his mind as to the propriety - of his last night’s actions. He’d whisked her away from the station - without letting her see her mother, and had brought her home late after - driving for hours through the darkness. Would Vashti consider him a safe - person after such behavior? He knew that Eden Row wouldn’t. But in - Desire’s company he lost sight of conventions in the absolute rightness of - their being together. Besides, as he knew to his cost, she was well able - to take care of herself. Strangers might think—— It didn’t - matter what they thought. Nevertheless, it was with some trepidation that - he approached the telephone and heard Vashti answer; “You brought my - baby-girl home rather late. I hope you had a good time.—Oh, no, I - didn’t mind; but I should have if it had been any one but Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - He wondered whether Desire had told her mother that he had kissed her. Did - girls tell their mothers things like that? - </p> - <p> - “May I speak with Desire?” - </p> - <p> - “She’s not here. Fluffy called with Mr. Overbridge just after you’d - brought her back. They took her out to supper. Desire slept with her last - night. I don’t know what plans she’s made for to-day.—Yes, I’ll ask - her to call you up.” - </p> - <p> - Fluffy again! He frowned. Overbridge hadn’t wanted her—that was - Fluffy’s doing; she had taken her for protection. He didn’t like to think - of Desire’s being put to such uses. He didn’t like to think of her being - made a foil to another woman’s ill-conducted love-affair. There was a lack - of system about not knowing where you were going to sleep up to within - five minutes of getting into bed. He felt chagrined that his imagination - had been wasted in picturing her thinking of him. He criticized Vashti for - the leniency of her attitude; it was proper, if bonds of affection were - worth anything, for a mother and daughter to be together after a three - weeks’ separation. For his own lack of consideration in keeping Desire - from her mother, there was some excuse; but for Fluffy’s—— The - thing that hurt most was that Desire should have been willing to telescope - the most exalted moment of his life into the next trivial happening, - allowing herself no time for reflection. - </p> - <p> - All that day he waited with trembling suspense to hear from her; it was - not until the following morning that she called him and arranged to go to - lunch. Almost her first words on meeting were, “I’ve thought it over.” - </p> - <p> - “Over! Was there anything?” - </p> - <p> - “Thieves must be punished. You mustn’t do it again.” Then, with a quick - uplifting of her eyes—so quick that the gray seas seemed to splash - over: “Come, Meester Deek, let’s forget and be happy.” - </p> - <p> - So he learnt that it was he who had done wrong—he who had to be - forgiven. Her forgiveness was offered so generously that it would have - been churlish to dispute its necessity. Besides, argument wasted time and - might lead to fretfulness. - </p> - <p> - In the weeks that followed a dangerous comradeship sprang up between them; - dangerous because of its quiet confidence, which seemed to deny the - existence of passion. Her total ignoring of the fact of sex made any - reference to it seem vulgar; yet everything that she did, from the - itinerant beauty-patch to the graceful frailty of her dress, was a silent - and provocative acknowledgment that sex was omnipresent. - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn’t dare to trust myself so much with any other man,” she told - him. - </p> - <p> - It was what Vashti had said: “Oh, no, I didn’t mind; but I should have if - it had been any one but Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - So he found himself isolated on a peak of chivalry, from which the old - sweet ways of love looked satyrish. Other men would have tried to hold her - hands. Given his opportunities, other men would have crushed their lips - against her sweet red mouth. Because she had proclaimed him nobler than - other men he refrained from any of these brutalities—and all the - while his mind was on fire with the vision of them. Instead, he put the - poetry of his passion into the parables of love that he told her. They - were like children in a forest, hiding from each other, yet continually - calling and making known their whereabouts out of fear of the forest’s - solitariness. - </p> - <p> - They showed their need of each other in a thousand ways which were more - eloquent than words. Every morning at ten promptly—ten being her - hour for rising—he phoned her. Sometimes he found her at Vashti’s - apartment, sometimes at Fluffy’s; at Fluffy’s there were frequently sleepy - sounds which told him that she was answering him from bed. This morning - conversation grew to be a habit on which they both depended. - </p> - <p> - It was a rare day when they did not lunch together. She would meet him in - the foyer of one of the fashionable hotels. They had special nooks where - they found each other—nooks known only to themselves. In the Waldorf - it was against a pillar at the end of Peacock Alley, opposite to the - Thirty-fourth Street entrance which is nearest to Fifth Avenue. In the - Vanderbilt it was a deep armchair, two windows uptown from the marble - stairs. In the same way they had their special tables; they got to know - the waiters, and often to please her he would order the table to be - reserved. He learnt that lavish tips and the appearance of wealth were the - Open Sesame to pleasures of which the frugality of Eden Row had never - dreamt. - </p> - <p> - She was invariably late to their appointments—or almost invariably; - if he counted on her lateness and arrived late himself, it would so happen - that she had got there early. Her instinct seemed to keep her informed, - even when he was out of her sight, as to what he was thinking and doing, - so that she was able to forestall him, thwart him, surprise him. He felt - that this was as it should be if she were in love. The contradiction was - that, though he loved her, his sixth sense never served him. When he had - calculated that this would be her early day and had arrived with ten - minutes in hand, he would watch for an hour the surf of faces washed in - through the revolving doors. As time passed, he would begin to conjecture - all kinds of dismal happenings; underlying all his conjectures was the - suspicion of unexpected death. Then, like a comforting strain of music, - she would emerge from the discord of the crowd and take his hand. In the - joy that she was still alive, he would hardly listen to her breathless - apologies. - </p> - <p> - In all his dealings with her there was this constant harassment of - uncertainty. She would never make an arrangement for a day ahead; he must - call her up in the morning—she wasn’t sure of her plans. He knew - what this meant: she wasn’t sure whether Fluffy would command her - attentions. Fluffy came first. He determined at all costs to supplant - Fluffy’s premiership in her affections. He had to prove to her, not by - talking, but by accumulated acts, how much his love for her meant. So he - never complained of her irresponsibility. She could be as capricious as - she chose; it never roused his temper. His reward was to have her pat his - hand and murmur softly, “Meester Deek, you are good to me.” - </p> - <p> - Through the blue-gold blur of autumn afternoons they would drift off to a - matinée or he would accompany her shopping. There was a peculiar intimacy - attaching to being made the witness of her girlish purchases. She would - take him into a millinery shop and try on a dozen hats, referring always - to his judgment. The assistant would delight him by mistaking him for her - husband. Desire would correct the wrong impression promptly by saying: “I - don’t know which one I’ll choose; I guess I’ll have to bring my mother.” - In the street she would confess to him that she’d done it for a lark and - hadn’t intended to buy anything. - </p> - <p> - “But why do they all—waiters and everybody—think that we’re - married?” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps because we were made for each other, and look it.” - </p> - <p> - She would twist her shoulders with a pretense of annoyance; her gray eyes - would become cloudy as opals. “That’s stupid. I’m so young—only - twenty.” - </p> - <p> - On one of these excursions she filled him with joy by accepting from him a - dozen pairs of silk-stockings. He was perpetually begging her to let him - spend his money on her and she was perpetually refusing. - </p> - <p> - “You tempt me, Meester Deek. What would people think?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know and don’t care. People be hanged. There aren’t any people—only - you and I alone in the world. How’d you like a new set of furs?” - </p> - <p> - “Now, do be good,” she would beg of him, eyeing the furs enviously. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know,” he told her, “whether you really mean no or yes.” - </p> - <p> - “And perhaps I don’t know myself,” she mocked him. - </p> - <p> - Later, when wild-flowers of the streets flamed in the hedges of the dusk, - they would again postpone their parting. Some new palace would magically - spring up to lure them. Then they would dine to music and she would insist - on acting the hostess and serving him; sometimes by seeming inadvertence - their hands would touch. They would dawdle over their coffee; like a - mother humoring a child full of fancies, at his repeated request she would - sweeten his cup with the lips that were forbidden him. They might sit on - all evening; they might stroll languorously off to find a new stimulus to - illusion in a theatre. Their evenings were intolerably fugitive. Before - midnight they would ride uptown through the carnival of Broadway, where - light foamed on walls of blackness like champagne poured across ebony. - </p> - <p> - At first he was inclined to be dissatisfied that he gained so little - ground: when he advanced, she retreated; when he retreated, she advanced. - If, to woo him back to a proper demonstrativeness, she had to display some - new familiarity, she was careful not to let it become a habit. - </p> - <p> - “The more stand-offish I am with you,” he said, “the more sweet you are to - me. Directly I start to fall in love with you again——” - </p> - <p> - “Again?” she questioned, with a raising of her brows. - </p> - <p> - “Again,” he repeated stubbornly. “Directly I do that, you grow cold. The - thing works automatically like a pair of scales—only we hardly ever - balance. When you’re up, I’m down. When I’m up, you’re down.” - </p> - <p> - “What charming metaphors you use,” she exclaimed petulantly; and then, - with swift tormenting compassion, “Poor Meester Deek.” - </p> - <p> - But his protestations worked no difference. One night, in crossing Times - Square, she said, “You may take my arm if you choose.” When an hour later - he tried to do it, she drew away from him, with, “I cross heaps of streets - without that.” Sometimes, driving home, she would unglove a temptress hand - and let it rest invitingly in her lap. At the first sign that he was going - to take it, it would pop like a rabbit into the warren of her muff. - </p> - <p> - At the moment of parting she became most fascinating; then, for an - instant, poignancy would touch her, making her humble. The dread - foreknowledge would creep into her eyes that even such loyalty as his - could be exhausted; the imminent fear would clutch her that one evening - there would be a final parting and the hope of a new dawn would bring no - hope of his returning. She would coax him to come up to the apartment; if - he consented, she would divert him by chattering to the astonished - elevator-boy in what she conceived to be French. She would slip her key - into the latch, calling softly: “Mother! Mother!” Sometimes Vashti would - come out from the front-room where she had been sitting in the half-light - with a man—usually a Mr. Kingston Dak. As often as not she would be - in bed. Like conspirators they would tiptoe across the passage. By the - piano, with her back towards him, she would seat herself and play softly - with one hand, “In the Gloaming, oh My Darling,” one of the few tunes - which she could strum without error. He would stand with his face hanging - over her shoulder, and they would both wonder silently whether he was - going to crush her to him. Just as he had made up his mind, she would - swing round with eyes mysterious as moonstones: “Meester Deek, let’s take - Twinkles out.” - </p> - <p> - So, leaving the apartment with its heavy atmosphere of sleepers, they - would seize for themselves this last respite. - </p> - <p> - Loitering along pale streets with the immensity of night brooding over - them, the world became wholly theirs and she again the haunting dream of - his boyhood. There was only the blind white eye of the moon to watch them. - Reluctantly they would come back to the illumined cave which was fated to - engulf her. - </p> - <p> - Their hands would come together and linger. Their lips would stumble over - words and grow dumb. - </p> - <p> - “And to-morrow?” he would falter. - </p> - <p> - “To-morrow!—Phone me.—It’s one of the nicest days we’ve ever - had.” - </p> - <p> - In a flash she would stoop to Twinkles, tuck the bundle of wriggling fur - beneath her arm, wave her hand and run lightly up the steps. - </p> - <p> - If he stayed, he would see her turn before entering the elevator, wave her - hand again and throw a last smile to him—a smile which seemed to - reproach him, to plead with him and to extend a promise. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIII—DRIFTING - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>hrough the red - flame-days of October she danced before him, a tantalizing heart of - thistledown. If she settled, it was always well ahead. When he came up - with her and stooped, thinking her capture certain, some new breeze of - caprice or reticence would sweep her beyond the reach of his grasp. - </p> - <p> - They discussed love in generalizations—in terms of life, literature - and the latest play. They discussed very little else. - </p> - <p> - “When I’m married———-” he would say. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” she would encourage him, snuggling her face against her white-fox - furs. - </p> - <p> - “When I am married, every day’ll be a new romance. I can live anywhere I - like—that’s the beauty of being an artist. I think I shall live in - Italy first, somewhere on the Bay of Naples. I and my wife” (how her eyes - would twinkle when he said that!), “I and my wife will dress up every - evening. We’ll have a different set of costumes for every night in the - week, and we’ll dine out in an arbor in our little garden. Sometimes - she’ll be a Dresden Shepherdess, and sometimes a Queen Guinevere, and - sometimes——-” - </p> - <p> - “And won’t she ever be herself?” - </p> - <p> - “She’ll always be that, with a beauty-patch just about where you wear - yours and a little curl bobbing against her neck.” - </p> - <p> - “But what’s the idea of so many costumes?” - </p> - <p> - “We shall never get used to each other; we shall always seem to be loving - for the first time—beginning all afresh.—Doesn’t it attract - you, Princess?” - </p> - <p> - “Me? I don’t see what I’ve got to do with it. Here’s the kind of woman - you’ll marry: a nice little thing without any ambitions, who’ll think - you’re a genius. You’ll live in one house forever and ever, and have a - large family and go to church every Sunday. And you’ll have a dead secret - that you’ll never be able to tell her, about a famous actress whom you - once romped with in New York before she was famous.” - </p> - <p> - She had a thousand ways of turning him aside from confession. - </p> - <p> - “Men are rotters—all men except you, Meester Deek. Poor little - Fluffy! Horace isn’t at all nice to her.” - </p> - <p> - It transpired on inquiry that Horace wasn’t at all nice to Fluffy because - she was dividing her leisure between himself and Simon Freelevy. - </p> - <p> - “You see, she must,” Desire explained. “It’s business. <i>October</i> - isn’t the success they expected—it’s too English in its atmosphere. - If Freelevy likes her, he can put her into his biggest productions. Horace - won’t understand that it’s business. He sulks and makes rows. That’s why I - go about with her so much—her little chaperone, she calls me. Men - have to be polite and can’t take advantage when a young girl is present.” - </p> - <p> - “But what does she give them in return?” Teddy asked. - </p> - <p> - Desire became cold. “Any man should feel proud to be seen in her company.” - </p> - <p> - Her way of saying it made him feel that all women were queens and all men - their servitors. His idea that love-affairs ended in marriage seemed - rustic and adolescent. To be seen in the company of a pretty face was all - the reward a man ought to expect for limousines, late suppers, tantalized - hopes and the patient devotion of an honorable passion. He couldn’t bear - that Desire should class herself with the nuns of pleasure, who dole out - their lure as payment, and have blocks of ice where less virtuous women - have hearts. In her scornful defense of Fluffy, she seemed to be building - up a case for herself. - </p> - <p> - In the last extremity, when a proposal of marriage threatened, she - employed a still more effective weapon. - </p> - <p> - “Look here, Meester Deek, I like you most awfully and we’ve had some - splendid times, but why are you stopping in America?” - </p> - <p> - He would gaze into her eyes dumbly, thinking, “Now’s my chance.” - </p> - <p> - His hesitancy would infect her with boldness. “If it’s for my sake, I’m - not worth the trouble. I think you’d better go back to England. The <i>Lusitania’s</i> - sailing tomorrow.” - </p> - <p> - Piqued by her assumed indifference, he would pretend to take her at her - word: “Perhaps I had better. Would you come to see me off?” - </p> - <p> - “Maybe.” - </p> - <p> - “And kiss me good-by?” - </p> - <p> - “If I felt like it.” - </p> - <p> - “Then it’s almost worth going.” - </p> - <p> - “Why don’t you?” - </p> - <p> - Once he gave her a fright They were passing The International Sleeping Car - Company on Fifth Avenue. “I think I will,” he said lightly. - </p> - <p> - Entering, he made a reservation and paid the deposit money. During the - next hour she was so sweet to him, so sad, that they raced back through - the thickening night, arriving just as the last clerk was leaving, and - canceled the booking. - </p> - <p> - “Did you mean it?” she whispered. - </p> - <p> - “Well, didn’t I?” - </p> - <p> - “But do tell me,” she pleaded. “If you don’t, I shall never be at rest.” - </p> - <p> - He slipped his arm into hers without rebuff. “Odd little, dear little - Princess, was it likely?” - </p> - <p> - After that, when in this mood of self-effacement, she would insist without - fear of being taken seriously that he should sail. - </p> - <p> - “If you don’t, I’ll refuse to see you ever again. But,” she would add, - “that’s only if you really are stopping here on my account.” - </p> - <p> - To relieve her conscience of responsibility he would lie like a corsair, - bolstering up the fiction that business was his sole reason for remaining. - </p> - <p> - “Then, it’s your funeral, isn’t it?” - </p> - <p> - “My funeral,” he echoed solemnly. - </p> - <p> - The Indian summer sank into a heap of ashes from which all heat was spent. - November looked in with its thin-lipped mornings and its sudden - pantherlike dusks. Still they wandered, separate and yet together, from - the refuge of one day to the next, establishing shrines of habit which - made them less and less dispensable to each other’s happiness. She was - always darting ahead into the uncertain shadows, hiding, and springing out - that she might test his gladness in having refound her. - </p> - <p> - Each new day was an exquisite wax-statue which by night had melted to - formlessness in his hands. He made repeated resolutions to organize his - energies. He lived im-paradised in a lethargy of fond emotions. His career - was at a halt; his opportunities were slipping from him. To encourage his - industry he drew up a chart of the hours in the current month that he - would work. He pinned it to the wall above his desk that it might reproach - him if he fell below his average. The average was never reached. The chart - was tom up. His most stalwart plans were driven as mist before the breath - of her lightest fancy. Not that she encroached on him by deed or word; but - her memory was a delirium which kept him always craving for her presence. - </p> - <p> - “If you were to drop me to-morrow,” she told him, “you’d never hear from - me. I’m like that. I shouldn’t run after you.” - </p> - <p> - She left him to place his own construction on the statement—to - discover its origin in nobility or carelessness. Whichever it was, it made - him the needle while she remained the magnet. When he wasn’t with her, he - was waiting for her; so the hours after midnight, when he had seen her - home, were the only ones free from feverishness. His work suffered; he - stole from the hours when he ought to have been in bed. He began to - suspect that he was losing his confidence of touch. The suspicion was - sharply confirmed when one of his commissioned articles came back with the - cryptic intimation that it wasn’t exactly what the editor had expected. - That meant the loss of five hundred dollars; what was worse, it filled him - with artistic panic. - </p> - <p> - In the old days—the days of <i>Life Till Twenty-one</i>—fame - had been the goal of his ambitions. He had set before his eyes, as though - it were a crucifix, the austere aloofness of his father’s pure motives. He - couldn’t afford to do that any longer. He was spending lavishly; the - example of the extravagance of Fluffy’s lovers spurred his expenditures. - He didn’t care how he won Desire’s admiration; win it he must. - Unconsciously he was trying to win it with a display of generosity. Dimly - he foresaw that he was doing her an injustice; he would have to cut down - and recuperate the moment they were married. In preparation he painted to - her the joys of simplicity and of life in the country. Her curl became - agitated with merriment. - </p> - <p> - “That isn’t the way I’ve been brought up. Cottages don’t have bathrooms, - and the country’s muddy except in summer. It wouldn’t suit me. And I do - like to wear silk.” Then, with a shudder: “Poverty’s so ugly. There’s only - one thing worse, and that’s growing old. Please, Meester Deek, let’s talk - of something else.” - </p> - <p> - She was like a child, stopping her ears with her fingers and pleading, - “Please don’t tell me any more ghost-stories.” He felt sorry for her; at - such times she seemed so inexperienced and young. By her misplaced - valuations, she was giving life such power to hurt her. Her sophistication - seemed more apparent than real—a disguise for her lack of knowledge. - He wanted to comfort her against old age. If one were loved, neither - poverty nor growing old mattered. He thought of Dearie and the way she had - married his father, with their joint affection and her high belief in him - for their sole assets. - </p> - <p> - There were times when Desire seemed to guess his problem. - </p> - <p> - “I wish you’d do more work. Why don’t you leave me alone to-morrow? And - you oughtn’t to keep on spending and spending. I’d be just as happy if you - spent less.” - </p> - <p> - The joy of her thoughtfulness gave him hope and made him the more - reckless. Besides, it wasn’t possible to economize in her company. Her - fear of the subway and her abhorrence of crowded surface-cars made taxis a - continual necessity. Her shoes were so thin that a mile of walking tired - her; her clothes were so stylish that she would have looked conspicuous in - any but a fashionable setting. Her method of dress, in which he delighted, - limited them both to costly environments. He had named her rightly years - ago in calling her “Princess.” - </p> - <p> - Vashti puzzled him. She seemed to avoid him. When he visited the apartment - she was out, just going out or expected back shortly. He had fugitive - glimpses of her hurrying off to concert engagements, or going on some - pleasure jaunt with the unexplained Mr. Dak, similar to those which he and - Desire enjoyed together. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Kingston Dak was a little grasshopper of a man. He had lemon-colored - hair, white teeth, extremely well-kept hands and was nearly forty. His - littleness was evidently a sore point with him, for the heels of his shoes - were built up like a woman’s. He held himself erectly and when others were - seated he usually remained standing. He seemed to be always in search of - something to lean against which would enable him to tiptoe unobtrusively - and to add another inch to his stature. He was clean-shaven, and in - appearance shy and boyish; he would have looked excellently well in - clerical attire. By hobby he was an occultist; by profession a - stockbroker. His chief topic of conversation was the superiority of - Mohammedanism to Christianity. - </p> - <p> - Desire called him “King” familiarly; Vashti referred to him as “My little - broker.” Although in his early twenties he had been divorced and tattered - by the thorns of a disastrous passion, neither of them seemed to regard - him as dangerously masculine. They treated him as a maiden-aunt—as a - pale person receiving affection in lieu of wages, expected to safeguard - their comfort and to slip into a cupboard when he wasn’t wanted. - </p> - <p> - “King’s quite nice,” Desire told Teddy; “he was most awfully fond of her. - His troubles have made him so understanding.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy wondered what had happened to the world that all its women had - become Vestal Virgins and all its men unassailable St. Anthonies. He - watched Mr. Dak for any sign that he remembered the days of his flesh. The - little man was as perfunctory over his duties as a well-trained lackey. - </p> - <p> - Vashti’s bearing towards himself during their brief meetings was - affectionately sentimental. There was a hint of the proprietary in the way - she touched him, as though she regarded him already as her son. Her eyes - would rest on him with veiled inquiry; she never put her question into - words. She was giving him his chance, and he felt infinitely grateful to - her—so grateful that he was blind to the unexplained situations - which surrounded her. That she should allow his unchaperoned relations - with Desire endowed her with broadmindedness. “Unto the pure all things - are pure,” seemed the maxim on which she acted. In accepting that ruling - for his own conduct, he had to extend the same leniency to Mr. Dak’s. - </p> - <p> - Desire stretched it a point further and made it apply to herself. He found - that frequently after he had said “Good-by” to her at close on midnight, - Fluffy would call with a car and carry her off to make a party of three at - supper, or sometimes to join a larger party—mostly of men—in - her apartment. He remonstrated with her: “It’s all very well for an - actress; but I hate to think of you mixing with all kinds of people whose - standards are just anyhow, and playing ’gooseberry’ for two people - older than yourself.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t see that you can complain,” she laughed. “If my standards weren’t - theatrical and if I were the kind of girl who sees evil in everything, you - wouldn’t be allowed to go about with me so much.” - </p> - <p> - There was his dilemma in a nut-shell. In joining the ranks of the - superiorly pure, he was pledged to see purity everywhere. Divorces were - pure. Nobody was to blame for anything. People ought to be sympathized - with, not punished, when they got into trouble. He seemed to have made lax - conventions his own by taking advantage of them for facilitating his - courtship. It would look like hypocrisy to disapprove of them after - marriage. It was very jolly, for instance, to hear her whisper in the - jingling secrecy of a hansom, “Meester Deek, please light me a cigarette.” - Very jolly to convey it from his lips to hers, and to watch the red glow - of each puff make a cameo of her face against the blackness. But—— - And that <i>but</i> was perpetually walking round new corners to confront - him—if she were his wife, would the sight of her smoking afford him - such abiding happiness? She had taunted him with being a King Arthur. In - the presence of her emotional tolerance, which found excuses for - everything and ostracized nobody, his sense of propriety seemed a lack of - social charity. He guessed the reason for her continual plea that people - should be forgiving—her mother. The knowledge silenced his - criticisms and roused his compassion. - </p> - <p> - Two moods possessed him alternately: in the one he despised himself as an - austere person, in whom an undue restraint of upbringing had dammed the - stream of youth, so that it lay alone and unruffled as a mountain-tarn; in - the other he saw himself as a man with a chivalrous duty. - </p> - <p> - Little by little he came to see that her faery lightheartedness, her - faculty for taking no thought for the morrow, made her an easy prey for - the morrow. Her ease in acquiring new friendships made friendship of small - value. - </p> - <p> - Her butterfly Sittings from pleasure to pleasure left her without - garnerings. She lived, he calculated, at the rate of at least five - thousand dollars per annum. But different people paid for it; she - contributed as her share her gay well-dressed schoolgirl self. The chances - were that she rarely had a five-dollar bill in her purse, and yet she was - accustoming herself to extravagance. - </p> - <p> - He began to watch her friends. When he ran over the list of them, he found - that they were all temporary, held by the flimsiest bonds of common - knowledge. They had been met at hotels, in pensions, on transatlantic - voyages. A good many of them were divorced or unattached persons. They - were all on the wing; none of them seemed to comply with any settled code - of morals. The more he saw of her, the more aghast he became at the - precariousness of her prosperity. Some day these friends, who could - dispense with her for months together, would happen all to dispense with - her at the same moment Then the telephone, which was her wizard summons to - dinners, balls, and motor-parties, would suddenly grow silent. She would - wait and listen; and listen and wait; her round of gayeties would be - ended. Perhaps this thirst for the insubstantial things of life was a part - of the price which Hal had mentioned. Did she know it? Winged creature as - she was, she must covet the security of a nest sometimes, though, while - she was without it, she affected to despise it as dullness. - </p> - <p> - When he married her—— He became lost in thought - </p> - <p> - If they went on living as they were living now, his career would be torn - to shreds by her unsatisfied energy. They would have to settle down. In - putting up with any irritations that might result, he’d be helping her to - pay the penalty—the penalty which Vashti had imposed on so many - lives—on her own most of all—by her early selfishness. - Towering above his passion and mingling with it oddly, was the great - determination to save her from the ruinous lightness to which her mother’s - undefined social position had committed her. - </p> - <p> - She was fully aware of the unspoken strictures which lent melancholy to - his ardor. - </p> - <p> - “You think I’m a silly little moth. I know you do. I’m pyschic. You think - I’m fluttering about a candle and that my wings’ll get scorched. Just you - wait. I’ll have to show you.” - </p> - <p> - Or she would say, leaning out towards him, “I wonder what it is that you - like about me, Meester Deek. There are so many things you don’t like, - though you never tell me. You don’t like my powdering, or my smoking - cigarettes, or—oh, such lots of things. But where’s the harm? And - there’s another thing you won’t like—I’m going to dye my hair to - auburn.” - </p> - <p> - This threat, that she would dye her hair, led to endless conversations. It - made him bold to tell her how pretty she was, which was exactly what she - wanted. - </p> - <p> - Sometimes she was sweetly grown up, preparing him for disillusionment; but - it was when she was little that he loved her best Then she would give him - the most artless confidences; telling him about her religion, how she - prayed for him night and morning, and of her longings to know her father. - She would plead with him to tell her about Orchid Lodge and Mrs. Sheerug, - and Ruddy, and Harriet She came to picture the old house as if she had - lived there, and yet she was never tired of hearing the old details - afresh. Orchid Lodge became a secret between them—one of their many - secrets, like the name she had given him. And still they drifted - undecided. - </p> - <p> - Then the series of events happened which forced their love to its first - anchorage. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIV—THE TRIFLERS GROW EARNEST - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>ight was tremulous - with the beat of wings. The first snow of the season was falling, giving - to familiar streets a theatric look of enchanted strangeness. Large flakes - sailed confidently as descending doves; little ones came in flurries like - a storm of petals. Perhaps boy-angels in heavenly orchards were shaking - the blossoms with their romping. Teddy glanced at the girl beside him; it - seemed that an all-wise providence had sent the snow especially as a - background for her. - </p> - <p> - They were returning from the final performance of <i>October</i>. They had - been behind the scenes with Fluffy, where friends had been drugging her - melancholy with the assurance that, whatever might be said of the play, - her acting had scored a triumph. - </p> - <p> - The illusion of the footlights followed them. Streets were a new - stage-setting in which they had become the dominant personalities. The - shrieking of motor-horns above the din of traffic seemed the agonized cry - of defeated lovers, divided in a chaos of misunderstandings. - </p> - <p> - As they drove up Broadway Desire crouched with her cheek against the pane. - She was trying to make out the hoardings on which the name of Janice - Audrey was featured in large letters. While she performed her ritual at - each vanishing shrine, Teddy sat unheeded. - </p> - <p> - Her saint-like hands were clasped against her breast. Her face hung palely - meditative, a shadow cast upon the dusk. She filled the night with - fragrance. The falling flakes outside seemed to kiss her hair in passing. - </p> - <p> - He could only imagine the old-rose shade of the velvet opera-cloak that - hid her from him. Her white-fox furs lay across her shoulders like drifted - snow. He ached intolerably to take her in his arms. - </p> - <p> - Her eyes were turned away. He could only see the faint outline of her - cheek and the slender curve of her girlish neck. She threw out remarks as - they traveled—remarks which called for no answer and expected none. - </p> - <p> - “Horace’ll have to own now that she was wise in cultivating other - friendships. Poor old Horace!—And all those bills will be covered up - to-morrow with some new great success. Such is fame!—Fluffy’s so - discouraged.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you think that was true?” - </p> - <p> - “What?” Her question was asked lazily, more out of politeness than - curiosity. - </p> - <p> - “That <i>October</i> was her autobiography?” - </p> - <p> - “Partly. Artistic people like to think themselves tragic. You do. I’ve - noticed.” - </p> - <p> - “I think it was.” He refused to be diverted. “I think it was real tragedy. - She’s given up so much for fame; it’s brought her nothing.” - </p> - <p> - Desire laughed quietly. “The old subject. I knew where you were going the - minute you started. It’s like a hat that you want to get rid of; you hang - it on every peg you come to. No, I’m not meaning to be unkind; but you do - amuse me, Meester Deek.—Fluffy’s very much to be envied.” - </p> - <p> - “Why?” - </p> - <p> - “She’s beautiful.” - </p> - <p> - “So are you. But being beautiful isn’t everything. Being loved is the - thing that satisfies.” - </p> - <p> - “Does it? And loving too, I expect. But you see I don’t know: I’ve never - loved.” - </p> - <p> - “You won’t let yourself love.” He spoke the words almost inaudibly. - </p> - <p> - They both fell silent. She still bent forward, her head and shoulders - silhouetted against the pane. Her lack of response made his passion seem - foolishness. - </p> - <p> - During the weeks of enforced friendship the physical bond between them had - been growing more compelling. - </p> - <p> - It was only in crowded places that her actions acknowledged it; when they - were by themselves her reticence announced plainly, “Trespassers will be - prosecuted.” Then she became forbidding; but her sudden gusts of coldness, - her very inaccessibility, only added the more to her attraction. He told - himself that women who left men nothing to conquer were not valued. He - found himself filled with overpowering longings to defy her attempts to - thwart him. His mind seethed with pictures of what might happen. He saw - himself pressing those hands against his lips, kissing her eyes or her - slender neck, where the false curl danced and beckoned. Would this pain of - expectancy never end? Did she also suffer beneath her pale aloofness? - </p> - <p> - With the high-strung sensitiveness of the lover, he began to suspect that - his procrastination piqued her. Sometimes he fancied that even Vashti - criticized his delay in announcing his intentions. He dreaded lest Desire - should think that he was flirting. But why didn’t she help him? Did girls - ever help their lovers? She increased his difficulties at every - opportunity. Shyness, perhaps! Time and again when he had nerved himself - to the point of proposing, she had struck him dumb with a languid - triviality or flippancy of gesture. - </p> - <p> - But to-night it would be different The enchantment of the snow tingled in - his blood. The warning of the woman who had procrastinated so long that - she had lost her sincerity, spurred him to confession. Surely to-night, if - ever—— - </p> - <p> - His hand set out on a voyage of discovery. It slipped into her muff and - found her fingers. - </p> - <p> - She shuddered. It was as though a chill had struck her. “What are you - doing? You’re queer to-night. Funny.” - </p> - <p> - He had no words in which to tell her. He was terribly in earnest. Hammers - were pounding in his temples. His face was twitching. The darkness choked - him. - </p> - <p> - He drooped closer. His lips brushed her furs. She sat breathless. His lips - crept higher and touched her hair. - </p> - <p> - “No, please.” Her voice was shaky and childish. “Not now. I—I don’t - feel like it.” - </p> - <p> - He drew back. Though she had denied him, their hands clung together. Hers - lay motionless, like the beating heart of a spent bird that has lost the - strength to save itself. The power that he knew he had over her at that - moment made him feel like a ruffian who had lain in ambush and taken her - unaware. - </p> - <p> - “Shall I let it go?” he whispered. - </p> - <p> - For answer the slim fingers nestled closer. - </p> - <p> - “Meester Deek, you were never in love before, were you?” - </p> - <p> - “Never.” - </p> - <p> - “Very wonderful. I thought not. You don’t act like it.” - </p> - <p> - “And you, Princess?” - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” She smiled mysteriously. “There was a boy who asked permission to - marry me once. It was just after I’d put up my hair. I was only fifteen, - but I looked just as old as I do now. He told mother that he’d saved fifty - dollars, and that he wanted to start early so as to raise a large family. - Very sweet and domestic of him, wasn’t it?” - </p> - <p> - “But that wasn’t serious.” - </p> - <p> - “No, not serious, you poor Meester Deek; but it makes you jealous.—And - there were others.” - </p> - <p> - “How many?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, dozens. I’ve always had some one in love with me, ever since I can - remember. That’s why I gave names to my hands.” - </p> - <p> - “Then no one ever held them before?” - </p> - <p> - “I shouldn’t say that. But almost no one. I used to let Tom hold them when - he wouldn’t stop drizzling. Tom was different; he was a kind of brother.” - </p> - <p> - “And what am I?” - </p> - <p> - “I’ve often wondered.” Her brows drew together. “You’re a kind of friend, - and yet you’re not.” - </p> - <p> - “More than a friend?” - </p> - <p> - They were halting. She freed her hand and stroked his face daringly. - “You’re Meester Deck. Isn’t that enough? Some one whom I love and trust.” - </p> - <p> - She threw the door open. On the point of jumping out, she hesitated. “The - pavement’s so slushy. Whatever shall I do with my thin shoes and all?” - </p> - <p> - “Let me carry you.” - </p> - <p> - As his arms enfolded her, she stiffened. For a moment there was a - rebellious struggle. Then her arm went about his neck and her face sank - against his shoulder. - </p> - <p> - How light she was! How little! How unchanged from the child-Desire of the - woodland! - </p> - <p> - “D’you remember the last time?” he whispered. “It’s years since I’ve done - it.” - </p> - <p> - “Not your fault,” she laughed. “You’d have done it often and often, if I’d - allowed you. I guess you wish it was always snowing.” - </p> - <p> - The distance was all too short. He would have carried her across the - lighted foyer, into the elevator, up to the apartment. He didn’t mind who - stared at him. He would have gone on holding her thus forever. As they - reached the steps she slipped from his arms. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you big, strong man!” Her gray eyes were dancing; a faint flush - spread across her forehead. “I do hope nobody saw us.” He was stealing his - arm into hers. She turned him back. “Forgetful! You haven’t paid the - taxi.” - </p> - <p> - After he had paid, he searched round for her. She had gone. It was the - first time she had done it; she always waited for him. So she knew what - was coming! By her flight she was lengthening by a few more minutes their - long uncertainty. In the quiet of the dim-lit room, with the snow gliding - past the window, each separate flake tiptoeing like a faery, he would tell - her. But would he need to tell her? She would be waiting for him, her face - drooping against her shoulder, looking sweet and weary. She would be like - a tired child, its mischief forgotten, ready to stretch out its arms and - snuggle in his breast. All that need be said would come in broken phrases—phrases - which no one but themselves could understand. And then, after that—— - She might cry a little. When they were married, perhaps Hal—— - </p> - <p> - He waited till the elevator had descended before he tapped. Probably she - was listening for him, fearing and yet hoping for the pressure of his arms - and all the newness that they would begin together. He would read in her - eyes the writing of surrender—the same writing that he had read on - the dusty panes of childhood, “I love you. I love you.” - </p> - <p> - He tapped; he tapped more loudly. The door was opened ty Mr. Dak. “Hulloa! - Come in.” - </p> - <p> - “Where’s Desire?” - </p> - <p> - “In her room getting ready.” - </p> - <p> - “Ready? For what?” - </p> - <p> - They entered the dim-lit room where the most splendid moment of life - should have been happening. - </p> - <p> - “Didn’t you know?” Mr. Dak appeared not to notice his emotion. “Everybody - else knew. There’s a supper-party to Miss Audrey. Just the six of us.” - </p> - <p> - They fell to making conversation. Mr. Dak did most of the talking. Teddy - found himself agreeing to the statement that Christianity was a colossal - blunder, and that Mohammedanism was the only religion worth the having. He - would have agreed to anything. As he listened for Desire’s footstep, he - nodded his head, saying, “Yes. Of course. Obviously.” All the while he was - aware of the embarrassed kindness that looked out from the eyes of the - little man. Somewhere, in the silence of his brain, a voice kept - questioning, “Mr. Dak, are you in love with Vashti? Does she laugh at you - when you try to tell her? Do you wish the world was pagan because then - you’d be her lord and master?” - </p> - <p> - “In the Mohammedan faith,” Mr. Dak was saying, “a woman’s hope of - immortality lies in merging her life with a man’s.” - </p> - <p> - Then he set himself to criticize pedantically the breakdown of the - Christian ideal of marriage. - </p> - <p> - The door-bell rang. Fluffy and Horace entered. The sparkle of laughter was - in their eyes. They brought with them an atmosphere of love-making. As - Horace helped her out of her sables, his hands loitered on her shoulders - caressingly. - </p> - <p> - She turned to the others with the sad little smile of one who summons all - the world to her protection. She looked extremely beautiful and lavish, - with her daffodil-colored hair floating like a cloud above her blue, - hypnotic eyes. “I’m so depressed. I do hope you’ll cheer me. Fancy having - to learn a new part and to worry with rehearsals, and then to go on the - road again.” She sat down on the couch, her hands tucked beneath her, her - arms making handles for the vase of her body. “I wish I wasn’t an actress. - I wish I were just a wife in a dear little house—a sort of nest—with - a kind man to take care of me. Only——” She glanced at Horace. - “Only I never met the always kind man.” - </p> - <p> - “Women never know their own minds,” said Horace. “A law ought to be passed - to compel every woman who’s loved to marry.” - </p> - <p> - At supper Desire’s place was empty. Teddy turned to Vashti and whispered, - “Where is she? Isn’t she coming?” - </p> - <p> - Vashti looked at him with her slow, comprehending smile. “She’s coming. - But she’s thinking. I wonder what about.” - </p> - <p> - At that moment Desire entered and slipped into the vacant chair beside - him. All through the meal as the atmosphere brightened, she sat silent. - She seemed to be doing her best not to notice that he was there. - </p> - <p> - The talk turned on women and what men thought of them. - </p> - <p> - “Men may think what they like, but they never know us,”. Fluffy said. - “Love’s a game of guess-work and deception. Half the time when a man’s - blaming a woman for not having married him, he ought to be down on his - knees thanking her for having spared him. She knows what she is, and she - knows what he is. He doesn’t. Men invariably confuse friendship with - matrimony. They can’t understand how women can enjoy their company and yet - couldn’t fancy them as husbands.” - </p> - <p> - Desire woke up. “And the worst of it is that sometimes we women can’t - understand ourselves.” - </p> - <p> - “Some men can.” Vashti glanced at Mr. Dak, whom she had so often praised - for his understanding. Mr. Dak returned her gaze as non-committingly as a - Buddhish idol. Horace leant forward across the table. The gleam of - tolerant amusement was never absent from his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “You ladies are all talking nonsense, and you know it. Even little Desire - over there knows it. Directly you begin to like a man you begin to think - of marriage—only some of you begin to think of running away from it - ‘Between men and women there is no friendship possible. Passion, enmity, - worship, love, but no friendship’—you remember Lord Darlington’s - lines. When love is trifled with, it sours into hatred. Every man who - loves a woman has his moments when he hates her intensely.” - </p> - <p> - “Did you ever hate me?” Fluffy covered his hand to insure the answer she - required. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. And you’ve hated me. Desire could tell just how much if she dared. - You women all discuss your love-affairs. You’re fondest of a man when he’s - absent. When he’s present, you never confess.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy sat quietly listening. He thought how silly these people were to - talk so much and to love so little. Life was going by them; none of them - had begun to live yet They were like timid bathers at the seaside, who - splashed and paddled, but never really got wet. They wouldn’t learn to - swim for fear of getting drowned. He wished he could take them to a house - in Eden Row, where a man and woman were living bravely and accepting hard - knocks as things to be expected. While he listened, he watched Desire, - wondering what ghostly thoughts were wandering behind her wistful eyes. - </p> - <p> - Chairs were pushed back. They were leaving the room. Fluffy turned to meet - him in the doorway. Her arm was about Desire. She hung her head, glancing - searchingly from one to the other. - </p> - <p> - “We’re a pack of fools,” she whispered intensely. “Don’t you listen to - us.” She took Teddy’s hand and hesitated at a loss for words. With a - sudden gust of emotion she kissed him. “Little Desire, why don’t you marry - him? He looks at you so lovingly and sadly.” - </p> - <p> - “Marry him!” Desire faltered. “I don’t know. But we’re very fond of each - other, aren’t we, Teddy?” - </p> - <p> - It was the first time she had called him that. The babies came into her - eyes; she broke from Fluffy and ran down the passage. From a safe distance - she called laughingly, “I won’t have you hanging about with my beau. - You’ll be kissing him again; and I won’t have you kissing him when I’m not - present.” - </p> - <p> - In the room which overlooked the Hudson, Vashti was playing. For a minute - Teddy had a vision of how he had first seen her with Hal; only times had - changed. The man who bent across her shoulder now was Mr. Dak. It was a - child’s song that she was singing, about a lady who was devoted to a - poodle-dog which died, and how she fretted and fretted. The last verse - leapt out of melancholy into merriment, - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent25"> - “But e’er three months had past - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - She had bought another poodle-dog. - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Exactly like the last” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - To Teddy the words were a philosophy of fickleness; that was precisely - what she had done on losing Hal. A worrying fear came upon him as he - glanced from mother to daughter: in outward appearance they were so much - alike. If he were to leave Desire, would she, too, replace him? - </p> - <p> - The thought was in the air. Mr. Dak, leaning against the piano to make - himself an inch taller, began to descant on the transience of affection. - He had arrived at his favorite topic and was saying, “Now, among the - Mohammedans——” when Horace interrupted. - </p> - <p> - “It depends on what you mean by transience. One’s got to go on living, so - one goes on loving. But if you mean that one forgets—why, it’s not - true.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - There fell thy shadow, Cynara! Thy breath was shed - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And I was desolate and sick of an old passion, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head: - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - I have been faithful to thee, Cynara, in my fashion.’ - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “One never forgets. There’s always a Cynara. One may love twenty times, - but betwixt your lips and the lips of the latest woman there’s always the - memory of the first ghostly rapture. You seek Cynara to the end of life; - but if you met her again, you would not find her.” - </p> - <p> - Across the window the snow drifted white as the loosened hair of Time. In - the room there was no stir. Unseen people entered. Vashti shaded her face - with her hand; it was easy to guess of whom she was thinking. Fluffy gazed - into space, a child who finds itself alone and is frightened. Mr. Dak was - inscrutable. Horace lay back, staring at the ceiling, watching the - ascending smoke of his cigarette. To Teddy the room was like an empty - house in which innumerable clocks ticked loudly. - </p> - <p> - He met Desire’s eyes. “We are young. We are young,” they said. “Why won’t - they leave us to ourselves?” - </p> - <p> - “My God, I wish I were little. I wish I were no older than Desire. I wish - I could get away from all this rottenness and wake up to-morrow in the - country. Think what it’ll look like, all white and sparkling and shiny! - Where’s the good of your telling me you love me, Horace, if you can’t make - me good and little—if you can’t put back the hands of Time?” - </p> - <p> - Fluffy jumped up, half laughing, half crying, and threw wide the window. - She leant out, so that the snow fell glistening in the gold of her hair. - </p> - <p> - “Not a sound. Listen!” - </p> - <p> - Horace rose and stood beside her. “Would you like to wake up in the - country? I’ll manage it. I’d manage anything for you, little girl.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Dak broke his silence. “I know a farm. It’s up the Hudson—seventy - miles at least from here. The people are my friends.” - </p> - <p> - In a babel of excited voices it was planned. Of a sudden the triflers had - become lovers confessed. They seemed to think that by the childish trick - of escaping, their youth could be recaptured. While the women ran off to - change and wrap up, the men completed arrangements for the journey. - </p> - <p> - When the limousine arrived it had seats for only five; cushions were - strewn on the floor for Desire and Teddy. She kept far away from him till - the light went out. Again it was like standing in an empty house; people’s - brains were clocks which ticked solemnly, “And I was desolate and sick of - an old passion.” - </p> - <p> - They two alone had nothing to remember—all the rapture of life lay - ahead. In the darkness he felt her hand groping. One by one he coaxed - apart the reluctant fingers and pressed the little palm against his mouth. - She allowed herself to be drawn closer; he could feel the wild bird of her - heart beating its wings against the walls of the flesh. - </p> - <p> - “Dearest.” - </p> - <p> - “Hush! Dear is enough,” she whispered. - </p> - <p> - Long after she was asleep he sat staring into the blackness. To-morrow—all - the long to-morrows would be theirs. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XV—SLAVES OF FREEDOM - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was as though he - were in a nest; the windows were padded with the feathers of snow that had - frozen to them overnight. He felt cramped. Then he found that his arm was - about a girl and that her head was against his shoulder. She roused and - gazed at him drowsily. She sat up, rubbing her fists into her eyes. They - stared at each other in amused surprise. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I never!” she whispered. “Wot liberties ter taik wiv a lady!” - </p> - <p> - She drew away from him in pretended haughtiness, tilting her chin into the - air. - </p> - <p> - Some one yawned. “Good Lord! We must have been mad.” - </p> - <p> - Disenchantment spoke in the complaining voice. They turned. The rest of - the party were awake, looking bored and fretful. - </p> - <p> - “I’m aching for some sleep,” Fluffy sighed; “I know I’m going to quarrel - with some one. It was you and your wretched Cynaras did this for us, - Horace. If I’m not in bed in half-an-hour, I’ll never speak to you again.” - </p> - <p> - “Why mother, where’s King?” Desire noticed the absence of Mr. Dak. - </p> - <p> - “If he’s wise, he’s walking back to New York,” Vashti said; “but I think - he’s outside, directing the driver.—We certainly were mad. I am - tired.” - </p> - <p> - A discontented silence settled down. Teddy wished that they all would - close their eyes and leave him alone with Desire. She was like a wild - thing when others were watching; beneath her stillness he could detect her - agitation lest he should betray to others that he loved her. - </p> - <p> - “You’re not cross, too—are you?” he whispered. “Are you, Princess?” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. “You made a splendid pillow.” - </p> - <p> - She gave him no encouragement, so he sank into himself. He tried to - recapture his sensations of the night In his dreams he must have been - conscious of her; they must have gone together on all manner of - adventures. He blamed himself for having slept; if he had kept his vigil, - what memories he would have had. - </p> - <p> - The car halted. The door was opened by Mr. Dak. White and soft as a swan’s - breast, gleaming in the early morning sunlight, lay a rolling expanse of - unruffled country. Distant against the glassy sky mountains shone - imperturbably, like the humped knees of Rip Van Winkles taking their - eternal rest. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Dak beamed with pride. He seemed to be claiming all the credit for the - stillness and whiteness, and most especially for the low-roofed farmhouse, - with its elms and barns, and its plume of blue smoke curling up hospitably - into the frosted silence. He was pathetically eager to be thanked. He - looked more like a maiden-aunt than ever. - </p> - <p> - As the company tumbled out, their self-ridicule was heightened by the - patent unsuitability of their attire. The men in their silk-hats and - evening-dress, the women in their high-heeled shoes and dainty gowns - looked dishonest and shallow apart from their environment. - </p> - <p> - “Damn!” said Fluffy, giving way to temperament “I want to hide.” - </p> - <p> - Horace attempted comfort. “You’ll feel better when you’ve had breakfast.” - </p> - <p> - “I shan’t. I shan’t ever feel better. You oughtn’t to have brought me. You - know I’m not responsible after midnight.” - </p> - <p> - “But you were so keen on waking in the country.” - </p> - <p> - She swept by him indignantly up the uncleared path, kilting her skirt. - “Could I wake when I haven’t slept?” - </p> - <p> - In the door a young man was standing—a very stolid and sensible - young man. He wore oiled boots and corduroy breeches; he was coatless; his - sleeves were rolled up and, despite the cold, his shirt was unbuttoned at - the neck. In an anxious manner Mr. Dak was explaining to him the - situation. As the others came up he was introduced as Sam; he at once - began to speak of breakfast. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t want any breakfast,” Fluffy pouted ungraciously; “all I want is a - place to lie down.” - </p> - <p> - Sam eyed her rather contemptuously—the way a mastiff might have - looked at Twinkles. - </p> - <p> - “The wife’s bathing the babies; but I daresay it can be managed.” He - stepped back into the hall and shouted, “Mrs. Sam! Mrs. Sam!” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sam appeared with a child in her arms, which she had hastily wrapped - in a towel. She was a wholesome, smiling, deep-breasted young woman, with - a face as placid as a Madonna’s. Three beds were promised and the ladies - immediately retired. - </p> - <p> - “Cross, aren’t they?” said Sam, before the last skirt had rustled - petulantly up the stairs. - </p> - <p> - “Rather,” Horace assented. - </p> - <p> - “It’s to be expected,” said Mr. Dak. - </p> - <p> - “Expected! Is it?” Sam scratched his head. “Well, all I can say is if a - woman doesn’t choose to be agreeable, she can go somewhere else, as far as - I’m concerned.” - </p> - <p> - It was a rambling old house, paneled, many-windowed, and full of quaint - furniture. The room in which breakfast was set was a converted kitchen, - with shiny oak-chairs and a wide open-fireplace in which great logs blazed - and crackled. It was cheerful with the strong reflected light thrown in by - the newly laundered landscape. From the next room came the rumble of - farm-hands talking; as the door opened for the maid to bring in dishes, - the smell of baking bread and coffee entered. When the guests had seated - themselves, their host became busy about serving. - </p> - <p> - “I used to be a bit wild myself,” he said. “I knew Broadway as well as any - man. But it made me tired—there’s nothing in it. If you want to be - really happy, take my advice: settle down and have babies.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Sam returned. Having dressed the fair-haired mite she was carrying, - she gave it into her husband’s care. He took it on his knee and commenced - spooning food into its mouth. Drawing nearer to the fire, she set about - bathing her youngest. Teddy watched her as she stooped to kiss the kicking - limbs, laughing and keeping up a flow of secret chatter. Neither she nor - her husband apologized for this intimate display of domesticity. Sometimes - he caught her quiet eyes. They made him think of his mother’s. Try as he - would, he could not prevent himself from comparing her with the women - upstairs. Old standards, odd glimpses of his own childhood flitted across - his memory. “These people are married,” he told himself. How foolish the - cynicisms of last night sounded now! - </p> - <p> - “So I ran away from towns and the women they breed; I became a farmer and - married her,” Sam was saying. “I don’t reckon I did so badly.” - </p> - <p> - When the meal was ended, Mr. and Mrs. Sam excused themselves and went - about their work. Mr. Dak lit a cigar; before the first ash had fallen, he - was nodding. - </p> - <p> - Horace and Teddy drew up to the logs, toasting themselves and sitting near - together. There was a distinct atmosphere of disappointment. They glanced - at each other occasionally, saying nothing. It was an odd thing, Teddy - reflected—the men whom he met at Vashti’s apartment rarely had - anything to say to each other. They met distrustfully as the women’s - friends. They never talked of their interests or displayed any curiosity; - yet most of them were distinguished in their own line and would have been - knowable, if met under other circumstances. - </p> - <p> - Horace glanced up and spoke abruptly in a lowered voice. “When I was at - Baveno one summer, I ran across an old man. He had a cottage in a vineyard - half a mile up the hill, overlooking Maggiore. He came every year all the - way from Madrid to photograph the view from his terrace. He thought it the - most beautiful view in the world, and was as jealous of letting any one - else share it as if it had been a woman. He had taken thousands of - pictures of it, all similar and yet all different He was always hoping to - get two that were alike; but the light on snow-mountains is fickle. I - suppose he was a little cracked. He had fooled away his career, and was - old and hadn’t married. When he went back to Madrid, it was only to earn - money so as to be able to return and to take still more photographs next - year.—Can you guess why I’ve told you?” - </p> - <p> - “I’m afraid not.” - </p> - <p> - “Because we’re like that—you and I. We let a woman who’s as - unpossessable as a landscape, become a destructive habit with us. You’re - not very old yet, but you’ll find out that there are women in the world - who can never be possessed. There’s only one thing to do when you meet one—run - away before she becomes a habit.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you think that’s a bit cowardly?” Teddy objected. - </p> - <p> - “In her heart every woman wants to marry and be like—— Well, - like Mrs. Sam was with those kiddies.” - </p> - <p> - “Go on believing. It’s good that you should believe it. But don’t put your - belief to the test.” Horace leant forward and tapped him on the knee. “Go - back to England while you can.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t understand.” - </p> - <p> - “I think you do. Fluffy isn’t discreet over other people’s affairs. You’ve - fallen in love with a dream, my boy—with an exquisite, unrealizable - romance. Keep your dreams for your work; don’t try to find ’em in - life—they aren’t there. Look what’s happened this morning through - following a dream into the daylight. Here we sit, a pair of foolish - tragedies in evening-dress, while our ideals are sleeping off their - tempers upstairs.” - </p> - <p> - When Teddy frowned and didn’t answer, Horace smiled. “I know how it is. - I’ve been through it. You oughtn’t to get angry; anything that I’m saying - applies twice as forcibly to myself. Look here, Gurney, your affection for - Desire is made up of memories of how you’ve loved her. She’s given you - nothing. That isn’t right. Neither she, nor her mother, nor Fluffy know - how to——” - </p> - <p> - “Desire——” - </p> - <p> - “No. Hear me out There are women who never take a holiday from themselves. - They’re too timid—too selfish. They’re afraid of marrying; they - distrust men. They’re afraid of having children; they worship their own - bodies. They loath the disfigurement of child-bearing. All their standards - are awry. They regard the sacredness of birth as defilement—think it - drags them down to the level of the animals. They make love seem ugly. - They’ve got a morbid streak that makes them fear everything that’s - blustering and genuine. Their fear lest they should lose their liberty - keeps them captives. They’re <i>slaves of freedom</i>, starving their - souls and living for externals. Because they’re women, their nature cries - out for men; but the moment they’ve dragged the soul out of a man their - weak passion is satisfied. They have the morals of nuns and the lure of - courtesans. They’re suffocating and unhealthy as tropic flowers.—I’ve - been at it too long, but I want you to get out while you can.” - </p> - <p> - All this was spoken in the whisper of a conspirator lest Mr. Dak should be - aroused. It was as though Horace had raised a mask, revealing behind his - bored good-humor a face emaciated with longings. Teddy wanted to be angry—felt - he ought to be angry; but he couldn’t. “I’d rather we didn’t discuss - Desire,” he said coldly. “You see, my case is different from yours. I - intend to marry her.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear boy, it’s not different; I was no more a trifler than you are—I - intended to marry Fluffy. I gave up a good woman—a good woman who’s - waiting for me now. But I’m like that old man at Baveno; the unpossessable - haunts me. I’ve been infatuated so long that I can’t break myself of the - habit. But you haven’t. You’re young, with a life before you. For God’s - sake go back to the simple good people—the people you understand. - Your mother wasn’t a Desire, I’ll warrant; if she had been, you wouldn’t - be her son. A man commits a crime against his children when he willfully - stoops below his mother to the girl he worships. Desire’ll never belong to - you, even though you marry her. She’s not of your flesh. Her pretty, baby - hands’ll tear the wings off your idealism. She won’t even know she’s doing - it. You’ve made your soul the purchase-price of love, while she—she - commits sacrilege against love every hour.” He gripped him by the arm. - “Cut loose from her while there’s time. She doesn’t know what you’re - offering.” - </p> - <p> - “Shish!” Mr. Dak was sitting up, a finger pressed against his mouth. - </p> - <p> - Some one stirred behind them. In the middle of the room Desire was - standing. Her hands were clasped against her breast as though she held a - bird. Through the windows the purity of the snow-covered country formed a - dazzling background for her head and shoulders. The gold in the bronze of - her hair glistened. She might have been posing for a realist painting of - the immaculate conception. There was a misty, pained looked in the - grayness of her eyes—an eloquence of yearning. - </p> - <p> - “Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - That was all. It was the second time. It meant more than if she had held - out her arms to him. Her clear, lazy voice, speaking his name, seemed to - mark the end of evasion. He went to her without a word. There was the heat - of tears behind his eyes and a swollen feeling in his heart. The passion - she had roused in him at other times sank into gentleness. - </p> - <p> - The things that Horace had been saying were true—he knew it; but if - his love could reach her imagination, they would prove them false - together. What was the good of love if it couldn’t do that? Probably Hal - had thought to do the same for Vashti, and Horace for Fluffy—all the - men who had loved in vain had promised themselves to do just that; but - they hadn’t loved with sufficient obstinacy—with sufficient courage. - </p> - <p> - He helped her into her wraps. They passed out into the gold and silver - landscape. It was like entering into a new faith—like leaving deceit - behind. Merriness was in the air. Birds fluttered out of hedges, making - the snow glitter in their exit. From farms out of sight, roosters blew - shrill challenges, like trumpeters riding through a Christmas faeryland. - Humping their knees against the horizon, mountains lay hushed in their - eternal rest. - </p> - <p> - There was scarcely a sound save the crunch of their footsteps. At a turn, - where the lane descended and the house was lost to sight, she drew closer. - “You may take my arm if you like.” - </p> - <p> - He thrilled to the warmth of it. His fingers closed upon the slimness of - her wrist. Their bodies came together, separated and came together with - the unevenness of the treading. - </p> - <p> - She laughed softly. “It’s like a legend. It’s ever so much better than our - other good times.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m glad you think that.” He pressed against her. “We’ve always talked - across hotel-tables and in theatres; we’ve always been going somewhere or - doing something up till now. We’ve never met only to be together. It was a - little vulgar, wasn’t it, buying all our pleasures with money?” - </p> - <p> - “A little, and stupid when we had ourselves.” - </p> - <p> - They spoke in whispers; there was no one to hear what they said. - </p> - <p> - “Horace was persuading you to go away?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Because of me? He was right. Are you going?” - </p> - <p> - “Never.” - </p> - <p> - “You ought to go. I’m—I’m glad you’re not going.” - </p> - <p> - On they went, heedless of direction. At times their lips grew silent, but - their hearts twittered like birds. They did not look at each other. - Strange that they should be so shy after so much boldness! When one saw - some new beauty to be admired, a hugging of the arm would tell it. - </p> - <p> - They came to a wood—an enchanted place of maple and silver birch. - The squirrel’s granary was full; there was no sound of life. It was a - sylvan Pompeii frozen in its activities by the avalanche from the clouds. - Trees stood stiffly, like arrested dancers, sheathed in their scabbards of - burnished ice. Boughs hung heavy with snow blossoms. Scrub-oak and berries - of winter-green wrought mosaics of red and brown on the silver flooring. - Over all was the coffined stillness of death. Here and there a solitary - leaf shone more scarlet, like the resurrection hope of a lamp kept burning - in the hollow of a shrine. It was a forsaken temple of broken arches. - Summer acolytes, with their flower-faces, no longer fidgeted on the - altar-steps. The choir of birds had fled. The sun remained as priest and - sole worshiper. Night and morning he raised the host to the wintry - tinkling of crystal bells. Down a far vista, as they plunged deeper, their - attention was held by a steady brightness—a pond which glowed like a - stained-glass window. By its withered sedges they sat down. - </p> - <p> - “It’s like—-” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, isn’t it?” - </p> - <p> - “I was a little girl then. Meester Deek, was I a dear little girl?” - </p> - <p> - “The dearest in the world. Not half so dear as you are now.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, you would say that; you’re always kind. If—if you only knew, I - was much dearer then.” - </p> - <p> - He was holding her hand. Slowly he unbuttoned her glove. She watched him - idly. He drew it off and raised the slender fingers to his lips. - </p> - <p> - “You always told me I had beautiful hands.” - </p> - <p> - He kissed the fingers separately and then the palm, which was delicate as - a rose-leaf. - </p> - <p> - “And don’t miss the little mole on the back; mother used to say that it - told her when I had been bad.” - </p> - <p> - So he kissed the little mole on the back as well. Curious that he should - take so little, when his heart cried out for so much! His head was - swimming. He felt nothing, saw nothing but her presence. - </p> - <p> - “I wouldn’t have let you do that once,” she whispered. - </p> - <p> - In the long silence that followed, the snow-laden trees shivered, - muttering their suspense. Each time he tried to meet her eyes, she looked - away as though his glance scorched her. - </p> - <p> - “My dear! My dearest!” - </p> - <p> - She did not answer. - </p> - <p> - “I love you. I’ve always loved you. I can’t live without you. You’re more - to me than anything in the world.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t say that” Her voice trembled. “It’s terrible to love people so - much; you give them such power to hurt you. I might die, or I might love - some one else, or——” - </p> - <p> - “But you don’t—you wouldn’t.” - </p> - <p> - His arm stole about her neck. Like a child fondling a child, he tried to - coax her face towards him. He yearned, as if his soul depended on it, to - rest his lips on hers. She smiled, closing her eyes in denial. As he leant - out, she turned her face swiftly aside. He kissed her where the little - false curl quivered. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Meester Deek, why must you kiss me? Where’s the good of it? Can’t we - be just friends?” - </p> - <p> - “All my life I’ve loved you,” he pleaded hoarsely. “Doesn’t it mean - anything to you? Care for me a little—only a little, Desire. Say you - do, and I’ll be content.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not good,” she whispered humbly. “You don’t know anything about me; - and yet you’ve seen what I am. My friends are all so gay; I like them to - be gay. And I want to be an actress; and I live for clothes and vanities. - You’d soon get sick of me if we married.—Dear Meester Deek, please - let’s be as we were. I’ve tried to spare you because I don’t love you so - as to marry you. I couldn’t give up my way of living even for you. I never - could love you as you deserve.” - </p> - <p> - “But you do love me,” he urged. “Look at the way we’ve gone about - together. I’ve never tired you, have I? If I had, you wouldn’t have wanted - to see me so much. You must love me, Desire.” Then, in a voice which was - scarcely above a breath, “I would ask so little if you married me.” - </p> - <p> - “You dear fellow!” - </p> - <p> - She laid her cool cheek against his, trying to give comfort for what she - had done. Their bodies grew hushed, listen-ing for each other. The wood, - with its snow-paved aisles and arcades of twisted turnings, became a white - cathedral in, which their hearts beat as one and worshiped. - </p> - <p> - “You do love me, Princess.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m cold,” she whispered mournfully. “I’m trying to feel what I ought to - be feeling, but I can’t. I’m disappointed. God left something out when He - made me. If only you weren’t so fine, but—— My dear, you’re - better than any man I ever met. I couldn’t be good the way you are, and - I’m ashamed to be worse. Sometimes I’m almost bitter against you for your - goodness. My beautiful mother.—I’m all she has. And there’s your - family. I haven’t any. I’ve missed so much. Surely you under-stand?” - </p> - <p> - “Darling, I want to make it all up to you. I want to give you everything.” - </p> - <p> - “And I—I can give you nothing.” She closed her eyes tiredly. “I’m so - young—so young. I don’t think I want to be married. So much may - happen. If we married, everything would be ended; there’d be nothing to - dream about. We’d know everything.” Her face moved against his - caressingly. “But it is so sweet to be loved.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed softly. “You will marry me, Princess. You will. One day you’ll - want to know everything. I’ll wait till you’re ready.” - </p> - <p> - She let him draw her to him. Her eyelids drooped. She lay in his arms - pulseless. The silkiness of her hair trembled against his forehead. - </p> - <p> - “Give me your lips.” His voice was thirsty. - </p> - <p> - She did not stir. - </p> - <p> - “Just this once.” - </p> - <p> - She rested her hands on his shoulders. The moist sweet mouth shuddered as - he pressed it. He clung to it; an eternity was in the moment. He was - drinking her soul from the chalice of her body. Gently she pushed him from - her. It was over—this ecstasy to which all his life had been a - preface. - </p> - <p> - She crumpled forward, her knees drawn up, burying her face in her hands. - </p> - <p> - He was dizzy. The world swung under him. - </p> - <p> - “I’m not crying,” she panted brokenly. “I’m not glad, and I’m not sorry. - No one ever kissed me like that.—Oh, please don’t touch me. I ought - to send you away forever.” - </p> - <p> - He knelt beside her, conscience-stricken. It was as if he had done her a - great wrong. Passion was tossed aside by compassion. As he knelt, he - kissed timidly the quivering hands which hid her eyes from him. - </p> - <p> - “Forgive me, my darling. You couldn’t send me away. I shall never leave - you.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor you! There’s nothing to forgive.” It was a little child talking. - Making bars of her fingers, she peered out at him. “If I let you stay, - will you promise not to blame me—never to think I’ve led you on when—when - I don’t marry you?” - </p> - <p> - “I won’t blame you,” his voice was strained and husky, “but I’ll wait for - you forever.” - </p> - <p> - “Will you? All men say that.” She shook her head wisely. “I wonder?” - </p> - <p> - She tidied her hair. It gave him a thrilling sense of possession to be - allowed to watch her. When he had helped her to rise, he stooped to brush - the snow from her. Suddenly he fell to his knees in a wild abandon of - longing, and reverently kissed the hem of her gown. - </p> - <p> - “Meester Deek, don’t. To see you do that—it hurts.” - </p> - <p> - They walked through the wood in silence, retracing their old footsteps. At - the point where it was lost to sight, they gazed back, hand-in-hand, to - the sacred spot where all had happened. The snow would melt; they might - come in search of the place one day—they might not find it. Would - they come alone or together? Their hands gripped more closely; the present - at least was theirs. - </p> - <p> - The storm of emotion which had rocked them, had left them exhausted. They - had said so much without words; the eloquence of language seemed - inadequate. Each thought as it rose to their lips seemed too trifling for - utterance. - </p> - <p> - As they turned from the wood into the road, she began to whistle softly. - He listened. Memory set the tune to words: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “So, honey, jest play in your own backyard, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Don’t mind what dem white chiles say.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “I can’t bear it.” - </p> - <p> - She glanced at him sidelong. “Now, old dear, h’if I wants ter whistle, why - shouldn’t I?” - </p> - <p> - “It’s as though you were telling me, I don’t want you.’ You sang it in the - Park that night.” - </p> - <p> - “But she doesn’t want him, perhaps. There! But she does a little. Does - that make him feel better? Come, let’s be sensible. You don’t recommend - love by getting tragic. Take my arm and stop tickling my hand. I’m going - to ask you a question.—Hasn’t there ever been another girl?” - </p> - <p> - “Never, upon my——” - </p> - <p> - “You needn’t be so fierce in denying. I didn’t ask you whether you’d - killed anybody.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe you almost wish there had been another girl” She shrugged her - shoulders. “My darling mother was before me—you forgot that. But I - don’t mind her.” - </p> - <p> - “I think,” he said, smiling at the mysticism of the fancy, “I think I must - have been loving you even then. Yes, I’m sure it was the <i>you</i> in - her, before ever I knew you, that I was loving.” - </p> - <p> - She glanced at him tauntingly. “I’m afraid I’ve not been so economic; - you’ll hate me because I haven’t. Shall I tell you about all my lovers?” - </p> - <p> - “I won’t listen.” - </p> - <p> - But she insisted. Whether it was truth or invention that she told him, he - could not guess. All he knew was that, having lowered her barriers, she - was carefully replacing them for her defense. Her way of doing it was to - make him suspect that he was only an incident in a long procession; that - all this poetry of passion, which for him had the dew on it, had been - experienced by her already; that she had often watched men travel through - weeks and months from trembling into boldness; that Love to her was the - clown in Life’s circus and that she was proof against the greed of his - mock humility. - </p> - <p> - “For God’s sake, stop!” - </p> - <p> - “Why?” Her tone was innocent of offense. - </p> - <p> - “If it’s all true, this isn’t the time to confess it.” - </p> - <p> - “Confess it! D’you think I’m ashamed, then?” She withdrew her arm. “Thank - you, I can walk quite nicely by myself.” - </p> - <p> - He tried to detain her. She shook him off and ran ahead. As he followed, - his eyes implored her. She did not turn. Between the white cage of hedges - she whistled her warning, - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “So, honey, jest play in your own backyard.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - He wondered how any one so beautiful could be so cruel. She seemed to - regard herself as a shrine at which it was ordained that men should - worship, while her right was to view them with neither heat nor coldness. - “Slaves of freedom”—Horace’s words came back. - </p> - <p> - He caught up with her. “Why did you tell me? I didn’t mean to speak - crossly.” - </p> - <p> - “Didn’t you?” - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t, really. I’m sorry. But why did you tell me?” - </p> - <p> - “Because I wanted to be honest: to let you know the kind of girl I am. And - because,” her eyes flooded, “because you’re the first man who ever kissed - me like that and—and I didn’t want to let you know it—and I - wish I hadn’t let you kiss me now.” - </p> - <p> - She didn’t give him her lips this time. With her face averted, she lay - trembling in his arms without a struggle. While his lips wandered from her - hair to her cheeks, to her throat, she seemed unconscious of what he was - doing. “I do like being kissed by you,” she murmured. - </p> - <p> - “You’re so fragrant, so soft, so sweet, so like a lily,” he whispered. - </p> - <p> - Her finger went up to her mouth. “Am I fragrant? That isn’t me. That’s - just soap.” - </p> - <p> - She sprang from his embrace laughing; he joined her in sheer gladness that - their quarrel was ended. - </p> - <p> - As they came into sight of the farmhouse she insisted that he should - behave himself. - </p> - <p> - “But you’re walking further away from me,” he objected, “than you would - from a stranger you’d only just met. No wonder Horace thinks you don’t - care for me.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, and who said I did?” She slanted her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, well—— But before other people, I wish you wouldn’t - ignore me so obviously. It makes me humiliated.”. “That’s good for you.” - </p> - <p> - Mr. Sam was splitting logs by the wood-pile. He laid down his ax and came - towards them. - </p> - <p> - “You’ve missed it,” he chuckled. “We’ve had a fine old row. They’ve queer - notions of enjoying themselves, your city folks.—Has anything - happened! I guess it has. When Golden-Hair got through with her snooze, - she came down and started things going. She wanted to know whose fault it - was that she had a head-ache, and whose fault it was she’d come here, and - a whole lot besides. Her beau told her straight that he’d had enough of - it, and got the car out. Mr. Dak seemed frightened that it would be his - turn next; he said he was going too. So they all piled in, quarreling like - mad, a regular happy little party. Daresay they’re still at it.” - </p> - <p> - “But what about us?” Desire looked blank. “How do we get back?” - </p> - <p> - “No need to, unless you’re in a hurry. There’s plenty of room; we’ll be - glad to have you. But if you must go, there’s a station ten miles distant; - I can get the sleigh out.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy tried to persuade her to stay a day longer. The country was changing - her. Who knew what a few more walks in the silver wood might accomplish? - New York meant Fluffy, life jigged to rag-time, and the feverish quest for - unsatisfying pleasures. - </p> - <p> - She laid her head on her shoulder and winked, like a knowing little bird. - She understood perfectly what the country was doing for her. - </p> - <p> - “In these clothes,” she asked, “and borrow the hired man’s tooth-brush? - And leave my dear mother alone, and Fluffy to cry her poor little eyes - out? And run the risk of what people would think when we both came - creeping back? I guess I’d have to marry you then, Meester Deek. No, - thanks.” - </p> - <p> - So at four o’clock, as the dusk was drawing a helmet of steel over the - vagueness of the country, the sleigh was brought round. There were - farewells and promises to come again; the twinkling of lanterns; the - jingling of harness; the babies to be kissed; the quiet eyes of the mother - who had found happiness; the atmosphere of sentiment which kindly people - create for half-way lovers; then the last good-by, the steady trot of the - horses, and the tinkling magic of sleigh-bells. Romance! - </p> - <p> - “You like babies, Meester Deek? If ever I were married, I’d like to have a - baby-girl first. They’re so cuddly and dear to dress.” - </p> - <p> - He tucked the robe round her warmly and held it against her chin to keep - the cold out. His free hand was clasped in hers. Then he let go her hand - and slipped his arm about her, and found her hand waiting for him on the - other side. - </p> - <p> - “Better and better,” she murmured contentedly, “and it isn’t the day we’d - planned. I feel so safe with you, Meester Deek—far safer than I - ought to if I loved you. You won’t say I led you on, will you? You won’t - ever?” - </p> - <p> - “Never,” he promised. - </p> - <p> - “That’s what the sleigh-bells seem to say. ‘Never! Never! Never!’ as - though they were telling us that this is the end.” - </p> - <p> - “To me they don’t say that.” His lips were against her cheek. “To me they - say, ‘Forever. Forever. Forever.’” - </p> - <p> - The moon, gazing down on them, recognized him and smiled. The stars - clapped their hands. Even the mountains, which had slept all day, - uncrouched their knees and sat up in bed to look at them. Farmhouse - windows, across the drifted whiteness, blinked wisely, speaking of home - and children, and an end of journeys. Sometimes she drowsed with the - swaying motion. Sometimes when he thought her drowsing, her eyes were - wide. - </p> - <p> - “What are you thinking, dearest?” - </p> - <p> - “Isn’t dear enough?” - </p> - <p> - “Not now.” - </p> - <p> - “It ought to be—— What was I thinking? I was wondering: could - a girl make a man whom she liked very much believe that she loved him? - Would he find her out?” - </p> - <p> - “He’d find her out But liking’s almost loving sometimes.” - </p> - <p> - “I haven’t kissed you yet. I’ve only let you kiss me. Have you noticed?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “When I kiss you, Meester Deek, without your asking, you’ll know then.” - </p> - <p> - “Kiss me now.” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. “It would be a lie.” - </p> - <p> - Once she said, “Shall we be horrid to each other one day like Horace and - Fluffy?” And, when he drew her closer for answer, “I wonder why I let you - do it. It’s so hard not to let you; you kiss so gently—I guess every - girl loves to be loved.” - </p> - <p> - When they came to the station he had to wake her. In the train she slept. - He scarcely removed his eyes from her. Behind the window he was aware of - the shadowy breadth of river, the steep mountains, and the winking, - swiftly vanishing lights of towns. It was a return from faery-land, with - all the pain of returning. He wasn’t sure of her yet, and he had used all - his arguments. Was it always like that? Did girls always say “No” at - first? He feared lest in the flare and rush of the city he might lose her. - He dreaded the casualness of their telephone engagements—the way she - fitted him into the gaps between her pleasures. He wanted to be first in - her life—more than that: to be dearer to her than her body, than her - soul itself. The permission which she gave him to love her, without hope - of reciprocity, was torturing. He would not own it to himself, but at the - back of his mind he knew that it was not fair. - </p> - <p> - Once more they were fleeing up Fifth Avenue; night was polluted by the - glare of lamps. - </p> - <p> - “It isn’t the same,” she whispered. “It’s somehow different.” - </p> - <p> - “We’ve seen something better and got our perspective.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I don’t know,” she laughed. “New York has its uses.” - </p> - <p> - She sat up as they swung into Columbus Circle, and seemed to forget him. - She was watching the hoardings for the announcements of <i>October</i>, - seeing whether Janice Audrey’s name had been blotted out. - </p> - <p> - Already she was slipping from him. The silver wood—had it ever - existed? If it had, had they ever walked there? It seemed a dream created - by his ardent fancy, too kind and generous for reality. - </p> - <p> - He leant towards her; she drew away from him. “No more pilfering.” - </p> - <p> - “Our good times are always coming to an end,” he said sadly. - </p> - <p> - She smiled at his tone of melancholy. “And beginning; don’t forget that - But I do wish it were last night.” - </p> - <p> - “You do! Then, you do wish it could last forever? Dear little D., if you - chose, you could make it last.” - </p> - <p> - “Not forever. If anything lasted forever it would make me tired.—Hulloa, - here we are.” - </p> - <p> - He helped her to alight The pavement had been swept; there was no excuse - for carrying her. - </p> - <p> - “I live here,” she reminded him as he tried to touch her hand; “so let’s - behave ourselves.” - </p> - <p> - She was settling back into the old rut of reticence, thinking again more - of appearances than affection; even employing her old phrases to defend - herself. - </p> - <p> - They stepped from the elevator and she slipped her key into the latch. He - was trying to think of one final argument by which he might persuade her. - </p> - <p> - As the door pushed open, they halted; there was a sense of evil in the - air. Desire clutched his arm for protection. They listened: panting; a - chair falling; silence. Then the panting recommenced. - </p> - <p> - “Mother!” - </p> - <p> - The struggle stopped. - </p> - <p> - Teddy rushed across the hall to the front-room. He tried to keep Desire - back. Vashti was stretched upon the couch, white as death, breathing hard, - and exhausted. Her hair had broken loose and lay spread like a shawl - across her breast. Mr. Dak was standing over her, his hands clenched. His - collar was crumpled and had burst at the stud. His tie was drawn tight, as - though it had been used to strangle him. - </p> - <p> - Desire threw herself down beside her mother, kissing her wildly and - smoothing back her hair. “Oh, what is it? What is it, dearest? Tell me.” - </p> - <p> - She leant her face against her mother’s to catch the words. Springing to - her feet, she glared at Mr. Dak. - </p> - <p> - “You low beast.” Her white virago fist shot up and struck him on the - mouth. “You little swine. Get out.” - </p> - <p> - In the hall, as Teddy was seeing him off the premises, Mr. Dak commenced a - mumbling defense. “What did she suppose I thought she meant? I wanted to - marry her, but she wouldn’t. If she didn’t mean anything, what right had - she to let me spend my money trotting her round?” From the dim-lit room - came the terrible sound of sobbing. Desire met him on the threshold. - “She’s only frightened. She wants you to help her to bed.” - </p> - <p> - Outside the bedroom door Vashti took his face between her hands. “Thank - God, there are good men in the world.” He waited for Desire. All - tenderness had become a trap. She nodded to him sullenly, “Good-night.” - Then, flam-ing up, “Fluffy’s right. All men are beasts, I expect.” - </p> - <p> - The bedroom door shut. He switched off the lights and let himself out. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVI—THE GHOST OF HAPPINESS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>o a man who has - never been in love the humble passion of his heart is to be allowed to - love. He conjures visions of the woman who will call out his affection; he - is always looking for her, seeing a face which seems the companion of his - dreams, following, turning back disappointed and setting out afresh. When - he does find her, his first feeling is one of overwhelming gratitude. His - one idea is to give unstintingly, expecting nothing. He robes himself in a - white unselfishness. - </p> - <p> - But the moment he has been allowed to love his attitude changes. He still - wants to love, but he craves equally to be loved. He is no longer content - to worship solitarily; he becomes sensitive to be worshiped in return. He - is anxious to compete with the woman’s generosity. If she receives and - does not give, he grows infidel like a devotee whose prayers God has not - answered. - </p> - <p> - The right to clasp her without repulse, which the silver wood had granted - him, had brought him to this second stage in his journey—the urgent - longing to be loved. Then, like a coarse cynicism, discovering in all - love’s loyalties an unsuspected foulness, had come the scene which he had - witnessed in her presence. It had struck the barbaric note, stripping of - conventional pretenses the motives which underlie all passion. It had - revealed to him the direction of impulses which he himself possessed. Mr. - Dak was no worse than any other man, if only the other man were tantalized - sufficiently. Vashti had starved him too much and relied too much on his - awe of her. She was a lion-tamer who had grown reckless through immunity; - the beast had taken her unaware. Probably Mr. Dak was as surprised as - herself. - </p> - <p> - Teddy understood now what Horace had meant by calling her “a slave of - freedom.” All this gayety which he had envied, which had made him wish - that he was more of a Sir Launcelot and less of a King Arthur—it was - nothing but the excitement of skating over the treacherous thin ice of - sex. - </p> - <p> - Mr. Dak was no worse than he might be if circumstances pushed him far - enough. Desire had told him as much: “All men are beasts, I expect.” - </p> - <p> - He felt hot with shame. He sympathized with her virginal anger. He, too, - felt besmirched. But her words rankled; they had destroyed their common - faith in each other. Never again would he be able to approach her with his - old simplicity. Never again would he hear her whisper, “I feel so safe - with you, Meester Deek.” How could she feel safe with him? All men were - beasts. She classed him with the lowest Any moment he might be swept out - of caution into touching and caressing her. They would both remember the - ugliness they had witnessed; she would flinch from him, and view him with - suspicion. He would suspect himself. His very gentleness would seem to - follow her panther-footed. - </p> - <p> - He returned to the Brevoort, but not to sleep. As he tossed restlessly in - the darkness, he could hear her words of dismissal. She spoke them - sorrowfully with disillusion; she spoke them mockingly; she spoke them - angrily, clenching her white virago fists. It was she who ought to have - said, “Thank God, there are good men.” Her mother had said that She had - said, “All men are beasts, I expect” In the saying of it, she had seemed - to attribute to his courting the disarming smugness of a Mr. Dak. The - silver wood with its magnanimity counted for nothing. Whatever ideals he - had built up for her were shattered by this haphazard brutality. - </p> - <p> - He shifted his head on the pillow. How did she look when she was tender - and little? His last memory of her had blotted out all that. Rising - wearily, he switched on the light and commenced a search for the tin-type - photograph. At last he found it. Her features were undiscernible—faded - into blackness. - </p> - <p> - Sleep refused to come to him. He dressed and sat himself by the window. - How quiet it was! Night obliterates geography. The yards at the back of - the hotel were merged into a garden—a garden like the one in Eden - Row. He had only to half close his eyes to image it. - </p> - <p> - Eden Row set him remembering. The disgust with life that he was now - feeling, had only one parallel in his experience—that, too, was - concerned with her: the shock which her father’s confession had caused him - on the train-journey back from Ware. “If you’re ever tempted to do wrong, - remember me. If you’re ever tempted to get love the wrong way, be strong - enough to do without it” And then, “I sinned once—a long while ago. - I’m still paying for it You’re paying for it One day Desire may have to - pay the biggest price of any of us.” - </p> - <p> - She was paying for it now when she could see no difference between his - love and Mr. Dak’s—between honor and mere passion. “All men are - beasts, I expect.” That was the conclusion at which she had arrived. She - was incapable of high beliefs at twenty! - </p> - <p> - He recalled what the knowledge of Hal’s sin had done for him. Perhaps it - had done the same for her. It had made him see sin everywhere; marriage - itself had seemed impurity—all things had been polluted until into - the dusk of the studio his mother had entered. He could hear himself - whispering, “Things like that make a boy frightened, mother, when—when - they’re first told to him.” It was after that that he had determined to - make Desire in his life what the Holy Grail had been in Sir Galahad’s. - </p> - <p> - Would the consequences of this wrong, more than twenty years old, never - end? Ever since he had begun to think, it had striven to uproot his - idealism. Yet once, in the little moment of selfishness, it must have been - ecstatic. - </p> - <p> - He had been thinking only of himself. In a great wave of compassion his - thoughts swept back to her. She had had to live in the knowledge of this - sin always. For her there had been no escape from it—no people like - his mother and father to set her other standards of truer living. What was - his penalty as compared with hers? What was the worth of his chivalry if - it broke before the first shock of her injustice? He saw her again as a - little girl, inquiring what it was like to have a father. There must have - been a day in her waking womanhood when the knowledge that all children - are not fatherless had dawned on her. Perhaps it had been explained to her - coarsely by a servant or by the cruel ostracism of school-children. He - could imagine the shame and tears that had followed, and then the - hardening. - </p> - <p> - If she would only allow herself to understand what it was that he was - offering! He longed to take her in his arms—not the way he had; but - as he would cuddle a sick child against his breast to give it comfort. His - compassion for her was almost womanly; it was something that he dared not - tell her. Compassion from him was the emotion which she would most resent. - </p> - <p> - It was her pride that made her so poignantly tragic—her pose of - being an enviable person. There was no getting behind it except by a - brutal statement of facts. The scene which they had surprised in the - apartment had staged those facts with ugly vividness. Despite the gayety - with which she drugged herself, she must know that her mother’s position - made her fair game for the world’s Mr. Daks. Her way of speaking of her as - “my beautiful mother” was an acknowledgment, and sounded like a defense. - </p> - <p> - Her fear of losing her maiden liberty, her dread of the natural - responsibilities of marriage, her eagerness to believe the worst of men, - her light friendships, her vague, continually postponed ambitions—they - were all part of the price she was paying. Her glory in her questionable - enfranchisement was the worst part of her penalty; it made what was sad - seem romantic, and kept her blind to the better things in the world. She - did not want to be rescued from the dangers of her position. She ignored - any sacrifice that he might be making and spoke only of the curtailments - that love would bring to her. In putting forward her unattempted career as - an obstacle, she did not recognize that his accomplished career was in - jeopardy while she dallied. - </p> - <p> - Increasingly since he had landed in New York, his financial outlook had - worried him. At the time of sailing he had had seven hundred pounds in the - bank; then there were the three hundred pounds per annum from his Beauty - Incorporated shares. This, in addition to what he could earn, had looked - like affluence by Eden Row standards. But in the last few months he had - been spending recklessly. The frenzy which held him prevented work. - Commissions from magazines were still uncompleted. His American and - English publishers were urging him to let them have a second manuscript. - He assured them they should have it, but the manuscript was scarcely - commenced. The dread weighed upon him like a nightmare that he had lost - his creative faculty. His intellect was paralyzed; he had only one object - in living—to win her. - </p> - <p> - And when he had won her, at the rate at which he was now going, marriage - might be impossible. Already he had drawn on his English savings. After - accustoming her to a false scale of expenditure, he could scarcely urge - retrenchment It would seem to prove all her assertions of the dullness - which overtakes a woman when she has placed herself absolutely in a man’s - power. At this stage there was no chance of curtailing his generosity. So - long as they were both in New York the endless round of theatres, taxis - and restaurants must continue. He could not confess to her how it was - draining his resources. It would seem like accusing her of avarice and - himself of poverty. Poverty and the loss of beauty were the two calamities - which filled her heart with the wildest panic. - </p> - <p> - Like a thunderstorm that had spent itself, the clamor of argument died - down. It left him with a lucid quietness. Again she lay hushed in his - embrace; her lips shuddered beneath his pressure. That moment of dearness, - more than any ceremony of God or man, had bound him to her. It had made - him sure of subtle shades of fineness in her character which she refused - to reveal to him yet His love should outlast her wilfulness. He would wait - for years, but he would win her. The day would come when she would awake - to her need of him. Meanwhile he would make himself a habit—what the - landscape was to the old man at Baveno—adding link upon link to her - chain of memories, so that in every day when she looked back, there would - be some kindness to remind her of him. - </p> - <p> - A thought occurred. He would put his chances to the test. He fetched a - pack of cards from his trunk and drew up to the desk. Having shuffled - them, he spread them out face-downwards. If he picked a heart, he would - many her within the year. When he found with a thrill of dismay that it - was a spade, he changed his bargain and agreed to give himself three - chances. The next two were hearts. That encouraged him. He played on for - hours in the silent room—played feverishly, as though his soul - depended on it He craved for certainty. When luck ran against him, he made - his test more lenient till the odds were in his favor. Whatever the cards - said, he refused to take no for an answer. Morning found him with the - lights still burning, his shoulders crouched forward, his head pillowed on - his arms. - </p> - <p> - All that day he waited to hear from her. He could not bring himself to - telephone her. After what had happened, delicacy kept him from intruding. - In the afternoon he sent her flowers to provide her with an excuse for - calling him up. She let the excuse pass unnoticed. Her <i>strategic</i> - faculty for silence was again asserting itself. He lived over all the - events of the previous day, marking them in sequence hour by hour, finding - them doubly sweet in remembrance. The longest day of his life had ended by - the time he crept to bed. - </p> - <p> - Next morning he searched his mail for a letter from her. There was - nothing. He was sitting in his room trying to work—it was about - lunch-time—when the telephone tinkled. - </p> - <p> - “Hulloa,” a voice said which he did not recognize, “are you Mr. Gurney, - the great author?—Well, something terrible’s happened; you’ve not - spoken to your girl for more than twenty-four hours. It’s killing her.” A - laugh followed and the voice changed to one he knew. “Don’t you think I’m - very gracious, after all your punishment?—Where am I?—No, try - another guess. You’re not very psychic or you’d know. I’m within—let - me count—forty seconds of you. I’m here, in a booth of the Brevoort, - downstairs.—Eh! What’s that?—Will I stop to lunch with you? - Why, of course. That’s what I’ve come for.” - </p> - <p> - It was extraordinary how his world brightened. The ache had gone out of it - Finances, work, nothing mattered. The future withdrew its threat “I’m - wearing my Nell Gwynn face,” she laughed as he took her hands. Then they - stood together silent, careless of strangers passing, smiling into each - other’s eyes. - </p> - <p> - “You silly Meester Deek,” she whispered, “why did you keep away if you - wanted me so badly?” - </p> - <p> - “Because——” and there he ended. He couldn’t speak to her of - the ugliness they had seen together; she looked so girlish and innocent - and fresh. It was hateful that they should share such a memory. - </p> - <p> - “I’m not proud when I’ve done wrong,” she said. Her eyes winked and - twinkled beneath their lashes. “And it’s rather fun to have to ask - forgiveness when you know you’ve been forgiven beforehand.” - </p> - <p> - He led her into the white room with its many mirrors. Quickly forestalling - the waiter, he helped her off with her furs and jacket. She glanced up at - him as he did it. “Rather mean of you to do the poor man out of that It’s - about the nearest a waiter ever comes to romance.” - </p> - <p> - When he had taken his seat opposite to her, she questioned him, “Why did - you act so queerly?” - </p> - <p> - “Queerly!” - </p> - <p> - “You know. After the night before last?” - </p> - <p> - He wished she would let him forget it “I thought you might not want me.” - </p> - <p> - “Want you!” She reached across the table and touched his hand. “You do - think unkind thoughts. If I did say something cruel, it wasn’t meant—not - in my heart I’m afraid you think I’m fickle.” - </p> - <p> - He delayed her hand as she was withdrawing it “If I did, I shouldn’t love - you the way I do, Princess.” - </p> - <p> - A waiter intruded to take their order. It seemed to Teddy that ever since - Long Beach, waiters had been clearing away his tenderest passages as - though it were as much a part of their duties as to change the courses. - </p> - <p> - When they were left alone, she brought matters to a head. “I suppose you - got that strange notion because—because of what I said. Poor King! - He did make me angry, and yesterday he came to us so penitent and sorry. - We had to forgive him.—You’re looking as though you thought we - oughtn’t But it doesn’t do to be harsh. We all slip up sooner or later, - and the day’s always coming when we’ll have to ask forgiveness ourselves.” - </p> - <p> - He stared at her in undisguised amazement Was this merely carelessness or - a charity so divine that it knew no bounds? - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” she continued; “you’re thinking we’re - lax. That’s what people thought about Jesus when he talked to the woman of - Samaria. Mr. Dak’s quite a good little man, if he did make a mistake. He’s - always been understanding until this happened.” - </p> - <p> - She described as a mistake something that had appealed to him as tragedy. - Had her innocence prevented her from guessing the truth? Perhaps it was he - who was distorting facts. - </p> - <p> - “You seem to be accusing me of self-righteousness when you speak of other - people being understanding. I’m not self-righteous—really I’m not, - Desire—I do wish you’d believe that. Can’t you see why I’m not so - lenient as some of your friends? It’s because I’m so anxious to protect - you. If people are too lenient, it’s usually because they don’t want to be - criticized themselves. But when a man’s in love with a girl, he doesn’t - like to see her doing things that he might encourage her to do if he - didn’t respect her and if they were only out for a good time together.” - </p> - <p> - She had frowned while he was speaking. When he ended, she lifted her gray - eyes. “I do understand. I think I understand much more than you’ve said. - But please don’t judge me—that’s what I’m afraid of. I know I’m all - wrong—wrong and stupid in so many directions.—I’ve only found - out how wrong,” her voice dropped, “since I’ve known you.” He felt like - weeping. He had judged her; in spite of his resolutions to let his love be - blind, he had been judging her. Every time he had judged her, her - intuition had warned her. And there she sat abasing herself that she might - treat him with kindness. - </p> - <p> - He became passionate in her defense. “You’re not wrong. I wouldn’t have - anything, not a single thing in your life altered—nothing, Desire, - from—from the very first. You’re the dearest, sweetest——” - </p> - <p> - She pressed a finger to her lips and pointed to the mirror. He caught - sight of his strained expression, and remembered they were in public. - </p> - <p> - While he recovered himself, she did the talking. “I’m not the dearest, - sweetest anything; you don’t see straight. Some day you’ll put on your - spectacles. You’ll see too much that’s bad then. That’s what Horace has - done.—He sailed for England this morning.” - </p> - <p> - “What’s that? D’you mean he’s broken with——” - </p> - <p> - She nodded. “Too bad, isn’t it? She didn’t much want him to come to - America, but she’s fearfully cut up now he’s left She was counting on - having such good times with him at Christmas. He didn’t explain anything; - he just went. And——” She made a pyramid of her hands over - which she watched him. “D’you know, she owns up now that some day she - might have married him.” - </p> - <p> - “But she never told him?” - </p> - <p> - Desire looked away. “A girl never tells a man that till the last moment. - He got huffy because she was cross with him for taking her to the country. - He didn’t know that when a woman dares to be angry with a man, it’s quite - often a sign that she’s in love with him.” - </p> - <p> - “Is it?” He asked the question eagerly. Desire had been cross; this might - be the key to her conduct. - </p> - <p> - She caught his meaning and smiled mysteriously. “Yes—quite often.” - Then, speaking slowly, “I guess most misunderstandings happen between men - and women because they’re not honest with each other.” - </p> - <p> - The tension broke. “Fancy calling you a man and me a woman,” she laughed. - She bent forward across the table. “We both ought to be spanked—you - most especially.” - </p> - <p> - “Why me especially?” - </p> - <p> - “A little boy like you coming to a little girl like me and pretending to - speak seriously of marriage.—But let’s be honest with each other - always. Do you promise?” - </p> - <p> - “I promise.” - </p> - <p> - “Then, I’ll tell you something. I think it’s splendid of you to go on - loving me when you know that I’m not loving you in return.” - </p> - <p> - “And I think it’s splendid of you to let me go on loving.” - </p> - <p> - “But do I?” She eyed him mockingly. Then, with one of those sudden changes - to wistfulness, “What Horace has done has made me frightened. I’m afraid—and - I’m only telling you because we’ve promised to be honest—I’m so - afraid that you’ll leave me, and that then I may begin to care. But you’d - never be unkind like that, would you?” His hand stole out and met hers in - denial. They kept on assuring each other that, whatever had befallen other - people’s happiness, theirs was unassailable. - </p> - <p> - They had dawdled through lunch. When at last they rose the room was nearly - empty. - </p> - <p> - “What next?” - </p> - <p> - She clapped her hands. “I know. Make this day different from all the - others. Let’s pretend.” - </p> - <p> - “Pretend what?” - </p> - <p> - “You’ll see.” - </p> - <p> - On the Avenue they hailed a hansom and drove the long length of New York, - through the Park to the Eighties on the West Side. Then she told him: they - were to examine apartments, pretending they wanted to rent one. Wherever - they saw a sign up they stopped the cabby and went in to make inquiries. - Sometimes she talked Cockney. Sometimes she was a little French girl, who - had to have everything that the janitor said translated to her by Teddy. - She only once broke down—when the janitor, as ill-luck would have - it, was a Frenchman; then they beat an ignominious retreat, laughing and - covered with confusion. - </p> - <p> - It was a very jolly game to play with a girl you loved—this - pretending that you were seeking a nest. It was all the jollier because - she would not own that that was the underlying excitement of their - pretense. As they passed from room to room, and when no one was looking, - he would slip his arm about her and kiss her unwilling cheek. “Wait till - we’re in the hansom,” she would whisper. “Oh, Meester Deek, you do - embarrass me.” - </p> - <p> - Try as he would, he could not disguise the fact that he was in love with - her. A light shone in his eyes. This seemed no game, but a natural - preliminary to something that must happen. She was indignant when the - custodians of the apartments took it for granted that they were an engaged - couple. She ungloved her hand that they might see for themselves that the - ring was lacking. “It’s for my mother,” she explained. “Yes, I like the - apartment; but I can’t decide till my mother has seen it” She referred to - Teddy pointedly as “My friend.” The janitors looked knowing. They smiled - sentimentally and put her conduct down to extreme bashfulness. - </p> - <p> - That afternoon was a sample of many that followed. In ingenious and - unacknowledged ways they were continually playing this game that they were - married. Frequently it commenced with his presumption that she shared his - purse, and that it was his right to give her presents. If a dress in a - window caught her fancy, he would say, “How’d you like me to buy you - that?” - </p> - <p> - “But you can’t. It isn’t done in the best families.” - </p> - <p> - “But I could if I were your husband.” - </p> - <p> - “If! Ah, yes!” - </p> - <p> - Then, for the fun of it, she would enter and try on the dress. Once he - surprised her. She had fitted on a green tweed suit-far more girlish than - anything that she usually wore-and the shop-woman was appealing to him for - his approval. When Desire wasn’t looking, he nodded and paid for it in - cash. - </p> - <p> - “Very pretty,” Desire said, not knowing it had been purchased, “but a - little too expensive. Thank you for your trouble.” - </p> - <p> - At dinner, long after the store had closed, he told her. - </p> - <p> - “But I can’t accept things from you like that. It’s very sweet of you, but - the suit’ll go back to-morrow. Even if I were willing, mother wouldn’t - allow it.” - </p> - <p> - But Vashti only smiled. She was giving him his chance. It pleased her to - regard them as children. - </p> - <p> - “Of course it isn’t the thing to do, but if it gives Teddy pleasure——” - </p> - <p> - So when the suit came home it was not returned. When she met him in the - day time she invariably wore it He knew that her motive was to make him - happy. The little tweed suit gave him an absurd sense of warmth about the - heart whenever he thought of it. It was another bond between them. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder whether my fattier was at all like you—whether he was - always buying things for my beautiful mother. It is strange to have a - father and to know so little of him. You’re the only person, Meester Deek, - I ever talk to about him. That’s a compliment. D’you think——” - she hesitated, “don’t you think some day you and I might bring them - together?” - </p> - <p> - It became one of the secret dreams they shared. He told her about the - letter he had written to Hal and never sent. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you ever mention me to your father and mother?” - </p> - <p> - It was an awkward question. - </p> - <p> - “You don’t Why not?” - </p> - <p> - He wasn’t sure why he didn’t He hadn’t dared to admit to himself why he - didn’t. His world was out of focus. He supposed that every man’s world - grew out of focus when he fell in love. But the supposition wasn’t quite - satisfying; his conscience often gave him trouble. - </p> - <p> - “But why not?” she persisted. “Are you ashamed of me?” - </p> - <p> - “Ashamed of you!” he laughed desperately. “What is there to tell? If we - were engaged———- But so long as we’re not, they wouldn’t - understand. I’m waiting till I can tell them that.” - </p> - <p> - “I wish they knew,” she pouted. “I wish it wasn’t my fault that you were - stopping in America. I wish so many things. I wouldn’t do a thing to - prevent you if you wanted to sail to-morrow. You won’t ever blame me, will - you?” - </p> - <p> - It always came back to that, her fear that he might accuse her of having - led him on. - </p> - <p> - One day he made a discovery. He had gone to the apartment to call for her - earlier than he was expected. She was out Lying on the table under some - needle-work was a book which he recognized. He picked it up; it was the - copy of Life Till Twenty-One which he had bought for her after the ride - from Glastonbury, the receipt of which she had never acknowledged. He had - invented all manner of reasons for her silence: that she was annoyed with - him for having written about her; that she didn’t take him seriously as an - artist. On opening it he found that not only had it been read, but - carefully annotated throughout. The passages which referred most - explicitly to herself were underscored. Against his more visionary flights - she had set query marks. They winked at him humorously up and down the - margins. They were like her voice, counseling with laughing petulance, - “Now, do be sensible.” - </p> - <p> - She came in with her arms full of parcels. He held the book up - triumphantly. “I’m awfully-proud. You are a queer kiddy. Why didn’t you - tell me? I thought you didn’t care.” - </p> - <p> - Her parcels scattered. She grabbed the book from him. “That’s cheating.” - She flushed scarlet. “Of course I care. What girl wouldn’t? But if I feel - a thing deeply I don’t gush. I’m like that.” - </p> - <p> - “But you talk about Fluffy’s work; you’re always diving through crowds to - see if her picture isn’t on news-stands. You tell me what your friend, - Tom, is doing and—and heaps of people.” - </p> - <p> - “They’re different.” - </p> - <p> - “How?” - </p> - <p> - “If you don’t know, I can’t tel! you.” - </p> - <p> - “But I’m so proud of you, Princess. I do wish that sometimes,” he tried to - take her hand—she fortressed herself behind a chair, “that sometimes - you’d show that you were a little proud of me.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you!” She bit her finger the way she did when she suspected that he - was going to try to kiss her mouth. Her eyes danced and mocked him above - her hand. “Fancy poor little you wanting some one to be proud of you. - Meester Deek, that does sound soft.” - </p> - <p> - “Does it?” His voice trembled. “I don’t mind how foolish I am before you. - But I do wish sometimes that you’d treat me as though I wasn’t different. - You’ve only called me twice by my name. You won’t dance with me, though I - learnt especially for you. You won’t do all kinds of ordinary things that - you’re willing to do with people who don’t count.” - </p> - <p> - All the while that he had been speaking she had smiled at him, her finger - still childishly in her mouth. When he had ended, she came from behind her - chair and threw herself on the couch. “I have piped unto you and ye have - not danced. Is that it, Meester Deek? So now you’re weeping to see if I - won’t mourn. I’m afraid I’m not the mourning sort; life’s too happy.—But - I’m not nice to you. Come and sit down. I’m afraid I’m least gracious to - the people I like best. Ask mother; she’ll tell you.” - </p> - <p> - Just as he was about to accept her invitation, Twinkles entered, her tail - erect, and hopping on the couch, planted herself between them. She had the - prim air of a dog who is the custodian of her mistress’s morals. - </p> - <p> - Desire began to toy with the silky ears. “My little chaperone knows what’s - best for me, I guess.—Meester Deek doesn’t love ’oo, - Twinkles. He thinks ’oo’s a very interfering little doggie.” - </p> - <p> - He did. Despite his best efforts Twinkles growled at him and refused to be - friends. She was continually making his emotion ridiculous. She timed her - absurdly sedate entrances for the moments when the cloud of his pent-up - feelings was about to burst. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Love’s Labor Lost</i> or <i>Divided by a Dog.</i>” Desire glanced, - through her lashes laughingly. “You could write a play on it Twinkles and - I could take the leading parts without rehearsing.” - </p> - <p> - After his discovery that she had read his book he began to try to interest - her in his work—his contemplated work which was scarcely commenced - while she kept him waiting. She seemed pleased when he placed his - manuscripts in her lap. She loved to play the part of his severest critic, - sweeping tempestuously aside all ideas that she pronounced unworthy of - him. - </p> - <p> - The only side of his career in which she failed to show interest was the - financial. The mere mention of money made her shrivel up. He had hoped - that if he could persuade her to talk about it, he might be able to - confess his straitened circumstances. He guessed the reason for her - delicacy and respected it: concern on her part over his bank-account might - make her look grasping. After each vain attempt to broach the subject, he - would dodge back to cover as if he hadn’t meant it, and would commence to - tell her hurriedly of his dreams of fame. While he did it, a comic little - smile would keep tugging at the corners of her mouth. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think you’re wasting time with me,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “I know I’m not.” - </p> - <p> - “But I meant something different. I meant that you’re learning about life; - I’m making awfully good copy for you. One day, when I’m a famous actress - and you’re married to some nice little woman who’s jealous of me, you’ll - write a book—a most heart-rending book—that’ll make her still - more jealous. It’ll be a kind of sequel to <i>Life Till Twenty-one</i>, I - guess. All experience, however much it costs, is valuable.—You’re - laughing at me. But isn’t it?” - </p> - <p> - “You wise little person.” - </p> - <p> - “Just common-sense—and not so terribly little, either,” she - corrected. - </p> - <p> - Many of these conversations took place towards midnight, after he had seen - her home from dinners or theatres. Usually they were carried on in - whispers so as not to waken Vashti, who left her bedroom door ajar when - she knew that Desire was to be late in returning. As a rule, Desire was in - evening-dress; he was sensitively conscious of her mist of hair, and of - the long sweet slope of her white arms and shoulders. After taking - Twinkles for a final outing, he always accompanied her up to the apartment - Once she had had to press him to do so; now she often pretended that she - had expected him to say good-night in the public foyer. - </p> - <p> - Saying good-night was a lengthy process, packed with the day’s omitted - tendernesses and made poignant by a touch of dread. After he had risen - reluctantly from the couch, they would linger in the hall, lasting out the - seconds. There were few words uttered. When a man has said, “I love you,” - many times, there is no room for further eloquence. She would stand with - her back against the wall, eyeing him luringly and a little - compassionately. Presently her hand would creep up to the latch and he - would seize the opportunity to slip his arm about her. Wouldn’t she - appoint a place of meeting for to-morrow? She would shake her head and - whisper evasively, “Phone me in the morning.” - </p> - <p> - Gazing at each other in quivering excitement, they would droop nearer - together. She knew that soon he would draw her to his breast. At the first - movement on his part she would turn the latch and her free hand would fly - up to shield her mouth. He would attempt to coax it away with kisses. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve only kissed your lips once. And you’ve never kissed me yet. Won’t - you kiss me, Desire?” - </p> - <p> - The tenacious little hand would remain obdurate. “Meester Deek, you - mustn’t. The door’s open. If anybody saw us——” - </p> - <p> - If he tried to pull it away, she would call softly so that nobody could - hear her, “Help, Meester Deek is kissing me.” If he went on trying, she - would gradually call louder. - </p> - <p> - By degrees she would get him to the elevator; but unless she rang the - bell, he preferred to descend by the stairs for the joy of seeing her - leaning over the rail and raining down kisses to him. The further he - descended the more willing she seemed to be accessible. If he turned to go - back to her, her face would vanish and he would hear her door shutting. - </p> - <p> - These farewells embodied for him the ghostly acme of romance. They were - the balcony scene from <i>Romeo and Juliet</i> enacted on the stairway of - a New York apartment-house. From such frail materials till the new day - brought promise, he constructed the palace of his hopes and ecstasies. It - was the ghost of happiness that he had found; happiness itself escaped - him. He longed for her to love him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVII—THE TEST - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>as she incapable - of passion—she who could rouse it to the danger-mark in others? He - suspected that he was too gentle with her; but forcefulness brought - memories of Mr. Dak. Though she made herself the dearest of companions, he - knew that her feeling was no more than intense liking. He had failed to - stir her. - </p> - <p> - Sometimes he thought that out of cowardice she was wilfully preventing - herself from loving; sometimes that she was diverting the main stream of - her affection in a wrong direction. She could still court separation from - him without regret Fluffy had only to raise her finger and all his plans - were scattered. Fluffy raised her finger very often now that Horace had - left. - </p> - <p> - He despised himself for feeling jealous of a woman; but he was jealous. - Fluffy knew that she was his rival. When they were all three together, she - would amuse herself with half-sincere attempts to help him in his battle: - “He looks at you so nicely. Why don’t you marry him?” But she robbed him - remorselessly of Desire whenever it pleased her fancy. “Oh, these men!” - she would sigh, shrugging her pretty shoulders. “Don’t you know, little - Desire, that it does them good to keep them guessing?” - </p> - <p> - While the days slipped by unnumbered, he tried to persuade himself that - Desire’s difficulty of winning made her the more worthy of his worship. He - often thought of his father’s picture, buried beneath dusty canvasses in - the stable at Eden Row. It was like that. He had stumbled into a Garden - Enclosed, basking in lethargy, where Love peered in through the locked - gate, and all things waited and slumbered. Then came the awakening, - shattering in its earnestness. - </p> - <p> - It was three days before Christmas. The weather had turned to a sparkling - coldness. Tall buildings looked like Niagaras of stone, poured from the - glistening blueness of the heavens. In Madison Square and Columbus Circle - Christmas trees had been set up. New York had a festive atmosphere—almost - an atmosphere of childhood. Schools had broken up; streets were animated - with laughing faces. Mistletoe and holly were in evidence. At frequent - corners a Santa Claus was standing, white-bearded and red-coated, - clattering his bell. Broadway and Fifth Avenue were thronged with - matinée-girls and their escorts. They sprang up like flowers, tripping - along gayly, snuggling their cheeks against their furs. Stores were - Aladdin’s Caves, where money could make dreams come true. The spendthrift - good-nature of the crowds was infectious. - </p> - <p> - All afternoon he had been shopping with her. “Our first Christmas - together,” he kept saying. He invented plan after plan for making the - season memorable. “When we’re old married people,” he told her, “we’ll - look back. It’ll be something to talk about.” - </p> - <p> - “Only you mustn’t talk about it before your wife,” she warned him slyly. - </p> - <p> - “Why not?” - </p> - <p> - “She won’t like it, naturally. A Joan likes to think she was her Darby’s - first and only.” - </p> - <p> - He drew her arm closer into his, and peeped beneath the brim of her hat, - “Well, and wasn’t she?” - </p> - <p> - “Old stupid.” - </p> - <p> - Over his cheerfulness, though he tried to dispel it, hung a mist of - melancholy. He was reminded of all the Christmases which his father and - mother had helped to make glad. If this was the first he had spent with - Desire, it was the first he had been absent from them. They would be - lonely. His gain in happiness was in proportion to their loss. He felt - guilty; it came home to him at every turn that his treatment of them had - not been handsome. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she bubbled into laughter. “You do look tragic Cheer up.” - Perching her chin on her clasped hands, she leant towards him, “What’s the - matter?” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing.” - </p> - <p> - “But there is. Is it anything that I’ve said or done? I’m quite willing to - apologize. Tell me.” Her voice sank from high spirits till it nearly - trembled into tears. “You promised always to be honest” Her hand stole out - and caressed his fingers. “Our first Christmas together! Mee-ster Deek, - you’re not going to make it sad after—after all our good times - together?” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not making it sad.” He spoke harshly. His tone startled her. She - stared at him, puzzled. For the first time he had failed to be - long-suffering. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps we’d better be going.” - </p> - <p> - Assuming an air of dignity, she slipped into her jacket and commenced to - gather up her furs. Usually they enacted a comedy in which he hurried to - her assistance and she made haste to forestall him. Instead, he beckoned - for the bill. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps we had,” he said shortly. - </p> - <p> - When the waiter had gone for the change, he began to relent. Fumbling in - his breast-pocket, he pulled out the case and placed it on the table. - </p> - <p> - “I got this for you, not because it cost money, but because I thought - you’d like it.” - </p> - <p> - She did not touch it. “Three days till Christmas. It isn’t time for - presents yet.” - </p> - <p> - “Will you promise to accept it?” - </p> - <p> - “Why shouldn’t I? It’s a little brooch or somethings isn’t it? Let’s wait - till Christmas Eve, anyway—till the day after to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “I want you to see it now.” - </p> - <p> - The waiter came back with the change. He picked it up without counting it, - keeping his eyes on hers. She was fingering the case with increasing - curiosity. - </p> - <p> - “But why now?” - </p> - <p> - “Because——-” He couldn’t explain to her. - </p> - <p> - Her face cleared and broke into graciousness. “You are funny. Well, if it - means so much to you——” She examined the case first. - “Tiffany’s! So that’s what you were doing when you left me—busting - yourself? Shall I take just one peek at it?—Give me a smile then to - show that we’re still friends—— All right—to please - you.” - </p> - <p> - He twisted on his chair and gazed into the room. The moment while he - waited was an agony. He was a prisoner waiting for the jury to give its - verdict. All his future hung upon her words. - </p> - <p> - She gasped. “What a darling! Diamonds! Are they diamonds? They must be - since they’re Tiffany’s. But it must have cost—-” - </p> - <p> - He swung round. Her glance fell. “I can’t take it.” - </p> - <p> - “You can. You’re going to. Here, let’s try it on—There!” - </p> - <p> - She fidgeted it round, watching the stones sparkle. She seemed fascinated, - and wavered. Then she gathered her will-power: “No, Meester Deek. What - kind of a girl d’you think I am?” - </p> - <p> - She tried to remove it; he stayed her. They sat in silence. It was very - much as though they had quarreled—the queerest way to give and - receive a present. - </p> - <p> - He picked up the empty case and slipped it in his pocket “I’ll carry it - for you. What’ll we do next? A theatre?” - </p> - <p> - She glanced down at her green tweed suit. “Not dressy enough. Besides,” - she consulted the watch on her wrist, “it’s nine.—Oh, I know; let’s - visit Fluffy. We’ll catch her between the acts.” - </p> - <p> - Fluffy was leading lady in <i>Who Killed Cock Robin?</i> which was playing - to crowded houses at The Belshazzar. - </p> - <p> - At the corner of Forty-second Street and Times Square he held her elbow - gingerly to guide her through the traffic; on the further pavement he - released it They walked separately. Then something happened which marked - an epoch in their relations. Shyly she took his arm; previously it was he - who had taken hers. She hugged it to her so that their shoulders came - together. “Can’t you guess why I wanted to see Fluffy? I’m dying to show - it to her.” Then, in a shamefaced little whisper: “Don’t think I’m - ungrateful, Meester Deek. I never could say thanks. People—people - who really like me understand.” - </p> - <p> - They came to The Belshazzar with its blazing sign, branding Janice Audrey - on the night in fiery letters. There was something rather magnificent - about marching in at the stage-entrance unchallenged. As they turned into - the narrow passage which ran up beside the theatre, passers-by would halt - to watch them, thinking they had discovered a resemblance in their faces - to persons well known in stage-land. Even Teddy felt the thrill of it, - though he was loth to own it, for these peeps behind the scenes cost him - dearly; they invariably rekindled Desire’s ambitions to be an actress. She - would talk of nothing else till midnight. The chances were that the rest - of his evening would be spoilt; that was what usually happened if he - allowed himself to be coaxed into the lady-peacock’s dressing-room. If the - lady herself was before the footlights, he would have to hear Desire - talking theatrical shop with her dresser. If she was present, he would - have to sit ignored, listening to her accepting the grossest flatteries, - till he seemed to himself to have become conspicuous by not joining in the - chorus of adoration. In the seductive insincerity of that little nest, - with its striped yellow wall-paper, its dressing-table littered with - grease-paints, its frothy display of strewn attire, its perfumed - atmosphere and its professional acceptance of the feminine form as a fact, - he had spent many an unamiable hour. - </p> - <p> - As they passed the door-keeper, Desire smiled proudly. “We’re visiting - Miss Audrey.” The man peered above his paper, recognized her and nodded. - She glanced up at Teddy merrily, “Just as if we were members of the - company.” - </p> - <p> - Breaking from him, she ran ahead up the stairs: “You wait here. I’ll let - you know if it’s all right.” - </p> - <p> - In his mind’s eye he followed her. He imagined her flitting along the - passage from which the dressing-rooms led off, on whose doors were pinned - the names of their temporary occupants. He imagined the faded photographs - of forgotten stars, gazing mournfully down on her youth from the walls. At - the far end she would pause and tap, listening like an alert little bird - for the answer. Then the door would open, and she would vanish. She was - showing Fluffy her watch-bracelet now; they were vying with each other in - their excited exclamations. He could picture it all. - </p> - <p> - It seemed to him that she had kept him waiting a long while—a longer - time than usual. It might be only his impatience; time always hung heavy - without her. Men passed—men who belonged to the management. They - looked worried and evidently resented his presence. He returned their - resentment, feeling that they were mistaking him for a stage Johnny. - </p> - <p> - At last he determined to wait no longer. As he climbed the stairs, he - heard the muttering of voices and some one sobbing. All the doors of the - dressing-rooms were open. The passage was crowded. The entire cast was - there in their stage attire. Managers of various sorts were pushing their - way back and forth. A newspaper man was being hustled out. Something might - have happened to Desire. The disturbance was in Fluffy’s dressing-room. He - elbowed his way to the front and peered breathlessly across the threshold. - </p> - <p> - Stretched on a couch was a slim boyish figure, in the costume of a - Tyrolese huntsman. Her face was buried in her hands, her feet twitched one - against the other and her shoulders shook with an agony of crying. The cap - which she had been wearing had been tom off and hurled into a far corner. - Her hair fell in a shining tide and gleamed in a golden pool upon the - carpet. By the side of the couch her dresser stood, wringing her hands and - imploring: “Now, Miss Audrey, this’ll never do. They’ve sent for Mr. - Freelevy. You must pull yourself together. The curtain’s waiting to go up. - It’ll be your call in a second.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, go away—go away, all of you,” Fluffy wept “I don’t care what - happens now. Nothing matters.” - </p> - <p> - Desire was kneeling beside her with her arms about her. She was crying - too, dipping her lips into the golden hair. “Don’t, darling. You’re - breaking my heart. Tell me. It may help.” - </p> - <p> - Simon Freelevy shouldered his way into the room. He was a stout, short man - with a bald, shiny head. His hurry had made him perspire; he was breathing - heavily. - </p> - <p> - “What’s all this?” he asked angrily. “Tantrums or what?” - </p> - <p> - Fluffy sat up. She looked pitiful as a frightened child. The penciling - beneath her blue eyes made them larger than ever. She fisted her hands - against her mouth to silence her sobs. - </p> - <p> - The dresser answered. “A cable was waiting for her. She read it after the - first act It took her by surprise, sir. It was to tell her that Mr. - Overbridge had married.” - </p> - <p> - “Sensible fellow.” Simon Freelevy took one look at Fluffy. In the quiet - that had attended his entrance the roar of the impatient theatre, - clamoring for the curtain to rise, could be heard. “She can’t go on,” he - said brusquely. “She’s no more good to-night. Where’s her understudy?—Oh, - youl Good girl—you got ready. Get back into the wings all of you.” - </p> - <p> - He drove them out like a flock of sheep, slamming the door contemptuously - behind him. - </p> - <p> - Desire turned to Teddy. “Fetch a taxi. I can’t leave her to-night We’ll - take her home to my apartment.” - </p> - <p> - As they drove through Columbus Circle the Christmas tree was illuminated - at the entrance to the Park. The happiness which it betokened provoked - another shower of tears from Fluffy. “It was cruel of him,” she wept, - “cruel of him. I always, always intended—— You know I did, - little Desire.” - </p> - <p> - She was like a hurt child; there was no consoling her. Her only relief - seemed to be derived from repeating her wrongs monotonously. She kept - appealing to Desire to confirm her assertions of the injustice that had - been done her. Desire gathered her into her arms and drew her head to her - shoulder. “Don’t cry, darling. He wasn’t worthy of you. There are - thousands more men in the world.” - </p> - <p> - As soon as they had reached the apartment Fluffy said: “Let me go to bed. - I want to cry my heart out.” In the hall as she bade Teddy good-night, she - gazed forlornly from him to Desire: “You two, you’re very happy. You don’t - know how happy. No one ever does until—until It ends.” - </p> - <p> - He watched them down the passage. He supposed he ought to go now. Instead, - he went into the front-room and seated himself. He couldn’t tear himself - away. He was hungry for Desire. He hadn’t known that she could be so - tender. He yearned for some great calamity to befall him, that he might - see her kneeling at his side and might feel her arms about him. - </p> - <p> - Finality was in the air. Horace’s example had startled him into facing up - to facts; perhaps it had done the same for her. He felt that this was the - psychologic crisis to which all his courtship had been leading. She cared - for him, or she wouldn’t have accepted his present. Knowing her as he did, - the very ungraciousness of her acceptance was a proof to him of how much - she cared. And now this new happening I It had darted swiftly across their - insecurity as the shadow of nemesis approaching. To-night her lips must - give him his answer. She had said: “When I kiss you, Meester Deek, without - your asking, you’ll know then.” They could drag on no longer. It wasn’t - honorable to her, to himself, to his parents—it wasn’t fair to any - of them. Like a stave of music her words sang in his memory, “And we’re - about the right height, aren’t we?” - </p> - <p> - Twinkles wandered in; seeing that he was alone and that her services were - not required, she wandered out. He got up restlessly. To kill time, he - examined the little piles of books and set them in order. He picked up a - boudoir-cap that she was making, pressing it to his lips because her hands - had touched it. He smiled fondly; even in her usefulness she was - decorative. She made boudoir-caps when buttons needed sewing on her - gloves. - </p> - <p> - Whatever he did, the eyes of Tom watched him from the photograph on the - piano. He had been hoping for months that she would remove it The eyes - watched him in malicious silence. She had told him that Tom was a sort of - brother. He had never disputed it, but he knew that no man could play the - brother for long with such a girl. He wondered if Tom had found her lips - more accessible, and whether she had ever kissed him in return. - </p> - <p> - It was getting late. Not quite the evening he had expected! Very few of - his evenings were. - </p> - <p> - At a sound he turned. She was standing in the doorway, a wrapper clutched - about her, her hair hanging long as at Glastonbury, her bare feet peeping - out from bedroom slippers. She looked half-child, half-elf. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it’s you. I thought you’d gone—been gone for hours.” - </p> - <p> - “Gone! How could I go? We didn’t say good-night.” He lowered his voice, - copying her whisper. Everything seemed to listen in the quietness, - especially Tom’s photograph. - </p> - <p> - He approached her. If she would be only a tenth as tender to him as she - had been to Fluffy! He was quivering like a leaf. The mystic wind that - blew through him was so gentle that it could only be seen, not heard. It - seemed to fill the room with flutterings. She shook her head, tossing her - hair clear of her shoulders. He halted. Then he seized her hands. They - struggled to free themselves. - </p> - <p> - “You’re eating my heart out, Desire. I’m good for nothing. You must say - yes. If you don’t love me, you at least like me. You like me immensely, - don’t you? The other will come later.” His voice trembled with the need of - her; it was more like crying. He tried to draw her to him; she clutched - her wrap more tightly, and dodged across the threshold. - </p> - <p> - Something in him broke. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?” - </p> - <p> - She closed her eyes in dreamy denial. “Never?” - </p> - <p> - “How can I tell?” - </p> - <p> - “Then let me kiss you. You’ve let me do it so often. You’ll at least do - that And—and it’s so nearly Christmas.” - </p> - <p> - “You’ve kissed me so many, many times. I don’t know why I allow it.” Her - voice sounded infinitely weary. - </p> - <p> - He let go her hand. His face became ashen. “This can’t go on forever.” - </p> - <p> - “Shish! You’ll wake Fluffy.” She pressed her finger to her lip. “I know. - It can’t go on forever. Don’t let’s talk about it.” - </p> - <p> - He turned slowly, and picked up his coat and hat. “You and I can talk of - that or nothing.” - </p> - <p> - As he approached the hall, she slipped after him into the passage. With - his hand on the latch he looked back, “Then you won’t let me kiss you?” - </p> - <p> - Her expression quickened into a bewitching smile. “You silly Meester - Deek!” She glanced down at her gauzy attire. “How can I? You wouldn’t have - seen me this way if it hadn’t been for an accident. Besides,” with a - drooping of her head, “I’m so fagged; I don’t feel like kissing to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “If you loved me,” he said vehemently, “you’d let me kiss you, anyhow. You - wouldn’t mind. You’d be glad. Why, you and I, the way we’ve been together, - we’re as good as married.” - </p> - <p> - “Not as bad as that,” she murmured drowsily. - </p> - <p> - He opened the door. At the last moment she ran forward, holding out her - hand. “You’re angry. Poor Meester Deek! You’re splendid when you’re angry. - Cheer up. There are all the to-morrows.” - </p> - <p> - He could have taken her in his arms then. He would have taken her cruelly, - crushing her to him. He feared himself. He feared the quiet. He feared - her, lest directly he relented, she would repulse him. She lifted her hand - part way to his mouth. He arrested it; it was her lips for which he was - hungry—to feel them shuddering again beneath his pressure before - love died. He hurried from her. - </p> - <p> - At last he had stirred her. He had wounded her pride. Tears gushed to her - eyes, deepening their grayness. She stood gazing after him, dumbly - reproachful. - </p> - <p> - As he entered the Brevoort the clerk handed him a letter. He glanced at - the writing; it was from his mother. He waited till he was in his room - before he tore the envelope. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Aren’t you ever coming home!” [he read], “It makes us feel so old, - living without you. What is it that’s keeping you? Until now I’ve not - liked to suggest it. But isn’t it a girl? It can’t be the right one, - Teddy, or you wouldn’t hide the news from your mother. When it’s the right - one a boy comes running to tell her; he knows it’ll make her glad. But you - must know it wouldn’t make me glad—so come back to where we’re so - proud of you. If you cable that you’re coming, we’ll postpone our - Christmas so that you can share it.”</i> - </p> - <p> - And then, in a paragraph: - </p> - <p> - “<i>I’ve bad news to tell you. The Sheerugs have lost all their money. - Madame Josephine died suddenly; Duke Nineveh has stolen everything and - decamped with a chorus-girl. Beauty Incorporated is exposed and exploded. - The papers say it was a swindle. This’ll affect you financially, poor old - chap</i>.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVIII—THE PRINCESS WHO DID NOT KNOW HER HEART - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e sat with his - mother’s letter in his hand—the same kind of letter that years ago - Mrs. Sheerug must have penned to Hal. If Hal had preserved them, there - must be stacks of them stowed away in the garrets at Orchid Lodge. How - selfish lovers were in the price they made others pay! What dearly - purchased happiness! - </p> - <p> - And he was becoming like Hal. He resented the comparison; but he was. Fame - and opportunity were knocking at his door. Instead of opening to them, he - sat weakly waiting for a girl who didn’t seem to care. One day fame and - opportunity would go away; when they were gone, he would have lost his - only chance of making the girl respond. If he became great—really - great—she might appreciate him. - </p> - <p> - For the first time in his dealings with Desire strategy suggested itself. - Not until Fluffy had lost Horace had she discovered that she had a heart. - If he were to leave Desire—— Fear gripped him lest, while he - was gone, some one else might claim her. The loneliness of what he would - have to face appalled him. It was a loneliness which she would share at - least in part; the habits formed from having been loved, even though she - had not loved in return, might lead her into another man’s arms. - </p> - <p> - And yet, strategy or no strategy, he would have to leave New York; he - couldn’t keep up the pace. The three hundred pounds per annum which had - come to him from Beauty Incorporated hadn’t been much; but, while it - lasted, it had seemed certain. It had been something to fall back on. It - had stood between him and poverty. His nerve was shaken. What if his vein - of fancy should run dry? - </p> - <p> - His habits of industry were already lost. He would have to go into retreat - to re-find them—go somewhere where people believed in him; then he - might retrieve his confidence. The yearning to be mothered, which the - strongest men feel at times, swept over him like a tide. He wanted to hear - himself called Teddy, as though his name was not absurd or disgraceful—a - name to be avoided with a nickname. - </p> - <p> - If he appealed to Desire one last time, would she understand—would - she be kind to him as she had been to Fluffy? He wondered—and he - doubted. If he told her of the loss of the three hundred pounds his - trouble would sound paltry. It might sound to her as though he were asking - her to restore to him the watch-bracelet. It was in her company that he - had spent so riotously; she might think that he was accusing her of having - been mercenary. She had never been that; she had given him far more in - happiness than the means of happiness had cost But he couldn’t conceive of - being in her company and refraining from extravagance. Her personality - made recklessness contagious; it acted like strong wine, diminishing both - the future and the past, till the present became of total importance. - </p> - <p> - There was a phrase in his mother’s letter which brought an unreasonable - warmth to his heart: “Come back to where we feel so proud of you.” It was - a long while since any one had felt proud of him. But how had she guessed - that? He had poured out his admiration. He had been so selfless in his - adoration that he had sometimes fancied that he had been despised for it. - He had almost come to believe that there was an unpleasantness in his - appearance or a taint in his character which the love-blind eyes of Eden - Row had failed to discover. Desire seemed most conscious of it when he - stood in the light. It was only in the dusk of cabs and taxis that she - almost forgot it. Sometimes she seemed morbidly aware of this defect; then - she would say in a weary little voice, “I don’t feel like kissing - to-night.” - </p> - <p> - Humiliation was enervating his talent. He was losing faith in his own - worth—the faith so necessary to an artist. Desire said that it was - “soft” of him to want her to be proud of him. Perhaps it was. But if she - ought not to be proud of him, who ought? - </p> - <p> - He would have been content with much less than her pride—if only, - when others were present, she had not ignored him. Her friends - unconsciously imitated her example. They passed him over and chattered - about trifles. Their conversations were a shallow exchange of words in - which, when every nerve in his body was emotionalized, it was impossible - for him to take part. He showed continually at a disadvantage. They none - of them had the curiosity to inquire why he was there or who he was. He - felt that behind his back they must smile at Desire’s treatment of him. - </p> - <p> - It would be good to get back to people who frankly reciprocated his pride—to - artist father with his lofty ideals, who went marching through life with - all his bands playing, never halting for spurious success to overtake him. - It would be good to get back, and yet—— - </p> - <p> - She had worked herself into his blood. She was a disease for which she - herself was the only cure. Without the hope of seeing her his future would - lose its sight. Up till now the short nightly partings had been agonies, - which called for many kisses to dull their pain. When absent from her, he - had made haste to sleep, that oblivion might bridge the gulf of - separation. To have to face interminable days which would bring no promise - of her girlish presence, seemed worse than death. If he returned to - England, what certainty would he have that they would ever meet again? - </p> - <p> - He stung himself into shame by remembering what weakness had done for Hal. - Hal would form a link between them, when every other means of - communication had failed. - </p> - <p> - The wildness of his panic abated. He urged himself to be strong. If he - went on as he was going now, he would bankrupt his life. To-morrow he - would plead with her. - </p> - <p> - If she still procrastinated, then the only way to draw her nearer would be - to go from her. The horror of parting confronted him again. He closed his - eyes to shut it out. He would decide nothing to-night. - </p> - <p> - Next morning he phoned her at the usual time. She was still sleeping; he - left a request that she should call him. He waited till twelve. At last he - grew impatient and phoned her again. He was told that she had gone out - with Fluffy, leaving word that he would hear from her later. By three - o’clock he had not heard. All day he had been kept at high tension on the - listen. The cavalierness of her conduct roused his indignation. Her - punishment was out of all proportion to his offense, especially after the - way in which she had received the watch-bracelet A month ago he would have - hurried out to send her a peace-offering of flowers. To-day he hurried out - on a different errand. - </p> - <p> - Jumping on a bus, he rode up Fifth Avenue and alighted at The - International Sleeping Car Company. Entering swiftly, for fear his - resolution should forsake him, he booked a berth on the <i>Mauretania</i>, - sailing on Christmas Eve, the next night. He hesitated as to whether he - should send his mother a cable; he determined to postpone that final step. - He had booked and canceled a berth before. He tried to believe that he was - no more serious now than on that occasion. He was only proving to himself - and to her his supreme earnestness. ‘If she gave him any encouragement, - even though she didn’t definitely promise to marry him, he would postpone - his sailing. - </p> - <p> - He wandered out into the streets. Floating like gold and silver tulips on - the dusk, lights had sprung up. Crowds surged by merrily; all their talk - was of Christmas. The look of Christmas was in their faces. Girls hung on - the arms of men. Everywhere he saw lovers: they swayed along the pavement - as though they were one; they snuggled in hansoms, sitting close together; - they fled by in taxis, wraithlike in the darkness, fleeting as the emotion - they expressed. He knew all their secrets, all their thoughts: how men’s - hands groped into muffs to squeeze slender fingers; how the fingers lay - quiet, pretending they were numb; how speech became incoherent, and faces - drooped together. He listened to the lisp of footsteps—all going - somewhere to sorrow or happiness. How many lovers would meet in New York - to-night! He felt stunned. His heart ached intolerably. - </p> - <p> - In sheer aimlessness he strolled into the Waldorf and hovered by the - pillar from which he had so often watched to see her come. To see her - approaching now he would give a year of his life. She would be wearing her - white-fox furs and the little tweed suit he had given her. The fur rubbed - off on his sleeves; it told many tales. - </p> - <p> - His resolution was weakening every minute; soon it would be impossible to - leave her—even to pretend he had thought of leaving her. - </p> - <p> - He must keep his mind occupied; must go to some place which held no - associations. Sauntering along Thirty-fourth Street, he passed by the - Beauty Parlor where she went, as she said, “to be glorified.” He passed - the shop to which he had gone with her to buy the earliest of his more - personal gifts, the dozen silk stockings. Foolish recollections, full of - poignancy! He crossed Broadway beneath the crashing Elevated. Gimbel’s at - least would leave him unreminded; she despised any store which was not on - Fifth Avenue. He had drifted through several departments, when he was - startled by a voice. He turned as though he had been struck. A salesman, - demonstrating a gramophone, had chosen the record of <i>Absent</i> for the - purpose. He stood tensely, listening to the tenor wail that came from the - impersonal instrument: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “Thinking I see you—thinking I see you smile.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - It was the last straw. His pride was broken. What did it matter whether - she cared? The terrible reality was his need of her. He made a dash for - the nearest pay-station and rang her up. - </p> - <p> - A man answered. He wasn’t Mr. Dak. “Who? Mr. Gurney? Hold the line. I’ll - call her.—— Little D., here’s your latest. Hurry!” - </p> - <p> - He heard Desire’s tripping footsteps in the passage and her reproving - whisper to her companion, “You had no right to do that.” Then her clear - voice, thrilling him even at that distance: “Hulloa, Bright Eyes! I’ve - just this minute got home. Did you get my wire?—You didn’t! But you - must have. I sent it after you left last night.—Humph! That’s what - comes of staying at these cheap hotels. You’d better ask the clerk at the - desk.—Oh, you’re not at the Brevoort. At Gimbel’s! What are you - doing there? Buying me another watch-bracelet? Never mind, tell me - presently.—No, I’m not going to tell you what was in the telegram.—What’s - that?” - </p> - <p> - He had asked who was with her. - </p> - <p> - “Naturally I can’t answer,” she said; “not now—later. You understand - why.—Of course you can come. Hurry! I’m dying to see you. By-by.” - </p> - <p> - He had been conscious, while she was speaking, that her conversation was - framed quite as much for the other man’s mystification as for his own. - There had been a tantalizing remoteness in her tones. But what man had the - privilege to call her “Little D.”? He remembered now that, when he had - done it, an annoyed look of remembrance had crept into her eyes. - </p> - <p> - Life had become worth living again. The madness was on him to spend, to be - gay, to atone. On his way uptown he went into Maillard’s to buy her a box - of her favorite caramels. He stopped at Thorley’s and purchased a corsage - of orchids. He was allowing her to twist him round her little finger. He - confessed it. But what did anything matter? He was going to her. Life had - become radiantly happy. He no longer had to eye passing lovers with envy. - He was of their company and glorified. - </p> - <p> - When he had pressed the button of the apartment, he was kept waiting—kept - waiting so long that he rang twice. On the other side Twinkles was barking - furiously; then he heard the soft swish of approaching garments. The door - opened. Through the crack he could just make out her face. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t come in till I hide,” she warned him in a whisper. “Every one’s - out, except me and Twinkles. I’m halfway through dressing.” She retreated, - leaving the door ajar. When she had fled across the hall into the passage, - she called to him, “You may enter.” - </p> - <p> - He closed the door and listened in the discreet silence. She was in her - bedroom. She had made a great secret of her little nest. She had told him - about the pictures on the walls, the Japanese garden in the window, and - the queer things she saw from the window when she spied across the - air-shaft on her neighbors. She had a child’s genius for disguising the - commonplace with glamour. Of this the name she had given him, which was - known to no one but her and himself, was an example. She made every hour - that he had not shared with her bristle with mysteries by sly allusions to - what had happened in it Her bedroom was a forbidden spot; she deigned to - describe it to him and left his imagination to do the rest. In his lover’s - craving to picture her in all her environments—to be in ignorance of - nothing that concerned her—he had often begged her to let him peep - across the threshold. She had invariably denied him, putting on her most - shocked expression. - </p> - <p> - He walked into the front-room; it was littered with presents, received and - to be given, and their torn wrappings. - </p> - <p> - She heard him. “You mustn’t go in there,” she called. - </p> - <p> - “Then where am I to go?” - </p> - <p> - “Bother. I don’t know. You can stand in the passage and talk to me if you - like.” - </p> - <p> - For a quarter of an hour he leant against the wall, facing her closed - door. While they exchanged remarks he judged her progress by sounds. - Sometimes she informed him as to their meaning. “It’s my powder-box that - I’m opening now.—What you heard then was the stopper of my Mary - Garden bottle.—Shan’t be long. Why don’t you smoke?” - </p> - <p> - He didn’t want to smoke, but when she asked him a second time, her - question had become an imperative. - </p> - <p> - Her voice reached him muffled; by the rustling she must be slipping on her - skirt. “I’m keeping you an awfully long while, Meester Deek; you’re very - patient.” There was a lengthy pause. Then: “Of course it isn’t done in the - best families, but we’re different and, anyhow, nobody’ll know. I’ve drawn - down the shades.—If you promise to be good, you can come inside.” - </p> - <p> - She was seated at her dressing-table before the mirror, adjusting her - broad-brimmed velvet hat. - </p> - <p> - “Hulloa!” She did not turn, but let her reflection do the welcoming. “I - haven’t allowed many gentlemen to come in here.” She seemed to be saying - it lest he should think himself too highly flattered. - </p> - <p> - He bent across her shoulder, asking permission by his silence. - </p> - <p> - “You may take a nice Christmas kiss, if that’s what you’re after. Just - one.” - </p> - <p> - He brushed her cool cheek, the unresponsive cheek of an obedient child. - Her arms curved up to her head like the fine handles of a fragile vase. - She proceeded quietly with the pinning of her hat. His arms went about her - passionately. His action was unplanned. He was on his knees beside her, - clutching her to him and kissing the hands which strove to push him from - her. When his lips sought hers, she turned her face aside so that he could - only reach the merest corner of her mouth. So she lay for some seconds, - her face averted, till her motionlessness had quelled his emotion. - </p> - <p> - She laughed, freeing herself from his embrace. “Oh, Meester Deek,” she - whispered softly, “and when I wasn’t wearing any corsets! Now let me go on - with the pinning of my hat.” - </p> - <p> - He filled in the awkward silence by placing the corsage of orchids in her - lap. Before she thanked him, she tried them at various angles against her - breast, studying their effect in the mirror. Then she whispered - reproachfully: - </p> - <p> - “Aren’t you extravagant? Money does burn holes in your pocket. You ought - to give it to some one to take care of for you.” - </p> - <p> - There was no free chair. The room was strewn with odds and ends of - clothing as though a cyclone had blown through it He seated himself on the - edge of the white bed and glanced about him. On the dressing-table in a - silver frame was a photograph of Tom. On the wall, in a line above the - bed, were four more of him. Vaguely he began to guess why she had made - such a secret of her bedroom, and why she had let him see it at this stage - in his courtship. Jealousy smoldered like a sullen spark; it sprang into a - flame which tortured and consumed him. - </p> - <p> - What right had this man to watch her? Why should she wish to have him - watch? - </p> - <p> - He threw contempt on his jealousy. It made him feel brutal. But it had - burnt long enough to harden his resolve. - </p> - <p> - She rose and picked up her jacket. “D’you want to help me?” - </p> - <p> - He took it from her without alacrity. As he guided her arms into the - sleeves, she murmured: “Why were you so naughty last night, Meester Deek? - You almost made me cross, I was so upset and tired. You weren’t kind.” - Then, with a flickering uplifting of her lashes, “But I’m not tired any - longer.” - </p> - <p> - She waited expectant. Nothing happened. She picked up a hand-mirror, - surveying the back of her neck and giving her rebellious little curl a - final pat, as though bidding it be careful of its manners. In laying it - down she contrived to hold the glass so as to get a glimpse of his face - across her shoulder. Her expression stiffened. As if he were not there, - she swept over to the door, switched off the light and left him to follow. - </p> - <p> - He found her in the front-room. She had unwrapped a pot of azaleas and was - clearing a space to set it on the table. - </p> - <p> - “Tom brought me this,” she explained in a preoccupied tone. “He was - waiting for me when I got back. It was Tom who answered the phone when you - called me. Kind of him to remember me, wasn’t it?” - </p> - <p> - “Very kind.” - </p> - <p> - “You don’t need to agree if you don’t really think so.” She spoke - petulantly, with her back toward him. “Even a plant means a lot to some - people. Tom’s only an actor. He’s not a rich author to whom money means - nothing.” - </p> - <p> - “And I’m not.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you act like it.” - </p> - <p> - She had found that the bottom of the pot was wet and walked out of the - room to fetch a plate before setting it on the table. While she was gone, - he groped after the deep-down cause of her annoyance. - </p> - <p> - “Did you really send me a telegram?” he asked the moment she reentered. - </p> - <p> - “You’ve never caught me fibbing yet. I’ve been careful. Why d’you doubt - it?” - </p> - <p> - “I thought you might have said it—well, just for something to say. - Perhaps because you were embarrassed, or to make Tom jealous.” - </p> - <p> - “Embarrassed! Why embarrassed? Tom’s an old friend. I must say you have a - high opinion of me. It strikes me Mrs. Theodore Gurney’s going to have a - rough time.” - </p> - <p> - There was a dead silence. She pivoted slowly and captured both his hands. - Dragging him to the couch, she made him sit beside her. In the sudden - transition of her moods, her face had become as young and mischievous with - smiles as before it had been elderly and cross. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Meester Deek, haven’t you anything to say? Don’t you like me better - now?” She dived to within an inch of his face as though she were about to - kiss him, and there stopped short, laughing into his eyes. When he made no - response, she became tensely grave. “I can be a little cat sometimes, and - yet you want to live with me all your life. I should think you’d get sick - of me. I’m very honest to let you see what I really am.” She said this - with a wise shake of her head and an air of self-congratulation. “But - you’re a beast, too, when you’re offended.” She stooped and kissed his - hand. “The first time I’ve ever done that,” she murmured, “to you or any - man. Haven’t we gone far enough with our quarreling?” - </p> - <p> - “I think we have.” - </p> - <p> - “But you’ve not forgiven me?—Well, I’ll tell you, and then you’ll - ask my pardon.” She moved away from him to the other end of the couch. - “I’ve really been very sweet to you all the time and you haven’t known it. - Last night we were both stupid; I was upset. I don’t know which of us was - the worst. But after you’d gone I was sorry, and I dressed, and I went out - all alone at midnight to send you a telegram so you’d know that I was - sorry directly you woke in the morning. It wasn’t my fault that you didn’t - get it. And then about to-day—you’re angry because I didn’t call you - up. It was because I was looking after your Christmas present. And when - you came here all glum and sulky I let you see my bedroom. And now I’ve - kissed your hand. Isn’t that enough?” - </p> - <p> - She was turning all the tables on him. “Let’s be friends,” he said. When - he slipped his arm about her, she flinched. “Mind my flowers. Don’t crush - them. You must first say that you’re sorry.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m sorry. Terribly sorry.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, then. But you did hurt me last night when—when you went - away like that.” - </p> - <p> - “But you often let me go away like that.” - </p> - <p> - She held up a finger. “You’re starting again.” - </p> - <p> - She rose and walked over to a pile of parcels which were lying on the - piano. As he watched her, the thought of Tom came back. She hadn’t - explained those photographs; his pride wouldn’t permit him to ask her. - </p> - <p> - “You’re not very curious, Meester Deek. Why d’you think I kept you waiting - in the passage and wouldn’t let you come in here? I was afraid you might - see something. I’ll let you see it now.” - </p> - <p> - She was leaning against the piano. He went and stood beside her. She moved - nearer so that her hair swept his cheek like a caress. “Do you like it?” - She placed a miniature of herself done on ivory in his hand. “Better than - the poor little tin-type portrait that faded!” - </p> - <p> - “For me?” he asked incredulously. - </p> - <p> - “Who else? No, listen before you thank me. I thought they’d never get it - done. They’ve been weeks over it. All day I’ve been hurrying them. Now, - won’t you own that you have been misunderstanding?” - </p> - <p> - “I’ve been an unjust idiot.” - </p> - <p> - “Not so bad as that. And I’m not so bad, either, if you only knew—— - Now I’ll put on your bracelet Did you notice that I wasn’t wearing it?” - </p> - <p> - “Why weren’t you?” - </p> - <p> - The babies came into her eyes. “You’ve had a narrow escape. If you hadn’t - been nice, I was going to have given it back to you. Let’s fetch it. You - can fasten it on for me.” - </p> - <p> - From the steps of the apartment-house they hailed a hansom, and drove - through the winking night to the Claremont. “‘So, honey, jest play in your - own backyard,” she sang. When she found that she couldn’t intimidate him, - she started on another fragment, filling in the gaps with humming when she - forgot the words: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “Oh, you beautiful girl, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - What a beautiful girl you are! - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - You’ve made my dreams come true to me——” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “Sounds as though I were praising myself, doesn’t it? Don’t come so near, - Meester Deek; every time you hug me you carry away so much of my little - white foxes. ‘Beware of the foxes, the little foxes that spoil the - something or other.’ Didn’t some one once say that? I wish you’d beware; - soon there won’t be any fur left.” - </p> - <p> - While she went to the lady’s room to see whether her appearance had - suffered under his kisses, he engaged a table in a corner, overlooking the - Hudson. - </p> - <p> - Towards the end of the meal, when she was finishing an ice and he was - lighting a cigar, a silence fell between them. She sat back with her eyes - partly closed and her body relaxed. Up to that moment she had been - daringly vivacious. He had learnt to fear her high spirits and fits of - niceness. They came in gusts; they always had to be paid for with periods - of languor. - </p> - <p> - “What are you thinking?” he asked. “Something sad, I’ll warrant.” - </p> - <p> - “Fluffy.” She glanced across at him, appealing for his patience. - </p> - <p> - “How is she?” He tried to humor her with a display of interest - </p> - <p> - “She’s broken up. She’s been speaking to Simon Freelevy. She absolutely - refuses to go on playing in New York; it’s too full of memories. So it’s - all arranged; she’s going to California in the New Year with a - road-company.” - </p> - <p> - He understood her depression now. If Fluffy was leaving New York, this was - his chance. Somehow or other he must manage to hang on. He was glad he had - not sent that cable to his mother. - </p> - <p> - “That’s hard lines on you.” He sank his voice sympathetically. “You’ll - miss her awfully.” - </p> - <p> - Desire woke up and became busy with what remained of her ice. “I shan’t. - She wants me to go with her. It’ll do me good.” Then coaxingly, as though - she were asking his permission, “I’ve never been to California.” - </p> - <p> - The heat drained from him. He paused, giving himself time to grow steady. - If he counted for so little, she shouldn’t guess his bitter - disappointment. “But will you leave your mother? I should think she’ll be - frightfully lonely.” - </p> - <p> - “My beautiful mother’s so unselfish.” - </p> - <p> - “But——” - </p> - <p> - “Well?” - </p> - <p> - They gazed at each other. He wondered whether she was only playing with - him—whether she had only said it that he might amuse her with a - storm of protests. - </p> - <p> - “You were going to ask about yourself?” she suggested. “I’ve thought all - that out. You and mother can come and join us somewhere. There’s splendid - riding out West. I’ve always wanted to ride. It would be fine to go flying - along together if—if you were there.” - </p> - <p> - He didn’t understand this girl, who could give him ivory miniatures one - minute and propose to go away for months the next—who, while she - refused to become anything to him, undertook to arrange his life. - </p> - <p> - He laughed tolerantly. “I’m afraid that can’t be. I shouldn’t accomplish - much by tagging after a road-company all across a continent. You don’t - seem to realize that I have a living to earn.” - </p> - <p> - “That was a nasty laugh,” she pouted; “I didn’t like it one little bit.” - </p> - <p> - She played with his fingers idly, lifting them up and letting them fall, - like soldiers marking time. “You manicure them now. You’ve learnt - something by coming to America—— Your living!” She smiled. “It - seems to come easily enough. I hear you talk about it, but I never see you - working.” - </p> - <p> - Here was the opening for which he had been waiting. “You’re right. I’ve - hardly done a stroke since I landed. Winning you has taken all my time.” - </p> - <p> - “Has it?” She glanced round the room dreamily, making confidences - impossible by her lack of enthusiasm. - </p> - <p> - He got up. “Shall we go back to the apartment? We can talk better there.” - </p> - <p> - She lounged to her feet. “If you’ll promise not to worry me. I’ve gone - through too much to-day already.” - </p> - <p> - He knew the meaning of her fatigue; once more she was barricading herself. - He was doubly sure of it when he saw her open her vanity-case and produce - a veil. A veil was a means of protection which, above all others, he - detested. “Don’t put that thing on.” - </p> - <p> - “I must. It’ll keep the wind off. I don’t like getting chapped.” - </p> - <p> - On the drive back she sat rigid with her hand before her eyes, as though - she slept. It seemed to him that he had not advanced a pace since the ride - to Long Beach; the only difference was that his arm encircled her. She - paid so little heed to it that he withdrew it. She gave no sign that she - noticed its withdrawal. It was only when they were halting that she came - to herself with a drowsy yawn. Leaning against his shoulder for a second, - she peered up at him with mock regret: “And to think that my head might - have been resting there all the time!” - </p> - <p> - It was plain that she didn’t want him to come up. In the foyer she held - out her hand. When he did not take it, she lowered her eyes: “I’m sorry. I - thought you were going.” - </p> - <p> - After the elevator had left them, she stood outside the door and carefully - removed her veil. It was a frank invitation to him to kiss her and say - good-by. He did neither. She drew the palms of her hands across her eyes. - “I ought to go to bed.—You are a sticker. Well, if you won’t go, - just for a little while.” - </p> - <p> - She produced the key from her vanity-case. He took it from her and slipped - it into the latch. Only Twinkles was at home. For Twinkles she mustered - the energy for a display of fun-making. Romping with the dog revived her. - </p> - <p> - “Take the nice gentleman in there,” she said, “while mistress makes - herself beautiful. Mistress can’t allow the same gentleman, however - pleasant, to come into her bedroom twice.” - </p> - <p> - He didn’t feel flippant. He was quivering with earnestness. While he - waited among the litter of presents and paper he tried to master his - emotion. He knew that if he once got to touching and kissing her, he would - go out of the door with matters as undecided as when he had entered. - </p> - <p> - She drifted into the room rubbing her hands. “Been putting scent on them,” - she explained, holding out to him her smooth little palms. “Don’t they - smell nice?” - </p> - <p> - He didn’t kiss them. He didn’t dare. She gave him a puzzled look of - inquiry; then showed him her back and became absorbed in gathering up the - scattered papers. When several minutes of silence had elapsed, she turned. - </p> - <p> - “I’m not going to quarrel with you, if that’s what you want You’d have - been wise to have said good-night to me downstairs. If you’ve really got - something on your mind, for Heaven’s sake get it off.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s difficult and you don’t help me.” - </p> - <p> - She tossed her head impatiently. “You make me tired. It isn’t a girl’s - place to help.” - </p> - <p> - Seating herself on the floor, with her legs curled about her and her - ankles peeping out from under her skirt, she began to wrap up presents. - “Please be nice,” she implored him in a little voice, “because I really do - like you. Sit down here beside me and put your finger on the knots, so - that I can tie them.” - </p> - <p> - He sat down opposite to her. That wasn’t quite what she had intended. She - made a mischievous face at him. - </p> - <p> - “It isn’t a question of being nice,” he said quietly; “it’s a question of - being honest. I’ve booked my berth on the <i>Mauretania</i> for to-morrow - night.” - </p> - <p> - She gave a scarcely perceptible start. When she spoke, it was without - raising her eyes. “You did that once before. You can’t play the same trick - twice.” - </p> - <p> - “It isn’t a trick this time.” - </p> - <p> - She eyed him cloudily, still persuaded that it was. “Are you saying that - because of what I told you about going to California? I thought you were - too big and splendid to return tit for tat.” - </p> - <p> - “It isn’t tit for tat I booked this afternoon, before I knew about - California.” - </p> - <p> - She gave her shoulders a shrug of annoyance. “Well, you know your business - best.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t; that’s why I’m telling you. I’m not being unkind. My business - may be yours.” - </p> - <p> - At last she took him seriously. “I don’t see how it can be; you’d better - explain. But first tell me: are you trying to imitate Horace? Because if - you are, it won’t work.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not.” - </p> - <p> - “Then light me a cigarette and let’s be sensible.” - </p> - <p> - Seated on the floor in the dim-lit room, with the Christmas presents - strewn around, he told her. The first part was the old story of how he had - dreamt about her from a child. - </p> - <p> - “You know that’s true, Princess?” - </p> - <p> - “And I’ve dreamt about you,” she nodded. “You were my faery-story.” - </p> - <p> - “Then why——” - </p> - <p> - “You tell me first.” - </p> - <p> - So he told her: told her how she had pained him in England by her silence; - told her what her words “Come to America” had implied; described to her - the expectations with which he had set sail; the disappointment when on - landing he had found that she was absent; and then the growing heartache - that had come to him while she trifled with him. He spared her nothing. - “And you act as if my loving bored you,” he said; “and yet, if I take you - at your word, you’re petulant May I speak about money now? I know how you - hate me to talk of it—— And you won’t misunderstand?” - </p> - <p> - She gave her silent consent. - </p> - <p> - “I can’t afford to live in New York any longer. Last night there was a - letter waiting for me. It told me that my only certain source of income - was lost. It told me a whole lot besides; they’re lonely and promise to - postpone Christmas if I’ll cable them that I’m coming.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you cabled?” - </p> - <p> - He shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “You must. Your poor little mother,” she murmured. - </p> - <p> - “You’d love my mother,” he said eagerly, “and my father, too. The moment - he clapped eyes on you he’d want to paint you.” - </p> - <p> - “Would he? And after I’d taken you from him?” She screwed up her mouth in - denial and crushed out the stub of her cigarette against her heel. It - seemed the symbol of things ended. “You were telling me about the letter. - What else?” - </p> - <p> - “That’s all. But you see, I’ve got nothing now except what I earn. And - when my mind’s distracted—— It’s—— You don’t mind - my saying it, do you? It’s waiting for you that’s done it. My power seems - gone. If only I were sure of you and that you’d be to me always as you are - now, I’d be strong to do anything.” - </p> - <p> - She had been fidgeting with her bracelet. When he had ended, she commenced - to slip it off. “And it was the day that you lost everything that you were - most generous. And I didn’t thank you properly, like the little pig I am. - Teddy, please don’t be offended, but I’d so much rather you——” - </p> - <p> - He pressed his lips against the slim wrist that she held out. “Please - don’t. It would hurt me most awfully.” - </p> - <p> - “And it makes me feel guilty to keep it,” she pouted. - </p> - <p> - They sat holding hands, gazing at each other. In the silence, without the - fever of caresses, he had come nearer to her than at any previous moment. - They were two children who had experimented with things they did not - understand, and were a little frightened at what had happened and a little - glad. - </p> - <p> - “You called me Teddy just now,” he whispered. “It’s the third time.” - </p> - <p> - She smiled at him with a flicker of her old wickedness. “I didn’t intend - to. It slipped out because—because I was so unhappy.” - </p> - <p> - “But you needn’t be unhappy. Neither of us need be unhappy. Everything’s - in our own hands. I’d work for you, Desire. I’d become famous for you. - We’d live life splendidly. The way we’ve been living is stupid and - wasteful; it doesn’t lead anywhere. If you’d marry me and come back with - me——” - </p> - <p> - “To-morrow?” she questioned. “Meester Deek, you didn’t go and book two - berths? You weren’t as foolish as that?” - </p> - <p> - He sought her lips. She turned her face ever so slightly, as though - apologizing for a necessary unkindness! His look of disappointment brought - tears to her eyes. She stroked his cheek gently in atonement. - </p> - <p> - “You weren’t as foolish as that?” - </p> - <p> - He hung his head. “No, I wasn’t: I wish I had been, and I would be if you——” - </p> - <p> - She stared beyond him, watching pictures form and dissolve before her - inward eyes. - </p> - <p> - “We could sail to-morrow,” he urged her; “or wait till after Christmas. - I’d wait for you for years if you’d only say that some day—— - Can’t we at least be engaged?” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t wait,” she whispered. - </p> - <p> - “But I shall wait always—always. I shall never love any one but - you.” - </p> - <p> - “They all say that.” - </p> - <p> - A key grated in the latch. She didn’t snatch away her hand the way she - would have done formerly. She sat motionless, courting discovery. They - heard Vashti’s voice, bidding some man good-night. The door shut. Glancing - in on them in passing, she pretended to be unaware of what was happening. - “I’m going straight to bed. You don’t mind if I don’t stay to talk with - you? I’m tired.” - </p> - <p> - The quiet settled down. Desire crept closer. They had been sitting facing. - “I guess you’re badly hurt. You thought that all girls wanted to get - married, and to have little babies and a kind man to take care of them.” - When he tried to answer her, she placed her hand upon his mouth. He held - it there with his own, as though it had been a flower. - </p> - <p> - “I’m glad we got mad,” she whispered; “it’s made us real. It’s nice to be - real sometimes. But I don’t know what to say to you—what to do to - you. I haven’t played fair. At first I thought you were like all the rest. - I know I’m responsible.” - </p> - <p> - She snuggled up to him like a weary child. “I’m at the cross-roads.—Don’t - kiss me—you put me out when you do that. Just put your arms about me - so that I feel safe. I—I want to tell you.” - </p> - <p> - “Then tell me, Princess.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m two persons. There’s the me that I am now, and the other me that’s - horrid.” - </p> - <p> - “I love them both.” - </p> - <p> - “You don’t. The me that’s horrid is a spiteful little cat, and I may - become the horrid me at any moment Meester Dèek, you’d have to marry us - both. I’m not a restful person at the best. I can never say the kind - things that I feel. Most of the time I ought to be whipped and shaken. I - suppose if I fell really in love it might be different.” - </p> - <p> - “Then fall really in love.” - </p> - <p> - She seemed to ponder his advice. “My love’s such a feeble little trickle. - Yours is so deep and wide; mine would be lost in it And yet I do like you. - I speak to you the way I speak to no other man. I could go on speaking to - you forever. If I’d seen as much of any other man, he’d have bored me long - ago.” - </p> - <p> - “And isn’t that just saying that you do love me?” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps.” Her head stirred against his shoulder. Then: “No. That’s only - saying that you’ve not found fault with me and that you’ve let me be - selfish. You need some one who’ll be to you what your mother has been to - your father. I’ll hate her when you find her; but, oh, Meester Deek, there - are heaps of better girls in the world. I can’t cook, can’t sew, can’t - even be agreeable very often. I want to live, and make mistakes, and then - experiment afresh.—Perhaps I don’t know what I want. I feel more - than friendship for you, but much less than love, because if it were love, - it would stop at nothing. Oh, I know, though you don’t think it. Perhaps - one day, when I’m older and wiser, I’ll look back and regret to-night. But - I’m not going to let you spoil your life.” - </p> - <p> - “You’d make it.” - </p> - <p> - “Spoil it.” - </p> - <p> - She released herself from him. He helped her to rise. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve at least been an education for your soul. Do say it. I haven’t done - you nothing but harm, have I?” - </p> - <p> - His emotion choked him. - </p> - <p> - She came and leant her forehead against his shoulder. “Do say it. Have I?” - </p> - <p> - “You darling kiddy, you’ve been the best thing that ever happened to me.” - </p> - <p> - “I have my own little religion,” she whispered. “I shall say a prayer for - you to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “Will you pray that one day you may be my wife?” - </p> - <p> - She was silent. They moved together as in a trance towards the door. He - was remembering what she had said it would mean if she kissed him without - his asking. He was hoping. She accompanied him to the head of the stairs. - Suddenly his will-power gave way. “I’m not going. You don’t think I’m - going after to-night? You’ve shown me so much that—— Desire, I - can’t live without you.” - </p> - <p> - She took his face between her hands. “You must go. If you don’t, it’ll be - all the same. You’ve told me things, too. I’m hindering your work. After - what you’ve told me, I would refuse to see you if you stayed. Perhaps it’s - only for a little while. I may marry you some day. Who knows? And I - wouldn’t want your mother to hate me.” - </p> - <p> - They clung together in silence. - </p> - <p> - “We’ll write often?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, often.” - </p> - <p> - “And to-morrow?” - </p> - <p> - “Phone me in the morning.” - </p> - <p> - He thought she had repeated the phrase from habit. “My last day,” he - pleaded. - </p> - <p> - “Phone me in the morning,” she reiterated. - </p> - <p> - He had said good-by; she was waving to him across the rail. He was nearly - out of sight. He turned and came bounding back. - </p> - <p> - “What is it? I can’t keep brave if you make me go through it twice.” - </p> - <p> - He caught her to him. “Give me your lips,” he panted. - </p> - <p> - She averted her face. - </p> - <p> - His arms fell from her. “I thought not,” he whispered brokenly. - </p> - <p> - He had begun to descend. At the last moment she stooped. Her lips - fluttered against his own; they neither kissed nor returned his pressure. - She fled from him trembling across the threshold. The door shut with a - bang. He waited to see her come stealing out. He was left alone with her - memory. - </p> - <p> - On returning to the Brevoort he inquired for her telegram. At first he was - told that none had arrived. He insisted. After a search it was discovered - tucked away in the wrong pigeon-hole. Paying no heed to the clerk’s - apologies, he slit the envelope and read: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent25"> - “Forgive me. I’m sorry. Desire” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - If only he had received it earlier! If only it had been brought to his - bedside in the morning, what a difference it would have made! She would - never have known that he had thought of going. She would have heard - nothing about her hindering his work. She would have been ignorant of his - money embarrassments. He couldn’t unsay anything now. It was as though a - force, stronger than himself, had conspired to drive him to this crisis. - He saw her in his mind’s eye, slipping out at midnight to send him that - message. His tenderness magnified her kindness and clothed her with - pathos. The unkindness of the thoughts he had had of her that day rose up - like conscience to reproach him. From the first he had misjudged her. He - had always misjudged her. He forgot all her omissions, remembering only - her periods of graciousness. - </p> - <p> - He didn’t send the cable to his mother. He went upstairs and commenced - packing. It was only a precaution, he told himself; he wasn’t really - going. To-morrow they would cease to be serious and would laugh about - to-night. - </p> - <p> - When to-morrow came, he phoned her. Vashti answered. “She didn’t sleep - here, Teddy. She left half-an-hour after you left; she made me promise not - to tell you where she was going.—She was crying. She said she was - sure you hated her or that you would hate her one day.—What’s that? - No. I think you’re doing right I should advise you to sail. It’ll do her - good to miss you.—Yes, if she comes in, I’ll tell her.” - </p> - <p> - When he had seen his boxes put on the express-wagon, it began to dawn on - him that he was doing things for the last time. He still told himself that - he wasn’t going. He still procrastinated over sending the cable. Yet he - proceeded mechanically with preparations for departure. He saw his - publisher. He interviewed magazine-editors. He promised to execute work in - the near future. He lunched at the Astor by himself, at a table across - which he had often faced her. The waiter showed concern at seeing him - alone and made discreet inquiries after “Madame.” Wherever he turned he - saw girls with young men. The orchestra played rag-time tunes that they - had hummed together. Every sight and sound was a reminder. The gayety - burlesqued his unhappiness. - </p> - <p> - After lunch he had an inspiration: of course she was at Fluffy’s. He felt - certain that he had only to talk with her to put matters right. - </p> - <p> - Fluffy was out. It was her maid’s voice that answered; she professed to - know nothing of the movements of Miss Jodrell. - </p> - <p> - Night gathered—the night before Christmas with its intangible - atmosphere of legendary excitements. All the world over stockings were - being hung at the ends of beds and children were listening for Santa - Claus’s reindeers. Cafés and restaurants were thronged with men and women - in evening-dress. Taxis purred up before flashing doorways and girls - stepped out daintily. Orchestras were crashing out syncopated music. In - cleared spaces, between tables, dancers glided. If he hadn’t been so wise, - he might have been one of them. - </p> - <p> - Slowly, like pirouetting faeries, snowflakes drifted gleaming down the - dusk. It was the first snow since that memorable flight to the country. - </p> - <p> - The pain of his loneliness was more than he could bear. There was no use - in telephoning. Perhaps she had been at home all the time and had given - orders that people should say she was out. Quite likely! But why? Why - should she avoid him? She seemed to have been so near to loving him last - night. What had she meant by telling her mother that he hated her or would - hate her one day? He had said and done nothing that would hint at that The - idea that he should ever hate her was absurd. Perhaps the “horrid me” had - got the upper-hand—that would account for it. - </p> - <p> - Eight o’clock! Four more hours! At midnight the ship sailed. - </p> - <p> - He hurried to the apartment in Riverside Drive. The elevator-boys told him - that the ladies were out. He refused to believe them and insisted on being - taken up. He knocked at the door and pressed the button. Dead silence. - Even Twinkles didn’t answer. - </p> - <p> - He was seized with panic. They might have gone to the Brevoort, expecting - to say good-by to him there. He rushed back.. No one had inquired for him. - The laughter of merry-makers in the white-mirrored dining-room was a - mockery. He hid himself in his room upstairs—his room which would be - a stranger’s to-morrow. - </p> - <p> - Nine! Ten! He sat with his head between his hands. He kept counting from - one to a hundred, encouraging himself that the telephone would tinkle - before he had completed the century. It did once—a wrong number. He - attempted to get on to both the apartment and Fluffy’s a score of times. - “They’re out—out—out.” The answer came back with maddening - regularity. The telephone operators recognized his anxious voice; they cut - him off, as though he were a troublesome child, before he had completed - his question. - </p> - <p> - He grew ashamed. At last he grew angry. It wasn’t decent of Desire. He had - given her no excuse for the way she was acting. - </p> - <p> - He pulled out his watch. Nearly eleven! Slipping into his coat and picking - up his bag, he glanced round the room for the last time. What interminable - hours he had wasted there—waiting for her, finding explanations for - her, cutting cards to discover by necromancy whether she would marry him! - With a sigh that was almost of relief, he opened the door and switched off - the light. - </p> - <p> - While his bill was being receipted at the desk, he wrote out a cable to - his mother: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “<i>Sailing Christmas Eve. </i>’<i>Mauretania</i>” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - It would reach them as they were sitting down to breakfast to-morrow—a - kind of Christmas present. - </p> - <p> - At last he had made the step final. He wondered how far he had paralleled - Hal. The comparison should end at this point; he had better things to do - than to mope away his life. - </p> - <p> - On arriving at the dock he inquired for letters. He was informed that he - would find them on board at the Purser’s office. A long queue of people - was drawn up. He took his place impatiently at the end. He told himself - that this episode was ended; that from first to last his share had been - undignified. Doubtless he would marry her some day; but until she was - ready, he would not think about her. He thought of nothing else. Each time - the line moved up his heart gave a thump. There might be one from her. He - became sure there was one from her. A man named Godfrey, two places ahead, - was being served. As the G’s were sorted, he watched sharply; he made - certain he had seen a letter in her hand. - </p> - <p> - At last it was his turn. - </p> - <p> - “You have a letter for me. Theodore Gurney.” - </p> - <p> - A minute’s silence. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing, sir.” - </p> - <p> - “But are you sure? I thought I saw one.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll look again if you like.—Nothing.” - </p> - <p> - He staggered as he walked away. His face was set and white. An old lady - touched him gently. “Is the news so bad?” - </p> - <p> - He shook off her kindness and laughed throatily. “News I No, it’s - nothing.” - </p> - <p> - He felt ill and unmanned. Tears tingled behind his eyes. He refused to - shed them. They seemed to scald his brain. He didn’t care whether he lived - or died. He’d given so much; he’d planned such kindness; he’d dreamed with - such persistent courage. The thanks he had received was “Nothing.” - </p> - <p> - He found his way out on deck and leant across the rail. A gang-plank had - been lowered to his right. Passengers came swarming up it, laughing with - their friends—diners from Broadway who were speeding the parting - guest. Some of them seemed to be dancing; the rhythm of the rag-time was - in their steps. For the most part they were in evening-dress. The - opera-cloaks and wraps of women flew back, exposing their throats and - breasts. He twisted his mouth into a bitter smile. They employed their - breasts for ornament, not for motherhood. They were all alike. - </p> - <p> - He had lost count of time while standing there. His eyes brooded sullenly - through the drifting snow on the sullen water and the broken lights. - Shouted warnings that the ship was about to sail were growing rare. The - tardiest of the visitors were being hurried down the gang-plank. Sailors - stood ready to cast away and put up the rail. - </p> - <p> - There was a commotion. Hazily he became aware of it A girl had become - hysterical. She seemed alone; which was odd, for she was in evening-dress. - She was explaining, almost crying, and wringing her hands. She was doing - her best to force her way on deck; a steward and a man in uniform were - turning her back. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly he realized. He was fighting towards her through the crowd. He - had his hand on the steward’s shoulder. “Damn you. Don’t touch her.” - </p> - <p> - The ship’s eyes were on them. His arms went about her. - </p> - <p> - “I couldn’t stop away,” she whispered. “I had to come at the last moment. - I was almost too late. I’ve been a little beast all day. I want to hear - you say you forgive me, Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - He was thinking quickly. - </p> - <p> - “You’ve come by yourself?” - </p> - <p> - “I slipped away from a party. Nobody knows.” - </p> - <p> - “You can’t go back alone. I’ll come with you. I’m not sailing.” - </p> - <p> - She laughed breathlessly. “But your luggage!” - </p> - <p> - “Hang my luggage.” - </p> - <p> - She took his face between her hands as though no one was watching. - “Meester Deek, I shouldn’t have come if I’d thought it would make you a - coward.” - </p> - <p> - “A coward, but———” - </p> - <p> - She rested her cheek against his face. “Your mother’s expecting you. And—and - we’ll meet so very soon.” - </p> - <p> - “Give me something,” he implored her; “something for remembrance.” - </p> - <p> - She looked down at herself. What could she give him? “Your little curl.” - </p> - <p> - “But it’s false.” - </p> - <p> - “But it’s dear,” he murmured. - </p> - <p> - An officer touched him. He glanced across his shoulder and nodded. This, - then, was the end. - </p> - <p> - He drew her closer. “I can’t tell you. I never have told you. In all these - months I’ve told you nothing.—I love you. I love you.—Your - lips just once, Princess.” - </p> - <p> - Her obedient mouth lay against his own. Her lips were motionless. She - slipped from him. - </p> - <p> - Waving and waving, he watched her from the deck. Now he lost her; again he - saw her where raised screens in the sheds made golden port-holes. She - raced along the dock, as with bands playing the Christmas ship stole out. - Now that it was too late, she hoarded every moment. Beneath a lamp, - leaning out through the drift of snowflakes, she fluttered a scarf that - she had torn from her throat It was the last glimpse he had of her. A - Goddess of Liberty she seemed to him; a slave of freedom, Horace would - have said. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIX—AN OLD PASSION - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e was like a man - from the tropics suddenly transplanted to an Arctic climate. He was - chilled to the soul; the coldness brought him misery, but no reaction. His - vigor had been undermined by the uncertainties and ardors which he had - endured. Building a fire out of his memories, he shivered and crouched - before it. - </p> - <p> - Hour by hour in the silence of his brain he relived the old pulsating - languors. He had no courage to look ahead to any brightness in the future. - The taste of the present was as ashes in his mouth. He felt old, - disillusioned, exhausted. The grayness of the plunging wintry sea was the - reflection of his soul’s gray loneliness. - </p> - <p> - He had spent so long in listening and waiting that listening and waiting - had become a habit. He would hear the telephone tinkle soon. His heart - would fly up like a bird into his throat. Her voice would steal to him - across the distance: “Meester Deek, hulloa! What are we going to do this - morning?” He often heard it in imagination. He could not bear to believe - that at last his leisure was his own—that suspense was at once and - forever ended. - </p> - <p> - Among the passengers he was a romantic figure. Stories went the rounds - about him. It was said that the girl who had delayed the sailing was an - actress—no, an heiress—no, one of the most beautiful of the - season’s débutantes. Men’s eyes followed him with envy. Women tried to - coax him into a confession—especially the old lady who had met him - coming white-faced from the Purser’s office. He was regarded as a - triumphant lover; he alone knew that he was an impostor. - </p> - <p> - His grip on reality had loosened. There were times when he believed she - had never existed. He was a child who had slept in a ring of the faeries. - He had seen the little people steal out from brakes and hedges. All night - In their spider-web and glow-worm raiment they had danced about him, - caressing him with their velvet arms. The dawn had come; he sat up rubbing - his eyes, to find himself forsaken. He would wake up in Eden Row presently - to discover that all his ecstasies had been imagined. - </p> - <p> - The little false curl was a proof to the contrary. He carried it near his - heart. It was the Nell Gwynn part of her—a piece of concrete - personality. It still seemed to mock his seriousness. - </p> - <p> - He had left so many things unsaid; in all those months he had told her - nothing. He argued his way over the old ground, blaming himself and making - excuses for her. If only he had acted thus and so, then she would have - responded accordingly. He was almost persuaded that he had been unkind to - her. And there was so much—so much more than he had imagined, from - which he ought to save her. If she played with other men as she had played - with him, she would be in constant danger. She seemed to regard men as - puppies who could be sent to heel by a frown. Mr. Dak had taught her - nothing. She skirted the edge of precipices when strong winds were - blowing. She would do it once too often; the day was always coming. It - might come to-morrow. - </p> - <p> - He missed her horribly—all her tricks of affection and petulance. He - had so much to remember: her casual way of singing in the midst of his - talking; the way she covered her mouth with her hand, laughing over it, - that she might provoke him into coaxing apart her fingers that he might - reach her lips through them; the waving down the stairs at the hour of - parting—every memory flared into importance now that she had - vanished. Most of all, he missed the name she had called him. Meester Deek - I What a fool he had been to be so impatient because she would not employ - the name by which any one could call him! - </p> - <p> - No, he hadn’t realized her value. Their separation was his doing. He might - have been with her now, if only—— - </p> - <p> - And back there at the end of the lengthening wake, did Broadway still - flash and glitter, a Vanity Fair over which sky-signs wove ghostly and - monstrous sorceries? - </p> - <p> - At night he paced the deck, staring into the unrelieved blackness. With - whom was she now? Was she thinking of him? Was she thinking of him with - kindness, or had the “horrid me” again taken possession? Perhaps she was - with Fluffy. “Oh, these men!” Fluffy would say contemptuously. She was - with some one—he knew that; it was impossible to think of her as - sitting alone. She wouldn’t allow herself to be sad; she was somewhere - where there was feverish gayety, lights and the seduction of music. But - with whom? - </p> - <p> - He saw again her little white bedroom which had been such a secret. On the - dressing-table, where it could watch her night and morning at her mirror, - was the silver-framed photograph. (She had never asked him for his - portrait) In a line on the wall, looking down on her as she lay curled up - in bed, were four more photographs. His jealousy became maddening. His old - suspicions crept back to haunt him. Who was this Tom? What claims had he - on her? Was Tom her permanent lover, and he the man with whom she had - trifled for relaxation—was that it? Even in the moment of parting, - after she had shown herself capable of abandon, her lips had been - motionless beneath his passion. To her he had offered himself soul and - body; at intervals she had been sorry for him. - </p> - <p> - His one consolation was in writing to her—that made her seem nearer. - He poured out his heart hour after hour, in unconsidered, fiery phrases. - The journal which he kept for her on the voyage was less a journal of - contemporary doings than of rememberings. It was a history of all their - intercourse, stretching back from the scarf fluttered on the dock to the - far-off, cloistral days of childhood. He believed that in the writing of - it he became telepathic; messages seemed to reach him from her. He heard - her speaking so distinctly that at times he would drop his pen and glance - across his shoulder: “Meester Deek! Meester Deek!” He noted down the hours - when the phenomenon occurred, begging her to tell him whether at these - hours she had been thinking of him. Like a refrain, to which the music was - forever returning, “I shall wait for you always—always,” he wrote. - </p> - <p> - “And we’ll meet so very soon,” she had said at parting. What had she - meant? He had had no time to ask her. Had she meant that she would follow - him—that she had at last reached the point at which she could not do - without him? That she wasn’t going to California? That her foolish and - excessive friendship for Fluffy had ceased to be of supreme importance? - “And we shall meet so soon.” He built his hopes on that promise. - </p> - <p> - In the moments just before sleeping he was almost physically conscious of - her. When lights along passageways of the ship had been lowered and feet - no longer clattered on the decks, when only the thud of the engines - sounded, the swish of waters and the sigh of sleepers, then he believed - she approached him. He prayed Matthew Arnold’s prayer, and it seemed to - him that it was answered: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “Come to me in my dreams and then - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - By day I shall be well again! - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - For then the night will more than pay - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - The hopeless longing of the day.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - They say love is blind; it would be truer to say love is lenient. He had - intervals of calmness when he appreciated to the full the wisdom of what - he was doing. He recognized her faults; he recognized them with tenderness - as the imperfections which sprang from her environment. If he could take - her out of her hot-house, her limp attitudes towards life would straighten - and her sanity would grow fresh. The trouble was that she preferred her - hothouse and the orchid-people by whom she was surrounded; she had never - known the blowy gardens of the world, which lie honest beneath the rain - and stars. She pitied them for their blustering robustness. She pitied him - for the distinctions he made between right and wrong. They impressed her - as barbarous. Once, when she had told him that she was cold by - temperament, he had answered, “You save yourself for the great occasions.” - He was surer of that than ever; he was only afraid that the great occasion - might not prove to be himself. There lay the hazard of his experiment in - leaving her. - </p> - <p> - He dared not count on her final act of remorse. She was theatrical by - temperament. To arrive at the last moment when a ship was sailing had - afforded her a fine stage-setting. Her conduct might have meant - everything; it might have meant no more than a girl’s display of - emotionalism. - </p> - <p> - He began to understand her. It was like her to become desperate to - inveigle him back just when he had resigned himself to forget her. In the - past he had grown afraid to set store by her graciousness or to plan any - kindness for her. To allow her to feel her power over him seemed to blunt - her interest. It was always after he had shown her coldness that she had - shown him most affection. Directly he submitted to her fascination, she - affected to become indifferent. It was a trick that could be played too - often. If this see-saw game was too long continued, one of them would - out-weary the other’s patience. If only he had been sure that she was - missing him, his mind would have been comparatively at rest. - </p> - <p> - He disembarked at Fishguard an hour after midnight The December air was - raw and damp. His first action on landing was to dispatch his - journal-letter to her. As he drowsed in the cold, ill-lighted carriage it - was of her that he thought Now that the voyage was ended, the ocean that - lay between them seemed impassable as the gulf that is fixed between hell - and heaven. She had seen the steamer—she had been a topic of - conversation on board; but everything that he saw now, and would see from - now on, was unfamiliar to her. - </p> - <p> - The entrance into London did nothing to cheer him. He had flying glimpses - of stagnant gardens, windows like empty sockets plugged with fog, forlorn - streets like gutters down which the scavenger dawn wandered between - flapping lamps. London looked mean; even in its emptiness, it looked - overcrowded. He missed the boastful tallness of New York. Before the train - had halted his nostrils were full of the stale stench of cab-ranks and the - sulphurous pollutions of engines. Milk-cans made a cemetery of the - station; porters looked melancholy as mourners. His gorge rose against the - folly of his return. - </p> - <p> - He had stepped out and was giving instructions about his luggage, when he - heard his name called tremblingly. As he turned, he was swept into a - whirlwind of embraces. His father stood by, preserving his dignity, giving - all the world to understand that a father can disguise his emotions under - all circumstances. - </p> - <p> - “But how did you get here?” Teddy asked. “It’s so shockingly early.” - </p> - <p> - “Been here most of the night,” his mother told him, between tears and - laughter. “You didn’t think we were going to let you arrive unmet? And we - didn’t keep Christmas. When we got your cable, we put all our presents - away and waited for you.” - </p> - <p> - How was it that he had so far forgotten what their love had meant? He - compared this arrival with his unwelcomed arrival in New York. A flush of - warmth spread from his heart They had stayed awake all night on the wintry - station that he might not be disappointed. - </p> - <p> - On the drive back in the cab, all through breakfast and as they sat before - the fire through the lazy morning, they gossiped of the things of - secondary importance—his work, the Sheerugs, his impressions of - America. Of the girl in America they did not talk. His mother’s eyes asked - questions, which his eyes avoided. His father, man-like, showed no - curiosity. He sat comfortably puffing away at his pipe, feeling in his - velvet-coat for matches, and combing his fingers through his shaggy hair, - just as if he had no suspicions that anything divisive had happened. It - was only when an inquisitive silence had fallen that he showed his - sympathy, chasing up a new topic to divert their interest. Desire was not - mentioned that day, nor the next; even when her letters began to arrive, - Teddy’s reticence was respected. For that he was infinitely thankful. The - ordeal of explaining and accepting pity would have been more than he could - have borne. Pity for himself would have meant condemnation of her conduct. - In the raw state of his heart, neither would have been welcome. - </p> - <p> - During the afternoon of the first day of his home-coming he visited Orchid - Lodge. He was drawn there by the spectres of Desire’s past. Harriet - admitted him. What a transformation! All the irksome glory was gone. - Carriages no longer waited against the pavement. It was no longer - necessary to strive to appear as if you really had “a nincome.” - </p> - <p> - Tiptoeing across the hall, he peeped into the parlor with its long - French-windows. It was seated on the steps outside in the garden that he - had listened to Alonzo convincing Mrs. Sheerug of his new-found wealth. It - was a different Alonzo that he saw now—an Alonzo who carried him - back to his childhood. Facing Mr. Ooze across the table, he was dealing - out a pack of cards. He was in his shirtsleeves; Mr. Ooze wore a bowler - hat at a perilous angle on the back of his bald head. Both were too intent - on the game to notice that the door had opened. - </p> - <p> - “What d’you bet?” Mr. Sheerug was asking. - </p> - <p> - “Ten thousand,” Mr. Ooze answered. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll see you and raise you ten thousand. What’ve you got?” - </p> - <p> - Teddy closed the door gently and stole away. Was he really grown up? Had - time actually moved forward? The thin and the fat man sat there, as in the - days when he had supposed they were murderers, still winning and losing - fabulous fortunes in the unconquered land of their imaginations. - </p> - <p> - Upstairs, in the spare-room, he found Mrs. Sheerug. With a bag of - vivid-colored wools beside her, she was busy on a new tapestry. She rose - like a little old hen from its nest at the sound of his entrance. Her arms - flew up to greet him. - </p> - <p> - “You’ve come back.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ve come back.” - </p> - <p> - That was all. Whatever she had guessed, she asked no questions. Had they - all agreed to a kindly conspiracy of silence? - </p> - <p> - As he sat at her feet, watching her work, she told him philosophically of - the loss of their money. “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. I - wouldn’t be so terribly sorry if it hadn’t given Alonzo sciatica of the - back.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you get sciatica in the back?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - She peered at him over her spectacles. “Most people don’t, but that’s - where he’s got it. He never does any work.—Oh, dear, if he’d only - take my lemon cure! I’m sure he’d be better. I don’t think he wants to be - better. He can sit about the house all day while he’s got it. Poor man, it - doesn’t hurt him very badly.” - </p> - <p> - It soon became evident to Teddy that she wasn’t so cut up as might have - been expected now that her wealth was gone. Straitened means gave her - permission to muddle. “Those coachmen and men-servants,” she told him, - “they worried me, my dear. Their morals were very lax.” - </p> - <p> - When he tried to find out what had really occurred to cause the collapse - of her affluence, she shook her head. “Shady tricks, my dear—very - shady. Unkind things were said.” - </p> - <p> - More than that he could not learn; she did not wish to pursue the subject - further. - </p> - <p> - Little by little the old routine came back, and with it his ancient dread - that nothing would ever happen. Every morning, the moment breakfast was - ended, he climbed the many stairs to his room to work. From his window he - could see his father in the studio, and the pigeons springing up like - dreams from the garden and growing small above the battlements of - house-tops. If he watched long enough, he might see Mr. Yaflfon come out - on his steps, like an old tortoise that had wakened too early, thrusting - its bewildered head out of its shell. - </p> - <p> - He wanted to work; he wanted to do something splendid. He longed more than - he had ever longed before to make himself famous—famous that she - might share his glory. At first his thoughts were slow in coming. Day and - night, between himself and his imaginings she intruded, passing and - re-passing. He saw her in all her attitudes and moods, wistful, friendly, - and brooding. He could not escape her. Even his father and mother filled - him with envy when he watched them; he and Desire should have been as they - were, if things had turned out happily. Hal rose up as a warning of the - man he might become. - </p> - <p> - Since he could think of nothing else, he determined to make her his story. - Gradually his purpose cleared and concentrated; his book should be a - statement of what she meant to him—an idealized commentary from his - point of view on what had happened. He would call it <i>The Book of - Revelation</i>. It should be a sequel to <i>Life Till Twenty-One.</i> His - first book had been the account of love’s dreaming; this should be his - record of its realization. After the idea had fastened on him, he rarely - stirred out He wrote enfevered. If his lips had failed to tell her, she - should at last know what she meant to him. As he wrote, he lost all - consciousness of the public; his book was addressed to her. - </p> - <p> - Although he seemed to have lost her, he was perpetually recovering her. He - re-found her in other men’s writings, in Keats’s love-letters to Fanny - Brawne and particularly In <i>Maud</i>. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent25"> - “O that ’twere possible - </p> - <p class="indent25"> - After long grief and pain - </p> - <p class="indent25"> - To find the arms of my true love - </p> - <p class="indent25"> - Round me once again.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - He had never felt her arms about him, but such lines seemed the haunting - echo of his own yearning. They gave tongue to the emotions which the dull - ache of his heart had made voiceless. - </p> - <p> - He recovered her in the dusty portrait of Vashti, which had lain in - disgrace in the stable for so many years. Vashti’s youthful figure, - listening in the Garden Enclosed, was very like Desire’s; the lips, which - his boyish kiss had blurred, prophesied kindness. He brought it out from - its place of hiding and hung it on the wall above his desk. - </p> - <p> - He recovered her most poignantly in small ways: in the stubs of - theatre-tickets for performances they had attended. When unpacking one of - his trunks, he found some white hairs clinging to the sleeve of one of his - coats. They set him dreaming of the pale, reluctant hands that had - snuggled in the warmth of the white-fox muff. - </p> - <p> - But he recovered her most effectually a week after his home-coming, when - her letters began to arrive. Not that they were satisfactory letters; if - they had been, they would not have been like her. Her sins as a - correspondent were the same as her sins of conduct: they consisted of - things omitted. Where she might have said something comforting, she filled - up the sentence with dots and dashes. He begged her to confess that she - was missing him. She escaped him. She let all his questions go unanswered. - There was a come-and-find-me laughter in her way of writing. She would - tell him just enough to make him anxious—no more. She had been to - this play; she had danced at that supper; last Sunday she had automobiled - with a jolly party out into the country. Of whom the jolly party had - consisted she left him in ignorance. - </p> - <p> - Strange letters these to receive in the old-fashioned quiet of Eden Row, - where days passed orderly and marshaled by duties! They came fluttering to - him beneath the gray London skies, like tropic birds which had lost their - direction. He would sit picturing her in an Eden Row setting, telling - himself stories of the wild combinations of circumstances that might bring - her tripping to him! - </p> - <p> - He was homesick for the faeries. He felt dull in remembering her intenser - modes of living—modes of living which in his heart he distrusted. - They could not last. There lay his hope. When they failed, she might turn - to him for security. He excused her carelessness. Why, because he was sad, - should she not be glad-hearted? For such leniency he received an - occasional reward, as when she wrote him, “I do wish I could hear your - nice English voice. I met a lady the other day who asked me, ‘Is there any - chance of your marrying Theodore Gurney? If you don’t, you’re foolish.’ - You’d have loved her.” And then, in a mischievous postscript, “I forgot to - tell you, she said you had beautiful eyes.” - </p> - <p> - Tantalizing as an echo of laughter from behind a barrier of hills! - </p> - <p> - In her first letters she coquetted with various forms of address: <i>Meester - Deek; Dear Meester Deek; My Dear</i>. This last seemed to please her as a - perch midway between the chilliness of friendship and too much fervor. She - settled down to it. Her endings were equally experimental: <i>Your Friend - Desire; Your Little Friend; Yours of the White Foxes; Yours - affectionately, the Princess</i>. Usually her signature was preceded by - some such sentiment as, “You know you always have my many thoughts”—which - might mean anything. She never committed herself. - </p> - <p> - His chief anxiety was to discover what she had meant by her promise that - they would meet very shortly. She refused to tell him. Worse still, as - time went on, he suspected that she was missing him less and less. While - to him no happiness was complete without her, she seemed to be embarrassed - by no such curtailment. Her good times were coming thick and fast; her - infatuation for Fluffy seemed to have strengthened. At last word reached - him in February that they were off to California; she was too full of - anticipation to express regret for the extra three thousand miles that - would part them. On the day before she started, he cabled the florist at - the Brevoort to send her flowers. In return he received a line of genuine - sentiment. “Meester Deek, you are thoughtful! I nearly cried when I got - them. You’ll never know what they meant. New York hasn’t been New York - without you. It was almost as though you yourself had brought them. I - wanted to run out and stop you, waving and waving to you down the stairs.” - </p> - <p> - That was the climax. From that point on her correspondence grew jerky, - dealing more and more with trivial externals and less and less with the - poignant things of the past. In proportion as she withdrew from him, he - tried to call her back with his sincerity. When he complained of her - indifference, she told him mockingly, “I’m keeping all your letters. - They’ll give you away entirely when I bring my suit for breach of - promise.” - </p> - <p> - He could detect Fluffy’s influence, “Oh, these men!” He waited longer and - longer to hear from her. Sometimes three weeks elapsed. Then from Santa - Barbara she wrote, “I’m having such a gay time. Don’t you envy me? I’m - riding horseback and some one is teaching me to drive a car.” - </p> - <p> - He knew what that meant. How could she travel so far and freely without - attracting love? A man had appeared on the horizon. - </p> - <p> - For a day he was half-minded to go to her. It was no longer a question, of - whether she wanted him, but of whether he could live without her. He - answered in a fit of jealousy and self-scorn, “I wish I had your faculty - for happiness. I hope your good times are lasting.” And then the fatal - phrase, “I’m afraid you’re one of those lucky persons who feel nothing - very deeply.” - </p> - <p> - It was his first written criticism of her. She kept him waiting six weeks - for a reply; when it came it was cabled. He broke the seal tremblingly, - not daring to conjecture what he might expect. Her message was contained - in one line, “I hate you to be flippant” After keeping him waiting so - long, she had been in a great hurry to send him those six words. After - that dead silence. It dawned on him that everything was ended. - </p> - <p> - He had completed his book. It was in the printer’s hands and he knew that - once more success had come to him. Money was in sight; nothing kept her - from him except her own wayward heart of thistledown. He still believed - the best of her. With the courage of despair he told himself that, sooner - or later, he was bound to marry her. Perhaps she was keeping away from him - out of a sense of justice, because she could not yet care for him - sufficiently. When his book had found her, she would relent Glancing - through his paper one June morning, his eye was arrested by the head-lines - of a motor-accident. It had happened to a party of newly-landed Americans, - two women and three men, on the road from Liverpool to London. He caught - sight of the name of Janice Audrey, and then—— Dashing out - into Eden Row, he ran to Orchid Lodge. Hal was setting out for business, - when he intercepted him. Thrusting the paper into his hand, he pointed. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XX—SHE PROPOSES - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e had not been - allowed to see her. She had been at Orchid Lodge for three days. No one - was aware of his special reason for wanting to see her. Not even to his - mother had he let fall a hint that Desire was the girl for whose sake he - had stayed in America. His thoughtfulness in making inquiries and in - sending flowers was attributed to his remembrance of their childhood’s - friendship. - </p> - <p> - “Her bedroom’s a bower already,” Hal told him; “you really mustn’t send - her any more just yet.” - </p> - <p> - “Does she ask about me?” He awaited the answer breathlessly. - </p> - <p> - “Sometimes. I was telling her only this morning how you’d spent the autumn - in New York.” - </p> - <p> - “Did she say anything?” - </p> - <p> - “She was interested.” - </p> - <p> - He could imagine the mischief that had crept into her gray eyes as she had - listened to whatever Hal had told her. Why didn’t she send for him? - </p> - <p> - As far as he could learn, she wasn’t hurt—only shaken. He suspected - that Mrs. Sheerug was making her an excuse for a bout of nursing. The - house went on tiptoe. The door of the spare-room opened and closed softly. - </p> - <p> - He had to see her. It was on the golden evening of the fourth day that he - waylaid Hal on the stairs. “Would you please give her this note? I’ll - wait. There’ll be an answer. I’m sure of it.” - </p> - <p> - Hal eyed him curiously. Up till now he had been too excited to notice - emotion in any one else. For the first time he seemed to become aware of - the eagerness with which Teddy mentioned her. He took the note without a - word. - </p> - <p> - For several minutes Teddy waited. They seemed more like hours. From the - Park across the river came the <i>ping</i> of tennis and the laughter of - girls. A door opened. Mrs. Sheerug’s trotting footsteps were approaching. - As she came in sight, she lowered her head and blinked at him above the - rims of her spectacles. - </p> - <p> - “My grand-daughter says she wants to thank you for the flowers. She - insists on thanking you herself. I don’t know whether it’s right. She’s in—— - She’s an invalid, you know.” - </p> - <p> - Leaving her to decide this point of etiquette, he hurried along the - passage and tapped. He heard her voice and thrilled to the sound. “Now - don’t any of you disturb us till I call for you.—Promise?” - </p> - <p> - As Hal slipped out, he left the door open and nodded. “She’ll see you.” - </p> - <p> - Pushing aside the tapestry curtain of Absalom, he entered. A breeze was - ruffling the curtains. Against the wall outside ivy whispered. The evening - glow, pouring across tree-tops, gilded the faded gold of the harp and - filled the room with an amber vagueness. - </p> - <p> - She was sitting up in bed, propped on pillows, with a blue shawl wrapped - about her shoulders. She looked such a tiny Desire—such a girl. Her - bronze-black hair was braided in a plait and fell in a long coil across - the bedclothes. Their eyes met. He halted. - </p> - <p> - Slowly her face broke into a smile. “I wonder which of us has been the - worse.” - </p> - <p> - He knelt at her side, pressing her hand. - </p> - <p> - “Which is it, Meester Deek? D’you remember their names? It’s Miss - Independence. I wouldn’t kiss it if I were you; it’s an unkind, a scratchy - little hand.” - </p> - <p> - He raised his eyes. “Are you very much hurt?” - </p> - <p> - She gazed down at him mockingly. “By the accident or by your letter?—By - the accident, no. By your letter, yes. I do feel things deeply—I was - feeling them more than ordinarily deeply just then. I didn’t like you when - you wrote that.” - </p> - <p> - “But I wrote you so often. I told you how sorry I was. You never - answered.” - </p> - <p> - She crouched her chin against her shoulder. “Shall I tell you the absolute - truth? It’s silly of me to give away my secrets; a girl ought always to be - a mystery.” Her finger went up to her mouth and her eyes twinkled. “It was - because I knew that I was coming to England. I wanted to see how patient - you—— You understand?” - </p> - <p> - He jumped to his feet. “Then you hadn’t chucked me? All the time you were - intending to come to me?” - </p> - <p> - She winked at him. “Perhaps, and perhaps not. It would have depended on my - temper and how full I was with other engagements.—No, you’re not to - kiss me when I’m in bed; it isn’t done in the best families.” - </p> - <p> - He drew back from her, laughing. “How good it is to be mocked! And how - d’you like your family?” He seated himself on the edge of the bed. - </p> - <p> - “Not there,” she reproved him; “that isn’t done either. Bring a chair.” - </p> - <p> - When he had obeyed, she lay back with her face towards him and let him - take her hand. - </p> - <p> - “Meester Deek, it’s very sweet to have a father.” - </p> - <p> - When he nodded, she shook her head. “You needn’t look so wise. You don’t - know anything about it; you’ve had a father always. But to find a father - when you’re grown up—that’s what’s so sweet and wonderful.” She fell - silent. Then she said, “It’s like having a lover you don’t need to be - afraid of. We know nothing unhappy about each other; he’s never had to - whip me or be cross with me, the way he would have done if I’d always been - his little girl.—You do look funny, Meester Deek; I believe you’re - envying me and—and almost crying.” - </p> - <p> - “It was in this room,” he said, “that I first met your mother. I heard her - singing when I was lying in this very bed. She looked like you, Princess; - and in fun she asked me to marry her.” - </p> - <p> - Desire laughed softly. “I haven’t—not even in fun.” Then quickly, to - prevent what he was on the point of saying, “I would have liked to have - known you, Meester Deek, when you were quite, quite little. You’d never - guess what I and my father talk about.” - </p> - <p> - He had to try. At each fresh suggestion she shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “About my beautiful mother. Isn’t it wonderful of him to have remembered - and remembered? I believe if I wanted, I could help them to marry. Only,” - she looked away from him, “that would spoil the romance.” - </p> - <p> - “It wouldn’t spoil it Why do you always speak as if——” - </p> - <p> - She pursed her lips. “It would. Marriage may be very nice, but it doesn’t - do to let people know you too well. And then, there’s another reason: Mrs. - Sheerug’s a dear, but she doesn’t like my mother.” - </p> - <p> - “Doesn’t she?” He did his best to make his voice express surprise. - </p> - <p> - “You know she doesn’t. And she has her doubts about me, too. I can tell - that by the way she says, ’My dear, you laugh like your mother,’ as - if to laugh like my mother was a crime. She thinks it’s wrong to be gay. I - think in her heart she hates my mother.” - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she sat up. “All from you, and I haven’t thanked you yet!” - </p> - <p> - He looked round the room; the amber had faded to the silver of twilight. - In vases and bowls the flowers he had sent her glimmered like memories and - threw out fragrance. - </p> - <p> - Her fingers nestled closer in his hand. “I’m not good at thanking, but—— - Ever since I met you, all along the way there’s been nothing but kindness. - What have I given you in return?—Don’t tell me, because it won’t be - true.—You can kiss my cheek just once, Meester Deek, if you do it - quietly.” - </p> - <p> - She bent towards him. In that room, where so many things had happened, - with the perfumed English dusk steal ing in at the window, she seemed to - have become for the first time a part of his real world. - </p> - <p> - “Shall we tell them, Princess?” - </p> - <p> - “Tell them?” - </p> - <p> - “About New York?” - </p> - <p> - She laid her finger on his lips. “No. It’s the same with me now as it was - with you in New York. You never mentioned me in your letters to your - mother. Besides, don’t you think it’ll be more exciting if only you and I - know it?” Her voice sank. “I’m changed somehow. Perhaps it’s having a - father. I want to be good and little. And—and he wouldn’t be proud - of me if he knew——” - </p> - <p> - The door opened. Desire withdrew her hand swiftly. Mrs. Sheerug entered. - </p> - <p> - “Why, it’s nearly dark!” She struck a match and lit the gas. “I waited for - you to call me, and since you didn’t——” - </p> - <p> - Teddy rose. “I’ve stayed rather long.” - </p> - <p> - He shook Desire’s hand conventionally. At the door, as he lifted the - tapestry to pass out, he glanced back. Mrs. Sheerug was closing the - window. Desire kissed the tips of her fingers to him. - </p> - <p> - It seemed that at last all his dreams were coming true. During the week - that followed he spent many hours in the spare-room. She was soon - convalescent. Her trunks had been sent from Fluffy’s house and all her - pretty, decorative clothes unpacked. Mrs. Sheerug thought them vain and - actressy, but the spell of Desire was over her. - </p> - <p> - “She thinks I’ll come to a bad end,” Desire said. “Perhaps I shall.” - </p> - <p> - Usually he found her sitting by the window in a filmy peignoir and - boudoir-cap. Very often her father was beside her. Hal’s relations with - her were peculiarly tender. He was more like a lover than a father. He had - changed entirely; there was a brightness in his eyes and an alertness in - his step. He seemed to be re-finding her mother in her and to be - re-capturing his own lost youth. - </p> - <p> - Teddy rarely heard any of their conversations. When he appeared, they grew - silent. Even if Desire had not told him, he would have guessed that it was - of Vashti they had been talking. Presently Hal would make an excuse to - leave them. When the door had shut, Desire would slip her hand into his. - Demonstrations of affection rarely went beyond that now. The place where - they met and the continual possibility of interruption restrained them. - There was another reason as far as Teddy was concerned: he realized that - in New York he had cheapened his affection by forcing it on her. She told - him as much. - </p> - <p> - “You thought that I was holding back; I wasn’t then, and I’m not now. Only—I - hardly know how to put it—the first time you do things they thrill - me; after that—— The second kiss is never as good as the - first. Every time we repeat something it becomes less important. So you - see, if we married, when we could do things always—I think that’s - why I never kissed you. I wasn’t holding off; I was saving the best.” - </p> - <p> - A new frankness sprang up between them. They discussed their problem with - a comic air of aloofness. Now that he gave her no opportunities to repulse - him, her fits of coldness became more rare. Sometimes she would invite the - old intimacies. “Meester Deek, I’m not sure that it’s so much fun being - only friends.” - </p> - <p> - He was amused by her naïveté. “Perhaps it isn’t But don’t let’s spoil - things by talking about it. Let’s be sensible.” In these days it was he - who said, “Let’s be sensible.” She pouted when he said it, and accused him - of strategy. “Be sweet to me, like you were.” - </p> - <p> - He steeled himself against her coquetry. Until she could tell him that his - love was returned, he must not let her feel her power. “When you can do - that,” he told her, “we’ll cease to be only friends.” - </p> - <p> - “And yet I do wish you’d pilfer sometimes.” She clasped her hands against - her throat. “I want you, and I don’t want you. I don’t want any. one to - have you; but if I had you always to myself, I shouldn’t know what to do - with you. You’d be awful strict, I expect” She sighed and sank back in her - chair. “It’s such a large order—marriage. I’m so young. A girl - mortgages her whole future.” - </p> - <p> - She always approached these discussions from the angle of doubt. “When it - was too late, you might see a girl you liked better.” - </p> - <p> - He assured her of the impossibility. She shook her head wisely. “It has - happened.” - </p> - <p> - He read in her distrust the influence of the people among whom her - girlhood had been spent, the Vashtis, Fluffys, and Mr. Daks—the - slaves of freedom who, having disdained the best in life, used pleasure as - a narcotic. He knew that it was not his inconstancy that she dreaded, but - the chance that after marriage she herself might be fascinated by some - man. The knowledge made him cautious. Nothing that he could say would - carry any weight; he would be a defendant witnessing in his own defense. - That she was willing to open her mind to him kept him hopeful. It was a - step forward. - </p> - <p> - He brought his mother to see her. When she had gone Desire said, “I know - now what you meant when you wanted me to be proud of you. I’d give - anything to feel that I was really needed by a man I loved.” And then, - “Meester Deek, you never talk to me about your work. Won’t you let me see - what you’ve been doing?” - </p> - <p> - He brought to her the book he had written for her that it might tell her - the things which his lips had left unsaid. After she had commenced it, she - refused to see him until she had reached the end. - </p> - <p> - She heard his footsteps in the passage; her eyes were watching before he - entered. Her lips moved, but she thought better of it. He drew a chair to - her side. “Well?” - </p> - <p> - She gazed out of the window. “It’s all about us.” Then, with a laughing - glance at him, “I don’t know whatever you’d do, if you didn’t have me to - write about.” - </p> - <p> - “I wrote it for you,” he whispered, “so that you might understand.” - </p> - <p> - She frowned. “And I was in California, having such good times.” - </p> - <p> - He waited. - </p> - <p> - “It’s very beautiful.” After an interval she repeated her words, “It’s - very beautiful.” Without looking at him, she took his hand. “But it isn’t - me. It’s the magic cloak—the girl you’d like me to become. I never - shall be like that. If that’s what you think I am, you’ll be - disappointed.” She turned to him appealingly. “Meester Deek, you make me - frightened. You expect so much; you’re willing to give so much yourself. - But I’m cold. I couldn’t return a grand passion. Wouldn’t you be content - with less? Couldn’t we be happy if——” - </p> - <p> - He wanted to lie to her. - </p> - <p> - “You couldn’t,” she said. - </p> - <p> - He met her honest eyes. “No, I couldn’t. If—if you feel no passion - after all these months, you’d feel less when we were married.” - </p> - <p> - She nodded sadly. “Yes, it would be the way it was in New York: I’d always - be only just allowing you—neither of us could bear that.—So, - if I were to tell you that I admired you—admired you more than any - man I ever met—and that I was willing to marry you, you wouldn’t?” - </p> - <p> - “It wouldn’t be fair—wouldn’t be fair to you, Princess.” His voice - trembled. “One day you yourself will want more than that.” - </p> - <p> - She no longer bargained for terms or set up her stage ambitions as a - barrier. His restraint proved to her that she was approaching the crisis - at which she must either accept or lose him. It was to postpone this - crisis that she took advantage of Mrs. Sheerug’s anxiety to prolong her - convalescence. - </p> - <p> - Towards the end of the second week of her visit Teddy got his car out. One - day they ran down to Ware, hoping to find the farm. It was as though the - country that they had known had vanished with their childhood. - </p> - <p> - Now that she began to get about, the glaring contrast between her - standards and those of Eden Row became more apparent. Her clothes, the - things she talked about, even her dancing way of walking pronounced her - different. She began to get restless under the censures which she read in - Mrs. Sheerug’s eyes. - </p> - <p> - “And what wouldn’t she say,” she asked Teddy, “if she knew that I’d smoked - a cigarette? I do so want to use a little powder—and I daren’t.” - </p> - <p> - One afternoon when he called, he found the house in commotion. She was - packing. Fluffy had been to see her; after she had gone the pent-up storm - of criticisms had burst Something had been said about Vashti—what it - was he couldn’t learn. He insisted on seeing her. She came down with her - face tear-stained and flushed. They walked out into the garden in silence. - Where the shrubbery hid them from the house—the shrubbery in which - he had first met Alonzo and Mr. Ooze—they sat down. - </p> - <p> - “Going?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “But do you think you ought to?” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not thinking. I’m angry. Mrs. Sheerug’s a dear; I know that as well - as you. But she wants to reform me. She makes me wild when she says, ‘You - have your mother’s laugh,’ as though being like my mother damned me. And - she said something horrid about Fluffy and about the way I’ve been brought - up.” - </p> - <p> - “Are you going to Fluffy’s now?” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. “Fluffy’s leaving for the continent.” - </p> - <p> - “Then where?” - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she laughed. “With you, if you like.” - </p> - <p> - He stared at her incredulously. “With me?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - He seized her hands, “You mean that you’ll——” - </p> - <p> - All the hunger to touch and hold her which he had staved off, urged him to - passion. She turned her lips aside. He drew her to him, kissing her eyes - and hair. He was full of sympathy for the fierceness in her heart; it was - right that she should be angry in her mother’s defense. - </p> - <p> - “You queer Meester Deek, not marry you—I didn’t say that.” She tried - to free herself, but he clasped her to him. “You must let me go or I won’t - tell you.” - </p> - <p> - They sat closely, with locked hands. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve been thinking very carefully what to do. I’m not sure of myself. We - need to be more certain of each other.” - </p> - <p> - “But how? How can we be more certain now you’re going?” - </p> - <p> - She smiled at his despair. “The honeymoon ought to come first,” she said. - “Every marriage ought to be preceded by a honeymoon.” She spoke slowly. “A—a - quite proper affair; it would be almost the same as being married. It’s - only by being alone that two people have a chance to find each other out - If we could do that without quarreling or getting tired—— What - do you say? If you don’t say yes, you may never get another chance.” - </p> - <p> - When she saw him hesitating, she added, “You’re thinking of me. No one - need know. We could meet in Paris.” - </p> - <p> - His last chance! Dared he trust himself? - </p> - <p> - “What day shall I meet you?” he questioned. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXI—THE EXPERIMENTAL HONEYMOON - </h2> - <p> - He caught the boat-train from Charing Cross. It was a sparkling morning in - the last week of June, the season of hay-making and roses. He had received - his instructions in a brief note. It bore no address; the postmark showed - that it had been dispatched from Rouen. When the train was in motion he - studied it afresh; he could have repeated it line for line from memory: - </p> - <p> - <i>My dear, </i> - </p> - <p> - Come Saturday. I’ll meet you in Paris at the Gare du Nord 445. Bring only - hand-baggage—evening dress not necessary. - </p> - <p> - Here are my terms. No kissing, no love-making, nothing like that till I - give permission. We’re just two friends who have met by accident and have - made up our minds to travel together. Don’t join me, if you can’t live up - to the contract. - </p> - <p> - Many thoughts, - </p> - <p> - Yours affectionately, - </p> - <p> - The Princess. - </p> - <p> - He had stared at the letter so long that they were panting through the - hop-fields of Kent by the time he put it back in his pocket. A breeze - silvered the backs of leaves, making them tremulous. The spires of - Canterbury floated up. - </p> - <p> - He knew the way she traveled, with mountainous trunks and more gowns than - she could wear. Why had she been so explicit that he should bring only - hand-baggage? Was it because their time together was to be short, or - because she knew that at the last minute she might turn coward? She had - left herself another loop-hole: she had sent him no address. Even if she - were there to meet him, he might miss her on the crowded platform. And if - he did—— His fears lest he might miss her battled with his - scruples. - </p> - <p> - Dover and the flash of the sea! Scruples dwindled in importance; the goal - of his anticipations grew nearer. - </p> - <p> - On the boat there was a bridal couple. He watched them, trying to discover - with how much discretion honeymoon people were supposed to act. - </p> - <p> - On French soil the gayety of his adventure caught him. One day they would - repeat it; she would travel with him openly from London, and it wouldn’t - be an experiment From Calais he would have liked to send a telegram—but - to where? She was still elusive. The train was delayed in starting. He - fumed and fretted; if it arrived late he might lose her. For the last - hour, as he was nearing Paris, he sat with his watch in his hand. - </p> - <p> - Before they were at a standstill, he had leapt to the platform, glancing - this way and that. He had begun to despair, when a slight figure in a - muslin dress emerged from the crowd. He stared hard at the simplicity of - her appearance, trying to fathom its meaning. - </p> - <p> - Disguising her emotion with mockery, she caught him by both hands. “What - luck! I’ve been so lonely. Fancy meeting you here!” She laughed at him - slyly through her lashes. She looked at his suit-case. “That all? Good. I - wondered if you’d take me at my word.” - </p> - <p> - She moved round to the side on which he carried it, so that they had to - walk a little apart In the courtyard, from among the gesticulating <i>cochers</i>, - he selected a <i>fiacre</i>. As he helped her in he asked, “Where are we - staying?” - </p> - <p> - “In the Rue St. Honoré at <i>The Oxford and Cambridge</i>; close by there - are heaps of other hotels. You can easily find a good one.” - </p> - <p> - Again she surprised him; a fashionable hotel in the Place Vendôme was what - he had expected. - </p> - <p> - They jingled off down sunlit boulevards. On tree-shadowed pavements tables - were arranged in rows before cafés. Great buses lumbered by, drawn by - stallions. Every sight and sound was noticeable and exciting. It was a - world at whose meaning they could only guess; between it and themselves - rose the barrier of language. Already the foreignness of their - surroundings was forcing them together. They both felt it—felt it - gladly; yet they sat restrained and awkward. None of their former - unconventions gave them the least clews as to how they should act. - </p> - <p> - She turned inquisitive eyes on him. “Quite overcome, aren’t you? You - didn’t expect to find such a modest little girl.—Tell me, Meester - Deek, do you like the way I’m dressed?” - </p> - <p> - “Better than ever. But why——” - </p> - <p> - She clapped her hands. “For you. I’ll tell you later.” - </p> - <p> - She looked away as if she feared she had encouraged him too much. Again - the silence settled down. - </p> - <p> - He watched her: the slope of her throat, the wistful drooping of her face, - the folded patience of her hands. - </p> - <p> - “When does a honeymoon like ours commence?” he whispered. - </p> - <p> - She shrugged her shoulders and became interested in the traffic. - </p> - <p> - “Well, then if you won’t tell me that, answer me this question. How long - does it last?” - </p> - <p> - She pursed her mouth and began to do a sum on her fingers. When she had - counted up to ten, she peeped at him from under her broad-brimmed hat. - “Until it ends.” Then, patting his hand quickly, “But it’s only just - started. Don’t let’s think about the end—— Here, this hotel - will do. Dig the <i>cocher</i> in the back. I’ll sit in the <i>fiacre</i> - till you return; then there’ll be no explanations.” - </p> - <p> - He took the first <i>room</i> that was offered him, and regained his place - beside her. All the time he had been gone, he had been haunted by the - dread that she might drive off without him. - </p> - <p> - “What next?” - </p> - <p> - She smiled. “The old New York question. Anywhere—— I don’t - care.” She slipped her arm into his and then withdrew it. “It is fun to be - alone with you.” - </p> - <p> - He told the man to drive them through the Tuileries and over the river to - the Luxembourg Gardens. - </p> - <p> - He touched her. She frowned. “Not here. It’s too full of Americans. We - might be recognized.” Huddling herself into her corner, she tried to look - as if he were not there. - </p> - <p> - As they came out on the quays, the river blazed golden, shining flash upon - flash beneath its intercepting bridges. The sun was setting, gilding domes - and spires. The sky was plumed and saffron with the smoke of clouds. - Bareheaded work-girls were boarding trams; mischievous-eyed artisans in - blue blouses jostled them. Eyes flung back glances. Chatter and a sense of - release were in the air. The heart of Paris began to expand with the - ecstasy of youth and passion. Her hand slipped from her lap and rested on - the cushion. His covered it; by unspoken consent they closed up the space - between them. - </p> - <p> - “Are you giving me permission?” - </p> - <p> - “Not exactly. Can you guess why I planned this? I—I wanted to be - fair.” - </p> - <p> - “The strangest reason!” He laughed softly. - </p> - <p> - “But I did.” She spoke with pouting emphasis. “I’ve given you an awful lot - of worry.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t know about that. If you have, it’s been worth it.” - </p> - <p> - “Has it?” She shook her head doubtfully. “It might have been worth it, if——” - A slow smile crept about her mouth. “Whatever happens, you’ll have had - your honeymoon. People say it’s the best part of marriage.” - </p> - <p> - He didn’t know what she meant by a honeymoon. It wasn’t much like a - honeymoon at present—it wasn’t so very different from the ride to - Long Beach. He dared not question. Without warning, in the quick shifting - of her moods, she might send him packing back to London. - </p> - <p> - They were crossing the Pont Neuf; her attention was held by a line of - barges. When they had reached the farther bank, he reminded her, “You were - going to tell me——” - </p> - <p> - He glanced at her dress. “Was it really for me that you did it?” - </p> - <p> - She nodded. “For you. I’m so artificial; I’m not ashamed of it. But until - I saw you in Eden Row, I didn’t realize how different I am. In New York—well, - I was in the majority. It was you who felt strange there. But in Eden Row - I saw my father. He’s like you and—and it came over me that perhaps - I’m not as nice as I fancy—not as much to be envied. There may even - be something in what Mrs. Sheerug says.” - </p> - <p> - “But you are nice.” His voice was hot in her defense. “I can’t make out - why you’re always running yourself down.” - </p> - <p> - She thought for a moment, brushing him with her shoulder. “Because I can - stand it, and to hear you defend me, perhaps.—But it <i>was</i> for - you that I bought this dress, Mees-ter Deek. I tried to think how you’d - like me to look if—if we were always going to be together. And so - I’ve given up my beauty-patch. And I won’t smoke a single cigarette unless - you ask me. I’m going to live in your kind of a world and,” she bit her - lip, inviting his pity, “and I’m going to travel without trunks, and I’ll - try not to be an expense. I think I’m splendid.” - </p> - <p> - They drew up at the Luxembourg Gardens and dismissed the <i>fiacre.</i> - </p> - <p> - A band was playing. The splash of fountains and fluttering of pigeons - mingled with the music. Seen from a distance, the statues of dryads and - athletes seemed to stoop from their pedestals and to move with the - promenading crowd. They watched the eager types by which they were - surrounded: artists’ models, work-girls, cocottes; tired-eyed, - long-haired, Daudetesque young men; Zouaves, chasseurs, Svengalis—they - were people of a fiction world. Some walked in pairs—others - solitary. Here two lovers embraced unabashed. There they met for the first - time, and made the moment an eternity. Romance, the brevity of life, the - warning against foolish caution were in the air. For all these people - there was only one quest. - </p> - <p> - They had been walking separately, divided by <i>shyness</i>. In passing, a - grisette swept against him, and glanced into his eyes in friendly fashion. - </p> - <p> - “Here, I won’t have that.” Desire spoke with a hint of jealousy. She drew - nearer so that their shoulders were touching. “Nobody’ll know us. Don’t - let’s be misers. I’ll take your arm,” she whispered. - </p> - <p> - “The second time you’ve done it.” - </p> - <p> - “When was the first?” - </p> - <p> - “That night at the Knickerbocker after we’d quarreled and I’d given you - the bracelet.” - </p> - <p> - She smiled in amused contentment “How you do keep count!” - </p> - <p> - The band had ceased playing; only the music of the fountains was heard. - Shadows beneath trees deepened. Constellations of street-lamps lengthened. - Twilight came tiptoeing softly, like a young-faced woman with silver hair. - </p> - <p> - She hung upon his arm more heavily. “Oh, it’s good to be alone with you! - You don’t mind if I don’t talk? One can talk with anybody.” And, a little - later, “Meester Deek, I feel so safe alone with you.” - </p> - <p> - When they were back in thoroughfares, “Where shall we dine?” he asked her. - </p> - <p> - “In your world,” she said. “No, don’t let’s drive. This isn’t New York. - We’d miss all the adventure. I’d rather walk now.” - </p> - <p> - After wandering the Boule Michel, losing their way half-a-dozen times and - making inquiries in their guide-book French, they found the Café - d’Harcourt. Its walls were decorated with student-drawings by artists long - since famous. At a table in the open they seated themselves. Romance was - all about them. It danced in the eyes of men and girls. Through the - orange-tinted dusk it lisped along the pavement It winked at them through - the blinds of pyramided houses. - </p> - <p> - She bent towards him. “You’ve become <i>very</i> respectful—not at - all the Meester Deek that you were—more like a little boy on his - best behavior.” - </p> - <p> - He rested his chin in his hand. “Naturally.” - </p> - <p> - “Why?” - </p> - <p> - “Your contract. I’m here on approval.” - </p> - <p> - “Let’s forget it,” she said. “I’m learning. I’ve learnt so much about life - since we met.” - </p> - <p> - Through the meal she amused him by speaking in broken English and - misunderstanding whatever he said. When it was ended he offered her a - cigarette. “No. You’re only trying to be polite, and tempting me.” - </p> - <p> - They drove across the river and up the Champs-Elysées to a theatre where - they had seen Polaire announced. The performance had hardly commenced, - when she tugged at his arm. “Meester Deek, it’s summer outside. We’ve - spent so much time in seeing things and people. I want to talk.” From - under the shadow of trees he hailed a <i>fiacre</i>. “Where?” - </p> - <p> - “Anywhere.” When he had taken his place at her side, “You may put your arm - about me,” she murmured drowsily. - </p> - <p> - They lay back gazing up at the star-strewn sky. Their rubber-tires on the - asphalt made hardly any sound. They seemed disembodied, drifting through a - pageant of dreams. The summer air blew softly on their faces; sometimes it - bore with it the breath of flowers. The night world of Paris went flashing - by, swift in its pursuit of pleasure. They scarcely noticed it; it was - something unreal that they had left. - </p> - <p> - “What’s going on in your mind?” - </p> - <p> - She didn’t stir. She hung listless in his embrace. “I was thinking of - growing old—growing old with nobody to care.—You care now; I - know that But if I let you go, in five years’ time you’d——” He - felt the shrug she gave her shoulders. “Mother’s the only friend I have. - You might be the second if—— But mothers are more patient; - they’re always waiting for you when you come back.” - </p> - <p> - “And I shall be always waiting. Haven’t I always told you that?” - </p> - <p> - “You’ve told me.” Then, in an altered tone, “Did you ever think you knew - what happened in California?” - </p> - <p> - “I guessed.” - </p> - <p> - She freed herself and sat erect. “There was a man.” She waited, and when - he remained silent, “You’d taught me to like to be loved. I didn’t notice - it while you were with me, but I missed it terribly after you’d left. I - used to cry. And then, out there—after he’d kissed me, I lay awake - all night and shivered. I wanted to wash away the touch of his mouth. It - was my fault; I’d given him chances and tried to fascinate him. I’d been - so stingy with you—that made it worse; and he was a man for whom I - didn’t care. I felt I couldn’t write. And it was when I was feeling’ so - unhappy that your letter arrived.—Can’t you understand how a girl - may like to flirt and yet not be bad?—I’m not saying that I love - you, Meester Deek—perhaps I haven’t got it in me to love; only—only - that of all men in the world, I like to be loved by you the best.” - </p> - <p> - He drew her closer to his side. “You dear kiddy.” - </p> - <p> - “You forgive me?” - </p> - <p> - It was late when they parted at the door of her hotel. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll try to be up early,” she promised. “We might even breakfast - together. It’s the only meal we haven’t shared.” - </p> - <p> - He turned back to the streets. Passing shrouded churches, he came to the - fire-crowned hill of Montmartre. He wandered on, not greatly caring where - he went. From one of the bridges, when the vagueness of dawn was in the - sky, he found himself gazing down at the black despair of the - silent-flowing river. Wherever he had been, love that could be purchased - had smiled into his eyes. The old fear took possession of him: he was - different from other men. Why couldn’t he rouse her? Was it his fault—or - because there was nothing to arouse? - </p> - <p> - She wore a troubled look when he met her next morning. - </p> - <p> - “Shall we breakfast here or at my hotel?” - </p> - <p> - “At yours,” she said sharply. - </p> - <p> - When she spoke like that she created the effect of being more distant than - an utter stranger. It wasn’t until some minutes later, when they were - seated at table, that he addressed her. - </p> - <p> - “There’s something that I want to say; I may as well say it now. When a - man’s in love with a girl and she doesn’t care for him particularly, she - has him at an ungenerous disadvantage: she can make a fool of him any - minute she chooses. I don’t think it’s quite sporting of her to do it.” - </p> - <p> - Her graciousness came back. “But I do care for you particularly. Poor you! - Did I speak crossly? Here’s why: we’ve got to leave Paris. There’s a man - at my hotel who knows me. I wouldn’t have him see us together for the - world.” - </p> - <p> - “So that was all? I was afraid I’d done something to offend.” - </p> - <p> - She made eyes at him above her cup of coffee. “You’re all right, Meester - Deek. You don’t need to get nervous.—But where’ll we go for our - honeymoon?” - </p> - <p> - “I’m waiting for it to commence.” He smiled ruefully. “You’re just the - same as you always were.” - </p> - <p> - “But where’ll we go?” she repeated. “We’ve got all the world to choose - from.” - </p> - <p> - He told the waiter to bring a Cook’s Time Table. Turning to the index, he - began to read out the names alphabetically. “Aden?” - </p> - <p> - “Too hot,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Algiers?” - </p> - <p> - “Same reason, and fleas as well.” - </p> - <p> - “Athens?” - </p> - <p> - “Too informing, and we don’t want any scandals—I’d be sure to meet a - boy who shone my shoes in New York.—Here, give me the old book.—What - about Avignon? We can start this evening and get there to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - Through the gayety of the sabbath morning they made their way to Cook’s. - While purchasing their tickets they almost came to words. He insisted that - she would need a berth for the journey; she insisted that she wouldn’t. - </p> - <p> - “But you’re not used to sitting up all night. You’ll be good for nothing - next morning. Do be reasonable.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not used to a good many of the things we’re doing. I’m trying to save - you expense. And I don’t think it’s at all nice of you to lose your - temper.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t,” he protested. - </p> - <p> - “A matter of opinion,” she said. - </p> - <p> - When he had bought a guide-book on Provence, they walked out into the - sunlight in silence. They reached the Pont de la Concorde; neither of them - had uttered a word. With a gap of about a foot between them, they leant - against the parapet, watching steamers puff in to the landing to take - aboard the holiday crowd. She kept her face turned away from him, with her - chin held at a haughty angle. In an attempt to pave the way to - conversation, he commenced to read about Avignon in his guide-book. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly she snatched it from him and tossed it into the river. He watched - it fall; then stared at her quietly. Like a naughty child, appalled by her - own impishness, she returned his stare. - </p> - <p> - “Two francs fifty banged for nothing!” She closed up the distance between - them, snuggling against him like a puppy asking his forgiveness. - </p> - <p> - “Meester Deek, you can be provoking. I got up this morning intending to be - so fascinating. Everything goes wrong.—And as for that berth,” she - made her voice small and repentant, “I was only trying to be sweet to - you.” - </p> - <p> - “I, too, was trying to be decent.” He covered her hand. “How is it? I - counted so much on this—this experiment, or whatever you call it. - We’re not getting on very well.” - </p> - <p> - “We’re not.” She lifted her face sadly. In an instant the cloud vanished. - The gray seas in her eyes splashed over with merriment. “It’ll be all - right when we get out of Paris. You see if it isn’t! Quite soon now my - niceness will commence.” - </p> - <p> - “Then let’s get out now.” - </p> - <p> - They ran down to the landing and caught a steamer setting out for Sèvres. - From Sèvres they took a tram to Versailles. It was late in the afternoon - when they got back to Paris with scarcely sufficient time to dine and - pack. - </p> - <p> - All day he had been wondering whether, in her opinion, her niceness had - commenced. They had enjoyed themselves. She had taken his arm. She had - treated him as though she claimed him. But they had broken no new ground. - He felt increasingly that the old familiarities had lost their meaning - while the new familiarities were withheld. She was still passionless. She - allowed and she incited, but she never responded. When they had arrived at - the farthest point that they had reached in their New York experience, she - either halted or turned back. She played at a thing which to him was as - earnest as life and death. He had once found a dedication which read about - as follows: “To the woman with the dead soul and the beautiful white - body.” There were times when the words seemed to have been written for - her. - </p> - <p> - At the station he searched in vain for an empty carriage. At last he had - to enter one which was already occupied. Their companion was a French - naval officer, who had a slight acquaintance with English, of which he was - exceedingly proud. He informed them that he was going to Marseilles to - join his ship; since Marseilles was several hours beyond Avignon, all hope - that they would have any privacy was at an end. They had been in crowds - and public places ever since they had met; now this stranger insisted on - joining in their conversation. He addressed himself almost exclusively to - Desire; under the flattering battery of his attentions she grew animated. - Finding himself excluded, Teddy looked out of the window at the pollarded - trees and flying country. He felt like the dull and superseded husband of - a Guy de Maupassant story. - </p> - <p> - Night fell. When it was time to hood the lamp, the stranger still kept - them separate by his gallantry in inviting her to change comers with him, - that she might steady herself while she slept by slipping her arms through - the loops which he had hung from the baggage-rack. - </p> - <p> - In the darkness Teddy drowsed occasionally; but he never entirely lost - consciousness. With tantalization his love grew furious. It was tinged - with hatred now. He glanced across at the quiet girl with the shadows - lying deep beneath her lashes. Her eyes were always shuttered; every time - he hoped that he might surprise her watching him. The only person he - surprised was the naval officer who feigned sleep the moment he knew he - was observed. Did she really feel far more than she expressed? She gave - him few proofs of it. - </p> - <p> - She had removed her hat for comfort. Once a fire-fly blew in at the window - and settled in her hair. It wandered across her face, lighting up her - brows, her lips—each memorized perfection. She raised her hand and - brushed it aside. It flew back into the night, leaving behind it a trail - of phosphorescence. His need of her was growing cruel. - </p> - <p> - He gave up his attempt at sleeping. Going out into the corridor, he opened - a window and smoked a cigarette. Dawn was breaking. As the light flared - and spread, he found that they were traveling a mountainous country. White - towns, more Italian than French, gleamed on the crests of sun-baked hills. - Roads were white. Rivers looked white. The sky was blue as a sapphire, and - smooth as a silken curtain. The fragrance of roses hung in the air. Above - the roar of the engine he could hear the cicalas chirping. - </p> - <p> - At six-thirty, as the train panted into Avignon, she awoke. “Hulloa! Are - we there?” - </p> - <p> - She was so excited that in stepping from the carriage she would have left - her hat behind if the naval officer hadn’t reminded her. - </p> - <p> - They drove through the town to the tinkling of water flowing down the - gutters. The streets were narrow, with grated medieval houses rising gray - and fortress-like on either side. Great two-wheeled wagons were coming in - from the country; their drivers ran beside them, cracking their whips and - uttering hoarse cries. All the way she chattered, catching at his lapels - and sleeves to attract his attention. She was full of high spirits as a - child. She kept repeating scraps of information which she had gathered - from the naval officer. “He was quite a gentleman,” she said. And then, - when she received no answer, “Didn’t you think that he was very kind?” - </p> - <p> - In the centre of the town they alighted in a wide square, the Place de la - Republique, tree-shadowed, sun-swept, surrounded by public buildings and - crooked houses. Carrying their bags, they sat themselves down at a table - beneath an awning, and ordered rolls and chocolate. - </p> - <p> - Frowning over them, a little to their left, was a huge precipice of - architecture, rising tower upon tower, embattled against the burning sky. - Desire began to retail to him the information she had picked up in the - train: how it was the palace of the popes, built by them in the fourteenth - century while they were in exile. The source of her knowledge made it - distasteful to him. He had difficulty in concealing his irritation. He - felt as if he had sand at the back of his eyes. His gaze wandered from her - to the women going back and forth through the sunlight, balancing loads on - their heads and fetching long loaves of bread from the bakers. Hauntingly - at intervals he heard a flute-like music; it was a tune commencing, which - at the end of five notes fell silent. A wild-looking herdsman entered the - square, followed by twelve black goats. He stood Pan-like and played; - advanced a few steps; raised his pipe to his lips and played again. A - woman approached him; he called to one of the goats, and squatting on his - heels, drew the milk into the woman’s bowl. Through a tunnel leading out - of the square, he vanished. Like faery music, his five notes grew fainter, - to the accompaniment of sabots clapping across the pavement. - </p> - <p> - All the while that Desire had been talking, handing on what the stranger - had told her about Avignon, he had watched the soul of Avignon wander by, - dreamy-eyed and sculptured by the sunlight. - </p> - <p> - She fell silent. Pushing back her chair, she frowned at him. “I’m doing my - best.—I don’t understand you. You’re chilly this morning.” - </p> - <p> - “Am I?” - </p> - <p> - “Where’s the good of saying ‘Am I?’ You know you are. What’s the matter? - Jealous?” - </p> - <p> - “Jealous! Hardly.” He stifled a yawn. “I scarcely got a wink of sleep last - night. I was keeping an eye on your friend. He was watching you all the - time.” - </p> - <p> - “Then you were jealous.” She leant forward and spoke slowly. “You were - rude; you acted like a spoilt child. Why on earth did you go off and glue - your nose against the window? You left me to do all the talking.” - </p> - <p> - Suddenly his anger flamed; he knew that his face had gone set and white. - “You didn’t need to talk to him. When are you going to stop playing fast - and loose with me? I’ll tell you what it is, Desire: you haven’t any - passion.” - </p> - <p> - He was sorry the moment he had said it. A spark of his resentment caught - fire in her eyes. He watched it flicker out. She smiled wearily, “So you - think I haven’t any passion!—Oh, well, we’re going to have fine - times, now that you’ve begun to criticize.—I’m sleepy. I think I’ll - go to bed.” - </p> - <p> - She rose and strolled away. Leaving his own suit-case at the cafe, he - picked up hers and followed. They found a quaint hotel with a courtyard - full of blossoming rhododendrons. Running round it, outside the - second-story, was a balcony on to which the bedrooms opened. While he was - arranging terms in the office, she went to inspect the room that was - offered. In a few minutes she sent for her suitcase. He waited - half-an-hour; she did not rejoin him. - </p> - <p> - At the far end of the square he had noticed an old-fashioned hostel. He - claimed his baggage at the café, and took a room at the wine-tavern. - Having bought a sketching-book, pencils and water-colors, he found the - bridge which spans the Rhone between Avignon and Villeneuve. All morning - he amused himself making drawings. About every half-hour a ramshackle bus - passed him, going and returning. It was no more than boards spread across - wheels, with an orange-colored canopy stretched over it. It was drawn by - two lean horses, harnessed in with ropes and driven by a girl. He didn’t - notice her much at first; the blue river, the white banks, the blue sky, - the jagged, vineyard covered hills, and the darting of swallows claimed - his attention. It was the bus that he noticed; it creaked and groaned as - though it would fall to pieces. Then he saw the girl; she was young and - bronzed and laughing. He traced a resemblance in her to Desire—to - Desire when she was lenient and happy. She was bare-armed, bare-headed, - full-breasted; her hair was black as ebony. She was always singing. About - the fifth time in passing him, she smiled. He began to tell himself - stories; in Desire’s absence, he watched for her as Desire’s proxy. - </p> - <p> - At mid-day he went to find Desire; he was told that she was still - sleeping. He had <i>déjeuner</i> by himself at the café in the square from - which the bus started. When the meal was ended, as he finished his carafe - of wine, he made sketches of the girl. When he presented her with one of - them, she accepted it from him shyly. His Anglicized French was scarcely - intelligible; but after that when she passed him, she smiled more openly. - </p> - <p> - During the afternoon he called three times at the hotel. Each time he - received the same reply, that Mademoiselle was sleeping. - </p> - <p> - The sky was like an open furnace. Streets were empty. While sketching he - had noticed a bathing-house, tethered against the bank below the bridge. - He went there to get cool He tried the diving-boards; none of them were - high enough. Presently he climbed on to the scorching roof and went off - from there. People crossing the bridge stopped to watch him. Once as he - was preparing to take the plunge, he saw the orange streak of the old bus - creeping across the blue between the girders. He waited till it was just - above him. It pulled up. The girl leant out and waved. After that, when he - saw the orange streak approaching he waited until it had stopped above - him. - </p> - <p> - The quiet of evening was falling when he again went in search of Desire. - This time he was told she had gone out. He left word that he was going to - the old Papal Garden, on the rock above the palace, to watch the sunset. - </p> - <p> - As he climbed the hundred steps of the Escalier de Sainte Anne, which wind - round the face of the precipice, the romance of the view that opened out - before him took away his breath. He felt injured and angry that she was - not there to share it. He went over the details of the first day in Paris. - It had been a fiasco; this day had been worse. - </p> - <p> - If ever he were to marry her—— For the first time he realized - that winning her was not everything. - </p> - <p> - Near the top of the ascent, where a gateway spanned the path, he halted. A - fig-tree leant across the wall, heavy with fruit that was green and - purple. Behind him from a rock a spring rushed and gurgled. He stooped - across the parapet, gazing down into the town. It wasn’t aloof like New - York, nor sullen like London. It was a woman lifting her arms behind her - head and laughing lazily through eyes half-shut. - </p> - <p> - Against the sweep of encircling distance, mountains lay blue and smoking. - A faint pinkness spread across the country like a blush. White walls and - hillsides were tinted to salmon-color. The sunset drained the red from the - tiles of house-tops. Plane-trees, peeping above gray masonry, looked clear - and deep as wells. The Rhone wound about the city walls like a gold and - silver spell. - </p> - <p> - Now that coolness had come, shutters began to open. The murmur of - innumerable sounds floated up. A breeze whispered through the valley like - the voice of yearning. It seemed that behind those windows girls were - preparing to meet their lovers. And the other women, the women who were - too old or too cold to love! He thought of them. - </p> - <p> - Suddenly his eyes were covered from behind by two hands. He struggled to - remove them; then he felt that they were slender and young. - </p> - <p> - “Who are you?” - </p> - <p> - Silence. - </p> - <p> - He repeated his question in French. - </p> - <p> - The hands slipped from his eyes to his shoulders. “Well, you’re a nice - one! Who should it be? It’s the last time I allow you to play by - yourself.” - </p> - <p> - He swung round and caught her fiercely, shaking her as he pressed her to - him. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t, Meester Deek. You hurt.” - </p> - <p> - His lips were within an inch of hers; he didn’t try to kiss her. “You - leave me alone all day,” he panted; “and then you make a joke of it.” - </p> - <p> - She drew her fingers down his face. “I was very tired, and—and we - weren’t good-tempered. I’ve been lonely, too.” She laid her cheek against - his mouth. “Come, kiss me, Meester Deek. You look as though you weren’t - ever going to.—I’m glad, so glad that——” - </p> - <p> - “That what?” - </p> - <p> - She held her hand against her mouth and laughed into his eyes. “That you - haven’t enjoyed yourself without me.” - </p> - <p> - They climbed to the top of the rock. In the sun-baked warmness of the - garden <i>cicalas</i> were still singing. In the town lights were - springing up. The after-glow lingered on the mountains. Beneath trees the - evening lay silver as moonlight. From a fountain in the middle of a pool - rose the statue of Venus aux Hirondelles. - </p> - <p> - His arm was still about her. Every few paces he stopped to kiss her. She - patted his face and drew it close to hers. “You’re foolish,” she - whispered. “You spoil me. You’re always nicest when I’ve been my worst.” - </p> - <p> - Then she commenced to ask him questions. “Do you really think that I’ve - not got any passion?—If I’d been scarred in that motor-car accident, - would you still love me?—Mrs. Theodore Gurney! It does sound funny. - I wonder if I’ll ever be called that.” - </p> - <p> - It was during the descent to the town that she made him say that he was - glad she had quarreled with him. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I do make it up to you afterwards, don’t I? If we hadn’t quarreled, - you wouldn’t be doing what you are now. No, you wouldn’t I shouldn’t allow - it. And please don’t try to kiss me just here; it’s so joggly. Last time - you caught the brim of my hat.” - </p> - <p> - They had dinner in the courtyard of her hotel, in the sweet, earthy dusk - of the rhododendrons. It was like a stage-setting: the canopy of the sky - with the stars sailing over them; the golden panes of windows; the shadows - of people passing and re-passing; the murmur of voices; the breathless - whisper of far-off footsteps. At another table a black-bearded Frenchman - sat and watched them. - </p> - <p> - “I wish he wouldn’t look at us,” Desire said. “I wonder why he does.” - </p> - <p> - They took a final walk before going to bed. In the courtyard where the - bushes grew densest, they parted. When he kissed her, she drooped her face - against his shoulder. “Give me your lips.” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. - </p> - <p> - A tone of impatience crept into his voice. “Why not? You’ve done it - before. Why not now?” - </p> - <p> - He tried to turn her lips towards him; she took away his hand. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know. I’m odd. I don’t feel like it.” - </p> - <p> - He let her go. Again the flame of anger swept through him. “Will you ever - feel like it?” - </p> - <p> - “How can I tell—now?” - </p> - <p> - “You’ve never once kissed me. Any other girl——” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not any other girl.” And then, “We’re alone. I’ve got to be wise for - both of us.” - </p> - <p> - She ran from him. In the doorway of the hotel she turned and kissed the - tips of her fingers. - </p> - <p> - He seated himself at a table, watching for the light to spring up in her - window. It was just possible that she might relent and come back, or that - she might lean over the balcony and wave to him While he waited, the - bearded Frenchman slipped out from the shadow. He approached and raised - his hat formally. - </p> - <p> - “Monsieur, I understand that you are not stopping at this hotel.” - </p> - <p> - “No, but I have a friend——” - </p> - <p> - “Mademoiselle, who has just gone from you?’ - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” - </p> - <p> - “Then let me tell you, Monsieur, that there is a place near here that will - cure you of the illness from which you suffer.” The man took a card from - his pocket and commenced to scribble on it. - </p> - <p> - “But I’m not suffering from any——” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, then, it will cure mademoiselle.” - </p> - <p> - The man laid his card on the table, and again raised his hat - </p> - <p> - By the time Teddy had recovered from his surprise, the stranger had - vanished. He hurried into the street and gazed up and down. When he - returned to the courtyard. Desire’s window was in darkness. Picking up the - card, he struck a match and read the words, “<i>Les Baux</i>.” What was - Les Baux? Where was it? He fell asleep thinking of the miracle that had - been promised; when he awoke next morning he was still thinking of it. As - he dressed he heard the five faint notes of the goatman. Life had become - fantastic. Perhaps—— - </p> - <p> - He set about making inquiries. It was a ruined city in the hills he - discovered. Oh, yes, there had been several books written about it and - innumerable poems. It had been a nest of human eagles once—the home - of troubadours. It was the place where the Queens of Beauty and the Courts - of Love had started. It was said that if a lover could persuade a - reluctant girl to go there with him, she would prove no longer reluctant - It was only a superstition; of course Monsieur understood that Monsieur - hurried to purchase a guide-book to Les Baux. While he waited among the - rhododendrons for Desire, he read it Then he looked up time-tables and - found that the pleasantest way to go was from Arles, and that from there - one had to drive a half day’s journey. - </p> - <p> - Desire surprised him at his investigations. She was all in white, with a - pink sash about her waist, her dress turned bade deeply at the neck for - coolness and her arms bare to die elbow. She looked extremely young and - pretty. - </p> - <p> - “’Ulloa, old dear!” she cried, bursting into Cockney. She peered - over his shoulder. “What are you doing?” - </p> - <p> - “Looking up routes.” - </p> - <p> - “Routes!” She raised her brows. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. To Les Baux.” - </p> - <p> - “You’re not going to get me out of here, old dear. Don’t you think it - We’ve not seen Avignon yet.” - </p> - <p> - “But Les Baux——” - </p> - <p> - Quoting from the guide-book, he commenced to explain to her its - excellences and beauties. She smiled, obstinately repeating, “We’ve not - seen Avignon yet.” - </p> - <p> - It was after they had breakfasted, when they were crossing the square, - that the bus-girl nodded to him. - </p> - <p> - “Who’s she?” - </p> - <p> - “A girl. Don’t you think she’s like you?” - </p> - <p> - Desire tossed her head haughtily, but slipped her arm into his to show - that she owned him. “Like me, indeed! You’re flattering!” - </p> - <p> - Presently she asked, “What did you do all yesterday, while I was horrid?” - </p> - <p> - “Sat on the bridge and sketched.” - </p> - <p> - “Sketched! I never saw you sketch. If you’ll buy me a parasol to match my - sash, I’ll sit beside you to-day and watch you.” - </p> - <p> - On the bridge he set to work upon a water-color of the Rhone as it flowed - past Villeneuve. She was going over his drawings. Suddenly she stopped. - She had come across three of the same person. Just then the orange-bus - lumbered by; again the girl laughed at him. - </p> - <p> - “Look here, Meester Deek, you’ve got to tell me everything that you did - when I wasn’t with you.” - </p> - <p> - He was too absorbed in his work to notice what had provoked her curiosity. - When he came to the account of his bathing, she interrupted him. “I want - to see you bathe.” - </p> - <p> - “All right, presently.” - </p> - <p> - “No. Now.” - </p> - <p> - He rather liked her childish way of ordering him. He spoke lazily. “I - don’t mind, if you’ll take care of—— I say, this is like Long - Beach, isn’t it? You made me bathe there. But promise you won’t slip off - while I’m gone.” - </p> - <p> - “Honest Injun, I promise.” - </p> - <p> - He had climbed to the roof of the bathing-house and was straightening - himself for the plunge, when he heard the creaking of the bus approaching. - He looked up. The bus-girl had alighted and was leaning down from the - bridge, waving to him. Before diving, he waved back. When he had climbed - to the roof again, he searched round for Desire. She was nowhere to be - found. - </p> - <p> - He dressed quickly. At the hotel he was informed that she was packing. He - called up to her window from the courtyard. She came out on to the - balcony. - </p> - <p> - “They tell me you’re packing. What——” - </p> - <p> - “Going to Les Baux,” she said, “or any other old place. I won’t stay - another hour in Avignon.” - </p> - <p> - “But this morning at breakfast——” - </p> - <p> - “I know.” She frowned. As she reentered her window, she glanced back - across her shoulder. “I didn’t know as much about Avignon then.” - </p> - <p> - Arles was little more than an hour’s journey. It was noon when they left - Avignon. He had been fortunate in getting an empty compartment Without any - coaxing, she came and sat herself beside him. When the train had started, - she took off her hat and leant her head against his shoulder. - </p> - <p> - “Did you do that on purpose to make me mad?” - </p> - <p> - “Do what on purpose?” - </p> - <p> - She played with his hand. “You know, Meester Deck. Don’t pretend. You did - it first with the grisette in the Luxembourg, and now here with that - horrid bus-girl. If you do it a third time, you’ll have me making a little - fool of myself.” - </p> - <p> - He burst out laughing. She was jealous; she cared for him. He had infected - her with his own uncertainty. - </p> - <p> - “A nasty, masterful laugh,” she pouted. - </p> - <p> - He at once became repentant. “I only noticed her when I was lonely,” he - excused himself; “I thought she was like you.” - </p> - <p> - Desire screwed up her mouth thoughtfully. “Then I’ll have to keep you from - being lonely.” - </p> - <p> - She tilted up her face. He pressed her lips gently at first; then - fiercely. They did not stir. “That’s enough.” She strained back from him. - “Be careful Remember what you told me—that I haven’t any passion.” - </p> - <p> - “You have.” - </p> - <p> - “But you said I hadn’t.” - </p> - <p> - Her strength went from her and he drew her to him. “The fourth time,” he - whispered. - </p> - <p> - “When were the others?” - </p> - <p> - “That day up the Hudson when I asked you to marry me.” - </p> - <p> - “And the next?” - </p> - <p> - “At the apartment, when we said good-by across the stairs.” - </p> - <p> - “How long ago it all sounds! And the third?” - </p> - <p> - “On Christmas Eve. Princess, I’m going to kiss your lips whenever I like - now.” - </p> - <p> - She slanted her eyes at him. “Are you? See if you can.” - </p> - <p> - Her cheeks were flushed. Slipping her finger into her mouth, she pretended - to thwart him. She lay in his arms, happy and unresisting—a little - amused. - </p> - <p> - “When are you going to kiss me back?” - </p> - <p> - She laughed into his eyes like a witch woman. “Ah, when? You’re greedy—never - contented. I’ve given you so much.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall never be contented till——” - </p> - <p> - She flattened her palm against his lips to silence him. - </p> - <p> - “Didn’t I tell you that my niceness would commence quite suddenly? I can - be nicer than this.” She nodded. “I can. And I can be a little pig again - presently—especially if we meet another naval officer. I’m always - liable to—” - </p> - <p> - “Not if you’re in love with any one,” he pleaded. - </p> - <p> - She sighed. “I’m afraid I am, Meester—Meester Teddy.” She barricaded - her lips with her hand. “No more. Do be good. I’ve got to be wise for both - of us. I suppose you think I was jealous? I wasn’t.” - </p> - <p> - As the train drew near Arles, she made him release her. His heart was - beating fast. Producing a pocket-mirror, she inspected herself. For the - moment she seemed entirely forgetful of him. Then, “Tell me about this old - Les Baux place,” she commanded. - </p> - <p> - The engine halted. He helped her out. “It’s a surprise. You’ll see for - yourself.” - </p> - <p> - On making inquiries, they found that the drive was so long that they would - have to start at once to arrive by evening. To save time, they took their - lunch with them—grapes, wine and cakes. When the town was left - behind, they commenced to picnic in the carriage. They had only one - bottle, from which they had to drink in turns. She played a game of - feeding him, slipping grapes into his mouth. They had to keep a sharp eye - on the <i>cocher</i>, who was very particular that they should miss none - of the landmarks. When he turned to attract their attention, pointing with - his whip, they straightened their faces and became very proper. After he - had twice caught them, Desire said, “He’ll think we’re married now, so we - may as well deceive him.” - </p> - <p> - Teddy was allowed to place an arm about her, while she held the parasol - over them. - </p> - <p> - “If we were really married, d’you think you’d let me smoke a cigarette?” - </p> - <p> - He lit one and, having drawn a few puffs, edged it between her lips. - </p> - <p> - “You are good to me,” she murmured; “you save me so much trouble.” - </p> - <p> - The fierce sun of Provence blazed down on them. A haze hung over the - country, making everything tremble. Cicalas chirped more drowsily. The - white straight road looked molten. Plane-trees, stretching on in an - endless line, seemed to crouch beneath their shadows. The air was full of - the fragrance of wild lavender. Farmhouses which they passed were silent - and shuttered. No life moved between the osier partitions of their - gardens. Even birds were in hiding. Only lizards were awake and darted - like a flash across rocks which would have scorched the hand. Beneath a - wild fig-tree a mule-driver slumbered, his face buried in his arms and his - bare feet thrust outward. It was a land enchanted. - </p> - <p> - Desire grew silent. Her head drooped nearer to his shoulder. Beads of - moisture began to glisten on her throat and forehead. Once or twice she - opened her eyes, smiling dreamily up at him; then her breath came softly - and she slept. - </p> - <p> - At Saint Rémy they stopped to water the horse. The first coolness of - evening was spreading. As the breeze fluttered down the hills, trees - shuddered, like people rising from their beds. Shutters were being pushed - back from windows. Faces peered out Loiterers gazed curiously at the - carriage, with the unconscious girl drooping like a flower in the arms of - the gravely defiant young man. Saint Rémy had been left behind; the ascent - into the mountains had commenced before she wakened. - </p> - <p> - She rubbed her eyes and sat up. “What! Still holding me? I do think you’re - the most patient man—— Do you still love me, Meester Deek?” - </p> - <p> - He stooped to kiss her yawning mouth. “More every hour. But why?” - </p> - <p> - “Because if a man can still love a woman after seeing her asleep—— - When I’m asleep, I don’t look my prettiest.” - </p> - <p> - The scenery was becoming momentarily more wild. The horse was laboring in - its steps. On either side white bowlders hung as if about to tumble. The - narrow road wound up through the loneliness in sweeping curves. Hawks were - dipping against the sky. Not a tree was in sight—only wild lavender - and straggling furze. - </p> - <p> - She clutched his arm. “It’s frightening.” - </p> - <p> - “Let’s walk ahead and not think about it,” he suggested. “We’ll talk and - forget.” - </p> - <p> - But the scenery proved silencing. - </p> - <p> - “Do say something,” she whispered. “Can’t we quarrel? We’ll talk if we’re - angry.” - </p> - <p> - He thought. “What kind of a beast was that man in California?” - </p> - <p> - “He wasn’t a beast. He was quite nice. You came near seeing him.” - </p> - <p> - “I did! When?” - </p> - <p> - “He was the man who was stopping in Paris at my hotel.—There, now - you’re really angry! That’s the worst of telling anything. A woman should - keep all her faults to herself.” - </p> - <p> - “And he saw us?” - </p> - <p> - She stared at him, surprised at his intuition. “How long have you known - that?” - </p> - <p> - They were entering a tunnel hewn between rocks; they rose up scarred and - forbidding, nearly meeting overhead. - </p> - <p> - She shuddered. “I wish we hadn’t come. It’s——” - </p> - <p> - Suddenly, like a guilty conscience left behind, the tunnel opened on to a - platform. Far below lay a valley, trumpet-shaped and widening as it faded - into the distance. It was snow-white with lime-stone, and flecked here and - there with blood-red earth. The sides of the hills were monstrous - cemeteries, honeycombed with troglodyte dwellings. In the plain, like - naked dancing girls with flying hair, olive-trees fluttered. Rocks, strewn - through the greenness, seemed hides stretched out to dry. Men, white as - lepers, were crawling to and fro in the lime-stone quarries. Straight - ahead, cleaving the valley with its shadow, rose a sheer column—a - tower of Babel, splintered by the sunset. As they gazed across the gulf to - its summit, they made out roofs and ivy-spattered ramparts. It looked - deserted. Then across the distance from the ethereal height the chiming of - bells sounded. - </p> - <p> - He drew her to him. It was as though with one last question, he was - putting all their doubts behind. “Was it true about that man?” - </p> - <p> - “Quite true. Fluffy gave him my address. Let’s forget him now, and—and - everything.” - </p> - <p> - As he stooped above her, she whispered, “Meester Deek, our quarrels have - brought us nearer.” - </p> - <p> - They heard the rattle of the carriage in the tunnel. Joining hands, they - set out down the steep decline. In the valley they found themselves among - laurel-roses, pink with bloom and heavy with fragrance. Then they - commenced the climb to Les Baux, through cypresses standing stiffly as - sentinels. Beady-eyed, half-naked children watched them and hid behind - rocks when they beckoned. - </p> - <p> - Beneath a battered gateway they entered the ancient home of the Courts of - Love. Near the gateway, built flush with the precipice, stood a little - house which announced that it was the Hôtel de la Reine Jeanne. An old - gentleman with eyes like live coals and long white hair, stepped out to - greet them. He informed them that he was the folk-lore poet of Les Baux - and its inn-keeper. They engaged rooms; while doing so they noticed that - many of the walls were covered with frescoes. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, yes,” said the poet inn-keeper, “an English artist did them in - payment for his board when he had spent all his money. He came here like - you, you understand; intending to stay for one night; but he stayed - forever. It has happened before in Les Baux, this becoming enchanted. He - was a very famous artist, but he works in the vineyards now and has - married one of our Saracen girls.” - </p> - <p> - Then he explained that Les Baux was like a pool front which the tides of - Time had receded. Its inhabitants were descendants of Roman legionaries - and of the Saracens who had conquered it later. That was why there were no - blue eyes in Les Baux, though it stood so near to heaven. - </p> - <p> - They wandered out into the charmed silence. There was no wheel-traffic. - The toy streets could be spanned by the arms outstretched. There were no - shops—only deserted palaces, with defaced escutcheons and - wall-flowers nestling in their crannies. Only women and children were in - sight; they looked like camp-followers of a lost army. Old imperial - splendors moldered in this sepulchre of the clouds, as out of mind as the - Queens of Beauty asleep in their leaden coffins. - </p> - <p> - They came to the part that was Roman. <i>Cicalas</i> and darting swallows - were its sole tenants. From the huge structure of the crag houses had been - carved and hollowed. The pavement was still grooved by the wheels of - chariots. - </p> - <p> - In Paris it had been the foreignness of their surroundings that had forced - them together; now it was the antiquity—the brooding sense of the - eventlessness of life and the eternal tedium of expectant death. - </p> - <p> - “A doll’s house of the gods,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “No, a faery land waiting for its princess to waken.” - </p> - <p> - He folded her hands together and held them against his breast. “She will - never waken till her lips have kissed a man.” - </p> - <p> - She peered up at him shyly. Her face quivered. She had a hunted indecision - in her eyes. The clamor, as of feet pounding through her body, - communicated itself through her hands. She tore them from him. “Don’t - touch me.” She ran from him wildly, and did not stop till streets where - people lived commenced. - </p> - <p> - When he had come up with her, she tried to cover her confusion with - laughter. “You remember what he said about becoming enchanted? It nearly - happened to us.” - </p> - <p> - “And why not?” - </p> - <p> - “Because——” She shrugged her shoulders. - </p> - <p> - In their absence a table had been spread on the terrace and a lamp placed - on it as a beacon. By reaching out from where they sat, they could gaze - sheer down through the twilight. Night, like a blue vapor, was steaming up - from the valley. In the shadows behind, they were vaguely aware that the - town had assembled to watch them. Bare feet pattered. A girl laughed. Now - and then a mandolin tinkled, and a love-song of Provence drifted up like a - perfume flung into the poignant dusk. At intervals the sentinel in the - church-tower gave warning how time was forever passing. - </p> - <p> - “You were afraid of me; that was why you ran.” - </p> - <p> - She lowered her eyes. “I was more afraid of myself.—Meester Deek, - you’ve never tried to understand what sort of a girl I am. Everything that - I’ve seen of life, right from the very start, has taught me to be a coward—to - believe that the world is bad. Don’t you see how I’d drag you down? It’s - because of that—— When I feel anything big and terrible I run - from it. It—it seems safer.” - </p> - <p> - “But you can’t run away forever.” He leant across the table and took her - hand. “One day you’ll want those big and terrible things and—and a - man to protect you. They won’t come to you then, perhaps.” - </p> - <p> - She lifted her face and gazed at him. “You mean you wouldn’t wait always? - Of course you wouldn’t. You don’t know it, but if I were to go away - to-morrow, your waiting would end.” - </p> - <p> - “It wouldn’t.” - </p> - <p> - “It would. A girl’s instinct tells her. And I ought to go.” - </p> - <p> - “What makes you say that?” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not the wife for you. I’ve given you far more misery than happiness.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed quietly. “Little sweetheart, if you were to go, I should follow - you and follow you.” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. “Not far.—Meester Deek, some day you may learn - to hate me, so I want to tell you: until I met you, I believed the worst - of every man. I was a little stream in a wilderness; I wanted so to find - the sea, and it seemed that I never should. But now——” - </p> - <p> - His clasp on her hand tightened. “But now?” - </p> - <p> - She looked at him sadly. “I should spoil your whole life. Would you spoil - your whole life for the kind of girl I am?” - </p> - <p> - “Gladly.” - </p> - <p> - She smiled wistfully. “I wonder how many women have been loved like that.” - </p> - <p> - They rose. “Shall we go in?” - </p> - <p> - “Not yet,” he pleaded. - </p> - <p> - “It would be better.” - </p> - <p> - As they were crossing the terrace, the <i>cocher</i> approached them. He - wanted to know at what hour they proposed to leave next morning. He was - anxious to start early, before the heat of the day had commenced. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think we’re leaving.” Teddy glanced at Desire. Then, with a rush - of decision: “We’re planning to stay a day or two longer. It’ll be all the - same to you; I’ll pay for the return journey.” - </p> - <p> - Saying that he would be gone before they were out of bed, the man bade - them farewell. - </p> - <p> - When they had entered the darkness of the narrow streets, he put his arm - about her. She came to him reluctantly; then surrendered and leant against - him heavily. They sauntered silently as in a dream. All the steps which - had led up to this moment passed before him: her evasions and retractions. - She was no longer a slave of freedom. For the first time he felt certain - of her; with the certainty came an overwhelming sense of gratitude and - tranquillity. He feared lest by word or action he should disturb it, and - it should go from him. - </p> - <p> - They passed by the old palaces perfumed with wallflowers; in a window an - occasional light winked at them. They reached the Roman part of the town - and hurried their steps. By contrast it seemed evil and ghost-haunted; - through the caves that had been houses, bats flew in and out A soft wind - met them. They felt the turf beneath their tread and stepped out on to the - ruined battlements. Wild thyme mingled with the smell of lavender. The - memory of forsaken gardens and forgotten ecstasies was in the air. Three - towers, Roman, Saracen and French, pointed mutilated fingers at eternity. - They halted, drinking in the silence, and lifted their eyes to the stars - wheeling overhead. Far away, through mists across the plain, Marseilles - struck sparks on the horizon and the moon rose red. - </p> - <p> - She turned in his embrace. “I’m not half as sweet as you would make me - out, I’m not. Oh, won’t you believe me?” - </p> - <p> - His tranquillity gave way; he caught her to him, raining kisses on her - throat, her eyes, her mouth. - </p> - <p> - “You’re crushing me!” Her breath came stifled and sobbing. - </p> - <p> - Tenderness stamped out his passion. As his grip relaxed, she slipped from - him. She was running; he followed. On the edge of the precipice, the red - moon swinging behind her like a lantern, she halted. Her hands were held - ready to thrust him back. - </p> - <p> - “It would be better for you that I should throw myself down than—than——” - </p> - <p> - He seized her angrily and drew her roughly to him. “You little fool,” he - panted. - </p> - <p> - With a sudden abandon she urged herself against him. As he bent over her, - her arms reached up and her lips fell warm against his mouth. - </p> - <p> - “I do love you. I <i>do</i>. I <i>do</i>,” she whispered. “Take care of - me. Be good to me. I daren’t trust myself.” - </p> - <p> - The hotel was asleep when they got back. They fumbled their way up the - crooked stairs. Outside her room, as in the darkness they clung together, - she took his face between her hands. “And you said I hadn’t any passion!—You’re - good, Meester Deck. God bless you.” - </p> - <p> - Her door closed. He waited. He heard the lock turn. - </p> - <p> - “When I kiss you without your asking me, you’ll know then,” she had said. - His heart sang. All night, in his dreaming and waking, he was making - plans. - </p> - <p> - When he came down next morning, he found the table spread on the terrace. - He walked over to it, intending while he waited for her, to sit down and - smoke a cigarette. One place had been already used. He hadn’t known that - another guest had been staying at the hotel. Calling the inn-keeper, he - asked him to have the place reset. - </p> - <p> - “But for whom?” - </p> - <p> - “For Mademoiselle.” - </p> - <p> - “Mademoiselle! But Mademoiselle——” The man looked blank. “But - Mademoiselle, a six hours she left this morning with the carriage.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0048" id="link2HCH0048"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXII—SHE RECALLS HIM - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>ow that she had - gone from him, he realized how mistaken he had been in his chivalry. From - the first, instead of begging, he ought to have commanded. She was a girl - with whom it paid to be rough. It was only on the precipice, when he had - seized her savagely, that her passion had responded. In the light of what - had happened, her last words seemed a taunt—an echo of her childish - despising of King Arthurs: “And you said I hadn’t any passion I—You’re - good, Meester Deek.” Had he been less honorable in her hour of weakness, - he would still have had her. - </p> - <p> - “That ends it!” he told himself. Nevertheless he set out hot-footed for - Arles. There he hunted up the <i>cocher</i> who had driven them to Les - Baux, and learnt that she had taken train for Paris. In Paris he inquired - at <i>The Oxford and Cambridge.</i> He searched the registers of a dozen - hotels. Tramping the boulevards of the city of lovers, he revisited all - the places where they had been together; he hoped that a whim of sentiment - might lead her on the same errand. - </p> - <p> - A new thought struck him: she had written to Eden Row and his mother - didn’t know his address. All the time that he had been wasting in this - intolerable aloneness her explanation had been waiting for him. He - returned posthaste, only to be met with her unconquerable silence. He - hurried to Orchid Lodge; her father might know her whereabouts. There he - was told that Hal had sailed for New York—with what motive he could - guess. This lent the final derisive touch to his tragedy. - </p> - <p> - It was the end of July, nearly a year to the day since he had made his - great discovery at Glastonbury. He had spent a month of torture. Since the - key had turned in her lock at the Hôtel de la Reine Jeanne, he had had no - sign of her. He came down to breakfast one sunshiny morning; lying beside - his plate was a letter in her hand. He slipped it into his pocket with - feigned carelessness, till he should be alone; then he opened it and read: - </p> - <p> - Dearest Teddy: - </p> - <p> - I need you. - </p> - <p> - <i>Savoy Hotel, </i> - </p> - <p> - The Strand. - </p> - <p> - Come at once. - </p> - <p> - Your foolish Desire. - </p> - <p> - She needed him! It was the first time she had owned as much. From her that - admission in three words was more eloquent than many pages. Had her - slavery to freedom become irksome? Had it got her into trouble? - </p> - <p> - He reached the Savoy within the hour. As he passed his card across the - desk he was a-tremble. It was a relief when the clerk gave him no bad news - but, having phoned up, turned and said, “The lady will see you in her - room, sir.” - </p> - <p> - The passage outside her door was piled with trunks; painted on them, like - an advertisement, in conspicuous white letters, was Janice Audrey. He - tapped. As he waited he heard laughter. In his high-wrought state of - nerves the sound was an offense. - </p> - <p> - The handle turned. “Hulloa, Teddy! I’ve heard about you. I’m going to - leave you two scatter-brains to yourselves.” - </p> - <p> - Fluffy was in her street-attire—young, eager and caparisoned for - conquest. She seemed entirely unrelated to the shuddering Diana in the - Tyrolese huntsman’s costume, whom he had last seen breaking her heart in - the dressing-room of <i>The Belshazzar</i>. He stepped aside to let her - pass; then he entered. - </p> - <p> - He found himself in a large sunlit room in a riot of disorder—whether - with packing or unpacking it was difficult to tell. Evidently some one had - gone through a storm of shopping. Frocks were strewn in every direction; - opera-cloaks and evening-gowns lay on the floor, on the bed, on the backs - of chairs. Hats were half out of milliners’ boxes. Shoes and slippers lay - jumbled in a pile in a suit-case. It was fitting that he and Desire should - meet again in a hired privacy, like transients. - </p> - <p> - She stood against a wide window, looking down on the Embankment She was - wearing a soft green peignoir trimmed with daisies. It was almost - transparent, so that in the strong sunlight her slight figure showed - through it It was low-cut and clinging—a match in color to the - Guinevere costume which she had been wearing when he had discovered her at - Glastonbury. Had she intended that it should waken memories? As he watched - he was certain that that had been her intention, for she was adorned with - another reminder: a false curl had usurped the place of the old one she - had given him. It danced against her neck, quivering with excitement, and - seemed to beckon. - </p> - <p> - Her back was towards him. She must have heard Fluffy speaking to him. She - must know that he was on the threshold. He closed the door quietly and - halted. - </p> - <p> - “Meester Deek, are you glad to see me?” She spoke without turning. \ - </p> - <p> - Her question went unanswered. In the silence it seemed to repeat itself - maddeningly. She drummed with her fingers on the pane, as though insisting - that until he had answered he should not see her face. - </p> - <p> - At last her patience gave out She glanced across her shoulder. Something - in his expression warned her. Running to him, she caught his hands and - pressed against him, laughing into his eyes. She waited submissively for - his arms to enfold her. When he remained unmoved, she whispered luringly, - “I’m as amiable as I ever shall be.” - </p> - <p> - “Are you?” - </p> - <p> - She pouted. “Once if I’d told you that—— - </p> - <p> - “Are you!” - </p> - <p> - “Is that all after a whole month?” - </p> - <p> - “A whole month!” His face seemed set in a mask. “To me it has seemed a - century.” - </p> - <p> - For the first time she dimly realized what he had suffered. She drew her - fingers across his cheek. Her hands ran over him like white mice. The - weariness in his way of talking frightened her. “I’m—I’m sorry that - I’m not always nice. It wasn’t quite nice of me to leave you, was it?” - </p> - <p> - His lips grew crooked at her understatement “From my point of view it - wasn’t.” - </p> - <p> - She thought for a moment; she was determined not to acknowledge that he - was altered. Slipping her arm into his comfortably, she led him across the - room. “Let’s sit down. I’ve so much to tell you.” - </p> - <p> - He helped her to push a couch to the window that they might shut out the - sight of the room’s disorder. When she had seated herself in a corner, she - patted the place beside her. He sat himself at the other end and gazed out - at the gray-gold stretch of river, where steamers churned back and forth - between Greenwich and Westminster. - </p> - <p> - “Fluffy’s going to America; we ran over from Paris to get some clothes. - It’s all rubbish to get one’s clothes in Paris; London’s just as good and - not one-half as expensive. She has to return to Paris in a day or two to - see a play. Simon Freelevy thinks it will suit her. After that she sails - from Cherbourg.—Meester Deek, are you interested in Fluffy’s - doings?” - </p> - <p> - “I was looking at the river. I scarcely heard what you were saying.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, perhaps this will interest you. She says that, if I like, - she’ll see that I get a place in her company at <i>The Belshassar</i>.—Still - admiring the view?—I wish you’d answer me sometimes, Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - “So you’re going to become another Fluffy?” - </p> - <p> - Her tone sank to a honeyed sweetness. “You’re most awfully far away. If - you don’t come nearer, we might just as well——” - </p> - <p> - “As I came along the passage,” he said, “I heard you laughing. I haven’t - done much laughing lately.” - </p> - <p> - A frown crept into her eyes. “That was because I was going to see you.” - </p> - <p> - He wished he could believe her. - </p> - <p> - In a desperate effort to win him to pleasantness, she closed up the space - that separated them. His coldness piqued her. Through her filmy garment - her body touched him; it was burning. “And I—I haven’t done much - laughing lately, either; but one can’t be always tragic.” Her voice was - tremulous and sultry. She brushed against him and peered into his face - reproachfully. “You aren’t very sympathetic.” - </p> - <p> - “Not very.” - </p> - <p> - She tried the effect of irritation. “I wish you wouldn’t keep on catching - at what I say.” Then, with a return to her sweetness: “Do be kind, Meester - Deck. You don’t know how badly I need you.” - </p> - <p> - Something deep and emotional stirred within him. Perhaps it was memory—perhaps - habit All his life he had been waiting for just that—for her to need - him; it had begun years ago when Hal had told him of the price that she - would have to pay. Perhaps it was love struggling in the prison that her - indifference had created for it It might be merely the sex response to her - closeness. - </p> - <p> - “I came because you wrote that you needed me. But your laughing and the - way you met me——” - </p> - <p> - “I was nervous and—and you don’t know why.” - </p> - <p> - He shook his head. “After all that’s happened, after all the loneliness - and all the silence—— My dear, I don’t know what’s the matter - with me; I think you’ve killed something. I’m not trying to be unkind.” - </p> - <p> - She crouched her face in her hands. At last she became earnest “And just - when I need you!” - </p> - <p> - “Tell me,” he urged gravely; “I’ll do anything.” - </p> - <p> - “You promise—really anything?” - </p> - <p> - “Anything.” - </p> - <p> - She smiled mysteriously, making bars of her fingers before her eyes. She - knew that, however he might deny it, he was again surrendering to her - power. “Even if I were to ask you to marry me?” - </p> - <p> - “Anything,” he repeated, without fervor. - </p> - <p> - “Then I’ll ask a little thing first.” She hesitated. “It would help if you - put your arm about me.” - </p> - <p> - He carried out her request perfunctorily. - </p> - <p> - “Ask me questions,” she whispered; “it will be easier to begin like that.” - </p> - <p> - “Where did you go when you left me?” - </p> - <p> - “To Paris.” - </p> - <p> - “I know. I followed you.” - </p> - <p> - She started. “But you didn’t see me?” - </p> - <p> - He kept her in suspense, while he groped after the reason for her - excitement. “No. I didn’t see you. Whom were you with?” - </p> - <p> - “Fluffy.” - </p> - <p> - “Any one else?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes.” She caught at his hands, as though already he had made a sign to - leave her. “I didn’t know he was to be there.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” He knew whom she meant: the man with whom she had flirted in - California and whom a strange chance had led to her hotel in Paris. He - would have withdrawn his arm if she had not held it. - </p> - <p> - “But none of this explains your leaving me and then not writing.” - </p> - <p> - A hardness had crept into his tones. His jealousy had sprung into a flame. - He remembered those photographs of Tom in her bedroom. There had always - been other men at the back of her life. How did he know whom she met or - what she did, when he was away from her? - </p> - <p> - “Meester Deek,” she clutched at him, “don’t You—you frighten me. - I’ve done nothing wrong. I haven’t I’ve spent every moment with Fluffy.” - </p> - <p> - “That didn’t keep you from writing.” - </p> - <p> - “No.” She laid her face against his pleadingly. “That didn’t prevent It - was—— Oh, Meester Deek, won’t you understand—you’ve - always been so unjudging? At Les Baux that night you wakened something—something - that I’d never felt. I didn’t dare to trust myself. It wasn’t you that I - distrusted. I wanted to go somewhere alone—somewhere where I could - think and come to myself. If I’d written to you, or received letters from - you——” - </p> - <p> - “Desire, let’s speak the truth. We promised always to be honest You say - you went with Fluffy to be alone; you know you didn’t. Fluffy’s never - alone—she’s a queen bee with the drones always buzzing round her. - You went away to get rid of me, and for the fun of seeing whether you - could recall me.” - </p> - <p> - “Not that. Truly not that” She paused and drew a long breath, like a diver - getting ready for a deep plunge. “It was because I was afraid that, if I - stopped longer, we might have to marry. A girl may be cold—she - mayn’t even love a man, but if she trifles too long with his affections, - she herself sometimes catches fire. That was how my mother—with my - father.” - </p> - <p> - “Then why did you send for me?” His tone was stern and puzzled. - </p> - <p> - For a time she was silent. It seemed to him that she was searching for a - plausible motive. Then, “I think because I wanted to see a good man.” - </p> - <p> - He tried to smile cynically. She had fooled him too many times for him to - allow himself to be caught so easily as that. The scales had fallen from - his eyes. She had always made whatever uprightness he possessed a reproach - to him. - </p> - <p> - “You don’t believe me?” She scanned his face wistfully. “You never did - understand me or—or any girls.” - </p> - <p> - The new argument which her accusation suggested was tempting; no man, - however inexperienced, likes to be told that he is ignorant of women. That - he refused to allow himself to be diverted was proof to her of her loss of - power. - </p> - <p> - “I believe you in a sense,” he said. “I don’t doubt that at this moment - you imagine that you want to see a good man—not that I’m especially - good; I’m just decent and ordinary. But you’re not really interested in - good men; you don’t find them exciting. Long ago, as children, you told me - that. Don’t you remember—I like Sir Launcelot best?” - </p> - <p> - She twisted her hands. Her face had gone white. When she spoke her voice - was earnest and tired. “You force me to tell you.—I did want to see - a good man—a good man who loved me. You’ll never guess why. It was - to get back my self-respect That man—that man whom I led on in - California, he saw us together in Paris. He misunderstood. He thought vile - things. After I’d left you and joined Fluffy, I met him again and he asked - me to be—— I can’t say it; but when a man like that - misunderstands things about a girl——” Self-scorn consumed her. - “It wasn’t only because he’d seen us together—it wasn’t only that.” - Her voice sank to a bitter whisper. “I’m the daughter of a woman who was - never married—he found that out; so he asked me to become his——” - </p> - <p> - “My God! Don’t say it.” - </p> - <p> - He tried to draw her to him. Tears blinded his eyes. She scoffed at - herself rebelliously. “It’s true. I deserved it That’s the way I act—like - a man’s mistress. I don’t act like other girls. That’s why you never - mentioned me in your letters from New York to your mother. You made - excuses for me in your own mind, and you tried not to be ashamed of me - and, because you were chivalrous, you were sorry for me. I hated you for - being sorry. But men, like that man in Paris—all they see in me is - an opportunity——” - </p> - <p> - “The swine!” He clenched his hands and sat staring at the carpet. - </p> - <p> - “No.” She shook her head sadly. “I’m fair game. I see it all now. I used - to think I was only modern, and used to laugh at you for being - old-fashioned. You were always trying to tell me. I’m taking back - everything unkind that I ever did or said. D’you hear me, Teddy? It’s the - way I’ve been brought up. I’m what Horace calls ‘a Slave of freedom.’ I - fascinate and I don’t play fair. I’m rotten and I’m virtuous. I accept and - accept with my greedy little hands. I lead men on to expect, and I give - nothing.” - </p> - <p> - She waited for him to say something—something healing and generous—perhaps - that he would marry her. He was filled with pity and with doubt—and - with another emotion. What she had told him had roused his passion. In - memory he could feel the warmth of her body. Why had she dressed like this - to meet him? Why did she touch him so frequently? Passion wasn’t love; it - would burn itself out He knew that, if he stayed, he would shatter the - idol she had created of him. He would become like that man whom he had - been despising. - </p> - <p> - His silence disappointed her. She ceased from caressing him. She had come - to an end of all her arts and blandishments. In trying to be sincere, she - had made her very sincerity sound like coquetry. She realized that this - man, who had been absolutely hers at a time when she had not valued him, - had grown reserved and cautious at this crisis when she needed him more - than anything in the world. A desperate longing came into her eyes. - Struggling with her pride, in one last effort to win him back, she - stretched out her arms timidly, resting her hands on his shoulders with a - tugging pressure. “I guess,” her voice came brokenly, “I guess you’re the - only living man who would ever have dreamt of marrying me.” - </p> - <p> - Jumping up, he seized his hat - </p> - <p> - “You’re going?” - </p> - <p> - He faced her furiously. It seemed to him that he was gazing into a - furnace. “If I stay, you’ll have me kissing you.” - </p> - <p> - She scarcely knew whether she loved or hated him, yet she held out her - arms to him languorously. For a moment he hesitated. Then he hurried past - her. As his hand was on the door, he heard a thud. She had fallen to her - knees beside the couch in the sunlight Her face was buried in her hands. - </p> - <p> - Slowly he came back. Stooping over her, he brushed his lips against her - hair. - </p> - <p> - She lifted her sad eyes. “I tried to be fair to you; I warned you. You - should have stuck to your dream of me. You were never in love with the - reality.” - </p> - <p> - “I was.” He denied her vehemently. - </p> - <p> - She smiled wearily. “The past tense! Will you ever be kind to me again, I - wonder? I—I never had a father, Teddy.” - </p> - <p> - The old excuse—the truest of all her excuses! It struck the chord of - memory. He picked her up gently, holding her so closely that he could feel - the shuddering of her breath. - </p> - <p> - “In spite of everything,” she whispered, “would you still marry me?” - </p> - <p> - He faltered. “Yes, I’d still marry you. But, Desire, we’ve forgotten: you - haven’t told me truly why you sent for me.” - </p> - <p> - She slipped from his arms and put the couch between them. “I sent for you - to tell you that—that I’m that, though I’ve tried, I can’t live - without you.” - </p> - <p> - He leant out to touch her. She avoided him. “First tell me that you love - me.” - </p> - <p> - “I do.” - </p> - <p> - Her gray eyes brimmed over. “You don’t. You’re lying. I’ve never lied to - you—with all my faults I’ve never done that.” - </p> - <p> - His arms fell to his side. When confronted by her truth his passion went - from him. “But I shall. I shall love you, Desire. It’ll all come back.” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. “It might never. And without it—— You told - me that I’d killed something. I believe I have.” - </p> - <p> - “If you would only let me kiss you,” he pleaded. - </p> - <p> - She darted across the room and flinging wide the door, waited for him in - the passage. - </p> - <p> - She took his hands in hers. They gazed at each other inarticulately. - </p> - <p> - “I can’t tell you—can’t tell you,” he panted. “All the time I may be - loving you.” - </p> - <p> - “And just when I needed you, Meester Deek,” she whispered, “just when I - want to be good so badly!” - </p> - <p> - She broke from him. Again, as at Les Baux, he heard the key in her lock - turning. - </p> - <p> - No sooner was he without her than the change commenced. During his month - of intolerable waiting, when he had thought that he had lost her forever, - he had tried to heal the affront to his pride with a dozen hostile - arguments. He had persuaded himself that the break with her was for the - best. He had told himself that carelessness towards men was in her blood—a - taint of sexlessness inherited from her mother. He had assured himself - repeatedly that he could live without her. He had fixed in his mind as a - goal to be envied his old pursuits, with their unfevered touch of bachelor - austerity. This had been his mood till he had received her message: “I - need you. Come at once.” - </p> - <p> - Having seen her, his yearning had returned like a lean wolf the more - famished by reason of its respite. Was it love? If he lied to her, she - would detect him. Until he could convince her that he loved her, he was - exiled by her honesty. He knew now that throughout the weeks of waiting - his suffering had been dulled by its own intensity. His false self-poise - had been a symptom of the malady. - </p> - <p> - All day he tramped the streets of London in the scorching heat of - midsummer. He went up the Strand and back by the Embankment, round and - round, taking no time for food or rest. He felt throughout his body a - continual vibration, an eager trembling. He dared not go far from her. - </p> - <p> - In spirit she was never absent She rose up crouching her chin against her - shoulder and barricading her lips with her hand. He relived their many - partings—the ecstasies, kisses, wavings down the stairs—those - prolonged poignant moments when her tenderness had atoned for hours of - coldness. She had become a habit with him—a part of him. His - physical self cried out for her. It was knit with hers. - </p> - <p> - A year almost to the day since she had said so lightly, “Come to America”! - And now she was so near, and he could not go to her. - </p> - <p> - Evening. He sat wearily on the Embankment, gazing up at the back of her - hotel, trying to guess which window was hers. In the coolness of the - golden twilight he had arrived at the first stage in his exact - self-knowledge: that waiting for her had become his mission—without - her his future would be purposeless. If he made her his wife, he might - live to regret it Her faults went too deep for even love to cure. Any - emotion of shame which she had owned to was only for the moment. Whether - he lost her or won her, he was bound to suffer. Marriage with her might - spell intellectual ruin; but to shirk the risk because of that would be to - shatter his idealism forever. To save her from herself and to shelter her - in so far as she would allow, had become his religion and the inspiration - of his work. And wasn’t that the highest sort of love? - </p> - <p> - He determined to set himself a test He walked to Charing Cross Station, - entered a telephone-booth and called up the Savoy. - </p> - <p> - “Miss Jodrell, please. No, I don’t know the number of the room.” - </p> - <p> - The trepidation with which he waited brought all his New York memories - back. - </p> - <p> - Her voice. “Hulloa! Yes. This is Miss Jodrell.” - </p> - <p> - He was at a loss for words. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her across - the wire. While he hesitated, he heard her receiver hung up. - </p> - <p> - He was certain of himself now. He was shaking like a leaf. If her voice - could thrill and unnerve him when her body was absent, this must be more - than passion. - </p> - <p> - He sat down till he had grown quiet, then jumping into a taxi he told the - man to drive quickly. He could have walked the distance in little over - five minutes; but after so much delay, every second saved was an - atonement. As he whirled out of the Strand into the courtyard of the - Savoy, Big Ben was booming for nine. - </p> - <p> - For the second time that day he passed his card across the desk. “I want - Miss Jodrell.” - </p> - <p> - The clerk handed him back his card. “She’s left.” - </p> - <p> - “But she can’t have. I’ve had her on the phone within half an hour.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m sorry, sir. I wonder she didn’t tell you. You must have spokes with - her the last minute before she left. She caught the nine o’clock - boat-train from Charing Cross to Dover.” - </p> - <p> - He went faint and reached out to steady himself. “From Charing Cross! Why, - I’ve just come from there. We must have passed. We——” - </p> - <p> - The man saw that something serious was the matter. He dropped his - perfunctory manner. “She’s sure to have left an address for the forwarding - of her letters. I’ll look it up if you’ll wait a moment.” He returned. - “Her letters were to be addressed <i>Poste Restante</i> to the General - Post-office, Paris. I don’t know whether that will help you.” - </p> - <p> - Before leaving the hotel he sat down and wrote her. Then he went out and - sent her a telegram: - </p> - <p> - <i>“Yours exclusively. Telegraph your address. Will come at once and fetch - you.”</i> - </p> - <p> - He hurried home to Eden Row and packed his bag. He was up early next - morning, waiting for her reply. In the evening he sent her a more urgent - telegram and another letter. No answer. He thought that she must have - received his messages, for he had marked his letters to be returned within - a day if not called for. He cursed himself for his ill-timed coldness. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0049" id="link2HCH0049"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIII—HIS WAITING ENDS - </h2> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> week of silence, - and then—— It was eight in the evening. He was at the top of - the house in his bedroom-study—the room in which he had woven so - many gold optimisms. Down the blue oblong of sky, framed by his window, - the red billiard-ball of the sun rolled smoothly, bound for the pocket of - night. - </p> - <p> - A sharp rat-a-tat. Its meaning was unmistakable. He went leaping down the - stairs, three at a time. He reached the hall just as Jane was appearing - from the basement Forestalling her at the front-door, he grabbed the - pinkish-brown envelope from the telegraph-boy. Ripping it open, he read: - </p> - <p> - <i>“Sorry delay. Been Lucerne. Just returned Paris. Received all yours. - Meet me to-morrow Cherbourg on board ‘Wilhelm der Grosse.’ Please start - immediately.”</i> - </p> - <p> - She had forgotten to put her address. He pulled out his watch. Five - minutes past eight! He had no time to consult railway-guides—no time - even to pack. All he knew was that the boat-train left Charing-Cross for - Dover in less than an hour; he could just catch it Returning to his - bedroom, he gathered together what cash he could find In three minutes he - was in the hall again. - </p> - <p> - “Tell mother when she comes back that I’m off to Paris. Tell her I’ll - write.” - </p> - <p> - Jane gaped at him. As he hurried down the steps, she began to ask - questions. He shook his head, “No time.” - </p> - <p> - Throwing dignity to the winds, he set off at a run. As he passed Orchid - Lodge, Mr. Sheerug was coming out. He cannoned into him and left him - gasping. At the top of Eden Row he saw a taxi and hailed it. He knew now - that he was safe to catch his train. - </p> - <p> - On the drive to the station he unfolded her telegram and re-read it - Irresponsible as ever, yet lovable! What risks she took! He might have - been out; as it was he could barely make the connections that would get - him to Cherbourg in time. No address to which he could reply! He couldn’t - let her know that he was coming. Doubtless she took that for granted. No - information concerning her plans! She had always told him that wise women - kept men guessing. No hint as to why she had sent for him! Twenty-four - hours of conjecturing would keep him humble and increase his ardor. Then - the motive of all this vagueness dawned on him. She was putting him to the - test If he came in spite of the irresponsibility of her message, it would - be proof to her that he loved her. If ever a girl needed a man’s love, - Desire was that girl. - </p> - <p> - During the tedious night journey fears began to arise. Why was she going - to Cherbourg? He read her words again, “Meet me to-morrow Cherbourg on - board <i>Wilhelm der Grosse</i>” What would she be doing on board an - Atlantic liner if she wasn’t sailing? She shouldn’t sail if he could - prevent her. If she reached New York, she would go on the stage and commit - herself irrevocably to Fluffyism. - </p> - <p> - He steamed into the Gare du Nord at a quarter to seven and learnt, on - making inquiries, that the trains for Cherbourg left from the St Lazare. - He jumped into an autotaxi—no leisurely <i>fiacre</i> this time—and - raced through the gleaming early morning. He found at the St Lazare that - the first express that he could catch, departed in three-quarters of an - hour. There was another which left later, but it ran to meet the steamer - and was reserved exclusively for transatlantic voyagers. The second train - would be the one by which she would travel. He debated whether he should - try to intercept her on the platform. Too risky. - </p> - <p> - He might miss her. He preferred to take the chance which she herself had - chosen. There would be less than an hour between his arrival in Cherbourg - and the time when the steamship sailed. - </p> - <p> - Having snatched some breakfast, he found a florist’s and purchased an - extravagant sheaf of roses. - </p> - <p> - As soon as Paris was left behind, he was consumed with impotent - impatience. It seemed to him that the engine pulled up at every poky - little town in Normandy. He got it on his mind that every railroad - official was conspiring to make him late. He had one moment of exquisite - torture. They had been at a standstill in a station for an interminable - time. He got out and, in his scarcely intelligible French, asked the - meaning of the delay. The man whom he had questioned pointed; at that - moment the non-stop boat-express from Paris overtook them and thundered - by. At it passed, he glanced anxiously at the carriage-windows, hoping - against hope that he might catch sight of her. - </p> - <p> - The last exasperation came when they broke down at Rayeux and wasted - nearly an hour. He arrived at his destination at the exact moment at which - the <i>Wilhelm der Grosse</i> was scheduled to sail. - </p> - <p> - Picking up the flowers he had purchased for her, he dashed out of the - station and shouldered his way to where some <i>fiacres</i> were standing. - Thrusting a twenty-franc note into the nearest cocker’s hand, he startled - the man into energy. - </p> - <p> - What a drive! Of the streets through which they galloped he saw nothing. - He was only conscious of people escaping to the pavement and of threats - shouted through the sunshine. - </p> - <p> - When they arrived at the quay, the horse was in a lather. Far off, at the - mouth of the harbor in a blue-gold haze, the liner lay black, her - smoke-stacks smudging the sky. Snuggled against her were the two tugs - which had taken out the passengers. An official-looking person in a peaked - cap was standing near to where they had halted. - </p> - <p> - Did he understand English? Certainly. To the question that followed he - answered imperturbably: “Too late, monsieur. It is impossible.” - </p> - <p> - He gazed round wildly. He must get to her. He must at least let Desire - know that he had made the journey. - </p> - <p> - Above the wall of the quay a head in a yachting-cap appeared. He ran - towards it. Stone steps led down to the water’s edge. Against the lowest - step a power-boat lay rocking gently with the engine still running. No - time to ask permission or to make explanations! He sprang down the steps, - flung his roses into the boat, turned on the power and was away. - </p> - <p> - Shouting behind him grew fainter. Now he heard only the panting of the - engine and the swirl of waves. The liner stood up taller. He steered for - it straight as an arrow. If he could only get there! The tugs were casting - loose. Now they were returning. He wasn’t a quarter of a mile away. He - cleared the harbor. The steamer was swinging her nose round. He could see - her screws churning. His only chance of stopping her was to cut across her - bows. - </p> - <p> - From crowded decks faces were staring down. Some were laughing; some were - pale at his foolhardiness. An officer with a thick German accent was - cursing him. He could only hear the accent; he couldn’t make out what the - man was saying. What did he care? He had forced them to wait for him. From - all that blur of faces he was trying to pick out one face. - </p> - <p> - Making a megaphone of his hands, he shouted. His words were lost in the - pounding of the engines and the lapping of the waves. Then he saw a face - which he recognized—Fluffy’s. She was saying something to the - officer; she was explaining the situation. Leaning across the rail, - laughing, she shook her head. The news of the reason for his extraordinary - behavior was passing from mouth to mouth along the decks. The laugh was - taken up. The whole ship seemed to hold its sides and jeer at him. - </p> - <p> - The liner gathered way. The last thing he saw distinctly was Fluffy, still - laughing and shaking her golden head. She was keeping Desire from him; he - knew that she had lied. - </p> - <p> - The boat rose and fell in the churned-up wake. Like a man whose soul has - suddenly died, he sat very silent. - </p> - <p> - Slowly he came to himself. Evening was falling. He felt old. It was all - true, then—the lesson that her mother had taught him in his - childhood! There were women in the world whom love could not conquer. - </p> - <p> - He flung the roses he had bought for her into the sea. Turning the head of - the boat, he reentered the harbor. - </p> - <h3> - FINIS - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Slaves Of Freedom, by Coningsby Dawson - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SLAVES OF FREEDOM *** - -***** This file should be named 55470-h.htm or 55470-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/4/7/55470/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by Google Books - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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- Slaves of Freedom, by Coningsby Dawson
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-Title: Slaves Of Freedom
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-Author: Coningsby Dawson
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-Release Date: August 31, 2017 [EBook #55470]
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-Language: English
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-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SLAVES OF FREEDOM ***
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-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
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-
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- SLAVES OF FREEDOM
- </h1>
- <h2>
- By Coningsby Dawson
- </h2>
- <h4>
- New York: Henry Holt And Company
- </h4>
- <h3>
- 1916
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0003.jpg" alt="0003 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0003.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>A SLAVE OF FREEDOM</b> </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>BOOK I—LIFE TILL TWENTY-ONE</b> </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I—MRS. SHEERUG’S GARDEN </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II—THE FAERY-GODMOTHER </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III—VASHTI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV—THE ROUSING OF THE GIANT </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V—THE GHOST BIRD OF ROMANCE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI—A STRATEGY THAT FAILED </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII—“PASHUN” IN THE KITCHEN </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII—THE EXPENSE OF LOVING </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX—THE FOG </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X—THE WIFE OF A GENIUS </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI—THE LITTLE GOD LOVE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII—DOUBTS </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII—SHUT OUT. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV—BELIEVING HER GOOD </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV—THE FAERY TALE BEGINS AGAIN </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI—A WONDERFUL WORLD </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII—DESIRE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII—ESCAPING </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX—THE HIGH HORSE OF ROMANCE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX—THE POND IN THE WOODLAND </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI—VANISHED </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII—THE FEAR OF KNOWLEDGE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII—TEDDY AND RUDDY </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV—DUKE NINEVEH ENTERS </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV—LUCK </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI—DREAMING OF LOVE </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> <b>BOOK II—THE BOOK OF REVELATION</b> </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER I—THE ISLAND VALLEY </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER II—A SUMMER’S NIGHT </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER III—A SUMMER’S MORNING </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER IV—HAUNTED </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER V—SUSPENSE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER VI—DESIRE’S MOTHER </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER VII—LOVING DESIRE </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER VIII—FAITH RENEWS ITSELF </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER IX—SHE ELUDES HIM </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER X—AND NOTHING ELSE SAW ALL DAY LONG
- </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XI—THE KEYS TO ARCADY </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XII—ARCADY </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XIII—DRIFTING </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XIV—THE TRIFLERS GROW EARNEST </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XV—SLAVES OF FREEDOM </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER XVI—THE GHOST OF HAPPINESS </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER XVII—THE TEST </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER XVIII—THE PRINCESS WHO DID NOT KNOW
- HER HEART </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER XIX—AN OLD PASSION </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0046"> CHAPTER XX—SHE PROPOSES </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0047"> CHAPTER XXI—THE EXPERIMENTAL HONEYMOON </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0048"> CHAPTER XXII—SHE RECALLS HIM </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0049"> CHAPTER XXIII—HIS WAITING ENDS </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- A SLAVE OF FREEDOM
- </h2>
- <p class="indent20">
- The Night slips his arm about the Moon
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- And walks till the skies grow gray;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- But my Love, when I speak of love,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Has never a word to say.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- I set my dreams at her feet as lamps
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- For which all my hope must pay;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- But my Love, when I speak of love,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Has never a word to say.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- I fill her hands with a gleaming soul
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- For her plaything night and day;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- But she, when I speak to her of love,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Has never a word to say.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- I give my life, which is hers to kill
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Or to keep with her alway;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- And still, when I speak to her of love,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- She’s never a word to say.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- <i>The Night slips his arm about the Moon </i>
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- And walks till the skies grow gray;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- But my Love, when I speak of love,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Has never a word to say.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /> <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- BOOK I—LIFE TILL TWENTY-ONE
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER I—MRS. SHEERUG’S GARDEN
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>other bucket o’
- mortar, Mr. Ooze.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The excessively thin man glanced up from the puddle of lime that he was
- stirring and regarded the excessively fat man with a smile of meek
- interrogation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “’Nother bucket o’ mortar, Willie Ooze, and don’t you put your ’ead
- on one side at me like a bloomin’ cockatoo.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. William Hughes stuttered an apology. “I was thin-thinking.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thin-thinking!” The fat man laughed good-naturedly. Turning his back on
- his helper, he gave the brick which he had just laid an extra tap to
- emphasize his incredulity. “’Tisn’t like you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The thin man’s feelings were wounded. To the little boy who looked on this
- was evident from the way he swallowed. His Adam’s-apple took a run up his
- throat and, at the last moment, thought better of it. “But I <i>was</i>
- thinking,” he persisted; “thinking that I’d learnt something from stirring
- up this gray muck. If ever I was to kill somebody—you, for instance,
- or that boy—I’d know better than to bury you in slaked lime.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Uml Urn!” The fat man gulped with surprise. He puckered his vast chin
- against his collar so that his voice came deep and strangled. “It’s scraps
- o’ knowledge like that as saves men from the gallers. If ’alf the
- murderers that is ’anged ’ad come to me first, they wouldn’t
- be ’anging. But—but——” He seemed at last to
- realize the unkind implication of Mr. Hughes’s naive confession. “But I’d
- make four o’ you, Willyum! You couldn’t kill me, however you tried.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the face of contradiction Mr. Hughes forgot his nervousness. “I could.”
- he pleaded earnestly. “I’ve often thought about it. I’d put off till you
- was stooping, and then jump. What with you being so short of breath and me
- being so long in the arms and legs, why——! I’ve planned it out
- many times, you and me being such good friends and so much alone
- together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The face of the fat man grew serious with disapproval. “You? ’ave,
- ’ave you! You’ve got as far as that! You’re a nice domestic pet, I
- must say, to keep unchained to play with the children.” He attempted to go
- on with his bricklaying, but the memory of Mr. Hughes’s long arms and legs
- so immediately behind him was disturbing. He swung round holding his
- trowel like a weapon. “Don’t like your way of talking; don’t like it. O’
- course you’ve ‘ad your troubles; for them I make allowances. But I don’t
- like it, and I don’t mind telling you. Um! Um!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The thin man was crestfallen; he had hoped to give pleasure. “But I
- thought you liked murders.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Like ’em! I enjoy them—so I do.” The fat man spoke tartly.
- “But when you make me the corpse of your conversations, you presoom, Mr.
- Ooze, and I don’t mind telling you—you really do. Let that boy be
- the corpse next time; leave me out of it—— ’Nother
- bucket o’ mortar.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>That</i> boy, who was sole witness to this quarrel, was very small—far
- smaller than his age. In the big walled garden of Orchid Lodge he felt
- smaller than usual. Everything was strange; even the whispered sigh of
- dead leaves was different as they swam up and swirled in eddies. In his
- own garden, only six walls distant, their sigh was gentle as Dearie’s
- footstep—but something had happened to Dearie; Jimmie Boy had told
- him so that morning. “Teddy, little man, it’s happened again”—the
- information had left Teddy none the wiser. All he knew was that Jane had
- told the milkman that something was expected, and that the milkman had
- told the cook at Orchid Lodge. The result had been the intrusion at
- breakfast of the remarkable Mrs. Sheerug.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a long while Mrs. Sheerug had been a staple topic of conversation
- between Dearie and Jimmie Boy. They had wondered who she was. They had
- made up the most preposterous tales about her and had told them to Teddy.
- They would watch for her to come out of her house six doors away, so that
- as she passed their window in Eden Row Jimmie Boy might make rapid
- sketches of her trotting balloon-like figure. He had used her more than
- once already in books which he had been commissioned to illustrate. She
- was the faery-godmother in his <i>Cinderella and Other Ancient Tales:
- With!6 Plates in color by James Gurney</i>. She was Mother Santa Claus in
- his <i>Christmas Up to Date</i>. They had rather wanted to get to know
- her, this child-man and woman who seemed no older than their little son
- and at times, even to their little son, not half as sensible. They had
- wanted to get to know her because she was always smiling, and because she
- was always upholstered in such hideously clashing colors, and because she
- was always setting out burdened on errands from which she returned
- empty-handed. The attraction of Mrs. Sheerug was heightened by Jane’s, the
- maid-of-all-work’s, discoveries: Orchid Lodge was heavily in debt to the
- local tradesmen and yet (it was Dearie who said “And yet.” with a sigh of
- envy), and yet its mistress was always smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- When Mrs. Sheerug had invaded Teddy’s father that morning, she had come
- arrayed for conquest. She had worn a green plush mantle, a blue bonnet
- and, waving defiance from the blue bonnet, a yellow feather.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m a total stranger,” she had said. “Go on with your breakfast, Mr.
- Gurney, I’ve had mine. I’ll watch you. Well, <i>I’ve heard</i>, and so
- I’ve dropped in to see what I can do. You mustn’t mind me; trying to be a
- mother to everyone’s my foible. Now, first of all, you can’t have that boy
- in the house—boys are nice, but a nuisance. They’re noisy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But Teddy, I mean Theo, isn’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was just like Jimmie Boy to call him Theo before a stranger and to
- assume the rôle of a respected parent.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Sheerug refused to be contradicted. She was cheerful, but emphatic.
- “If he never made a noise before, he will now. As soon as I’ve made Theo
- comfortable, I’ll come back to take care of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Making Theo comfortable had consisted in leading him down the
- old-fashioned, little-traveled street, on one side of which the river ran,
- guarded by iron spikes like spears set up on end, and turning him loose in
- the strange garden, where he had overheard a fat man accusing a thin man
- of murderous intentions.
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy looked round. The walls were too high to climb. If he shouted for
- help he might rouse the men’s enmity. Neither of them seemed to be annoyed
- with him at present, for neither of them had spoken to him. There was no
- alternative—he must stick it out. That’s what his father told Dearie
- to do when pictures weren’t selling and bills were pressing. Already he
- had picked up the philosophy that life outlasts every difficulty—every
- difficulty except death.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Hughes, having supplied the bucket of mortar, was trying to make
- himself useful in a new direction. The groan and coughing of a saw were
- heard. The fat man dropped his trowel and turned. He watched Mr. Hughes
- sorrowfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Ooze, that’s no way to make a job o’ that” For the first time he
- addressed the little boy: “He’s as busy as a one-armed paper-’anger
- with the itch this s’morning. Bless my soul, if he isn’t sawing more
- ground than wood.” Then to Mr. Hughes: “’Ere, give me that. Now
- watch me; this is the way to do it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The fat man took the saw from the meek man’s unresisting hand. “You lay it
- so,” he said. He laid the saw almost horizontal with the plank. The thin
- man leant forward that he might profit by instruction, and nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now,” said the fat man, “you get all your weight be’ind it and drive
- forward.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he drove forward the blade slipped and jabbed Mr. Hughes’s leg. Mr.
- Hughes sat down with a howl and drew up his trousers to inspect the
- damage. When the fat man had examined the scratch and pronounced it not
- serious, he proposed a rest and produced a pipe. “Nice smoke,” he said,
- “is more comforting than any woman, only I wish I’d known it before I
- married.” Then he became aware that he alone was smoking.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, lost yours, Mr. Ooze? Just what one might expect! You’re the most
- unlucky chap I ever met, yes, and careless. You bring your troubles on
- yourself, Willie Ooze. First you go and lose a wife that you never ought
- to ’ave ’ad, and now you lose something still more
- valuable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, yes!” The thin man ceased from searching through his pockets and
- heaved a sigh. “I lose everything. Suppose I’ll go on losing till the
- grave shuts down on this body o’ me—and then I’ll lose that. My ’air
- began to come out before I was twenty—tonics weren’t no good. Now I
- always ’ave to wear a ’at—do it even in the ’ouse,
- unless I’m reminded. And then, as you say, there was poor ’Enrietta.
- I’m always wondering whether I really lost ’er, or whether——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Expect she gave you the slip on purpose,” said the fat man. “Best forget
- it; consider ’er as so much spilt milk.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s just what I can’t do.” Mr. Hughes clasped his bony hands: “It
- don’t seem respectful to what’s maybe dead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As far as Teddy could make out from their conversation, ’Enrietta
- had once been Mrs. Hughes. On a trip to Southend she had insisted on
- taking a swing in a highflyer. To her great annoyance her husband had been
- too timid to accompany her, and she had had to take it by herself. The
- last he had seen of her was a flushed face and flapping skirt swooping in
- daring semi-circles between the heavens and the ground. When the swing had
- stopped and he pressed through the crowd to claim her, she had vanished.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perhaps it was the blood on the thin man’s leg that prompted the fat man’s
- observation. “It might ’ave been that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The fat man drew his finger across his throat suggestively. “That.” He
- repeated. “It might ’ave ’appened to your ’Enrietta.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Often thought it myself.” Mr. Hughes spoke slowly. “But—but d’you
- think anybody would suspect that I——?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They might.” The fat man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It’s usually
- chaps of your build that does it; as the lofty Mr. Shakespeare puts it, ’I
- ’ate those lean and ’ungry men.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very true! Very true! Lefroy was lean and ’ungry. I know, ’cause
- I once rode with ’im in the same railway carriage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy listened, fascinated and horror-stricken, to the fat and thin man
- swapping anecdotes of murders past and present. For half an hour they
- strove to outdo each other in ghastliness and minuteness of details.
- </p>
- <p>
- When they had returned to their work and Mr. Hughes was at a safe
- distance, the fat man spoke beneath his breath to the little boy: “He’s no
- good at anything. I keep him with me ’cause we both makes a ’obby
- of ’omicide—that’s the doctor’s word for the kind o’ illness
- we was talking about. Also,” here his voice became as refined as Teddy’s
- father’s, “he amuses me with his Cockney dialect He says he’s unlucky
- because he was born in a hansom-cab. Whenever I speak to him I call him
- Ooze and drop my aitches. It’s another of my hobbies—that and
- keeping pigeons. Pretending to be vulgar relieves my feelings. When one’s
- married and as stout as I am, if one doesn’t relieve one’s feelings one
- bursts.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For the same reason that one lavishes endearments on a dog of uncertain
- temper, Teddy thought it wise to feign an interest in the fat man’s
- hobbies. “It can’t be very nice for them,” he faltered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For ’oo?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The persons.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What persons?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The persons you do it to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do it to! Do it to! You’re making me lose my temper, which is bad for me
- ’ealth; that’s what you’re doing. Now, then, do what? Don’t beat
- about. Out with it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For answer the little boy drew a tremulous finger across his throat in
- imitation of one of the fat man’s gestures.
- </p>
- <p>
- The fat man started laughing—laughing uproariously. His body shook
- like a jelly and fell into dimples. He tried to speak, but couldn’t. At
- last he shouted: “Mr. Ooze, come ’ere. This little boy—”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he stopped laughing suddenly and dropped his rough way of talking.
- The child’s face had gone desperately white. “Poor chap! Must have
- frightened you! Here, steady.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now you’ve done it,” said Mr. Hughes, coming up from behind. “And when
- your wife knows, won’t you catch it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER II—THE FAERY-GODMOTHER
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>here was nothing
- Mrs. Sheerug enjoyed better than an invalid. Illness in a stranger’s house
- was her opportunity; in her own house it was her glory. She loved to
- exaggerate the patient’s symptoms; the graver they were, the more a
- recovery would redound to her credit. When she had pushed her feet into
- old carpet-slippers, removed her bodice, put on her plum-colored
- dressing-gown, and fastened her scant gray hair with one pin into a tight
- little knob at the back of her head, she felt that she had gone through a
- ritual which made her superior to all doctors. She had remedies of her own
- invention which were calculated to grapple with any crisis of ill-health.
- But she did not allow her ingenuity to be fettered by past successes; each
- new case which fell into her hands was a heaven-sent chance for
- experimenting. Whatever came into her head first, went down her patient’s
- throat.
- </p>
- <p>
- When she turned her house into a hospital this little gray balloon-shaped
- woman, with her rosy cheeks, her faded eyes and her constant touch of
- absurdity, managed to garb herself in a solemn awfulness. When “Mother
- went ’vetting,’” as Hal expressed it, even her children viewed her
- with, temporary respect. They weren’t quite sure that there wasn’t
- something in her witchcraft. So nobody complained if meals were delayed
- while she stood over the fire stirring, tasting, smelling and decocting.
- Contrary to what was usual in that unruly house, she had only to open the
- door of the sickroom and whisper, “Hush,” to obtain instant quiet. At such
- times she seemed a ridiculous angel into whose hands God had thrust the
- tragic scales of life and death.
- </p>
- <p>
- If Teddy hadn’t fainted, he might have gone out of Orchid Lodge as
- casually as he had entered—in which case his entire career would
- have been different. By fainting he had put himself into the category of
- the weak ones of the earth, and therefore was to be reckoned among Mrs.
- Sheenes friends. A masterly stroke of luck! She at once decreed that he
- must be put to bed. His pleadings that he was quite well didn’t cause her
- to waver for a second. She knew boys. Boys didn’t faint when there was
- nothing the matter with them. What he required, in her opinion, was
- building up. A fire was lit in the spare-room. Hot-water bottles were
- placed in the bed and Teddy beside them, arrayed in a kind of
- christening-robe, the borrowed nightgown being much too long for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He hadn’t intended to be happy, but—— He raised his head
- stealthily from the pillow, so that his eyes and nose came just above the
- sheet. He had been given a hot drink with strict instructions to keep
- covered. No one was there; he sat up. What a secret room! Exactly the kind
- in which a faery-godmother might be expected to work her spells! Two steps
- led down into it. Across the door, to keep the draughts out, was hung a
- needlework tapestry, depicting Absalom’s misfortune. A young gentleman, of
- exceedingly Jewish countenance, was caught in a tree by his mustard
- colored hair; a horse, which looked strangely like a sheep, was shabbily
- walking away from under him. It would have served excellently as a
- barber’s coat-of-arms. All it lacked was a suitable legend, “<i>The Risks
- of Not Getting Your Hair Cut</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Against an easel rested an uncompleted masterpiece in the same medium. The
- right-hand half, which was done, revealed a negress heaving herself out of
- a marble slab with her arms stretched longingly towards the half which was
- only commenced. The subject was evidently that of Potiphar’s wife and
- Joseph. Outlined on the canvas of the unfinished half was a shrinking
- youth, bearing a faint resemblance to Mr. Hughes as he would have dressed
- had he been born in a warmer climate.
- </p>
- <p>
- Encircling the backs of chairs were skeins of wool of various colors; the
- balls, which had been wound from them, had rolled across the floor and
- come to rest in a tangle against the fender. In the window, lending a
- touch of romance, stood a gilded harp, through whose strings shone the
- cold pale light of the December afternoon. In the grate a scarlet fire
- crackled; perched upon it, like a long-necked bird, was a kettle with a
- prodigiously long spout. It sang cheerfully and blew out white clouds of
- steam which filled the room with the pungent fragrance of eucalyptus.
- </p>
- <p>
- In days gone by, after listening to his father’s stories, he had often
- climbed to the top of their house that he might spy into the garden of
- Orchid Lodge. He had little thought in those days that he would ever be
- Mrs. Sheerug’s prisoner. From the street a passer-by could learn nothing.
- Orchid Lodge rose up flush with the pavement; the windows, which looked
- out on Eden Row and the river, commenced on the second story, so that the
- curiosity of the outside world was eternally thwarted. He had fancied
- himself as ringing the bell and waiting just long enough to glance in
- through the opening door before he took to his heels and ran.
- </p>
- <p>
- Footsteps in the passage! Absalom swayed among the branches, making a
- futile effort to free himself. The door behind the tapestry was being
- opened. Teddy sank his head deep into the pillows, hoping that his
- disobedience to orders would pass unobserved.
- </p>
- <p>
- She came down the steps on tiptoe. Her entire bearing was hushed and
- concerned, as though the least noise or error on her part might produce a
- catastrophe. She carried a brown stone coffee-pot in her hand and a glass.
- From the coffee-pot came a disagreeable acrid odor, similar to that of the
- home-made plasters which his mother applied to his face in case of
- toothache.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Sheerug went over to the fireplace. Before setting the jug in the
- hearth to keep warm she poured out a quantity of muddy looking fluid.
- Suspecting that she had no intention of drinking it herself, Teddy shut
- his eyes and tried to breathe heavily, as though he slept. She came and
- stood beside him; bent over him and listened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Little boy, you’re awake and pretending; what’s worse, you’ve been out of
- bed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The injustice of the last accusation took him off his guard. “If you
- please, I haven’t. I sat up like this because I wanted to look at that.”
- He pointed at the Jewish gentleman taking farewell of his horse.
- </p>
- <p>
- “At that! What made you look at that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I like it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- To his surprise she kissed him. “That’s what comes of being the son of an
- artist. There aren’t many people who like it; you’re very nearly the
- first. I’m doing all the big scenes from the Bible in woolwork; one day
- they’ll be as famous as the Bayeux tapestries. But what am I talking
- about? Of course you’re too young to have heard of them. Come, drink this
- up before it gets cold; it’ll make you well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I’m quite well, thank you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come now, little boys mustn’t tell stories. You know you’re not. Smell
- it. Isn’t it nice?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy smelt it. It certainly was not nice. He shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah,” she coaxed, “but it tastes ever so much better than it smells. It’ll
- make you perspire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not doubt that it would make him perspire, but still he eyed it
- with distrust. “What’s in it?” he questioned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Something I made especially for you; I’ve never given it to anybody
- else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But what’s in it?” he insisted with a touch of childish petulance at her
- evasion.
- </p>
- <p>
- She patted his hand. “Butter, and brown sugar, and vinegar, and bay
- leaves. There! It’ll make you sweat, Teddy—make you feel ever so
- much better.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I’m quite——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He got no further. As he opened his mouth to assert his perfect health,
- the glass was pressed against his lips and tilted. He had to swallow or be
- deluged.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s a fine little fellow.” Mrs. Sheerug was generous in her hour of
- conquest; she tried to give him credit for having taken it voluntarily.
- “You feel better already, don’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think,” he commenced; then he capitulated, for he saw her eye
- working round in the direction of the jug. “I expect I shall presently.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She tucked him up, leaving only his head, not even a bit of his neck,
- showing. “If you don’t perspire soon, tell me,” she said, “and I’ll give
- you some more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a very big bed and unusually high. At each corner was a post,
- supporting the canopy. From where he lay he could watch Mrs. Sheerug.
- Having disentangled several balls of wool and balanced on the point of her
- nose a pair of silver spectacles, she had seated herself before the easel
- and was stitching a yellow chemise on to the timid figure of Joseph. The
- yellow chemise ended above Joseph’s knees; Teddy wondered whether she
- would give him a pair of stockings.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m getting wet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The good little hump of a woman turned. She gazed at him searchingly above
- her spectacles. “Really?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not quite really,” he owned; “but almost really. At least my toes are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s the hot water bottles,” she said. “If you don’t perspire soon you
- must have some more medicine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did his best to perspire. He felt that she had left the choice between
- perspiring and drinking more of the brown stuff in his hands. Trying
- accomplished nothing, so he turned his thoughts to strategy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will they really be famous?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Again she twisted round, watching him curiously. “Why d’you ask?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because——” He wondered whether he dared tell her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Usually people laughed at him when he said it. “Because my father wants
- his pictures to be famous and he’s afraid they never will be. And when I’m
- a man, I want to be famous; and I’m sure I shall.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the piping eagerness of his confession he had thrown back the clothes
- and was sitting up in bed. She didn’t notice it What she noticed was the
- brave poise of the head, the spun gold crushed against the young white
- forehead, and the blue eyes, untired with effort, which looked out with
- challenge on a wonder-freighted world.
- </p>
- <p>
- The fire crackled. The kettle hummed, “Pooh, famous! Be contented. Pooh,
- famous! Be content.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At last she spoke. “It’s difficult to be famous, Teddy. So many of us have
- been trying—wasting our time when we might have been doing kindness.
- What makes a little boy like you so certain——?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I just know,” he interrupted doggedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she realized that he was sitting up in bed and pounced on him. Some
- more of the brown stuff was forced down his throat and the clothes were
- once more gathered tightly round his neck.
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes were becoming heavy. He opened them with an effort By the easel a
- shaded lamp had been kindled; the faery-godmother bent above her work.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER III—VASHTI
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t seemed the last
- notes of a dream. He had been awake for some minutes, but had feared to
- stir lest the voice should stop. Slowly he unclosed his eyes. The voice
- went on. He had never heard such music; it was deep and sweet and luring.
- It was like the golden hair of the Princess Lettice lowered from her
- casement to her lover. It was like the silver feet of laughter twinkling
- up a beanstalk ladder to the stars. It was like spread wings, swooping and
- drifting over a fairyland of castellated tree-tops. Now it wandered up the
- passage and seemed to halt behind the tapestry of Absalom. Now it grew
- infinitely distant until it was all but lost.
- </p>
- <p>
- He eased himself out of bed. Save for the pool of scarlet that weltered
- across floor and ceiling from the hearth, the room was filled with
- blackness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who’s there?” he whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- No answer. He tiptoed up the steps and out into the passage. It was long
- and gloomy; at the end of it a strip of light escaped from a door which
- had been left ajar. It was from there that the voice was calling.
- Steadying himself with his hand against the wall, he stole noiselessly
- towards it Just as he reached the strip of light the singing abruptly
- ended.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, Hal. You shouldn’t do that. You do it too often. Please not any
- more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just once on your lips.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If it’s only once. You promise?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I promise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The door creaked. When he saw them, their bodies were still close
- together, but as they turned to glance across their shoulders their heads
- had drawn a little apart. Her hands, resting on the keyboard, were held
- captive by the man’s. Candles, flickering behind their heads, scorched a
- hole in the dusk to frame them.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man’s face was boyish and clean-shaven, self-indulgent and almost
- handsome. It was a pleasant face: the corners of the mouth turned up with
- a hint of humor; the lips were full and kind; the eyes blue and impatient
- His complexion was high and his hair flaxen; his bearing sensitive and a
- little self-conscious. He was a man who could give himself excessively to
- any one he loved and who consequently would be always encountering new
- disappointments.
- </p>
- <p>
- And the woman—she was like her voice: remote and passionate;
- haunting and unsatisfying; an instrument of romance for the awakening of
- idealized desires. She was fashioned no less for the attracting of love
- than for its repulse. Her forehead was intensely white; her brows were
- like the shadow of wings, hovering and poised; her eyes now vague as a
- sea-cloud, now flashing like sudden gleams of blue-gray sunlight Her hair
- was the color of ancient bronze—dark in the hollows and burnished at
- the edges. Her throat was her glory—full and young, throbbing like a
- bird’s and slender as the stalk of a flower. It was her mouth that gave
- the key to her character. It could be any shape that an emotion made it:
- petulant and unreasonable; kind and gracious and adoring. She was a
- darkened house when she was unresponsive; there was no stir in her—she
- seemed uninhabited. In the street below her windows some chance traveler
- of thought or affection halted; instantly all her windows blazed and the
- people of her soul gazed out.
- </p>
- <p>
- The odd little figure, hesitating in the doorway, had worked this miracle.
- Her eyes, which had been troubled when first they rested on him,
- brightened. Her lips relaxed. Like a bubble rising from a still depth,
- laughter rippled up her throat and broke across the scarlet threshold of
- her mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Hal, what a darling! Where did you get him? And what a dear, funny
- nightgown!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She tore her hands free from the man’s. Running to the little boy, she
- knelt beside him, bringing her face down to his level. As if to prevent
- him from escaping, she looped her arms about his neck.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are dear and funny,” she said. “Where d’you come from?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy was abashed. He didn’t mind being called dear, but he strongly
- objected to being called funny. He was terribly conscious of the pink
- flannel garment which clothed him. It hung like a sack from his narrow
- shoulders. If Mrs. Sheerug hadn’t safety-pinned a reef in at the neck,
- there would have been danger of its slipping off him. He couldn’t see his
- hands; they only reached to where his elbows ought to have been. He
- couldn’t see his feet; a yard of pink stuff draped them. He had had to
- kilt it to make his way along the passage. But the garment’s chief
- offense, as he regarded it, was that it was a woman’s: a rather stout
- middle-aged woman’s—the sort of woman who had given up trying to
- look pretty and probably wore a nightcap. Teddy forgot that had he not
- been press-ganged into sickness, the beautiful lady’s arms would not have
- been about him. All he remembered was that he looked a caricature at a
- moment when—he scarcely knew why—he wanted to appear most
- manly. Mrs. Sheerug was responsible and he felt hotly resentful.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where did you come from?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But isn’t it rather early to be in bed? Perhaps you’re not well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m quite well.” He spoke stubbornly, looking aside and trying to keep
- the tears back. “I’m quite well; it’s she who pretends I isn’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>She!</i> Ah, I understand. Poor old boy, never mind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She drew him against her breast and kissed him. He thought she would
- release him; but still she held him. He could feel the beating of her
- heart and the slow movement of her breath. He didn’t want her to let him
- go; but why did she still hold him? Shyly he raised his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Won’t you smile?” she said. “I’d like to see what you look like. And now
- tell me, what made you come here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I heard you,” he whispered. “Please let me stay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She glanced back at the man; he sat where she had left him, by the piano,
- watching. She rather liked to make him jealous. Turning to the child, she
- lowered her voice, “You’ll catch cold if you don’t get back to bed and
- I’ll be blamed for it. If I come with you, will that be as good as if I
- let you stay?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, better.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then kiss me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As she rose from her knees she gathered him in her arms. The man left his
- seat to follow. She paused in the doorway, gazing across her shoulder.
- “No, Hal, it’s a time when you’re not wanted.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But Vashti——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed mischievously. “I said no. There’s some one else to-night who
- wants me all to himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When Teddy became a man and looked back on that night there were two
- things that he remembered: the first was his pride and sense of triumph at
- hearing himself preferred to Hal; the second was that love, as an
- inspiring and torturing reality, entered into his experience for the first
- time. As she carried him into the darkness of the passage which had been
- full of fears without her, her act seemed symbolic. Gazing back from her
- arms, he saw the man—saw the perplexed humiliation of his
- expression, his aloneness and instinctively his tragedy, yet without pity
- and rather with contentment In later years all that happened to him seemed
- a refinement of spiritual revenge for his childish callousness. The
- solitary image of the man in the dim-lit room, his empty hands and
- following eyes took a place in the gallery of memory as a Velasquezesque
- masterpiece—a composition in brown and white of the St. Sebastian of
- a love self-pierced by the arrows of its own too great desire.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IV—THE ROUSING OF THE GIANT
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>he had picked up a
- quilt from the bed and wrapt it round him. Having drawn a chair to the
- fire, she sat rocking with his head against her shoulder. Since she had
- left the man, she had not spoken. Once the tapestry, falling into place,
- rustled as though the door were being opened. She turned gladly with a
- welcoming smile and remained staring into the darkness long after the
- smile had vanished. A footstep came along the passage. Again she turned,
- her lips parted in readiness to bid him enter. The footstep slowed as it
- reached the bedroom, hesitated and passed on.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had ceased expecting; Teddy knew that by her “Don’t care” shrug of
- annoyance. Though she held him closely, she seemed not to notice him. With
- her head bent forward and her mouth a little trembling, she watched the
- dancing of the flames. He stirred against her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Comfy?” she murmured.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed softly. Her laughter had nothing to do with his answer; it was
- the last retort in a bitter argument which had been waging in the
- stillness of her mind. When she spoke it was as though she yawned, rubbing
- unpleasant dreams from her eyes. “Well, little fellow, what are you going
- to do with me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The implied accusation that he had carried her off thrilled him. It was
- the way she said it—the coaxing music of her voice: it told him that
- she was asking for his adoration. His arms reached up and went about her
- neck; his lips stole up to hers. Made shy by what he had done, he hid his
- face against her breast.
- </p>
- <p>
- She rested her hand on his head, ruffling his hair and trying to persuade
- him to look up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I don’t even know your name! What do they call you? And do you kiss
- all strange ladies like that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- His throat was choking. He knew that the moment he heard his own voice his
- eyes would brim over. But he was getting to an end of the list of first
- things—getting to an age when it wasn’t manly to cry just because
- the soul was stirred. So he bit his lip and kept silent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, well,” she shook her head mournfully, “I can see what would happen.
- If we married, you would make an obstinate husband. You don’t really love
- me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her despair sounded real. “Oh, it’s not that. It’s not that,” he cried,
- dragging her face towards him with both hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- She took his hands away and held them. “Then, what Is it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re so beautiful. I can’t—can’t speak. I can’t tell you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She clasped him closer. “Oh, I’m sorry. It was only my fun. I didn’t mean
- to make you cry. You’re the second person I’ve hurt to-night. But you—you’re
- only a little boy, and such a dear little boy! We were going to be such
- good friends. I must be bad-hearted to hurt everybody.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re not bad-hearted.” The fierceness with which he defended her made
- her smile. “You’re not bad-hearted, and I do love you. And I want to marry
- you only—only I’m so little, and you said it only in fun.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She mothered him till he had grown quiet Then, with her lips against his
- forehead, “Don’t be ashamed of crying; I like you for it. I’m so very glad
- we met to-night I think—almost think—you were sent. I hadn’t
- been kind, and I wasn’t feeling happy. But I’d like to do something good
- now; I think I’d like to make you smile. How ought I to set about it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sing to me. Oh, please do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the firelit room she sang to him in a half-voice, her long throat
- stretched out and throbbing like a bird’s as she stooped above him. She
- sang lullabies, making him feel very helpless; and then of lords and cruel
- ladies and knights. Shadows, sprawling across walls and ceiling, took
- fantastic shapes: horsemen galloping from castles; men waving swords and
- grappling in fight A footstep in the passage! He felt her arms tighten.
- “Close your eyes,” she sang, “close your eyes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She held up a hand as Mrs. Sheerug entered. “Shish!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Asleep?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Sheerug came over to the fire and gazed down. He could feel that she
- was gazing and was afraid that she would detect that he was awake. It was
- a relief when he heard her whisper: “It’s too bad of you, Vashti; he’d
- just reached the turning-point. You’re as irresponsible as a child when
- your moods take you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A second chair was drawn up. Vashti had made no reply. Mrs. Sheerug
- commenced speaking again: “Hal——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hal’s gone out. I suppose you’ve been——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, quarreling. My fault, as usual.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The older woman’s tones became earnest “My dear, you’re not good to my
- boy. How much longer is it going to last? You’re not—not a safe
- woman for a man like Hal. He needs some one more loving; you could never
- make him a good wife. Your profession—I wish you’d give him up.”
- Then, after a pause, “Won’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The little boy listened as eagerly as Hal’s mother for the reply. At last
- it came, “I wish I could.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat up. She saw the reproach in his eyes, but she gave no sign.
- “Hulloa! Wakened? Time you were in bed, old fellow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was conscious that she was using him as a barrier between herself and
- further conversation. Rising, she carried him over to the high four-poster
- bed. While she tucked him in, he could hear the clinking of a glass, and
- knew that his tribulations had recommenced. Mrs. Sheerug crossed from the
- fireplace: “Here’s another drink of the nice medicine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He buried his face in the pillow. He didn’t want to get better. He wanted
- to die and to make people sorry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Teddy,” it was her voice, “Teddy, if you take it, I’ll sing to you. Do it
- for my sake.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned to Mrs. Sheerug. “He will if I sing to him. You accompany me.
- He says it’s a promise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stood beside the pillow holding his hand. Over by the window the
- faery-godmother was taking her seat; stars peeped through the harp-strings
- curiously. What happened next was like arms spread under him, carrying him
- away and away. “Oh, rest in the Lord, wait patiently for Him.” Her voice
- sprang up like a strong white bird; at every beat of its wings the
- harp-strings hummed like the weak wings of smaller birds following. “Oh,
- rest in the Lord”—the white bird rose higher with a braver
- confidence and the little birds took courage, plunging deeper into the
- grave and gentle stillness. “Oh, rest in the Lord”—it was like a
- sigh of contentment traveling back from prepared places out of sight. The
- room grew silent.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Vashti who had moved. She bent over him, “I’m going.” He stretched
- out his arms, but they failed to reach her. At the door Mrs. Sheerug stood
- and stayed her. Vashti halted, very proud and sweet. “What is it? You said
- I wasn’t safe. You can tell Hal he’s free—I won’t trouble him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Sheerug caught her by the hands and tried to draw her to her. “I was
- mistaken, Vashti; you’re good. You can always make me forgive you: you
- could make any one love you when you’re singing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Vashti shook her head. “I’m not good. I’m wicked.” The older woman tried
- to reach up to kiss her. Again Vashti shook her head, “Not to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The medicine had been taken. By the easel a shaded lamp had been lighted—lighted
- for hours. It must be very late; the faery-godmother still worked, sorting
- her wools and pushing her needle back and forth, clothing Joseph in the
- presence of Potiphar’s wife. Every now and then she sighed. Sometimes she
- turned and listened to catch the regular breathing of the little boy whom
- she supposed to be sleeping. Presently she rose and undressed. The lamp
- went out In the darkness Teddy could hear her tossing; then she seemed to
- forget her troubles.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he lay and remembered. Vashti had asked him to marry her. Perhaps she
- had not meant it. How long would it take to become a man? Did little boys
- ever marry grown ladies?
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER V—THE GHOST BIRD OF ROMANCE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen his father
- entered Teddy was eating his breakfast propped up in bed, balancing a tray
- on his humped-up legs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, shrimp, you seem to have had a lucky tumble. Can’t say there seems
- to be much the matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A large bite of hot buttered toast threatened to impede conversation.
- “It’s the brown stuff,” Teddy mumbled; “she wanted to see if it ’ud
- make me wet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Kind of vivisection, eh? And did it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All over—like in a bath playing ship-wrecked sailors.” The
- excavation of an egg absorbed the little boy’s attention. His father
- seated himself on the edge of the bed. He was a large childish man,
- unconsciously unconventional His brown velvet jacket smelt strongly of
- tobacco and varnish. It was spotted with bright colors, especially on the
- left sleeve between the wrist and elbow, where he had tested his paints
- instead of on his palette. His trousers bagged at the knees from neglect
- rather than from wear; their shabbiness was made up for by an extravagant
- waistcoat, sprigged with lilac. Double-breasted and cut low in a V shape,
- it exposed a soft silk shirt and a large red tie with loosely flowing
- ends. His head was magnificent—the head of a rebel enthusiast, too
- impatient to become a leader of men. It was broad in the forehead and
- heavy with a mane of coal-black ringlets. His mouth was handsome—a
- rare thing in a man. His nose was roughly molded, Cromwellian, giving to
- his face a look of rude strength and purpose. A tuft of hair immediately
- beneath his lower lip bore the same relation to his mustache that a tail
- bears to a kite—it lent to his expression balance. It was his eyes
- that astonished—they ought to have been fiercely brown to be in
- keeping with the rest of his gypsy appearance; instead they were a clear
- gray, as though with gazing into cloudy distances, as are the eyes of men
- who live by seafaring.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had made repeated efforts to curb his picturesqueness; he knew that it
- didn’t pay in an age when the ideal for males is to be undecorative. He
- knew that his appearance appealed as affectation and bred distrust in the
- minds of the escutcheoned tradesmen who are England’s art patrons. When
- they came to confer a favor, they liked to find a gentlemanly shopkeeper—not
- a Phoenician pirate, with a voice like a gale. His untamedness impressed
- them as immorality. He always felt that they left him thoroughly convinced
- that he and Dearie were not married.
- </p>
- <p>
- Whatever editors, art patrons and publishers might think about James
- Gurney, Teddy followed in his mother’s footsteps: to him James Gurney was
- Jimmie Boy, the biggest-hearted companion that a son ever had—a
- father of whom to be inordinately proud. There was no one as great as his
- father, no one as clever, no one as splendid to look at in the whole wide
- world. When he walked down the street, holding his father’s hand, he liked
- to fancy that people stared after him for his daring, just as they would
- have stared had he walked with his hand in the mane of a shaggy lion. It
- was wonderful to be friends with a father so fierce looking. And then his
- father treated him as a brother artist and borrowed notions from him—really
- did, without pretense; he’d seen the notions carried out in illustrations.
- His father had come to borrow from him now.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Any ideas this morning, partner—any ideas that you don’t want
- yourself?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy hitched himself upon the pillow, trying to look as grave and
- important as if he wore spectacles. “Yes. A room like this, only lonely
- with a fire burning and an old, old woman sitting over there.” He pointed
- to the window and the gilded harp. “I’d let her be playing, Daddy; and a
- big white bird, that you can see through, must be beating its wings
- against the panes, trying and always trying to get out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A ghost bird?” his father suggested.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t know—just a big white bird and a woman so old that she might
- be dead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s the meaning of the bird, old chap? Dreams, or hopes, or memories—something
- like that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy could find nothing more in the egg. “Don’t know; that’s the way I
- saw it” He ceased to be elderly, took off his imaginary spectacles and
- looked up like a dog who stands wagging his tail, waiting to be patted.
- “Was that an idea, Daddy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- His father nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A good idea?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite a good idea. But, oh, while I remember it, Mr. Sheerug wanted to
- see you. You and he must have struck up a great friendship. The
- faery-godmother won’t let him—says you’re not well. He seems quite
- upset.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy was puzzled. “Mr. Sheerug!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, a big fat man with whom you have a secret. He followed me up the
- stairs and asked me to thank you for not telling.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was that Mr. Sheerug?” Teddy’s eyes became large and round. “Why, he’s
- the mur——I mean, the man who was in the garden.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s right He carried you in when you fainted. What made you faint,
- Teddy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The little boy looked blank. If he were to tell, he would get the fat man
- into trouble; an aggravated murderer, living only six doors removed, would
- make an awkward neighbor. There was another reason why he looked blank:
- were he to tell his father of Mr. Sheerug’s special hobby, he would
- certainly be forbidden to enter Orchid Lodge, and then—why, then he
- might never meet Vashti. He weighed his fear against his adoration, and
- decided to keep silent.
- </p>
- <p>
- His father had fallen into a brown study. He had forgotten his inquiry as
- to the cause of Teddy’s fainting. “Theo.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Something important was coming. To be called Theo was a warning.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Theo, it hasn’t happened. When it’s so difficult to earn a living, I
- don’t know whether we ought to be sorry or glad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What hasn’t happened?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s still only you and me and, thank God, Dearie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But—” the small brain was struggling to discover a meaning—“but
- could there have been any one else?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The large man took the little boy’s hand. “You don’t understand. Yes,
- there could have been several other people; but not now.” Rising, he
- walked over to the window and stood there, looking out. “Perhaps it’s just
- as well, with a fellow like me for your father, who spends all his time in
- chasing clouds and won’t—can’t get on in the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy couldn’t see his father’s face, but he thought he knew what was the
- matter. If Dearie had been there, she would have slipped her arms round
- the big man’s neck, calling him “Her Boy,” and would have made everything
- happy in a second. In her absence Teddy borrowed her comforting words—he
- had heard them so often. “Your work’s too good,” he said emphatically.
- “Every great man has been neglected.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The phrase, uttered parrot-wise by the lips of a child, stirred the man to
- a grim humor. He saw himself as that white bird, battering itself into
- exhaustion against invisible panes that shut it out from the heavens.
- Every time it ceased to struggle the dream music recommenced, maddening it
- into aspiration; the old woman, so old that she might be dead, who
- fingered the strings of the harp was Fate.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared across the wintry gardens, blackened and impoverished by frost;
- each one like a man’s life—curtailed, wall-surrounded, monotonously
- similar, yet grandly roofed with eternity. Along the walls cats crept like
- lean fears; trees, stripped of leaves, wove spiders’ webs with their
- branches. So his work was too good and every great man had been neglected!
- His boy said it confidently now; as he grew older he might say it with
- less and less sincerity.
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed quietly. “So you’ve picked up my polite excuse, Ted! Yes,
- that’s what we all say of ourselves—we failures: ’My work’s
- too good.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it needn’t be an excuse, Mr. Gurney. It may be the truth. I often use
- the same consolation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Sheerug stood, a burlesque figure of untidy optimism, smiling
- severely in the doorway. She was clad in her muddled plum-colored
- dressing-gown; her gray hair was disordered and sprayed about her neck;
- her tired blue eyes, peering above the silver-rimmed spectacles, took in
- the room with twinkling merriment. She came to the foot of the bed with
- the ponderous dignity of a Cochin-China hen, important with feathers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, my dear sir,” she said, “you may not know it, but I, too, consider
- myself a genius. I believe all my family to be geniuses—that’s why I
- never interfere with the liberty of my children. Even my husband, he’s a
- genius in his fashion—a stifled fashion, I tell him; I let him go
- his own way in case it may develop. Genius must not be thwarted—so
- we all live our lives separately in this house and—and, as I dare
- say you know, run into debt. There’s a kind of righteousness about that—running
- into debt; the present won’t acknowledge our greatness, so we make it pay
- for our future. But, my dear sir, I caught you indulging in self-pity.
- It’s the worst of all crimes. You men are always getting sorry for
- yourselves. Look at me—I’ve not succeeded. I ask you, do I show it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If to be always smiling—-” Mr. Gurney broke off.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is really a remarkable meeting, Mrs. Sheerug—three geniuses in
- one room! Oh, yes, if Teddy’s not told you yet, he will soon: he’s quite
- certain that he’s going to be a very big man. Aren’t you, Teddy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The little boy wriggled his toes beneath the counterpane and watched them
- working. “I have ideas,” he said seriously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What did I tell you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Sheerug signified by the closing of her eyes that she considered it
- injudicious to discuss little boys in their presence. When she opened them
- again it was to discuss herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “As between artists, Mr. Gurney, I want your frank opinion. If you don’t
- like my work, say so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your work!” He looked about. “Oh, this!” His eyes fell on the unfinished
- woolwork picture on the easel. “It has—it has a kind of power,” he
- said—“the power of amateurishness and oddity. You’re familiar with
- the impelling crudity of Blake’s sketches? Well, it’s something like that
- What I mean is this: your colors are all impossible, your drawing’s all
- wrong and there’s no attempt at accuracy. And yet—— The result
- is something so different from ordinary conceptions that it’s almost
- impressive.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Sheerug, not sure whether she was being praised or blamed, shook her
- head with dignity. “You’re trying to let me down lightly, Mr. Gurney.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I’m not and I’ll prove it Joseph is supposed to be in the process of
- being tempted. Well, he isn’t tempted in your picture; he’s simply scared.
- I don’t know whether you intended it or whether it’s the unconscious way
- in which your mind works, but your prize-fighting negress, in the rôle of
- Mrs. Potiphar threatening a Cockney consumptive in an abbreviated
- nightgown, is a distinctly original interpretation of the Bible story; it
- achieves the success that Hogarth aimed at—the effect of the
- grotesque. It’s the same with your Absalom. You were so prejudiced against
- him that you even extended your prejudice to his horse. Every time you
- stuck your needle in the canvas you must have murmured, ’Serve him
- jolly well right. So perish all sons who fight against their fathers.’ So,
- instead of remembering that he was a prince of Israel, you’ve made him an
- old-clothes blood from Whitechapel who’s got into difficulties on a hired
- nag at Hampstead. I think I catch your idea: you’re a Dickens writing
- novels in woolwork. You’re Pickwickizing the Old Testament. In its way the
- idea’s immense.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Sheerug jerked her spectacles up the incline of her nose till they
- covered her eyes. “If I have to leave you now, don’t think that I’m
- offended.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Sheerug went out of the room like a cottage-loaf on legs. The door
- closed behind her trotting, kindly figure.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Gurney turned helplessly to Teddy. “And I meant to flatter her. In a
- worthless way they’re good. I was trying not to tell her the worthless
- part of it. Believe I’ve hurt her feelings, and after all her kindness——
- I’m horribly sorry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Father, when people marry, must they live together always?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The irrelevancy of the question rather startled Mr. Gurney; Teddy’s
- questions had a knack of being startling. “Eh! What’s that? Live together
- always! Why, yes, it’s better. It’s usual.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But must they begin from the moment they marry?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Gurney laughed. “If they didn’t, they wouldn’t marry. It’s because
- they think that they’ll go on wanting to be every minute of their lives
- together that they do it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, yes.” Teddy sighed sentimentally. His sigh said plainly, “Whatever
- else I don’t know, I know that.” He cushioned his face against the pillow.
- “But what I meant,” he explained, “is supposing one hasn’t any money, and
- one’s father can’t give one any, and one wants to be with some one every
- minute, and—and very badly. Would they live together then from the
- beginning?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Gurney gave up thinking about Mrs. Sheerug; Teddy’s questions grew
- interesting. “If any one hadn’t any money and the lady hadn’t any money, I
- don’t believe they’d marry. But the lady might have money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy gave himself away completely. “But to live on her money! Oh, I don’t
- think I’d like that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His father seated himself on the bed, with one leg curled under him.
- “Hulloa, what’s this? Been losing your heart to Mrs. Sheerug? She’s got a
- husband. It won’t do, old man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It isn’t Mrs. Sheerug. It’s just—just curiosity, I expect.”
- </p>
- <p>
- No encouragement could lure him into a more explicit confession. All that
- day, after his father had left, he lay there with his face against the
- pillow, endeavoring to dis-cover a plan whereby a little boy might procure
- the money to marry a beautiful lady, of whom he knew comparatively
- nothing.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VI—A STRATEGY THAT FAILED
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e had not seen her
- again. It was now four days since she had sung to him. For her sake, in
- the hope of her returning, he had made himself the accomplice of Mrs.
- Sheenes plans. By looking languid he invited the terrors of her medicines.
- By restraining his appetite and allowing half his meals to be carried away
- untasted, he gave to his supposed illness a convincing appearance of
- reality. Even Mrs. Sheerug, whose knowledge of boys was profound, was
- completely deceived by Teddy. It had never occurred to her that there was
- a boy in the world who could resist good food when he was hungry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is your head aching? Where is it that you don’t feel better?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s just all over.”
- </p>
- <p>
- More physic would follow. He swallowed it gladly—was willing to
- swallow any quantities, if it were the purchase price of at length seeing
- Vashti. Every day gained was a respite to his hope, during which he could
- listen for her coming. Perhaps her footstep in the passage would first
- warn him—or would it be her voice? He liked to think that any moment
- she might enter on tiptoe and lean across his pillow before he was aware.
- When in later years the deluge of love swept over him, destroying that it
- might recreate his world, he was astonished to find how faithfully it had
- been foreshadowed by this embryo passion of his childhood.
- </p>
- <p>
- For three days Mrs. Sheerug had asked him where he ached most, and had
- invariably received the same answer, “It’s just all over.” Her ingenuity
- in prescribing had been sorely tested: she had never had such an
- uncomplaining victim for her remedies. However unpleasantly she
- experimented, she could always be sure of his murmured thanks.
- </p>
- <p>
- Under his gentleness she began to allow her fondness to show itself. She
- held old-fashioned notions about children, believing that they were spoilt
- by too much affection. Her kind heart was continually at war with her
- Puritan standards of sternness; the twinkle in her eyes was always
- contradicting the harsh theories which her lips propounded. Sitting by her
- easel in the quiet room, she would carry on gossiping monologues addressed
- to Teddy. He gathered that in her opinion all men were born worthless;
- husbands were saved from the lowest depths of inferiority by the splendid
- women they married. All women were naturally splendid, and all bachelors
- so selfish as to be beneath contempt. She gave Teddy to understand that
- women were the only really adult people in the world; they pretended that
- their men were grown up as a mother plays a nursery game with children.
- She quoted instances to Teddy to prove her theories—indiscreet
- instances from her own experiences and the experiences of her friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- “To hear me speak this way, you may wonder why I married, and why I
- married Alonzo of all men. Even I wondered that on the day I said yes to
- him, and I wondered it on the day I eloped with him, and I’ve not done
- wondering yet Yes, little boy, you may look at me and wonder whether I’m
- telling the truth, but my father was Lord Mayor of London and I could once
- have married anybody. I was a very pretty girl—I didn’t know how
- pretty then; and I had a host of suitors. I could have been a rich lady
- to-day with a title—but I chose Alonzo.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Alonzo sounds a fine name,” said Teddy. “Did he ride on a horse and carry
- a sword in the Lord Mayor’s Show?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ride on a horse!” Mrs. Sheerug laughed gently; she was remembering. “Ride
- on a horse! No, he didn’t, Teddy. You see, he was called Sheerug as well
- as Alonzo. The Sheerug rather spoils the Alonzo, doesn’t it?”
- </p>
- <h3>
- A STRATEGY THAT FAILED
- </h3>
- <h3>
- 35
- </h3>
- <p>
- “Sheerug sounds kind and comfy,” murmured Teddy, trying to make the best
- of a disappointment.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Sheerug smiled at him gratefully. “Yes, and just a little careless. I
- ran away with him because he was kind and comfy, and because he needed
- taking care of more than any man I ever met. He’s cost me more mothering
- than any child I ever——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy’s hands were tangled together; his words fell over one another with
- excitement. “Oh, tell me about the running. Did they follow you? And was
- it from the Lord Mayor’s house that you ran? And did they nearly catch
- you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Glancing above her spectacles disapprovingly, Mrs. Sheerug was recalled to
- the tender years of her audience. As though blaming the little boy for
- having listened, she said severely: “A silly old woman like myself says
- many things that you mustn’t remember, Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- On the morning of the fourth day she arrived at a new diagnosis of his
- puzzling malady. He knew she had directly she entered: her gray hair was
- combed back from her forehead and was quite orderly; she had abandoned her
- plum-colored dressing-gown. She halted at the foot of the bed and surveyed
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You rather like me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you didn’t at first?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was too polite to acquiesce.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you don’t want to leave me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked confused. “Not unless you want—— Not until I’m
- well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A little gurgling laugh escaped her; it seemed to have been forced up
- under high pressure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ve been playing the old soldier, young man. Took me in completely.
- But I’m a woman, and I always, always find out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her finger at him and stood staring across the high wall that
- was the foot of the bed. As she stared she kept on nodding, like the wife
- of a mandarin who had picked up the habit from her husband. Two fingers,
- spread apart, were pressed against the corners of her mouth to prevent it
- from widening to a smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Humph!” she gave a jab to a hairpin which helped to fasten the knob at
- the back of her head. “Humph! I’ve been nicely had.” Then to Teddy: “We’ll
- get you well slowly. Now I’m going to fetch your clothes and you’ve got to
- dress.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Clad as far as his shirt and knickerbockers, with a counterpane rolled
- about him, he was carried downstairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the long dilapidated room that they entered the thin and the fat man
- were playing cards. They were too absorbed to notice that any one had
- entered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What d’you bet?” demanded the fat man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ten thousand,” Mr. Hughes answered promptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll see you and raise you ten thousand. What’ve you got?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Hughes threw down three aces; the fat man exposed a full house.
- “You’re twenty thousand down, Mr. Ooze.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Twenty thousand what?” asked Mrs. Sheerug contemptuously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pounds,” Mr. Hughes acknowledged sheepishly. “Twenty thousand pounds,
- that’s wot I’ve lost—and it isn’t lunch time. ’urried into
- the world—that’s wot I was—that’s ’ow my bad luck
- started. You couldn’t h’expect nothing of a man ’oo was born in a
- ’ansom-cab.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You babies!” Mrs. Sheerug shifted her spectacles higher up her nose. “You
- know you never pay. It doesn’t matter whether you play for millions or
- farthings. Why don’t you work?”
- </p>
- <p>
- When they had left, she made Teddy comfortable in a big armchair. Before
- she went about her household duties, she bent down and whispered: “No one
- shall ever know that you pretended. I’m—I’m even glad of it. Oh, we
- women, how we like to be loved by you useless men!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VII—“PASHUN” IN THE KITCHEN
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>n the conducting
- of a first love-affair one inevitably bungles. When the young gentleman in
- love happens to be older than the lady, his lack of finesse may be
- forgiven by her still greater inexperience. When the young gentleman is
- considerably less than half his fiancée’s years and, moreover, she is an
- expert in courtship by reason of many suitors, the case calls for the
- utmost delicacy.
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy was keenly sensitive to the precariousness of his situation. He was
- aware that, if he confessed himself, there wasn’t a living soul would take
- him seriously. Even Dearie and Jimmie Boy, to whom he told almost
- everything, would laugh at him. It made him feel very lonely; it was bard
- to think that you had to be laughed at just because you were young. Of
- course ordinary boys, who were going to be greengrocers or policemen when
- they grew up, didn’t fall in love; but boys who already felt the shadow of
- future greatness brooding over them might. In fact, such boys were just
- the sort of boys to pine away and die if their love went unrequited—the
- sort of fine-natured boys who, whether love came to them at nine or
- twenty, could love only once.
- </p>
- <p>
- Here he was secretly engaged to Vashti and threatened by many unknown
- rivals. He didn’t know her surname and he didn’t know her address. He had
- to find her; when he found her he wasn’t sure what he ought to do with
- her. But find her he must. Four days had passed since she had accepted his
- hand. If he were not to lose her, he must certainly get into communication
- with her. How? To make the most discreet inquiries of so magic a person as
- Mrs. Sheerug would be to tell her everything. If she knew everything, she
- might not want him in her house, for she believed that he had feigned
- illness solely out of fondness for herself. The only other person to whom
- he could turn was Mr. Sheerug, with whom already he shared one guilty
- secret; but from this house of lightning arrivals and departures Mr.
- Sheerug had vanished—vanished as completely as if he had mounted on
- a broomstick and been whisked off into thin air. Teddy did not discover
- this till lunch.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lunch was a typically Sheerugesque makeshift, consisting of boiled Spanish
- onions, sardines and cream-puffs. It was served in a dark room, like a
- Teniers’ interior, with plates lining the walls arranged on shelves. There
- was a door at either end, one leading into the kitchen, the other into the
- hall. When one of these doors banged, which it did quite frequently, a
- plate fell down. Perhaps it was to economize on this constant toll of
- breakages that Mrs. Sheerug used enamel-ware on her table. The table had a
- frowsy appearance, as though the person who had set the breakfast had
- forgotten to clear away the last night’s supper, and the person who had
- set the lunch had been equally careless about the breakfast. Mrs. Sheerug
- explained: “I always keep it set, my dear; we’re so irregular and it saves
- worry when our friends drop in at odd seasons.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This room, as was the case with half the rooms in the house, had steps
- leading down to it, the floor of the hall being on a higher level. Whether
- it was that the house had muddled itself into odd angles and useless
- passages under the influence of Mrs. Sheerug’s tenancy, or that the
- mazelike originality of its architecture had effected the pattern of her
- character, there could be no doubt that Orchid Lodge, with its rambling
- spaciousness, awkward comfort, and dusty hospitality, was the exact
- replica in bricks and mortar of its mistress’s personality.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s the matter, Teddy? Don’t you like Spanish onions? You’ll have to
- make yourself like them. They’re good for you. I’ve known them cure
- consumption.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I haven’t got consumption.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But why don’t you eat them? You keep looking about you as if you’d lost
- something.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was wondering whether Mr. Sheerug was coming.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She rested her fork on her plate, tapping with it and gazing at him.
- “Well, I never! You’re a queer child for scattering your affections.
- You’re the first little boy I ever knew to take a fancy to Alonzo. He’s so
- silent and looks so gruff.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy laughed. “But he talks to me. When shall I see him again?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Upon my soul! What’s the man done to you? I don’t know, Teddy—I
- never do know when I’m going to see him. He goes away to earn money—that’s
- what men are made for—and he stays away sometimes for a week and
- sometimes for months; it all depends on how long he takes to find it There
- have been times,” she raised her voice with a note of pride, “when my
- husband has come back a very rich man. Once, for almost a year, we lived
- in West Kensington and kept our carriage. But there have been times——-”
- She left the sentence unended and shook her head. “It’s ups and downs,
- Teddy; and if we’re kind when we have money, the good Lord provides for us
- when we haven’t. ’Tisn’t money, it’s the heart inside us that makes
- us happy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy wasn’t paying attention to the faery-godmother’s philosophy; he was
- thinking of Alonzo Sheerug, who had gone away to earn money. He pictured
- him as a fat explorer, panting off into a wilderness with a pail. When the
- pail was filled, and not until it was filled, he would return to his wife.
- That was what men were made for—to be fetch-and-carry persons. Teddy
- was thinking that if he could reach Mr. Sheerug, he would ask him to carry
- an extra bucket.
- </p>
- <p>
- That an interval might elapse between his flow of questions, he finished
- his Spanish onion. Then, “I’d like to write him a question if you’d send
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, come!” She patted his hand. “There’s no question that you could ask
- him that I couldn’t answer. He’s only a man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy knew that he would have to ask her something; so he asked her <i>a</i>
- question, but not <i>the</i> question. “Who is Hal?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My son.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does he like the lady who sang in the bedroom?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He——” She frowned. “You’re too curious, Teddy; you want to
- know too much. See, here’s Harriet waiting to take the dishes and get on
- with her work.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Sheerug rose and trundled up the steps. Since it was she who had
- invited his curiosity, Teddy felt a little crestfallen at the injustice of
- her rebuff. He was preparing to follow her, when he caught the red-headed
- giantess from the kitchen winking at him as though she would squeeze her
- eye out of its socket. In her frantic efforts to attract his notice her
- entire face was convulsed. As the swish of Mrs. Sheerug’s skirts grew
- faint across the hall, the girl tiptoed over to Teddy and stood staring at
- him with her fists planted firmly on the table. Slowly she bent down—so
- slowly that he wondered what was coming.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does ’e like ’er!” she whispered scornfully. “Why, ’e
- loves ’er, you little Gubbins. Wot on h’earth possessed yer ter go
- and h’arsk ’is ’eart-sick ma a h’idiot quesching like that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- To be twice blamed for a fault which had not been of his own choosing was
- too much. There was anger as well as a hint of tears in his voice when he
- answered, “My name isn’t Gubbins. And it wasn’t an idiot question. She
- made me ask her something, so I asked her that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The girl wagged her head with an immense display of tragedy. His anger
- seemed only to deepen her despondency. “H’it’s tumble,” she sighed,
- “tumble, h’all this business abart love. ’Ere’s h’every one wantin’
- some one ter love ’em, and some of ’em is lovin’ the wrong
- pusson, and some of ’em is bein’ loved by three or four, and
- some-some of h’us ain’t got no one. H’it don’t look as though we h’ever
- shall ’ave. If I wuz Gawd——” She checked herself, awed
- by the Irreverence of her supposition. “If I wuz Gawd,” she repeated,
- lowering her voice, “I’d come right darn from ’eaven and sort awt
- the proper couples. H’I wouldn’t loll around with them there h’angels till
- h’every gal ’ad got ‘er feller. Gawd ought ter ’ave been a
- woman, I tell yer strite. If ’E wuz, things wouldn’t be in this ’ere
- muddle. A she-Gawd wouldn’t let h’us maike such fools of h’ourselves, if
- you’ll h’excuse me strong lang-widge.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy stared at her. It wasn’t her “strong langwidge” that made him stare;
- it was the confession that her words implied. “You’re—you’re in
- love?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She jerked up her head defiantly. “In love! Yus, I’m in love. And ’oo
- isn’t?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He watched her clearing the table; when that was done, he followed her
- into the kitchen. The idea that she was suffering from his complaint
- fascinated him. She of all persons should be able to tell him how to
- proceed in the matter.
- </p>
- <p>
- She paused in her washing of the dishes; across her shoulder she had
- caught him looking at her. “You may well stare,” she said. “H’I’m a
- cureehosity, I h’am. I wuz <i>left</i>.” She nodded impressively.
- </p>
- <p>
- He didn’t understand, but he knew the information was supposed to be
- staggering. “Left!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yus. I wuz left—left h’at a work’ouse and brought h’up in a
- h’orphanage. P’raps I never wuz born. P’raps I never ’ad no
- parents. There’s no one can say. I wuz found on a doorstep, all finely
- dressed and tied h’up in a fish-basket—just left. H’I’m different
- from h’other gals, h’I am. My ma may ’ave been a queen—there’s
- never no tellin’.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Harriet sank into a chair. Supporting her chin in her hand, she gazed
- wistfully into the fire. “Wot is it that yer wants wiv me, Gubbins?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it very difficult to get married?” he faltered.
- </p>
- <p>
- She nodded. “One ‘as ter ’ave money. If a man didn’t ’ave no
- money, ’is wife would ’ave ter go out charing. She wouldn’t
- like that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s the least a man ought to have?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She deliberated. “Depends on the lady. If it wuz me, I should want five
- pounds. But look ’ere, wot maikes yer h’arsk so many queschings?
- Surely a little chap like you ain’t in love?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He flushed. “Five pounds! But wouldn’t three be enough if two people were
- very, very much in love?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Five pounds, Gubbins.” She rose from her chair and went back to her
- dishes. “Not a penny less. I knows wot I’m talkin’ abart My ma wuz a
- queen, p’raps; ter h’offer a lady less would be a h’insult.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VIII—THE EXPENSE OF LOVING
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t happened in a
- comfortable room on the ground floor, looking out into the garden. All
- afternoon he had been puzzling over what Harriet had told him. Mrs.
- Sheerug sat by the fire knitting; he dared not question her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Muted by garden walls and distance, a muffin-man passed up and down the
- streets, ringing his bell and crying to the night like a troubadour in
- search of romance. He crouched against the window, watching the winter
- dusk come drifting down. While watching, he fell asleep.
- </p>
- <p>
- As though he had been coldly touched, he awoke startled, all his senses on
- edge. On the other side of the glass, peering in, standing directly over
- him, was a figure which he recognized as Harriet’s. At first he thought
- that she was trying to attract his attention; then he saw that she seemed
- unaware of him and that her attention was held by something beyond. A
- voice broke the stillness. It must have been that same voice that had
- roused him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My God, I’m wretched! For years it’s been always the same: the
- restlessness when I’m with her; the heartache when I’m without her. She
- won’t send me away and she won’t have me, and—and I haven’t the
- strength to go away myself. No, it isn’t strength. It’s something that I
- can’t tell even to you. Something that keeps me tortured and binds me to
- her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Scarcely daring to stir, Teddy turned his eyes away from Harriet, and
- stared into the darkness of the room. The air was tense with tragedy. In
- the flickering half-circle of firelight a man was crouched against the
- armchair—kneeling like a child with his head in the
- faery-godmother’s lap. He was sobbing. Teddy had heard his mother cry;
- this was different. There was shame in the man’s crying and the dry
- choking sound of a horrible effort to regain self-mastery. The
- faery-godmother bent above him. Teddy could see the glint of her
- spectacles. She was whispering with her cheek against the flaxen head. The
- voice went on despairingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sometimes I wonder whether I do love her. Sometimes I feel hard and cold,
- so that I wouldn’t care if it were all ended. Sometimes I almost hate her.
- I want to start afresh—but I haven’t the courage. I know myself. If
- I were certain that I’d lost her, I should begin to idealize her as I did
- at first. God, if I could only forget!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear! My dear!” Mrs. Sheerug’s voice was broken. Her tired hands
- wandered over him, patting and caressing. “My poor Hal! To think that any
- woman should dare to use you so and that I can’t prevent it! Why, Hal, if
- I could bear your burdens, and see you glad, and hear your laughter in the
- house, I’d—I’d die for you, Hal, to have you young and happy as you
- were. Doesn’t it mean anything to you that your mother can love you like
- that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He raised his face and put his arms about her neck. “I haven’t been good
- to you, mother. It’s like you to say that I have; but I haven’t. I’ve
- ignored you and given the best of myself to some one for whom it has no
- value. I’ve been sharp and irritable to you. You’ve wanted to ask
- questions—you had a right to ask questions; I’ve kept you at arm’s
- length. You’ve wanted to do what you’re doing now—to hold me close
- and show me that you cared; and I’ve—I’ve felt like striking you.
- That’s the way with a man when he’s pitied. You know I have.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The gray head nodded. “But I’ve always understood, and—and you don’t
- want to strike me any longer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re dearer than any woman in the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dearer, but not so much desired.” She drew back from him, holding his
- face between her hands. “Hal, you’re my son, and you must listen to me.
- Perhaps I’m only a prejudiced old woman, years behind the times and
- jealous for my son’s happiness. Put it down to that, Hal; but let me have
- my say out. When I was young, girls didn’t treat men as Vashti treats you.
- If they loved a man, they married him. If they didn’t love him, they told
- him. They didn’t play fast and loose with him, and take presents from him,
- and keep him in suspense, and waste his power of hoping. It’s the finest
- moment in a good girl’s life when a good man puts his life in her hands.
- If a girl can’t appreciate that, there’s something wrong with her—something
- so wrong that she can never make the most persistent lover happy. Vashti’s
- beautiful on the outside and she’s talented, but—but she’s not
- wholesome.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a pause full of unspoken pleadings and threatenings. The man
- jerked sharply away from his mother. Her hands slipped from his face to
- his shoulders. They stayed there clinging to him. His attitude was alert
- with offense.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall I go on?” she asked tremulously.
- </p>
- <p>
- His answer came grimly. “Go on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s the truth I’m telling you, Hal—the truth, as any one can see
- it except yourself. Beneath her charm she’s cold and selfish. Selfishness
- is like frost; it kills everything. In time it would kill your passion.
- She’s gracious till she gets a man in her power, then she’s capricious.
- You haven’t told me what she’s done to you, my dear. I’m a woman; I can
- guess—I can guess. She doesn’t love you. She loves to be loved; she
- never thinks of loving in return. She’s kept you begging like a dog—you,
- who are my son, of whom any girl might be proud. Perhaps you think that,
- if she were your wife, it would make a difference. It wouldn’t. You’d
- spend all your life sitting up like a dog, waiting for her to find time to
- pet you. You’re my son—the best son a mother ever had. It’s a
- woman’s business to worship her man, even though she blinds herself to do
- it You shan’t be a vain woman’s plaything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She waited for him to say something. She would have preferred the most
- brutal anger to this silence. It struck her down. He knelt before her
- rigid, breathing heavily, his face hard and set.
- </p>
- <p>
- She spoke again, slowly. “If ever Vashti were to accept you, it would be
- the worst day’s work. The gods you worship are different. Hers are—hers
- are worthless.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He sprang to his feet, pushing aside his mother’s hand. His voice was low
- and stabbing. “Worthless! I won’t hear you say that. You don’t know—don’t
- understand. I ought to have gone on keeping this to myself—ought not
- to have spoken to you. No, don’t touch me. She’s good, I tell you. It’s my
- fault if I’m such a fool that I can’t make her care.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He spoke like a man in doubt, anxious to convince himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s not your fault, Hal. The finest years of life! Could any man give
- more? You’re belittling yourself that you may defend her. You’re the
- little baby I carried in my bosom. I watched you grow up. I know you—all
- your strength and weakness. You’re the kind of man for whom love is as
- necessary as bread. Where there’s no kindness, you flicker out You lose
- your confidence with her and her friends; their flippancy stifles you. I
- don’t even doubt that you appear a fool. She’s a beautiful, heartless
- vampire; if she married you, she’d absorb your personality and leave you
- shrunken—a nonentity. She’s no standards, no religion, no sense of
- fairness; she wants luxury and a career and independence—and she
- wants you as well. Doesn’t want you as a comrade, but as an <i>et cetera</i>.
- She’s willing to accept all love’s privileges, none of its duties. She has
- plenty of self-pity, but no tenderness. Oh, my poor, poor Hal, what is it
- that you love in her? Is it her unresponsiveness?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She seized both his hands, dragging herself up so that she leaned against
- his breast. “Hal, I’m afraid for you.” She kissed his mouth. “She’ll make
- you bad. She will. Oh, I know it. She’ll break your heart and appear all
- the time to be good herself. Can’t you see what your life would be with
- her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can see what it would be without her,” he said dully.
- </p>
- <p>
- His mother’s voice fell flat “You can’t see that. God hides the future.
- There are good girls in the world. Life for you with her would be
- bitterness, while she went on smiling. She’s a woman who’ll always have a
- man in love with her—always a different man. She’ll never mean any
- harm, but every affection she breathes on will lose its freshness. She’s
- given you your chance to free yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She tried to draw him down to her. “Take it,” she urged.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stooped, smoothed back the gray hair and kissed her wrinkled forehead.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re going to?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He loosed himself. “Mother, it’s shameful that we should speak so of a
- girl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Crossing the room, he opened the door and halted on the point of
- departure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you going to?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t There are things I haven’t told you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As the door closed, she extended her arms to him, then buried her face in
- her hands. When the sound of his footsteps had died out utterly, she
- followed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy turned from gazing into the darkened room. The window was empty. The
- other silent witness had departed.
- </p>
- <p>
- As if coming to uphold him in his allegiance to romance, the Invincible
- Armada of dreamers sailed out: cresting the sullen horizon of housetops,
- the white moon swam into the heavens—the admiral ship of illusion,
- with lesser moons of faint stars following. He remembered that through all
- his years that white fleet of stars would be watching, riding steadily at
- anchor. Nothing of bitterness could sink one ship of that celestial
- armada. He clenched his hands. And nothing that he might hear of
- bitterness should sink one hope of his great belief in the goodness and
- kindness of the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IX—THE FOG
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>is exit from
- Orchid Lodge came hurriedly. Mrs. Sheerug had received a letter telling
- her that her daughter, Madge, and her younger son, Ruddy, were returning
- from the visit they had been paying. Consequently, one foggy winter’s
- afternoon with a tip of four shillings from Hal and of half-a-crown from
- Mrs. Sheerug—six shillings and sixpence in all towards the necessary
- five pounds—he was wrapped up and conducted the six doors lower down
- in the charge of Harriet.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was as though a story-book had been snatched from his hands when he was
- halfway through the adventure. There were so many things that he wanted to
- know. It seemed to him that he had lost sight of Vashti for ever.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jane, his own servant, admitted them. She was greatly excited, but not by
- his advent. Drawing Harriet into the hall, she at once began to make her
- her confidante.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It wasn’t as though they ’adn’t been ’appy,” Jane was
- saying. “’Appy I They was that ’appy they got on my nerves.
- There was times when it was fair sick’ning to listen to ’em. Give
- me the pip, that’s wot it did. It was ’Dearie this’ and ’Jimmie
- Boy that,’ till it made a unmarried girl that angry she wanted to knock
- their ‘eads. Silly, I calls it, to be ’ave like that downstairs.
- Well, that’s ‘ow it was till the missus takes ill, and wot we’d expected
- didn’t ‘appen. Master Teddy goes ter stay with you; ‘is dear ma is safe in
- bed; and then <i>she</i> comes, this woman as says she wants to ’ave
- ‘er portrait painted. ’Er portrait painted!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jane beat her hands and sniffed derisively. Catching Teddy’s eye, she
- lowered her voice and bent nearer to Harriet “’Er portrait painted!
- It was all me eye and Betty Martin. Direckly I saw ’er I knew that,
- and I says to myself, ’Yer portrait painted! A fat lot you wants of
- that, my fine lady.’ And so it’s turned out When I opened the door to ’er
- fust, I nearly closed it in ’er face, she looked that daingerous.
- And there’s the missus on ’er back upstairs as flat as a pancake. I
- can’t tell ’er a thing of wot I suspeck.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Men’s all alike,” sighed Harriet, as though speaking out of a bitter
- marriage experience. “H’it’s always the newest skirt that attracks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jane looked up sharply. It seemed to her that Teddy had grown too
- attentive. “‘Ere, Miss ’arriet, let’s go down to my kitching and
- talk this over. More private,” she added significantly. Then to Teddy, who
- was following, “No, you don’t, Master Theo. You stay ’ere till we
- comes back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- High up in the darkness a door opened. Footsteps. They were descending.
- Huddling himself into an angle of the wall, he waited. A strange woman in
- a blue starched dress was coming down. As she passed him, he stretched out
- his hand, “If you please——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She jumped away, startled and angry. “What a fright you did give me,
- hiding and snatching at me like that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sorry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sorry! But who are you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m Teddy. Where’s—where’s mother?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The woman’s voice became quiet and professional. “She’s sleeping. When she
- wakes, I’ll send for you. She’s not been well. I must go now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He listened to her footsteps till they died out in the basement. He must
- find his father. Cautiously he set to work, opening doors, peeping into
- darkened rooms and whispering, “It’s only Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Indoors he had searched everywhere; only one other place was left
- </p>
- <p>
- The garden was a brooding sea of yellow mist, obscured and featureless.
- Trees stood up vaguely stark, like cowled skeletons.
- </p>
- <p>
- He groped his way down the path. Once he strayed on to the lawn and lost
- himself; it was only by feeling the gravel beneath his tread that he could
- be sure of his direction. A light loomed out of the darkness—the
- faintest blur, far above his head. It strengthened as he drew nearer.
- Stretching out his hands, he touched ivy. Following the wall, he came to a
- door, and raised the latch.
- </p>
- <p>
- Inside the stable he held his breath. Stacked against the stalls were
- canvases: some of them blank; some of them the failures of finished work;
- others big compositions which were set aside till the artist’s enthusiasm
- should again be kindled. Leading out of the stable into the converted loft
- was a rickety stairway and a trap-door. Teddy could not see these things;
- through familiarity he was aware of their presence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Voices! One low and grumbling, the other fluty and high up. Then a snatch
- of laughter. Was there any truth in what Jane had said? The trap-door was
- heavy. Placing his hands beneath it, he pushed and flung it back. It fell
- with a clatter. He stood white and trembling, dazzled by the glare, only
- his head showing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What on earth!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Some one rose from a chair so hurriedly that it toppled over. Then the
- same voice exclaimed in a glad tone, “Why, it’s the shrimp!”
- </p>
- <p>
- His father’s arms were about him, lifting him up. Teddy buried his face
- against the velvet jacket. Though he had been deaf and blind, he would
- have recognized his father by the friendly smell of tobacco and varnish.
- Because of that smell he felt that his father was unaltered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Turned you out, old chap, did they? I didn’t know you were coming.
- Perhaps Jane told me. I’ve been having one of my inspirations, Teddy—hard
- at it every moment while the light lasted. I’d be at it now, if this
- infernal fog hadn’t stopped me.” He tried to raise the boy’s face from his
- shoulder. “Want to see what I’ve been doing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy felt himself a traitor. His father had had an inspiration—that
- accounted for Jane’s suspicions and for anything awkward that had
- occurred. It was always when his father’s soul groped nearest heaven that
- his earthly manners were at their worst. Odd! Teddy couldn’t understand
- it; a person like Jane, who wasn’t even related, could understand it still
- less. But he had let himself sink to Jane’s level. If he had wanted to
- confess, he couldn’t have told precisely what it was that he had dreaded.
- So in reply to all coaxing he hid his face deeper in the shoulder of the
- velvet jacket. Its smoky, varnishy, familiar smell gave him comfort: it
- seemed to forgive him without words.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Frightened?” his father questioned. “You were always too sensitive,
- weren’t you? I oughtn’t to have forgotten you like that. But—I say,
- Teddy, look up, old man. I really had something to make me forget.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think he’ll look up for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At sound of that voice, before the sentence was ended, he had looked up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her laughter rang through the raftered room like the shivering of silver
- bells.
- </p>
- <p>
- Holding out his hands to her, Teddy struggled to free himself. When force
- failed, he leaned his cheek against his father’s, “Jimmie Boy, dear Jimmie
- Boy, let me down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hulloal What’s this?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Combing his fingers through his curly black hair, his father looked on,
- humorously perplexed by this frantic reunion of his son and the strange
- lady. She bent tenderly, pressing his hands against her lips and holding
- him to her breast.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never, never thought I’d find you,” he was explaining, “never in the
- world. I searched everywhere. I was always hoping you’d come back. When
- you didn’t, I tried to ask Harriet, and I nearly asked Mrs. Sheerug.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, she wouldn’t tell you,” the lady said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know all about marriage now,” he whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He clapped his hands. “Harriet told me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His father interrupted. “How did you and Teddy come to meet, Miss
- Jodrell?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Vashti glanced up; her eyes slanted and flashed mischief. It was quite
- true; any woman would have shared Jane’s opinion—Vashti’s look was
- “daingerous” when it dwelt on a man. It lured, beckoned and caressed. It
- hinted at unspoken tenderness. It seemed to say gladly, “At last we are
- together. I understand you as no other woman can.” It was especially
- dangerous now, when the bronze hair shone beneath the gray breast of a
- bird, the red lips were parted in kindness, and the white throat, like a
- swan floating proudly, swayed delicately above ermine furs. In the studio
- with its hint of the exotic, its canvases where pale figures raced through
- woodlands, its infinite yearning after beauty, its red fire burning,
- swinging lamps and gaping chairs, and against the window the muffled
- silence, Vashti looked like the materialization of a man’s desire. One arm
- was flung about the boy, her face leant against his shoulder, brooding out
- across the narrow distance at the man’s.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How did we meet!” she echoed. “How does any one meet? In a fog, by
- accident, after loneliness. Sometimes it’s for better; sometimes it’s for
- worse. One never knows until the end.” She stood up and drew her wraps
- about her, snuggling her chin against her furs. “I ought to be going now;
- your wife must be needing you, Mr. Gurney—— Oh, well, if you
- want to see me out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She dropped to her knees beside Teddy. “Good-by, little champion. Some day
- you and I will go away together and you must tell me all that you learnt
- from Harriet about—about our secret.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When they had vanished through the hole in the floor, Teddy tiptoed over
- to the trap-door and peered down. With a glance across his shoulder, his
- father signaled to him not to follow. He ran to the window to get one last
- glimpse of her, but the fog prevented; all he could see was the moving of
- two disappearing shadows. He heard the sound of their footsteps growing
- fainter, and less certain on the gravel.
- </p>
- <p>
- Left to himself, he pulled from his knickerbockers’ pocket a knotted
- handkerchief. Undoing it, he counted its contents: Hal’s four shillings
- and Mrs. Sheerug’s half-a-crown. He smiled seriously. Sitting down on the
- floor, he spread out the coins to make sure that he hadn’t lost any of
- them. Six-and-sixpence! To grown people it might not seem wealth; to him
- it was the beginning of five pounds.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER X—THE WIFE OF A GENIUS
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>ut, my old pirate,
- who is she?
- </p>
- <p>
- The orderliness of the room had been carried to excess; it suggested the
- austere orderliness of death. Life is untidy; it has no time for folded
- hands. The room’s garnished aspect had the chill of unkind preparedness.
- </p>
- <p>
- From the window a bar of sunlight streamed across a woman lying on a
- white, unruffled bed. Its brilliance revealed the deep hollows of her
- eyes; they were like violets springing up in wells of ivory. Her arms,
- withdrawn from the sheets, stretched straightly by her side; the fingers
- were bloodless, as if molded from wax. Her head, which was narrow and
- shapely, lay cushioned on a mass of chestnut hair. She had the purged
- voluptuousness of one of Rossetti’s women who had turned saint. Her
- valiant mouth was smiling. Only her eyes and mouth, of all her body,
- seemed alive. She had spoken with effort. It was as though the bar of
- gold, which fell across her breast, was pinning her to the bed. Some such
- thought must have occurred to the man who was standing astraddle and bowed
- before the fire. He crossed the room and commenced to pull down the blind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t, please. There’s to be no lowering of blinds—not yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He paused rigid, as though he had been stabbed; then went slowly back to
- his old position before the fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn’t mean to say it,” she whispered pleadingly. “I’m not going to
- die, Jimmie Boy—not so long as you need me. If I were lying here
- dead and you were to call, I—I should get up and come to you, Jimmie
- Boy. ’Dearie, I say unto thee arise’—that’s what you’d say, I
- expect, like Christ to the daughter of Jairus—‘Dearie, I say unto
- thee arise.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- A third person, who had been sitting on the counterpane, playing with her
- hand, looked up. “And would you if I said it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps, but I’m not going to give you the chance—not yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m glad,” sighed the little boy, “’cause, you know, I might
- forget the words.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The ghost of a laugh escaped the woman’s lips and quickly spent itself.
- “Jimmie Boy’s glad too, only he’s such an old Awkward, he won’t tell. He
- hates being laughed at, even by his wife.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man raised his shaggy head. His voice sounded gruff and furious. “If
- you want to know, Jimmie Boy’s doing his best not to cry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His head jerked back upon his breast.
- </p>
- <p>
- The woman lay still, gazing at him with adoring eyes. He cared—he
- was trying not to cry. She never quite knew what went on inside his head—never
- quite knew how to take him. When others would have said most, he was most
- silent He was noisy as a child over the little things of life. He did
- everything differently from other men. It was a proof of his genius.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the presence of her frailty he looked more robust, more of a Phoenician
- pirate than ever. She gloried in his picturesque lawlessness, in the
- unrestraint of his gestures, in his uncouth silences. What a lover for a
- woman to have! As she lay there in her weakness she recalled the passion
- of his arms about her: how he had often hurt her with his kisses, and she
- had been glad. She wished that she might feel his arms about her now.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who is she?” she asked again.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her question went unanswered. She turned her head wearily to the little
- boy. “Teddy, what’s my old pirate been doing? Who is she? You’ll tell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Before Teddy could answer, her husband laughed loudly. “If you’re jealous,
- you’re not going to die.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The riot of relief in his voice explained his undemonstrativeness. Tears
- sprang into her eyes. How she had misjudged him! She rolled her head
- luxuriously from side to side. “You funny boy—die! How could I, when
- you’d be left?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Running across the room, he sprawled himself out on the edge of the bed.
- Forgetting she was fragile, he leant across her breast and kissed her
- heavily on the mouth. She raised herself up to prolong the joy and fell
- back exhausted. “Oh, that was good!” she murmured. “The dear velvet jacket
- and the smoky smell—all that’s you! All that’s life! I’m not jealous
- any longer; but who is she?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He pulled the loose ends of his tie and shook his head. “Don’t know, and
- that’s a fact. She just turned up and wanted to be painted. When I’d
- smarted, I lost my head; couldn’t stop; got carried away. Don’t know
- whether you’d like her, Dearie; she’s a wonderful person. Sings like a
- bird—sets me thinking—inspires. Work! Why, I’ve not worked so
- steadily since—I don’t know when. I was worried about you and glad
- to forget Hard luck on you, Dearie; I’m a stupid fellow to show my sorrow
- by stopping away. But as to who she is, seems to me that Teddy can tell
- you best.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She squeezed the little boy’s hand. “Who is she, Teddy?” Teddy looked
- blank. “Don’t know—not exactly. She was in Mrs. Sheerug’s house with
- Hal, and—and then she came and sang to me in bed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She did that?” His mother smiled. “She must be a good woman to love my
- little boy.” Then to her husband, after a moment’s reflection: “But what’s
- the picture?”
- </p>
- <p>
- His face lit up with enthusiasm. “It’s going to do the trick this time.
- It’ll make us famous. We’ll move into a big house. You’ll have breakfast
- in bed with a boudoir cap, and all your gowns’ll come from Paris.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stroked the sleeve of his jacket affectionately. “Yes, that’s sure to
- happen. But what’s it all about?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He commenced reciting, “‘She feedeth among the lilies. A garden enclosed
- is my sister: a spring shut up, a fountain sealed. Awake, O north wind,
- and come thou south. Blow upon my garden that the spices thereof may flow
- out.’ Catch the idea? It was mine; Teddy didn’t have a thing to do with it
- See what I’m driving at?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat back from her to take in the effect. She drew him near again. “It
- sounds beautiful; but I don’t quite see all of it yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He knotted his hands, trying to reduce his imagination to words. “It’s the
- women who aren’t like you, Dearie—the women who love themselves.
- They feed among lilies; the soul of love is in ’em, but they won’t
- let it out They’re gardens enclosed, fountains sealed, springs shut up.
- Now are you getting there? The symbolism of it caught me. There I have
- her, just as she is in her bang-up modern dress, feeding among the lilies
- of an Eastern garden. Everything’s heavy with fragrance, beautiful and
- lonely; the hot sun’s shining and nothing stirs. The windows of the harem
- are trellised and shut. From under clouds the north and south wind are
- staring and puffing their cheeks as though they’d burst. Through a locked
- gate in the garden you get a glimpse of an oriental street with the dust
- scurrying; but in my sister’s garden the air hangs listless. The fountain
- is dry; the well is boarded over. And here’s the last touch: halting in
- the street, peering in through the bars of the gate is the figure of Love.
- The woman doesn’t see him, though he’s whispering and beckoning. Love’s
- got to be stark naked; that’s how he always comes. Because he’s naked he
- looks the same in all ages. D’you get the contrast between Love and the
- girl’s modern dress? There’s where I’ll need you, Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy blushed. He spoke woefully. “But—but I’m not going to undress
- before her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For answer his father laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But can’t I have any clothes at all—not even my shirt?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not even your shirt. She won’t see you, old man; in the picture she’s
- looking in the other direction. And as for the real live lady, we’ll paint
- you when she’s not on hand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s roo-ude,” Teddy stammered. “Besides, it’s silly. Nobody eats lilies;
- they’re for Easter and funerals, and they’re too expensive. And—and
- can’t I wear just my trousers?”
- </p>
- <p>
- His father frowned in mock displeasure. “For a boy of ideas and the son of
- an artist you’re surprisingly modest. Now if you were Jane I could
- understand it. Love would always put on trousers when he went to visit
- her. But you’re Dearie’s son. I’m disappointed in you, Teddy; you really
- ought to know more about love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I do know about love.” Teddy screwed up his mouth. “I’ve learnt from
- Harriet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And who’s Harriet?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A kind of princess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pooh!” His father turned to Dearie. “What d’you think of ‘<i>A Garden
- Enclosed Is My Sister’’</i>?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dearie kissed his hand. “Splendid! But does the lady expect to be painted
- like that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m not telling
- her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The violet eyes met his. “Dear old glorious Impractical. Perhaps she’s
- like Jane and’ll want her love in trousers.” Jimmie wagged his head from
- side to side in negation. “If I’m any judge of character, she isn’t easily
- shocked.” He rose and stood staring out of the window. His shadow blotted
- out the bar of sunlight and lay across her breast He turned. “This light’s
- too good to lose. I must get back to my work.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She clung to his lips. Until he had completely vanished her eyes followed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Teddy, is she beautiful?” Her whisper came sharply. “The most beautiful—after
- you, mother, she’s the most beautiful person in the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She closed her eyes and smiled. “After me! I’m glad you put me first.” She
- stretched out her hand and drew him to her. “Now I’m ill, he’s lonely.
- He’s got no one to care for him. Don’t let him be by himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not at all, Mummie?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not for a moment. You’d better go to him now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was on his way to the door when she beckoned him back. “What’s she
- called, Teddy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Vashti.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Vashti.” She repeated the word.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t let him be lonely, Teddy—not for a moment alone with her.
- Good-by, darling. Go to him now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XI—THE LITTLE GOD LOVE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>n the wall a clock
- was ticking; that and the rustling of the fire as the coals sank lower
- were the only sounds. Like a white satin mantle that had drifted from
- God’s shoulders, the snow lay across the world. The sun flashed down; the
- studio was flooded with glory.
- </p>
- <p>
- About the snow and how it came Jimmie Boy had been inventing stories. It
- was the angels’ washing day up there and some of their wings had blown off
- the clothes line. No, wa it wasn’t. This was how the snow really happened.
- The impatient little children who were waiting to be born had had a
- pillow-fight, and had burst their pillows.
- </p>
- <p>
- But his father hadn’t spoken for a long time. The fire was going out.
- Vashti might arrive at almost any moment And, alas, Teddy was naked. He
- was posing for the figure of Love, peering in forlornly through the
- fast-locked gate. He hadn’t wanted to do it; even now he was filled with
- shame. But Jimmie Boy had offered him money—and he needed money; and
- Dearie had begged him not to leave Jimmie Boy for a single second. When he
- had crept up to her room to visit her, she had seized his hands and
- whispered reproachfully, “Go back to him. Go back.” The best way to be
- always with his father had been to pose for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- And there was another reason: by making himself necessary to the picture
- he had been able to see Vashti. Day after day he had sat in the studio,
- mouse-quiet, watching her. At night he had made haste to go to sleep that
- the next day might come more quickly. In the morning, when he had wakened,
- his first thoughts had been of her; as he dressed, he had told himself, “I
- shall see her in three hours.” Vashti hadn’t seen her portrait yet; she
- had been promised that this time she should see it—that this time it
- should be done. The promise had been made before, but now it was to be
- kept. So to-day was the last day.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Please, mayn’t I move?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not yet That’s the sixth time you’ve asked me. I’d have finished if you’d
- kept quiet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But—but I’m all aches and shivers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nonsense! You can’t be cold with that great fire.” His father was too
- absorbed; he hadn’t noticed that the fire had gone out “I know what’s the
- matter with you, Teddy: you’re afraid she’ll be here before you’re
- dressed. Pooh! What of it? Now stop just as you are for ten minutes, and
- then——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He left his sentence unended and fell to work again with concentrated
- energy. His mind was aflame with the fury of his imagination. He was far
- away from reality. It wasn’t Teddy he was painting; it was Love, famished
- by indifference and tantalized by yearning—Love, bruising his face
- against the bars which forever shut him out. This wasn’t a London studio,
- ignobly contrived above a stable; it was a spice-fragrant garden of the
- East, stared at by the ravishing eye of the sun, where a lady of dreams
- stooped feeding among tall lilies.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When am I to see it?” Teddy questioned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When she sees it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not till then?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Be still, and don’t ask so many questions.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wanted to see it before her,” explained Teddy, “because I’m hoping I
- don’t show too much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His father wiped a brush on the sleeve of his jacket and wriggled his
- eyebrows. “Take my word for it, sonny, you look much better as you are
- now. It’s a shame that we ever have to cover you up.” He laid aside his
- palette. “There, that’s the last touch. It’s done. By Mohammed, it’s
- splendid. Jump into your duds, you shrimp. I’m going to tell Dearie before
- Miss Jodrell comes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The wild head vanished through the hole in the floor. Teddy heard his
- father laughing as he passed through the stable. Creeping to the window,
- he watched him cut across flower-beds towards the house, kicking up the
- snow as he ran.
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>It was done</i>. The great exhilaration was ended. Tomorrow, when he
- awoke, it would be no good saying, “I shall see her again in three hours.”
- At night he would gain nothing by going to sleep quickly; the new day when
- it came would bring him nothing. The studio without her would seem empty
- and dull. If only he had been fortified by the possession of five pounds,
- he would have boldly reminded her of her promise. Six-and-sixpence was the
- sum total of his wealth; it was hidden away in an old cigar box which he
- had labeled MARRIAGE. If a husband didn’t have at least five pounds, his
- wife would have to go out charing. He couldn’t imagine Vashti doing that.
- </p>
- <p>
- Shivering with cold, yet drenched in sunlight he stood hesitating by the
- window. His body gleamed white and lithe; behind him, tall as manhood,
- stretched his shadow. Clasping his hands in a silent argument he stepped
- back and glanced towards the easel. Her face was there, hidden from him
- behind the canvas. Only his father had seen it yet; but he, too, wanted to
- see it—he had more right than any one in the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- He tiptoed a few steps nearer, his bare feet making no sound; halted
- doubtfully, then stole swiftly forward, lured on by irresistible desire.
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew back amazed. What had his father done? It was intoxicating. The
- breath of the lilies drifted out; he could feel their listlessness. An
- atmosphere of satiety brooded over the garden—a sense of too much
- sweetness, too much beauty, too much loneliness. The skies, for all their
- blueness, sagged exhausted. The winds puffed their cheeks in vain,
- hurrying strength from the north and south. They could not rouse the
- garden from its contentment. It stifled.
- </p>
- <p>
- Centermost a woman drooped above the lilies, an enchantress who was
- herself enchanted. Dreamy with contemplation, she gazed out sideways at
- the little boy. Her eyes slanted and beckoned, but they failed to read his
- eyes. Her lips, aloof with indifference, were wistful and scarlet as
- poppies.
- </p>
- <p>
- The face was Vashti’s—a striking interpretation; but——
- </p>
- <p>
- Some latent hint of expression had been over-emphasized. One searched for
- the difference and found it in the smile that hovered indolently about the
- edges of her mouth. It wounded and fascinated; it did not satisfy. It
- seemed to say, “To you I will be everything; to me you shall be nothing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Clenching his fists, Teddy stared at her. Tears sprang into his eyes. He
- was little, but he loved her. She called to him; even while she called, it
- was as though she shook her head in perpetual denial. Naked in the street
- outside the garden he saw himself. He was whispering to her, striving to
- awake her from the trance of the flowers. His face was pressed between the
- bars and drawn with impatience.
- </p>
- <p>
- Slowly he bent forward, tiptoeing up, his arms spread back and balanced
- like wings. His lips touched hers. Hers moved under them. He dashed his
- fingers across his mouth; they came away blood-colored. He trembled with
- fear, knowing what he had done.
- </p>
- <p>
- A rush of footsteps behind him. He was caught in her embrace. It was as
- though she had leapt out from the picture. She was kneeling beside him,
- her arms about him, kissing the warm ivory of his body. His sense of shame
- was overpowered by his sense of wonder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The poor little god!” she whispered. “That woman won’t look at him. But
- when you are Love, Teddy, I open the gate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Some one was in the stable; feet were ascending. Shame took the place of
- wonder at being found naked in her presence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quick. Run behind the curtain and dress,” she muttered.
- </p>
- <p>
- From his place of hiding he heard his father enter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hulloa! So you got here and saw it without me! Why, what’s this?” And
- then, “Your lip’s bleeding, Miss Jodrell. Ah, I see now. Vanity! Been
- kissing yourself; didn’t know the paint was wet. Jove, that’s odd!” He was
- bending to examine. “The blurring of the lips has altered the expression.
- There’s something in the face that I never intended.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It makes me look kinder, don’t you think?”
- </p>
- <p>
- James Gurney stood up; he was still intent upon his original conception.
- “I’ll put that right with half-an-hour’s work.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You won’t; it’s my picture. It’s more like me, and I like it better.” She
- spoke with settled defiance; her voice altered to a tone of taunting
- slyness. “You’re immensely clever, Mr. Gurney, but you don’t know
- everything about women.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She liked it better! Teddy couldn’t confess that his lips had carried the
- redness from the picture to her mouth. There was a sense of gladness in
- his guilt. Because of this he believed her irrevocably pledged to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XII—DOUBTS
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was the early
- morning of the last day of the year. Staring out into the street, Teddy
- flattened his nose against the window. He was doing his best to make
- himself inconspicuous; neither Jane nor his father had yet noticed that he
- was wearing his Eton suit on a week-day. That his father hadn’t noticed
- was not surprising. For Jane’s blindness there was a reason.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jane’s method of clearing the table would have told him that last night
- had been her night out. She would be like this all day. Dustpans would
- fall on the landings. Brooms would slide bumpity-bump down the stairs. The
- front-door bell would ring maddeningly, till an exasperated voice called
- not too loudly, “Jane, Jane. Are you deaf? Aren’t you ever going?” It was
- so that Vashti might not be kept waiting that Teddy was pressing his nose
- against the window.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was to be his great day, when matters were to be brought to a crisis.
- In his secret heart he was wondering what marriage would be like. He was
- convinced he would enjoy it. Who wouldn’t enjoy living forever and forever
- alone with Vashti? Of course, at first he would miss his mother and father—he
- would miss them dreadfully; but then he could invite them to stay with him
- quite often. He was amused to remember that he was the only person in the
- world who knew that this was to be his wedding day. Even Vashti didn’t
- know it. He was saving the news to surprise her.
- </p>
- <p>
- At each new outburst of noise his thoughts kept turning back to
- speculations as to what might have caused this terrific upsetting of Jane.
- She herself would tell him presently; she always did, and he would do his
- best to look politely sympathetic. Perhaps her middle-aged suitor from the
- country had pounced on her while out walking with her new young man. He
- might have struck him—might have killed him. Love brought her
- nothing but tragedy. It seemed silly of her to continue her adventures in
- loving.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crash! He spun round. The tray had slipped from Jane’s hands. In a mood of
- penitence she stood gaping at the wreckage. His father lowered his paper
- and gazed at her with an air of complete self-mastery. He was always
- angriest when he appeared most quiet “Go on,” he encouraged. “Stamp on
- them. Don’t leave anything. You can do better than that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I don’t give satisfackshun——” Jane lifted her apron and
- dabbed at her eyes. “If I don’t give satisfackshun——-”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy heard his father strike a match and settle back into his chair. In
- the quiet that followed, Teddy’s thoughts returned to the channels out of
- which they had been diverted.
- </p>
- <p>
- Funny! Love was the happiest thing in the world, and yet—yet it
- hadn’t made the people whom he knew happy.
- </p>
- <p>
- Harriet was in love; and Hal with Vashti; and Vashti——
- </p>
- <p>
- He remembered another sequence of people who hadn’t been made happy by
- love. Mrs. Sheerug hadn’t, even though she was the daughter of a Lord
- Mayor of London and had run away with Alonzo to get him. Mr. Hughes
- hadn’t, for his Henrietta had gone up in a swing-boat and had failed to
- come down. Most distinctly Jane hadn’t. And his mother and his father—concerning
- them his memories contradicted one another. Was Dearie afraid of the
- ladies who came to have their portraits painted? Why should she be, when
- Jimmie Boy was already her husband?
- </p>
- <p>
- He shifted his nose to a new place on the window; the old place was
- getting wet.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then there was Mr. Yaffon. Mr. Yaffon lived next door and seemed to
- sum up the entire problem in a nutshell.
- </p>
- <p>
- His neighbors accounted for his oddities by saying that long ago he had
- had an unfortunate heart affair.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had a squeaky voice, was thin as a beanpole and very shabby. His legs
- caved in at the knees and his shoulders looked crushed, as if a heavy
- weight was perpetually pressing on his head. He didn’t go to business or
- paint pictures like other people. In winter he locked himself in a
- backroom and studied something called philosophy; the summers he spent in
- his garden, planting things and then digging them up. He was rarely seen
- in the street; when he did go out his chief object seemed to be to avoid
- attracting attention. By instinct he chose the side which was in shadow.
- Hugging the wall, he would creep along the pavement, wearily searching for
- something. At an interval of a dozen paces a fox terrier of immense age
- followed. Teddy had discovered the dog’s name by accident He had stopped
- to stroke it, saying, “He’s nearly blind, poor old fellow.” Mr. Yaffon had
- corrected him with squeaky severity: “Alice is not a fellow; she’s a
- lady-dog.” That was the only conversation he and Mr. Yaffon had ever held.
- Since then, without knowing why, he had taken it for granted that the
- adored one of the unfortunate heart affair had been named Alice. He
- accounted for their separation by supposing that Mr. Yaffon’s voice had
- done it. The reason for this supposition was the green parrot.
- </p>
- <p>
- The green parrot was a reprobate-looking bird with broken tail-feathers
- and white eyelids which, when closed, gave him a sanctimonious expression.
- When open, they revealed Satanic black eyes which darted evilly in every
- direction. During the winter he disappeared entirely; but with the first
- day of spring he was brought out into the garden and lived there for the
- best part of the summer. From the bedroom windows Teddy could watch him
- rattling his chain and jigging up and down on his perch. He would make
- noises like a cork coming out of a bottle and follow them up with a
- fizzing sound; then he would lower his white lids in a pious manner and
- say, deep down in his throat, “Let us pray.” He seemed to be trying to
- create the impression that, whatever his master was now, there had been a
- time when he had been something of a hypocrite and a good deal of a devil.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the parrot’s great moment came when his master pottered inoffensively
- up the path towards him. The bird would wait until he got opposite; then
- he would scream in a squeaky voice, an exact imitation of Mr. Yaffon’s,
- “But I love you. I love you.” The old gentleman would grow red and shuffle
- into the house, leaving the bird turning somersaults on his perch and
- flapping his wings in paroxysms of laughter.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was why, whatever calamity had occurred, Teddy supposed that Mr.
- Yaffon’s voice had done it Try as he would, whichever way he turned, he
- could find no proof that love made people happy. That didn’t persuade him
- that love couldn’t. It only meant that grown people were stupid. In his
- experience they often were.
- </p>
- <p>
- The bell of the front door rang. It rang a second time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who is it?” asked his father.
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy turned; his face was glowing with excitement. “It’s Vashti.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIII—SHUT OUT.
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t’s to be our day,
- Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The gate swung to behind them with a clang. He looked back and saw his
- father, framed in the window; then the palings of the next-door garden
- shut him out He was alone with her. It was as though with the clanging of
- the gate he had said “good-by” to childish things forever.
- </p>
- <p>
- The world shone forth to meet them, romantic with frost and lacquered with
- ice. It was as though the sky had rained molten glass which, spreading out
- across trees, houses and pavements, had covered them with a skin of
- burning glory. Eden Row sparkled quaint and old-fashioned as a Christmas
- card. The river, which followed its length, gleamed like a bared saber.
- Windows, in the cliff-line of crooked houses, were jewels which glittered
- smoothly in the sunlight In the park, beyond the river, black boughs of
- trees were hieroglyphics carved on glaciers of cloud. Chimneys were
- top-hatted sentinels, crouching above smoldering camp-fires. Overhead the
- golden gong of the sun hung silent At any moment it seemed that a cloud
- must strike it and the brittle boom of the impact would mutter through the
- heavens. It was a world transformed—no longer a prison swung out
- into the void in which men and women struggled, and misunderstood, and
- loved and, in their loving, died.
- </p>
- <p>
- Vashti felt for his hand. He wanted to take it and yet—— If he
- did, people who didn’t understand would think him nothing but a little
- boy. What he really wanted was to take her arm; he couldn’t reach up to
- that “Don’t you want to hold it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed shyly and slipped his fingers softly into hers.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they passed Orchid Lodge, standing flush with the pavement, she glanced
- up at the second story, where the line of windows commenced.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The people who live there hate me. They’ll hate me more presently. I
- can’t blame them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She hurried her steps. Drawing a breath of relief, she whispered, “Look
- back and tell me whether anybody saw us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked back. Two figures were emerging from the doorway—one
- excessively fat, the other so lean that he looked like a straight line.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only the murd—— I mean Mr. Sheerug and Mr. Hughes. I don’t
- think they saw us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s all right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed merrily—not on one note as most people laugh, but all up
- and down the scale. The sparkle of morning was in her voice. Like a flash
- out of a happy dream she moved through the ice-cold world. People turned
- to gaze after her. A policeman, stamping his feet on the look-out for some
- attractive housemaid, touched his helmet She nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “D’you know him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never clapped eyes on him in my life. A pretty woman belongs to the whole
- world, Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Butcher boys, hopping down from carts, stood thunderstruck. After she had
- passed they whistled, giving vent to their approbation. Teddy had the
- satisfaction of knowing that he was envied; he snuggled his hand more
- closely into hers. Even Mr. Yaffon, the man who was as faded as a memory,
- raised dim eyes and shrunk against the wall, stung into painful life. His
- little dog waddled ahead, doing her best to coax him to come on, trying to
- say, “None of that, Master. You’ve done it once; please not a second
- time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Was it only Teddy’s fancy—the fancy of every lover since the world
- was created—that everything, animate and inanimate, was jealous of
- him? Streets seemed to blaze at her coming. Sparrows flew down and chirped
- noisily in the gutters, as though they felt that where she was there
- should be singing. Famished trees shivered and broke their silence,
- mumbling hoarse apologies: “It isn’t our fault Winter’s given us colds in
- the head. If we had our way, we’d be leafy for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Years later Teddy looked back and questioned, was it love that the little
- boy felt that winter’s morning? He had experienced what the grown world
- calls real love by then, and yet he couldn’t see the difference, except
- that real love is more afraid, thinks more of itself and is more exacting.
- If love be a divine uplifting, a desirable madness, a mirage of fine
- deception which exists only in the lover’s brain, then he felt it that
- morning. And he felt it in all its goodness, without the manifold doubts
- as to ulterior motives, without the unstable tenderness which so swiftly
- changes to utterest cruelty, and without the need to crush in order to
- make certain. In his love of Vashti he came nearer to the white standards
- of chivalry than was ever again to be his lot In later years he asked
- himself, was she really so incredibly beautiful? Did her step have the
- lightness, her face the bewitching power, her voice the gentleness he had
- imagined? By that time he had learnt the cynical wisdom which wonders,
- “What is this hand that I hold so fast, more than any other hand? What are
- these lips? Flesh—-there are others as warm and beautiful Is this
- meeting love or is it chance?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was far from that blighting caution yet Merely to be allowed to serve
- her, if it could help her to be allowed to die for her, to be allowed to
- give his all—he asked no more. He carried his all in an ill-wrapped
- parcel beneath his arm. She observed it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Holloa! Brought your luggage?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not my luggage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He flushed. “Can’t tell you yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, but tell me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I couldn’t here—not where every one’s passing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Something for me?” she guessed.
- </p>
- <p>
- He nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- Higher up the street, outside a public house, a hansom cab was standing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must know,” she laughed. “Can’t wait another second. We’ll be alone in
- that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where to?” asked the cabby, peering through the trap.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anywhere. Piccadilly Circus.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The doors closed as if folded by invisible hands. The window lowered. They
- were in a little house which fled across main thoroughfares, up side
- streets, round corners. He was more alone with her than ever. He could
- feel the warmth of her furs. He could hear her draw her breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well?” she asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he placed it in her lap the parcel jingled. “I saved it,” he explained,
- “for us—for you and me, because of what somebody told me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She tore the paper off. In her hands was a wooden box with MARRIAGE inked
- across it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Marriage!” She raised it to her ear and shook it “Money!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy gazed straight before him. The pounding of the horse’s hoofs seemed
- no louder than the pounding of his heart. ’Harriet said that five
- pounds were the least that a lady would expect. “And so—and so——
- There’s five pounds.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wasn’t looking at her. He didn’t dare to look at her. And so he
- couldn’t be sure whether she had sighed or laughed. A horrible fear struck
- him: she might be wondering how so young a person could come honestly by
- so large a fortune. He spoke quickly. “It’s mine, all of it I asked for
- money for Christmas. Jimmie Boy paid me for going into his picture; and
- Hal and Mrs. Sheerug—they gave me——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And it’s for me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, of course.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And it’s all you’ve got—everything you have in the world?” Her arm
- slipped about him. “You’re the little god Love, Teddy; that’s what you
- are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Traffic was growing thick about them. They came to a crossing where a
- policeman held up his hand. Through the panes misted over by their breath,
- they watched the crawling caravan of carts and buses. In the sudden
- cessation from motion it seemed to Teddy that the eyes of the world were
- gazing in on them. “A little boy and a grown lady!” they were saying. “He
- wants to be her husband!” And then they laughed. Not till they were
- traveling again did he pick up his courage.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can we—can we——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can we what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Be married to-day? You said ‘some day’ when you promised.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For her it was a strange situation, as absurd as it was pathetic. For a
- moment she tried not to take him seriously, then she glanced down at the
- eager face, the Eton suit, the clasped hands. In his childish world the
- make-believe was real. For him the faery tale, enacted for her own
- diversion, had been a promise. She felt angry with herself—as angry
- as a sportsman who, intending to miss, has brought down a songbird.
- Playing at love was her recreation. She couldn’t help it—it was in
- her blood: her approach to everything masculine was by way of fascination.
- She felt herself a goddess; it was life to her to be worshiped. All men’s
- friendships had to be love affairs or else they were insipid; on her side
- she pledged herself to no more than friendship. Not to be adored piqued
- her.
- </p>
- <p>
- But to have flirted with a child! To have filled him with dreams and to
- have broken down his shyness! As she sat there with his box, labeled
- MARRIAGE, in her lap, she wondered what was best to be done. If she told
- him it was a jest, she would rub the dust off the moth-wings of his faith
- forever. There was only one thing: to continue the extravagant pretense.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s splendid of you, Teddy, to have saved so much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it much? Really much?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, isn’t it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- His high spirits came back. He laughed and leant his head against her
- shoulder. “I don’t know. I’m not very old yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s because of that——” She knitted her brows, puzzling how
- she could break the news to him most gently. In the back of her mind she
- smiled to remember how much this consideration would have meant to some of
- her lovers. “It’s because you’re not so very old yet, that I think we
- ought to wait a year.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A year!” He sat up and stared. “But a year’s a whole twelve months!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She patted his hand. “You wouldn’t like to have people laugh at me, would
- you? A year would give you time to grow up. And besides, before I marry,
- there are so many things to be done. I haven’t told you, but I’m going to
- America almost directly—going to sing there. Five pounds is a
- terrific lot of money in England, but in America it would soon get spent.
- Even though you were my husband, you wouldn’t be able to come. You’d have
- to stay here alone in our new house, and that wouldn’t be very jolly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He saw his dream crumbling and tried to be a man; but his lip trembled. “I
- don’t think—— Perhaps you never meant your promise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The trap-door in the roof opened. The hoarse voice of the cabby intruded.
- “’Ere we are. Piccadilly Circus.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Vashti felt for her purse in her muff. It wasn’t there. She thought for a
- minute, then gave the man an address and told him to drive on.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I did mean my promise,” she assured Teddy. “Why, a year’s not long.
- Cheer up. Think of all the fun we’ll have writing letters. Harriet can’t
- have told you properly about marriage. One has to be very careful. One has
- to get a house and buy things for it. There are heaps of things to be
- bought when one gets married.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And wouldn’t five pounds be enough?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head sorrowfully. “Not quite enough. But don’t let’s think
- about it. This is our day, Teddy, and we’re going to be happy. Guess where
- I’m taking you; it proves that I meant my promise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When he couldn’t guess, she bent over him and whispered. He clapped his
- hands. “To see a house!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To see our house,” she corrected, smiling mysteriously. “I always knew
- that some day I’d meet the little god Love; and so I got a house ready for
- him. It’s a faery house, Teddy; only you and I can see it. If you were
- ever to tell any one, especially Mrs. Sheerug, it would vanish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll never, never tell. I won’t even tell Dearie. And does nobody, nobody
- but you and me, know about it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She hesitated; then, “Nobody,” she answered.
- </p>
- <p>
- To have a secret with her which no one else shared, almost made up for the
- disappointment of not being married. Holding her hand, he watched eagerly
- the flying rows of houses, trying to guess which was the one.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s in nearly the next street, Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “This one?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not this one. Ours has a little white gate and a garden; it’s ever so
- much cosier.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They had left the traffic where the snow was churned into mud. Once more
- it was a world of spun glass, of whiteness and quiet, that they traversed.
- To Teddy it seemed that the cab was magic; it knew its way out of ugliness
- to the places where dreams grow up.
- </p>
- <p>
- The cab halted; the window flew back and the doors opened of themselves.
- They stepped out on to the pavement. The little white gate was there, just
- as Vashti had said. A path led up, through snow as soft as cotton-wool, to
- a red-brick nest of a house. A look of warmth lay behind its windows.
- Plants, leaning forward to catch the light, pressed against the panes. A
- canary fluttered in a gilded cage like a captured ray of sun.
- </p>
- <p>
- A maid in cap and apron answered the bell. She was not at all like Jane,
- who never looked tidy till after lunch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lost my purse, Pauline,” Vashti pouted. “I couldn’t pay my fare, so had
- to drive home. The cabman’s waiting.” Pauline had been watching the
- strange little boy with unfriendly eyes. “If you please, mam, he’s here.”
- She sank her voice. Teddy caught the last words, “In the drawing-room,
- playing with Miss Desire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Vashti frowned. She looked at Teddy as Pauline had done. He felt at once
- that a mistake had been made, that there was something that he must not
- see and that, because of the person in the drawing-room, he was not
- wanted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What shall I do? Stupid of me!” Turning to the maid, Vashti spoke in a
- lowered voice, “Go up to my room quietly and bring me down my money. We’ll
- be sitting in the cab and you can bring it out—— No. That
- won’t do. He might think that I hadn’t wanted to see him. There’d be a
- fuss. What am I to do, Pauline? For heaven’s sake suggest something.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Couldn’t the little boy go and sit in the cab, while you——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Vashti had her hand on the latch to let Teddy out when shrill laughter
- rang through the house. A door in the hall burst open and a small girl ran
- out, pursued by a man on his hands and knees. He had a rug flung over his
- head and shoulders, and was roaring loudly like a lion. The little girl
- was too excited to notice where she was going or who were present.
- </p>
- <p>
- She ran on, glancing backward, till she charged full tilt into Teddy.
- “Save me,” she cried, clinging to him and trying to hide herself behind
- him. He put his arms about her and faced the lion.
- </p>
- <p>
- Balked of his prey, the lion halted. No one spoke. In the unaccounted-for
- silence the lion lost his fierceness. Throwing back the rug, he looked up.
- Teddy found himself gazing into a face he recognized.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of all the——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hal rose to his feet and dusted his knees. He glanced meaningly from Teddy
- to Vashti. “Is this wise?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shish!” Her lips did scarcely more than frame the warning. “Hal, I never
- told you,” she said gayly, “Teddy’s in love with me and one day we’re
- going to be married. That’s why I brought him to see the house. He’s
- promised never to breathe a word of what he sees, because it’s a faery
- house and, if he does, it’ll vanish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hal tried to look very serious. “Oh, yes, most certainly it’s a faery
- house. I’m only allowed here because I’m your champion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The boy’s quick instinct told him that an attempt was being made to
- deceive him. He wondered why. Who was the little girl who had nestled
- against him? Finding that he was a stranger she had become shy. He looked
- at her. She was younger than himself. Long curls, the color of Vashti’s,
- fell upon her tiny shoulders. She was exquisitely slight Her frock was a
- pale blue to match her eyes, and very short above her knees. She looked
- like a spring flower, made to nod and nod in the sunshine and to last only
- for a little while. More spirit than body had gone to her making; a puff
- of wind would send her dancing out of sight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Desire, come here, darling. Say thank you to the boy for saving you from
- the lion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Kneeling, Vashti took the little girl’s reluctant hand and held it out to
- Teddy. Desire snatched it away and began to cry. A knocking at the door
- caused a diversion; it was the cabman demanding his fare and asking how
- much longer they expected him to wait Hal paid; Teddy noticed that Vashti
- let him pay as if it were his right.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was mystified; the house and what happened in it were so different from
- anything he had expected. Vashti had been so emphatic that no one but
- herself and himself were to know about it, and here were Hal and Pauline
- and the little girl who knew about it already. Hal’s expression, when he
- had thrown the rug from his shoulders, had been that of a man who was
- found out. But his eyes, when they had met Vashti’s, had become daring
- with gladness. Teddy was aware that he had been brought unintentionally to
- the edge of a big secret which he could not understand.
- </p>
- <p>
- The cabman had been gone for a long time. Teddy had been left to amuse
- himself in the room where the canary hopped in its cage and the plants
- leant forward to catch the sunlight. It was a long room, running from the
- front of the house to the back and was divided by an archway. In the back
- part a fire burned and a couch was drawn up before the fire. He hadn’t the
- heart to go to it, but stood gazing out between the plants into the street
- in the exact spot where Vashti had left him. Every now and then the canary
- twittered, as if trying to draw him into conversation; sometimes it
- dropped seeds on his head. He didn’t know quite what it was he feared or
- why. On an easel in the archway he espied <i>The Garden Enclosed</i>,
- which his father had painted. The little god was still peering in through
- the gate. Teddy had hoped that by now he might have entered the garden.
- Like the little god he waited, with ears attentive to catch any sound in
- the quiet He seemed to have been waiting for ages.
- </p>
- <p>
- A door in the back half of the room opened. Hal and Vashti came in,
- walking near together. Vashti looked round Hal’s shoulder and called to
- Teddy, “Not much longer now. I’ll be with you in a moment.” Then they both
- seemed to forget him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Seated on the couch before the fire, their heads nearly touching, they
- spoke earnestly. Perhaps they didn’t know how far their voices carried.
- Perhaps they were too self-absorbed to notice. Perhaps they didn’t care.
- Hal held her hand, opening and closing the fingers, and stooping sometimes
- to kiss the tips of them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’d come to the breaking point,” he whispered; “I either had to have you
- altogether or to do without you. It was the shilly-shallying, the neither
- one thing nor the other, that broke me down.” He laughed and caught his
- breath. “I tried to do without you, Vashti; there were times when I almost
- hated you. You seemed not to trouble that I was going out of your life.
- But now—— Well, if you must keep your freedom, we’ll at least
- have all the happiness we can. I’ll do what you like. I’m not going to
- urge you any more, but I still hope for Desire’s sake that some day we’ll——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor boy, you still want to own me. But tell me, was it hearing that I
- was going to America that brought you back?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Brought me back!” He pressed her open palm against his mouth. “To you,
- dearest, wherever you were, I should always be coming back. How could I
- help it? Hulloa! That’s fine.” His eyes had caught the picture. “Where did
- you——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All the while you were angry with me I was having it painted for you. But
- I shan’t be giving it to you now.” She glanced sideways at him with
- mocking tenderness. “You won’t need it. It was to be a farewell present to
- some one who had changed his mind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew her face down. “My darling, my mind will never change.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly she broke from his embrace and glanced back into the room,
- raising her voice. “You know it’s Teddy that I’m going to marry, if ever I
- do marry. Why, we almost thought we’d get married this morning. Come here,
- my littlest lover. Don’t look so downhearted. Champions are allowed to
- kiss their ladies’ hands. Didn’t Hal tell you? Well, they are, and you may
- if you like.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy didn’t kiss her hand. He cuddled down on the hearthrug with his head
- against her knees, feeling himself like Love in the picture, forever shut
- out. The soul had vanished from his glorious day. He was hoping that Hal
- would go; she didn’t seem to belong to him while he stayed. Lunch went by,
- tea came, and still he stayed. A blind forlornness filled his mind that he
- couldn’t be a man. In spite of her caresses he felt in his heart that all
- her promises had been pretense.
- </p>
- <p>
- Not until night had fallen and she got into the cab to take him home did
- he have her to himself. The lamps stared out on the snow like two great
- eyes. Once again it was a faery world of mysterious hints and shadows.
- </p>
- <p>
- She drew him to her. She realized the dull hopelessness of the child and
- wondered what would be his estimate of her, if he remembered, when he
- became a man. Would he think that he had been tampered with and made the
- plaything of a foolish woman’s idleness? She wanted to provide against
- that. She wanted him always to think well of her. She felt almost humble
- in the presence of his accusing silence. She had a strange longing to
- apologize.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It hasn’t—hasn’t been quite our day, Teddy—not quite the day
- we’d planned. I’m dreadfully sorry; I wouldn’t have had it happen this way
- for the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He didn’t stir—didn’t say a word. She made her voice sound as if she
- were crying; he wasn’t certain that she wasn’t crying.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re not angry with me, are you? It’s so difficult being grown up.
- Sooner or later every one gets angry, even Hal. But I thought that my
- littlest lover would be different—that, though he didn’t understand,
- he’d still like me and believe that I’d tried——”
- </p>
- <p>
- His arms shot up and clasped her neck. In the flashlight of the passing
- street lamps she saw his face, quivering and tear wet. She couldn’t
- account for it, why she, a woman, should be so deeply moved. She had
- conjured dreams of a man who would one day gaze into her eyes like that,
- believing only the best that was in her and, because of that belief,
- making the best permanent. She had experimented with the world and knew
- that she would never meet the man; love lit passion in men’s eyes. But for
- a moment she had found that faith in the face of a little child. The
- fickleness and wildness died down in her blood; the moment held a
- purifying silence. Taking his face between her hands, she kissed his lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m going away,” she whispered. “Whatever you hear, even when you’ve
- become a man, believe always that I wanted to be good. Believe that,
- whatever happens. Promise me, Teddy. It—it’ll help.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIV—BELIEVING HER GOOD
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>or a week he had
- no news of her. Then his father said to him one morning, “Oh, by the way,
- <i>The Garden Enclosed</i> is going to be exhibited. I asked Miss Jodrell
- to lend it to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will—will she bring it herself?” he asked, trying to disguise his
- anxiety.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Herself! No. She’s rather an important person. She’s gone to America.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then the news leaked out that Hal had gone too.
- </p>
- <p>
- Some nights later he was driving back down Eden Row with his father. They
- had been to the gallery where the picture was hanging. Without warning the
- cab pulled up with a jerk; he found himself clinging to the dashboard. His
- eyes were staring into the gas-lit gloom of Eden Row.
- </p>
- <p>
- Almost touching the horse’s nose, two men, a fat and a lean one, had
- darted out from the shadow of the pavement They were shouting at something
- that sat balanced, humped like a sack, on the spiked palings which divided
- the river from the road. They had all but reached it; it screamed, shot
- erect, and jumped. There was a sullen splash, then silence and the
- gurgling of the river as the ripples closed slowly over it.
- </p>
- <p>
- The silhouette of the fat man bent double; the silhouette of the lean man,
- using it as a stepping stone, climbed the palings and dived into the
- blackness. It would have been a dumb charade, if the fat man hadn’t said,
- “Um! Um!” when he felt the lean man’s foot digging into his back.
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy was hauled out into the road by his father. Grampus puffings were
- coming from the river, splashings and groanings. The cabman was standing
- up in his seat, profanely expressing his emotions. A police-whistle called
- near at hand. A hundred yards away another answered. Through the emptiness
- of night the pounding of feet sounded.
- </p>
- <p>
- In an instant, as though it had sprung out of the ground, a crowd had
- gathered. People started to strike matches, which they held out through
- the palings in a futile endeavor to see what was happening.
- </p>
- <p>
- A policeman came up, elbowing and shoving. He caught the horse’s head and
- whisked the cab round so that its lamps shone down on the river. They
- revealed Mr. Hughes, his bowler hat smashed over his forehead, swimming
- desperately with one hand and towing a bundle towards the bank.
- </p>
- <p>
- Men swarmed over the palings and dragged him safe to land. Clearing his
- throat, he commenced explaining to the policeman, “As I was walkin’ with
- my friend, I sees ’er climbin’ over. I says to ’im, That’s
- queer. That ain’t allowed.’ And at that moment——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy lost the rest. Letting go his father’s hand, he was wriggling his
- way to the front through the legs of the crowd. He reached the palings and
- peered through.
- </p>
- <p>
- Stretched limply on the bank, her hair broken loose, the policeman’s
- bull’s-eye glaring down on her, was Harriet.
- </p>
- <p>
- Vashti’s name was never mentioned in connection with the attempted
- suicide, but he quickly knew that in some mysterious way she was held
- responsible. When he asked his mother, “Was it because Hal went to
- America?” she answered him evasively, “Harriet’s a curious girl—not
- quite normal. That may have had something to do with it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For many months, as far as Orchid Lodge was concerned, Vashti’s memory was
- a hand clapped over the mouth of laughter. Harriet broke dishes now only
- by accident and never in temper. She went about her work without singing.
- Mrs. Sheerug put away her gay green mantle; after Hal left, she dressed in
- black. She spoke less about men being shiftless creatures. If she caught
- herself doing it from habit, she stopped sharply, fearing lest she should
- be suspected of accusing some one man. Her great theme nowadays was the
- blighting influence of selfishness. She was always on the look-out for
- signs of selfishness in Teddy. Once, at parting with him, she refrained
- from the usual gift of money, saying, “My dear, beware of selfishness. I’m
- afraid you come here not because you love me, but for what you can get”
- She spent much of her time in covering page after page of foreign
- notepaper in the spare-room where the gilded harp stood against the
- window. She did it in the spare-room because, if it so happened that she
- wanted to cry, no one could see her there. Questioned by careless persons
- about Hal, she would answer, “He’s gone to America. He’s doing splendidly.
- He’ll be back some time. No, I can’t say when.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her other two children, Ruddy and Madge, didn’t interest her particularly.
- Ruddy was redheaded and always pulling things to pieces to see how they
- worked. Madge was twenty, a cross girl who loved animals and pretended to
- hate men.
- </p>
- <p>
- When at the end of two months the portrait came back from the gallery, a
- dispute arose which brought home to Teddy the way in which Vashti was
- regarded. She had written none of the promised letters, so Jimmie Boy
- didn’t know her address. He might have asked Mrs. Sheerug, but the matter
- was too delicate. He made up his mind to hang the picture in his house and
- had set about doing so, when Dearie put her foot down.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I won’t have it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it’s my best work. What’s got into your head, Dearie, to make you so
- prudish? You might as well object to all Romney’s Lady Hamiltons because
- she——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lady Hamilton’s dead. Romney wasn’t my husband, and Nelson’s mother
- wasn’t my friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dearie was obstinate and so, as though it were something shameful,
- Vashti’s portrait was carried down to the stable. There, among the dust
- and cobwebs, with its face to the wall like a naughty child, <i>The Garden
- Enclosed</i> was forbidden the sunlight. Only Teddy gave it a respite from
- its penance when, having made certain that he was unobserved, he lifted it
- out to gaze at it. But because she never wrote to him, he went to gaze at
- it less and less. Little by little she became a beautiful and doubtful
- memory. He learnt to smile at his wistful faery story, as only a child can
- smile at his former childishness.
- </p>
- <p>
- New interests sprang up to claim his attention; the chief of these was a
- gift from Mr. Sheerug of a pair of pigeons. In giving them to him he
- explained to Teddy, “My friend, Mr. Ooze—he’s a rum customer—drops
- his aitches and was born in a hansom cab, but he knows more about pigeons
- than any man in London. Trains mine for me—goes out into the country
- and throws ’em up. That’s where he’s gone now. When he lost his
- precious Henrietta he nearly went off his head. His hobby saved him. A
- hobby’s a kind of life-preserver—it keeps you afloat when your
- ship’s gone down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His pigeons, more than anything else, helped him to forget Vashti. His
- soul went with them on their flights through wide clean spaces. The sense
- gradually grew up within him that she had betrayed him; this was partly
- due to the hostile way in which she was regarded by others. At the time
- when she had tampered with his power of dreaming he had been without
- consciousness of sex; but as sex began to stir, he felt a tardy
- resentment. This was brought to a climax by Mr. Yaffon.
- </p>
- <p>
- Looking from his bedroom window one morning across the neighbors’
- walled-in strips of greenness, where crocuses bubbled and young leaves
- shuddered, he noticed that in Mr. Yaffon’s garden the parrot had been
- brought out. It was a sure sign that at last the spring had come. As he
- watched, Mr. Yaffon pottered into the sunlight to make an inspection of
- his bulbs. Several times he passed near the perch; each time the parrot
- jigged up and down more violently, screaming, “But I love you. I love
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As if unaware that he was being taunted, the old gentleman took no notice.
- But the parrot had been accustomed to measure success by the fear he
- inspired. When his master tried neither to appease nor escape him he
- redoubled his efforts, making still more public his shameful imitation of
- a falsetto voice declaring love.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Yaffon rose from examining a bed of tulips; blinking his dim eyes, he
- stood listening, with his head against his shoulder. Deliberately, without
- any show of anger, he sauntered up to the parrot, caught him by the neck
- and wrung it. It was so coolly done that it seemed to have been long
- premeditated. It looked like murder. The gurgling of that thin voice, so
- like Mr. Yaffon’s, protesting as it sank into the silence, “But I love
- you. I love you,” gave Teddy the shudders.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Yaffon got a spade, dug a hole, and buried the parrot. When he had
- patted down the mold, he went into the house and returned in a few minutes
- with a basketful of letters. With the same unhurried purpose, he walked
- down the path towards his tool-shed, made a pile of dead branches, and set
- a bonfire going. A breeze which was blowing in gusts rescued one of the
- papers and led Mr. Yaffon a chase across lawns and flower beds. Just as he
- was on the point of capturing it, the wind lifted it spitefully over the
- wall into Mr. Gurney’s garden.
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy, who had watched these doings with all his curiosity aroused, lost
- no time in hurrying down from the bedroom. In a lilac bush he found the
- lost paper. It was a letter, yellowed by age, charred with fire and
- written in a fine Italian hand—a woman’s. It read:
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>My dear Penny-Whistles, </i>
- </p>
- <p>
- You don’t like me calling you Penny-Whistles, do you? You mustn’t be angry
- with me for laughing at your voice: I can laugh and still like you. But
- can I laugh and still marry you? That’s the question. I’m afraid my sense
- of humor——
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy stopped. He realized that he was spying. He knew at last what Mr.
- Yaffon had been doing: burning up his dead regrets. The letter had already
- slipped from his hand, when the ivy behind him commenced to rustle. The
- top of a ladder appeared above the wall, followed by Mr. Yaffon’s head. It
- sounded as though the parrot had come to life.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Little boy,” he said, in his squeaky voice, “a very important letter has——
- Ah, there it is. To be sure! Right at your feet, boy. Make yourself tall
- and I’ll lean down for it. There, we’ve managed it. Thank you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When the head and the ladder had vanished, Teddy stood in the sunshine
- pondering. The spring was stirring. Everything was beginning afresh. Then
- he, too, lit a fire. When it was crackling merrily, he ran indoors to a
- cupboard. Standing on a chair, he dragged from a corner a box across whose
- lid was scrawled the one word MARRIAGE. Tucking it under his jacket, he
- escaped into the garden and rammed the box well down into the embers. As
- he watched it perish, he whispered to himself: “Silly kid—that’s
- what I was.”
- </p>
- <p>
- No doubt Mr. Yaffon was telling himself the same thing, only in different
- language.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then the child, on his side of the wall, strolled away to dream of
- pigeons; and the older child, on the other side, stooped above his
- flowers.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XV—THE FAERY TALE BEGINS AGAIN
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he memories of a
- man are of the past. A child has no past; his memories are of the imagined
- future. His soul, in its haste for new experience, rushes on,
- outdistancing life.
- </p>
- <p>
- After his false awakening by Vashti, the world which Teddy annexed for
- himself was composed of sky and pigeons. Often as he watched his birds
- rise into the air, he would make his mind the companion of their flight.
- It seemed to him that his body was left behind and that the earth lay far
- below him, an unfolding carpet of dwarfed trees and houses as small as
- pebbles. By day his thoughts were of wings. By night, gazing from his
- bedroom window when the coast-line of the clouds had grown blurred, he
- would watch the Invincible Armada of the stars, plunging onward and ever
- onward through the heavens. The little he had learnt of life had pained
- him; so he took Mr. Sheerug’s advice and remade the world with a hobby.
- When the stars winked, he believed they were telling him that they knew
- that one day he would be great.
- </p>
- <p>
- His pigeons and the wide clean thoughts they gave him, kept his mind from
- morbid physical inquiries. The school he attended in Eden Row was
- conducted by an old Quaker, a man whose gentle religion shamed the boys of
- shameful conversations.
- </p>
- <p>
- The inklings of life which he had gained through Vashti, made him re-act
- against further knowledge. Love in her case had begun with beauty, but it
- had ended with the wretched face of a woman and a policeman’s bull’s-eye
- staring down on it. Perhaps love always ended that way, causing pain to
- others and ugliness. He shrank from it. Like a tortoise when its head has
- been touched, he withdrew into his shell and stayed there. He was content
- to be young and to remain incurious as to the meaning of his growing
- manhood. The days slipped by while he lived his realities in books and
- pigeons, and in his father’s paintings. Not until he was fifteen did he
- again awaken, when the door unexpectedly opened, leading into a new
- experience.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was an afternoon in July, the last day of the summer term. The school
- had broken up. The playground was growing empty. With the last of the boys
- he came out of the gate and stood saying “Good-by.” They had told him
- where they were going—all their plans for the green and leafy
- future. They were going to farmhouses in the country and to cottages by
- the sea. Some of them were not returning to school; they were going to the
- city to become men and to earn money. He watched them saunter away down
- Eden Row, joking and aiming blows at one another with their satchels.
- </p>
- <p>
- From across the river, softened by distance, came laughter and the
- pitter-pat of tennis. In the golden spaces between trees of the park,
- girls advanced and retreated, volleying with their racquets. Their hair
- rose and fell upon their shoulders as they twisted and darted. They were
- as unintelligible to Teddy as if they had spoken a different language.
- </p>
- <p>
- What was it that he wanted? It was something for which he never found a
- name—something which continually eluded his grasp. He was haunted by
- desire for an intenser beauty. All kinds of things, totally unrelated,
- would stab him into yearning: sometimes a passage in a book; sometimes the
- freedom of a bird in flight; and now the music of girlish laughter. He was
- burdened with the sense that life would not wait for him—would not
- last; that it was escaping like water through his fingers. He wanted to
- live it fully. He wanted to be wise, and happy, and splendid. And yet he
- was afraid—afraid of disillusion. He feared that if he saw anything
- too closely, it would lose its fascination. Those girls, if he were to be
- with them, he could not laugh as they laughed; he would have nothing to
- say. And yet, he knew of boys——
- </p>
- <p>
- Hitching the strap of his satchel higher, he smiled. These thoughts were
- foolish; they had come to him because he had been saying good-by. They
- always came when he felt the hand of Change upon his shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before his home a cab was standing. On entering the hall he heard the
- murmurous sound of voices. A door opened. His mother slipped out to him
- with the air of mystery that betokened visitors.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How late you are, darling! Run and get tidy. Some one’s been waiting for
- you for hours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he made a hasty schoolboy toilet he wondered who it could be. His
- mother had seemed flustered and excited. No one ever came to see him; to
- him nothing ever happened. Other boys went away for summer holidays; he
- knew of one who had been to France. But to stir out of Eden Row was
- expensive; all his journeys had to be of the imagination. When one had a
- genius for a father, even though he was unacknowledged, one ought to be
- proud of poverty. To be allowed to sacrifice for such a father was a
- privilege. That was what Dearie was always telling him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The room in which the visitor was waiting was at the back of the house. It
- had folding windows, which were open, and steps leading down into the
- garden. Evening fragrances drifted in from flowers. In the waning sunlight
- the garden became twice peopled—by its old inhabitants and by their
- shadows. On the lawn a sprinkler was revolving, throwing up a mist which
- sank upon the turf with the rustle of falling rain.
- </p>
- <p>
- A man rose from the couch as he entered—a fair, thin man with blue
- impatient eyes and a worn, wistful expression. He looked as though he had
- been always trying to clasp something and was going through life with his
- arms forever empty. He placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders, gazing at
- him intently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Taller, but not much older. In all the time I’ve been away you’ve
- scarcely altered. Do you know me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, of course. It’s Mr. Hal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, just Hal. You didn’t used to call me ‘Mister.’ You can’t guess why
- I’ve come. I’ve told your mother, and she’s consented, if you are willing.
- I want your help.” Teddy glanced at his mother. Her eyes were shining; she
- had been almost crying. What could Hal have said to make her unhappy? How
- could he, a boy, help a man? In the silence he heard the sprinkler in the
- garden mimicking the sound of rain.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hal’s voice grew low and embarrassed. “I want your help about a little
- girl. She’s lonely. I call her little, but in many ways she’s older than
- you are. She’s living in a house in the country, and she wants some one to
- play with. I’ve been so long out of England that I’d forgotten how tall
- you’d been getting. But, perhaps, you won’t mind, even though she’s a
- girl. It’s a pretty place, this house in the country, with cows and wild
- flowers and a river. You’d enjoy it, and—and you’d be helping me and
- her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sounds jolly,” said Teddy; “I’d like to go most awfully, only—only
- what makes you and mother so sad?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hal tried to appear more cheerful. “I’m not sad. I was worried. Thought
- you wouldn’t come when you heard it was to play with a girl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’s not sad,” said Dearie; “it’s only that, if you go, we mustn’t tell
- anybody—not even Mrs. Sheerug; at least, not yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy chuckled. At last something was going to happen. “That’ll be fun.
- But how glad Mrs. Sheerug must be to have you back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hal rose to his feet. “She isn’t That’s another of the things she doesn’t
- know yet. I must be going. Your mother says she can have you ready
- to-morrow, so I’ll call for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy noticed how he dashed across the pavement to his cab. He felt
- certain that his reason was not lack of time, but fear lest he might be
- observed. He questioned his mother. She screwed her lips together: “Dear
- old boy, I’m not allowed to tell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVI—A WONDERFUL WORLD
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>uring the train
- journey Hal kept his face well hidden behind a newspaper. It wasn’t that
- he was interested in its contents, for he had turned only one page in half
- an hour. Teddy glanced at him occasionally. Funny! Why was it? Grown
- people seemed to enjoy themselves by being sad.
- </p>
- <p>
- The train halted in a quiet station. An old farmer with screwed-up, merry
- eyes, white whiskers like a horse-collar about his neck, and creaking
- leather gaiters, approached them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mornin’, mister. I was on the lookout for ’ee. I’ve brought the
- wagonette; it’s waitin’ outside. Jump in, while I get the luggage.” When
- he came back carrying the bags, his eyes winked meaningly both together at
- Teddy: “The little missie, she war that excited, I could scarce persuade
- her from comin’.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He lumbered to his seat and tugged at the reins. The horse whisked its
- tail and set off at a jog-trot through the sleepy town. Houses grew fewer;
- the country swam up, spreading out between trees like a green swollen
- river.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they passed by gates and over bridges, it was as though doors flew open
- on stealthy stretches of distance where shadows crouched like fantastic
- cattle.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hal was speaking. He turned to him. “I was saying that we rather tricked
- you, Vashti and I. What did you think of us? We often wondered.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy laughed. “I was little then. I was angry. You see, I believed
- everything; and she said so positively that we were going to be married. I
- must have been a queer kid to have believed a thing like that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old horse jogged on, whisking his tail. The farmer sat hunched, with
- the reins sagging. Hal felt for his case and drew out a cigarette. As he
- stooped to light it, he asked casually, “Do you ever think about her—ever
- wonder what’s become of her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The boy flushed. It was Vashti, always Vashti, when Hal spoke to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think of her only as a faery story. It’s silly of me. I don’t think
- about her more often than I can help.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Than you can help!” Hal leant forward with a strained expression. “You
- can’t help. You always remember. That’s the curse of it. The doors of the
- past won’t keep shut; they slam and they slam. They wake you up in the
- night; you can’t rest. You’re always creeping down the stairs and finding
- yourself in the rooms of old memories. Would you know her again if you saw
- her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy looked up at the question. “I’d know her voice anywhere.” Then, with
- an excitement which he could not fathom, “Am I going to——?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hal shook his head. “I asked you because, if you do see her, you must send
- me word.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They turned in at a gate off the highroad. It was scarcely more than a
- field-track that they followed. Ahead a wood grew up, which they entered.
- On the other side of it, remote from everything, lay a red farmhouse. A
- big yard was in front of it, with stacks standing yellow in the sun and
- horses wandering aimlessly about. Cocks were crowing and on the thatch,
- like flakes of snow, white fan-tails fluttered. At the sound of wheels, an
- old lady, in a large sunbonnet, came out and shaded her eyes, peering
- through her spectacles.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hulloa, Sarie!” cried the farmer. “Where’s the missie? We’ve brought ’er
- a young man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sarie folded her hands beneath her apron. “She’s in the garden, as she
- always is, Joseph.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy entered the cool farmhouse, with its low rafters and spotlessness.
- Everything was old-fashioned, even the vague perfume of roses which hung
- about it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hal touched him on the arm. “Let’s go to her. She’ll be shy with you at
- first Even though we called, she wouldn’t come.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He led the way through a passage into a garden at the back. It lay like a
- deep green well, wall-surrounded and content in the shade of fruit-trees.
- The trees were so twisted that they had to be held up like cripples on
- crutches. Paths, red-tiled and moss-grown, ran off in various directions.
- The borders of box had grown so high that they gave to the whole a
- mazelike aspect.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She’s here somewhere,” Hal whispered, with suppressed excitement. “Step
- gently and don’t pretend you’re looking.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They sauntered to and fro, halting now and then to listen. They came to a
- little brook that dived beneath the wall and ran through the garden
- chattering. Hal was beginning to look worried. “I wish she wouldn’t be
- like this. Perhaps she’s crept round us and got into the house without our
- knowing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At that moment, quite near them, they heard a sound of laughter. It was
- soft and elfin, and was followed by the clear voice of a child.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re a darling. You’re more beautiful than any one in the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A turn in the path brought them within sight of a ruined fountain. In the
- center, on a pedestal, stood the statue of a boy, emptying an urn from
- which nothing fell. In the gray stone basin that went about the pedestal
- was a pool of water, lying glassy and untroubled. Through a hole in the
- trees sunlight slanted. Kneeling beside the edge of the basin was a little
- girl, stooping to kiss her own reflection.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Desire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She started to her feet with the swiftness of a wild thing. She would have
- escaped if Hal had not caught her. Across his shoulder she gazed
- indignantly at Teddy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He saw me do that,” she said slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy gazed back at her and smiled. He wanted to laugh, but he was stayed
- by her immense seriousness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sorry,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re not one bit,” she retorted.
- </p>
- <p>
- She struggled down from Hal’s arms. “You may shake hands with me if you
- like.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Very formally he shook hands with the little girl.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the old garden Hal lost his sadness. It was late in the afternoon, when
- he was leaving, that she asked the question that brought it back, “When is
- mother coming?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Presently. Presently,” he said quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he climbed into the wagonette, he signed to Teddy.
- </p>
- <p>
- Bending down he whispered: “If you should see her——You know
- whom I mean? I’ll be stopping at Orchid Lodge; you can reach me there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVII—DESIRE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>ext morning he was
- up so early that the farmhouse was still asleep when he tiptoed down the
- creaking stairs. As he opened the door into the orchard, a puppy squirmed
- from under the currant bushes and approached him with timid tail-waggings.
- He had the easily damped enthusiasm of most puppies; he was by no means
- certain that he might not be in disgrace for something. Nature had
- originally intended him for a bull-terrier; before finishing her work, she
- had changed her mind and decided that he should be a greyhound. The result
- was an ungainly object, white in color, too high on the legs, with
- red-rimmed eyes which blinked continually. Teddy knelt down and cuddled
- him, after which they were friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- How still the world was! Now that no one was about, the garden seemed no
- longer a dumb thing, but a moving fluttering personality. Dew sparkled on
- the red-tiled paths. It glistened in spider-webs. It put tears into the
- eyes of flowers. A slow wind, cool with the memory of night, rustled the
- tree-tops; it sounded like an unseen woman turning languidly in bed.
- Through leaves the sunlight filtered and fell in patches. A sense of
- possession came upon the boy—it was all his, this early morning
- world.
- </p>
- <p>
- The puppy kept lagging behind, collapsing on his awkward haunches, and
- turning his head to gaze back at the house. Teddy became curious to see
- what he wanted and let him choose the direction. Under a window in the
- thatch to which the roses climbed, he laid himself down.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you’re thinking of her, too?” he whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- They watched together. The sun climbed higher. Inside the farmhouse sounds
- began to stir.
- </p>
- <p>
- When she appeared at breakfast, she chose to be haughty. After she had
- stalked away with Fanner Joseph, Mrs. Sarie explained to Teddy his breach
- of etiquette: he had failed to address her as “Princess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She’s full o’ fancies,” said Mrs. Sarie, clearing away the dishes; “full
- o’ fancies. I’ve ’ad ten children in my time, but not one of ’em
- like ’er. She won’t let none of us be what we are; she makes us
- play every day that we’re something different. She’s a captive Princess
- to-day, and Joseph’s a giant and I’m a giantess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Peering through the curtain which hung before the window, he saw Desire,
- seated astride an ancient horse, which plodded round and round in the
- farmyard drawing water from a well.
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled. He knew little about feminine perversity. Picking up a book, he
- went into the orchard and threw himself down where the brook ran singing
- to itself.
- </p>
- <p>
- Footsteps! She came walking sedately, pretending that she did not know
- that he was there. He buried his nose in his book. She went by, waited,
- came back. He heard a swishing sound behind him and glanced across his
- shoulder. She was standing with a twig in her hand, her face flushed with
- anger, striking at some scarlet poppies. “Hulloa! What are you doing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They’re people who don’t love me. They’re beasts, and I’m cutting off
- their heads.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn’t do that. They’re so pretty, and they don’t have long to live,
- anyhow. Besides, you’re making the puppy frightened.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The puppy was escaping, his tail quivering like an eel between his legs.
- Directly her attention was called to his terror, she threw the stick
- aside.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor old Bones, she didn’t mean to frighten him. She wouldn’t do anything
- to hurt him for the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gathered him into her arms, and sat herself down beside the brook
- about a yard away from Teddy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bones does love me; but some people don’t. We call him Bones ’cause
- he’s got hardly any flesh.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She glanced shyly at Teddy to see whether he was taking her remarks
- impersonally or as addressed to himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was smiling, so she edged a little nearer and smiled back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “People aren’t kind to Bones,” she said; “they throw things at him. He’s
- such a coward; people only respect dogs when they bite. You shouldn’t be
- so nice; you really shouldn’t, Bones.” And then, significantly: “If you’re
- too nice to strangers at first, you aren’t valued.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy laughed softly. “So that was why you bit me this morning, Princess,
- after I’d got up so early and waited for you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She tossed her curls and lowered her eyes. “Did I bite? For the fun of it,
- I’m always being cross like that. I’m even cross to my mother—my
- beautiful mother. She’s the darlingest mother in the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy closed his book and leant out, bridging the distance. “Is she? Where
- is she now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know, only—only I know I want her. Don’t get afraid; I
- never cry. P’raps she’s in America. He says that she’ll come to me here,
- but I don’t believe him.” Suddenly with a gesture that was all tenderness,
- she slipped out her hand. “I was so lonely till you came. Together we may
- find her. I’m going to have a little girl myself one day, and I know I
- should cry and cry if I lost her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’d have to get married first. When I was very little, I once——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She interrupted. “Oh, no! Ladies don’t have to. When they want babies,
- they speak to God about it. I know because—— Is your mother
- married?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, my mother’s married. My father paints pictures.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it nice to have a father?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very nice. Just as nice as to have a mother, only in another way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do—do all boys have fathers?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, yes. And all girls.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They don’t. I’ve asked my beautiful mother about it so often, because I——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She fell silent, gazing straight before her with the cloud of thought in
- her eyes. Bones, sprawling across her lap, licked her hand to attract her
- attention; she drew her hand away, but took no other notice. The brook
- bubbled past her feet; its murmurous monologue emphasized her silence.
- Through lichened trees the farmhouse glowed red. In and out the shadows
- the sunshine danced like a gold-haired child.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If fathers are really nice,” she sighed wistfully, “p’raps I ought to
- have a father for my little girl. When we’re both growed up, I might ask
- you. Would you be her father, per—perhaps?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Stretched at her side, he glanced up to see the mischief creep about the
- edges of her mouth. But her face was no longer elfin; it was earnest and
- troubled with things beyond her knowledge. When she looked like that she
- seemed older than twelve—almost the same age as himself; there were
- so many things that he, too, could not understand. He reflected that they
- both were very like Bones with their easily damped enthusiasm. A wave of
- pity swept through him; she was so slight, so dainty, so unprotected. He
- forgot his pigeons; he forgot everything that had happened before meeting
- her. He felt that of all things in the world, were he given the choice, he
- would ask that she might be his sister. Stooping his head, he kissed the
- white petal of a hand where it lay unfolded in the grass.
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked down at him quietly. “My darling mother would say, ’You
- mustn’t let boys do that.’ But I expect she would let you do it. Do you—do
- you think I’m an odd child? Every one says I am.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed with a thrill of excitement; she made him feel so much younger
- than his yesterday self. “I couldn’t tell you, Princess. I’ve never known
- any girls. But you’re beautiful, and you’re dear, and you’re——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let’s be tremenjous friends,” she whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- Through the long summer days that followed they lived in a world of
- self-created magic—a world which, because they had made it, belonged
- wholly to themselves. Its chief delight was that they alone could see it.
- No one else knew that the brook was a girl and that the mountain-ash that
- grew beside it was her lover. The boy turned back from his dreams of
- manhood to meet the childhood of the little girl; it was one last glorious
- flash of innocence before the curtain fell But in the presence of Farmer
- Joseph and Sarie, and of Hal when he came to visit them, he was shy of his
- friendship with Desire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re ashamed of me because I’m a girl and little,” she said. “But I
- know more than you do about—oh, lots of things!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did. She knew that gentlemen when they were in love with ladies, gave
- their ladies flowers. She knew much about lovers’ secret ways. When asked
- how she knew, she shook her curls and looked exceedingly wise. She could
- be impishly coquettish when she liked. There were times when she refused
- to let Teddy touch her because she would become ordinary to him, if it
- were always allowed. And there were times when she would creep into his
- breast like a little tired bird, and let him tell her stories by the hour.
- She tried to tantalize him into jealousy; Bones was usually the rival for
- her affections. When she did that, she only amused him, making him
- remember that he was older than herself. But when he made her feel that he
- was older, she would stamp her feet with rage. “You’ll be sorry when I
- wear long frocks,” she would threaten. “I shall pretend to despise you. I
- shall walk past you with my head held high.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When she showed him how she would do it, creating the picture by puckering
- her nose and mincing her steps, she would only increase his merriment Then
- suddenly her wounded vanity would break and she would fly at him with all
- her puny strength. “You shan’t laugh at me. You shan’t I can’t bear it Oh,
- please say you forgive me and like me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the lumber-room, which was across the passage from where she slept,
- they spent most of their rainy days. It was dirty and it was dusty, but it
- had something which compensated for dust and dirt—a box full of
- old-fashioned clothes and largely flowered muslins. Nothing pleased her
- better than to dress herself up and perform, while he played audience. She
- would go through passionate scenes, making up a tune and singing words. At
- the end of them she would explain, “My mamma does that.” And then: “Oh, I
- wish she would come. When I ask him, he always says, ’Presently.
- Presently.’ Can’t you take me to her, Teddy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was in the lumber-room that she confided to Teddy how she came to leave
- America. “It was one day when mother was out. He came. He hadn’t come for
- a long while before that. He was very fond of me and brought me things; so
- I was very glad. We drove about all day and when it was time for me to go
- home to bed, he took me to a big ship—oh, a most ’normous
- ship. Next day, when I woke up, it was all water everywhere and he said
- I’d see my mamma when we got to land. But we got to land, and I didn’t.
- And then he said I’d see her here; but I didn’t. And now he says,
- ‘Presently. Presently.’ Oh, Teddy, you won’t leave me? I may never see her
- again.” And then, after he had quieted her: “If we stay here till we’re
- quite growed up, you’ll escape with me, won’t you, and help me to find
- her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She invariably spoke of Hal as <i>he</i>; she never gave him a name. Teddy
- felt that it would not be honorable to question her, but he kept his eyes
- wide for any clew that would solve the mystery. In Hal’s absence he would
- become bitter towards him, because he had dared to hurt Desire. But when
- he came to the farm with his arms full of presents, so hungry to win her
- love, he felt that somewhere there had been a big mistake and that whoever
- had been cruel, Hal was not the person.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Hal who, having heard them speak of knights and sorcerers, brought
- them <i>The Idylls of the King</i>. Many a golden day they spent reading
- aloud, while the sunlight dripped from leaves overhead, dappling the
- pages.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I like Sir Launcelot best.”
- </p>
- <p>
- -“But you mustn’t,” said Teddy; “King Arthur was the good one. If Sir
- Launcelot hadn’t done wrong, everything would have been happy always.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, but if everything had been happy always, there wouldn’t have been
- any story,” she objected. She made bars of her fingers before her
- mischievous eyes; it was a warning that she was going to be impish. “I
- expect, when I grow up, I shall be like that story; very interesting and
- very bad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy’s shocked appearance surpassed her expectations. Gapping her hands,
- she rose into a kneeling position and mocked him. “Teddy doesn’t like
- that. He doesn’t like my loving Sir Launcelot best. And I know why. It’s
- because he’s a King Arthur himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- All that day she irritated him by calling him King Arthur. They had
- quarreled hopelessly by supper-time. She went to bed without saying
- “Good-night,” and he wandered out into the dusky silence. He felt angry
- with her. Why had he ever liked her? So girls could be spite-full The
- worst of it was that it was true what she had said. He <i>was</i> a proper
- person. He would always be a proper person; and proper persons weren’t
- exciting. He felt like doing something desperate just to prove that he
- could be bad. Then his superiority in years came to his consolation. Why
- should he worry himself about a little girl who was younger than himself?
- When next Hal came to the farm, he would tell him that he was leaving.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was in his bedroom, where the moonlight fell softly, that memories of
- her sweetness tiptoed back. He remembered the provocative tenderness of
- her laughter, the velvet softness of her tiny hands, and the way she had
- wreathed him with flowers, pretending that he was her knight. Life would
- never be the same without her. Romance walked into his day only when she
- had passed down the stairs. Not having had a sister, he supposed that
- these were the emotions of all brothers. She had conquered him at last:
- though he was in the right, he would ask her forgiveness to-morrow. She
- had been trying to make him do that from the first morning when he had
- failed to call her “Princess”—trying to make him bow to her
- prerogative of forgiving for having done wrong herself. He fell asleep
- smiling, but he was not happy.
- </p>
- <p>
- He awoke with a start The house was still as death. The moon hung snared
- in a tree; his window was in shadow. Between the long intervals of silence
- he heard the sound of stifled sobbing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who are you? What is it?” he whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the doorway he made out a blur of whiteness. Slipping from his bed, he
- stole towards it. Stooping, he touched it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her arms flew up and tugged at him passionately. Her tears were on his
- cheeks. For the first time she kissed him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re cold, darling little girl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And then for the first time he kissed her mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I don’t want you to think that I’m bad. I’m not bad, Teddy. And I
- like you to be King Arthur or Sir Launcelot, or—or anybody.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He fetched his counterpane and wrapt it round her, coaxing, her just
- inside the doorway so that they might not be heard. Together, crouched
- against the wall, with their arms about each other’s necks, they huddled
- in the darkness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn’t mind—not really.” Since she had kissed him, he was fully
- persuaded of the untruth himself. “I shouldn’t really mind whatever you
- called me. Little Desire, I thought you never cried. You do believe me,
- don’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I do want my mother so,” she whispered, drawing deep sobs between her
- words. “If you was to help me to escape to your mother, I’m sure we could
- find her. And then, you could come and stay with us, and I could come and
- stay with you. And we should be always and always together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In defiance of Hal, he promised to help her at the first opportunity.
- To-morrow? Perhaps. He saw her safely back to her room, kissing her in the
- darkness on the threshold.
- </p>
- <p>
- But to-morrow held its own surprise.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVIII—ESCAPING
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>armer Joseph’s
- place was empty at breakfast next morning. It was market-day, and he had
- made an early start for town. Teddy pressed Desire’s foot beneath the
- table; when Mrs. Sarie wasn’t looking, he nodded towards the window and
- his lips formed the word, “To-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The opportunity had come sooner than he had expected. It was quite
- necessary that, when he helped her to escape, Fanner Joseph’s back should
- be turned. The old man with’ the merry screwed-up eyes and the white
- horse-collar of whiskers round his neck, was always watching. He seemed to
- know by instinct every time that they wandered out of sight of the
- farmhouse. Sooner or later, as they sat in a field reading or telling
- stories, his face would peer above the hedge.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the passage he caught Desire’s hand. “Run upstairs. Get your hat and
- jacket.—No, wait Mrs. Sarie might see them. Drop them out of the
- window to me in the garden.” He felt immensely excited. If he could get
- her to the station undetected, they would travel up to London. When it was
- evening he would smuggle her past Orchid Lodge, and then—— He
- supposed she would spend the night at his father’s, and all the other days
- and nights till her mother was found. But why had Hal stolen her? “Here,
- catch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The hat and jacket tumbled down. He caught a glimpse of the laughing face
- in the thatch. It was going to be a tremendous lark—almost as good
- as a King Arthur legend. The next moment she rejoined him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir Teddy, what are we going to do now?” She clung to his arm, jumping
- with excitement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hulloa!” he exclaimed, “the babies have come into your eyes.” He told her
- that the babies came into her eyes when they became especially gray and
- round.
- </p>
- <p>
- They tiptoed out of the garden into the passage of the house. All the
- downstair rooms were quiet; Mrs. Sarie’s footsteps overhead and the smacks
- she gave the pillow were the only sounds. They crossed the farmyard,
- walking unhurriedly as though nothing were the matter. From the gateway
- they glanced back. The white fan-tails fluttered and cooed on the thatch.
- The curtains blew in and out the open windows. Gaining the path which led
- across the meadows, they ran—ran till they were breathless.
- </p>
- <p>
- Across the fields, with his nose to the ground, came another fugitive. As
- he caught sight of them, he expressed his joy in a series of sharp yaps.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I say, this’ll never do. He’ll give us away before we know it Go back,
- bad dog. Go back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bones came a little nearer, crawling on his stomach, making abject
- apologies, but positively refusing to go back.
- </p>
- <p>
- They walked on together, the white cur following at their heels till lapse
- of time should have made him certain that his permission to follow was
- irrevocable.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had been walking along the main-road, on the alert to scramble into
- the hedge at the first sign of any one approaching. It was just such a day
- as the one on which he had arrived, only dog-roses were fuller blown and
- blackberries were growing ripe. The wheat was yellowing to a deeper gold
- and the misty fragrance of meadow-sweet was in the air.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ha! Here’s one at last.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a post with three fingers pointing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, we’re all right. This one, sticking out the way we’re going, says To
- Ware; but it says that it’s nine miles. D’you think, with those little
- legs, you can manage it, Princess?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She lowered her head, looking up through her lashes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They’re very strong little legs, and if you talk to me and talk to me, so
- that I forget—— If I get very tired, I’ll let you carry me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They struck into fields again, clambering through hedges and over gates,
- judging their direction by the road. Teddy was afraid to keep to the road
- lest they should meet Farmer Joseph coming back from market, or lest Mrs.
- Sarie, when she missed them, should send some one driving after them to
- bring them back.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was pleasant in the fields. Rambling along, they almost lost their
- sense of danger and forgot they were escaping. Everything living seemed so
- friendly. Crickets in the grass chirped cheerily. Birds jumped out of
- their houses, leaving their doors wide open, Teddy said, to see them pass.
- He invented stories about the things they saw to prevent the little legs
- from thinking of their tiredness. Only the cows suspected them of
- escaping; they whisked their tails and blinked their eyes disapprovingly,
- like grandmothers who had had too many calves to be deceived by a pair of
- children.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lunch time came and they grew hungry, but to buy food at a farmhouse was
- too risky.. They quenched their thirst at a stream and pictured to
- themselves the enormous meal they would eat when they got to London.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tired?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. I’m not tired.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let’s pretend I’m your war-horse,” he suggested.
- </p>
- <p>
- The finger went up to her mouth. “That’ll be just playing; it won’t be the
- same as saying that I’m tired.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He assured her that it wouldn’t; so she consented to straddle his neck,
- clasping his forehead with her sticky little hands while he held her legs
- to help her keep her balance.
- </p>
- <p>
- Bones ran ahead with his ridiculous red tongue flapping, barking at
- whatever interested him and paying no attention when he was told to stop.
- Towards evening, as the sun’s rays were shortening and trees were
- lengthening their shadows, he made the great discovery of his puppyhood.
- It was in a field of long grass, the other side of a gate, well ahead of
- the children. With quick excited yelps and pawings, springing back in fear
- and jumping forward with clumsy boldness, he commenced to advertise his
- adventure.
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire, riding shoulder-high, could see further than Teddy. “Oh, hurry. Be
- quick. He’s killing something. Let me down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When they had climbed the gate, they found themselves in a narrow pasture,
- hedge-surrounded, at the far end of which the road ran. Bones was rolling
- a cage over and over, in which a bird fluttered. It was a decoy placed
- there by bird-catchers, for in a net near by wild birds struggled. They
- dragged the puppy off and cuffed him. He slunk into the background and
- squatted, blinking reproachfully with his red-rimmed eyes. His noblest
- intentions perpetually ended in misunderstandings.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, the poor darlings! How cruel! Teddy, you do it; they peck my
- fingers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy looked across the field growing vague with shadows. No one was in
- sight. Going down on his knees, with Desire bending eagerly across his
- shoulder, he set to work to free the prisoners.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were so engrossed that they did not notice a rough-looking man who
- crept towards them. The first thing they knew was the howl of Bones as he
- shot up, lifted by a heavy boot; the next, when Desire was grabbed from
- behind and her mouth was silenced against a dirty coat.
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy sprang to his feet, clenching his fists. “You put her down.” His
- voice was low and unsteady.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And wot abart my burds?” retorted the man, in jeering anger. “Yer’ll ’ave
- ter pay me for every damned one of ’em before I lets ’er go.
- I don’t know as I’ll let her go then—taken a kind o’ fancy to ’er,
- I ’ave. I’ll put ’er in a cage and keep ’er, that’s
- wot I’ll do. Now then, all yer money. ’And over that watch. Fork
- h’out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Put her down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked round wildly. Hal’s warnings of danger then, they hadn’t been
- all inventions! Far off, at the end of the field, he-saw the real culprit,
- Bones, slipping through the hedge into the road. Along the road something
- was passing; he made out the top of a cart above the brambles. He thought
- of shouting; if he did, the man might kill Desire. At that moment she
- freed her mouth: “Teddy! Oh, Teddy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He threw himself upon the ruffian, kicking and punching. The man let her
- go and turned upon the boy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yer’ve brought this on yerself, my son, and now yer go in’ ter ’ave
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stepped up furiously, his hand stretched out to seize him by the
- throat. The fingers were on the point of touching; there was a thud. The
- thick arm hesitated and fell limply. On the man’s forehead a red wound
- spread.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My-Gawd!”
- </p>
- <p>
- His body crumpled. It sank into the grass and lay without a motion. “Is he
- dead?” Desire whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No fear. It ’ud take more than a stone to kill him. Come on, you
- kids, let’s run for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They turned. Standing behind them in the evening quiet was a Puck-like
- figure. He was broad, and short, and grinning, and cocky. He wore a
- midshipman’s suit with brass buttons, which looked dusty and spotty. He
- had red hair, and was a miniature edition of Mrs. Sheerug.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Ruddy,” gasped Teddy, “where did you spring from?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where didn’t I spring from? Ha! Get away from him and I’ll tell you. He’s
- stirring.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The bird-catcher was struggling into a sitting position. He glared evilly
- at the children. “You just wait till I get yer,” he muttered. “Skin yer,
- that’s wot I’ll do. Boil yer. Tear every——”
- </p>
- <p>
- They didn’t wait to hear more of what he would do. Each taking a hand of
- the little girl, they started to run—ran on and on across twilit
- meadows, till the staggering figure of the man who followed and the sound
- of his threats had utterly died out.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIX—THE HIGH HORSE OF ROMANCE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">Y</span>ou’re a kind of
- Bible boy, aren’t you?
- </p>
- <p>
- They were resting on the edge of a wood, half hidden in bracken,
- recovering their breath. Oak-trees, overhanging them, made an archway.
- Behind, down green fern-carpeted aisles, mysterious paths led into the
- unknown. In front a vague sea of meadows stretched, with wild flowers for
- foam and wheat-fields for sands. In the misty distance the window of a
- cottage caught the sunset and glowed like the red lamp of a ship which
- rode at anchor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A Bible boy! Not if I know it.” Ruddy grinned, and frowned, and scratched
- his leg. He was embarrassed in the presence of feminine beauty. If
- anything but feminine beauty had called him “a Bible boy,” he would
- certainly have punched its head. “Not if I know it,” he said. “I’m no
- little Samuel-Here-Am-I, praying all over the shop in a white
- night-shirt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Again he scratched his leg; he wished that feminine beauty didn’t make him
- itch so.
- </p>
- <p>
- The little girl rested her white petal of a hand on his grubby paw. “I
- didn’t mean anything horrid, only—just that it was so like David and
- Goliath, the way you made the stone sink into his forehead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yah!” He swelled with a sense of valor, now that his prowess was
- acknowledged. “I did catch ’em a whopper, didn’t I? If I hadn’t,
- you kids would be dead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire drew herself up with childish dignity. “It was nice of you, Boy;
- Teddy and I both thank you. But—but you mustn’t call me ’kid.’
- Teddy always calls me ’Princess.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ruddy’s good-humored, freckled face grew puzzled. “Princess? But, look
- here, are you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy was wondering whether he ought to confide in Ruddy, when Desire took
- the matter out of his hands. “I expect I am. I’m a little girl who was
- stolen from America. We were ’scaping when you found us.—What’s
- in that box you’re carrying?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes had been on it from the first. It was full of holes; inside
- something live kept moving.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Teddy knows. It’s one of Pa’s pigeons. Didn’t think I’d get home to-night
- when I came to look for you, so I brought it to let ’em know not to
- expect me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “When you came to look for us!” Teddy leant forward. “Did you come to look
- for us? Who sent you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ruddy winked knowingly. He was enjoying the mystery, and prolonged the
- ecstasy of suspense. Pulling a packet of Wild Woodbines from his pocket,
- he lit one and offered one to Teddy; but Teddy shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ma doesn’t know I do it,” he explained. “I chew parsley and peppermints
- so she shan’t smell my breath. Bible kids don’t do that. I’m a real bad
- boy—a detective.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But tell us—tell us. Did you know we were here? Did you come by
- accident?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ruddy pushed his midshipman’s cap back from his forehead. “It wasn’t by
- accident,” he said solemnly. “Since Hal’s come home, he’s been funny. It’s
- been worryin’ Ma; I’ve heard her talk about it. He’s brought dolls and
- silly things like that; and then he’s gone away with the dolls, without
- saying where he was going, and come back without ’em. He’s been
- acting kind o’ stealthy; we wouldn’t even have known they were dolls
- except for Harriet She looked among his socks and found ’em. I read
- ha’penny-bloods about detectives; one day I’m goin’ to be the greatest
- detective in the world. So I said to myself, ’I’ll clear up this
- mystingry and put Ma’s mind at rest’ I looked in Hal’s pockets and found a
- letter from a Farmer Joseph, posted at Ware. There you are! All the rest
- was easy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But what were you doing on the road?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ruddy blew a cloud of smoke through his nose to let Desire see that he
- could do it. “Pooh! It was Farmer Joseph’s cart that I was following when
- the dog came running through the hedge.” He threw away his cigarette.
- “Going to toss up the pigeon while there’s some light left.”
- </p>
- <p>
- To Desire this was the crowning marvel—that a boy could tie a
- message to a bird and tell it where to go. She watched Ruddy scrawl on the
- thin slip of paper and tiptoed to see the slate-blue wings beat high and
- higher towards the clouds. When it was no more than a speck, the Pucklike
- figure started laughing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s the matter?” asked Teddy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was picturing Ma’s face when Pa comes in and shows her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What did you write?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That I wouldn’t be home and that I’d found Hal’s princess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you didn’t tell her where we are, or anything like that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I gave her Farmer Joseph’s address; it was written on the cart.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You ass! Hal may catch us because of that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ruddy looked crestfallen; then he brightened. “No fear. Ma won’t tell Hal
- till she’s come to see for herself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire had sunk back upon the bed of bracken. “Oh, dear, I’m so hungry. My
- shoes is full of stockings and I can’t go any further. Poor Teddy’s tired,
- too; and I wouldn’t let a strange boy carry me. It wouldn’t be modest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her escort drew away to consult in whispers as to what was to be done for
- her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good egg!” Ruddy tossed his cap into the air. “I’ve got it. I’ve always
- wanted to do it. It’s a warm night and it won’t hint her. Let’s camp out.
- I’ll go and buy some grub—be back inside of an hour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire clapped her hands. “Just like knights and fair ladies in a forest!
- Oh, Teddy, it’ll be grand!”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was nothing else to do. Farmer Joseph would soon be out searching.
- Ware seemed an interminable distance. The boys counted their money, and
- the red-headed rescuer tramped off sturdily to purchase food. Long after
- he had disappeared, they could hear his jaunty whistling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Teddy, let me cuddle closer. You weren’t jealous, were you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jealous!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of the boy who threw the stone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course I wasn’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed secretly, and pressed her face against his shoulder. “Oh, you!
- You were, just the same as you were jealous of Bones.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bones was a dog. How silly you are, Princess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not silly.” Her voice sounded far away and elfin. “You want me to like
- only you. You wish he hadn’t come; now don’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Teddy’s turn to laugh. Was it true? He didn’t know. “It is nicer,
- isn’t it, to be just by our two selves?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heaps nicer,” she whispered. “But, oh, I am hungry. Let’s talk to make me
- forget.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You talk,” he said. “Tell me about your mother. She must be very good to
- have a little girl like you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My beautiful mother!” She clasped her hands against her throat.
- </p>
- <p>
- From across misty fields came a low whistle. A stumpy dwarf-like figure
- crawled through the hedge and darted forward, crouching beneath the
- twilight and glancing back for an enemy in the most approved
- penny-dreadful manner. Rabbits, nibbling at the cool wet turf, sat up and
- stared before they scattered, mistaking him at first for an enlarged
- edition of themselves.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My eye,” he panted, “but they’re looking for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Really or just pretence?” asked Teddy.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ruddy scratched his red head. “More than pretence. I met Fanner Joseph on
- the road, and he stopped his horse and questioned me. Come on. Catch hold
- of some of the grub. Let’s be runaway slaves with bloodhounds after us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They waded through bracken dew-wet, clinging and shoulder-high. Above them
- trees grew gnarled and dense, shutting out the sky. At each step the world
- grew more hushed and quiet. The sleepy calling of birds faded on the night
- Dank fragrances of earth and moss and bark made the air heavy. Little
- hands touched them; the hands of foxgloves and ferns and trailing vines.
- They seemed to pat them more in welcome than affright.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a narrow space where a tree had fallen, they lit a fire and nestled. As
- the flames leapt up, they revealed the whole wood moving, tiptoeing
- nearer, so that trees and foxgloves and ferns sprang back every time the
- flames jumped higher.
- </p>
- <p>
- A green moon-drenched, imaginative night! As they sat round the sparkling
- embers and munched, they spoke in whispers. What were they not? They were
- never themselves for one moment. They were sailors, marooned on a. desert
- island. They were Robin Hoods. Ruddy’s fancies proved too violent for
- Desire—they savored too much of blood; so at last it was agreed that
- they should be knights from Camelot and that Desire should be the great
- lady they had rescued.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m so cosy,” she whispered. “So happy. You won’t let anything bad get
- me, will you, Teddy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He put his arms about her. “Nothing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought she had drowsed off, when she drew his head down to her. “I
- forgot. I haven’t said my prayers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The sleepier she grew, the more she seemed a dear little weary bird. Her
- caprice went from her, her fine airs and her love of being admired. Even
- when her eyes were fast locked and her breath was coming softly, her
- fingers twitched and tightened about her boy-protector’s hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XX—THE POND IN THE WOODLAND
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ome one was
- kicking his foot He awoke to find Ruddy, hands in pockets, grinning down
- on him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Been op for hoars,” he whispered; “been exploring. Found a ripping pool
- Want to swim in it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy eased his arm from under the little girl and nodded. “Let’s light a
- fire first. She’ll know then that we’re not far away, and won’t be
- nervous.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The blur of foliage quivered with mysteries of a myriad coinings and
- goings. Everywhere unseen paths were being traveled to unseen houses.
- Within sight, yet sounding distant, a woodpecker, like a postman going his
- rounds, was tap-tap-tapping.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ruddy knelt and struck a match; tongues of scarlet spurted. The camp-fire
- became a beating heart in this citadel of gray-green loneliness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire lay curled among withered leaves, her face flushed with sleep, her
- lips parted. At sound of the fire snapping and cracking, she stirred and
- opened her eyes slowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, don’t leave me. Where are you going?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To have a swim,” they told her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But mayn’t I come? I promise to sit with my back turned. I promise not to
- look, honestly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Behind a holly, within sight of the pond, they left her. “Oh, dear, I wish
- I were a boy,” she pouted. “Boys have fathers and they can bathe and—and
- they can do almost everything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- While they undressed, she kept on talking.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s the same as if you weren’t there, when I can’t see you. Splash loud
- when you get into the water.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As she heard them enter, “Splash louder,” she commanded. “Girls don’t have
- to be truthful. If you don’t make a noise I’ll look round.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pooh! Look round. Who cares!” cried Ruddy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, don’t—not yet,” shouted Teddy.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then the sound of their laughter came to her, of the long cool stretch of
- arms plunging deep and panting growing always more distant.
- </p>
- <p>
- She couldn’t resist. The babies came into her eyes and her finger went up
- to her mouth. She turned and saw two sleek heads, bobbing and diving among
- anchored lilies. Beneath the water’s surface, as though buried beneath a
- sheet of glass, the ghost of the wood lay shrouded. Trees crowded down to
- the mossy edge to gaze timidly at the wonder of their own reflection.
- Across the pond flies zigzagged, leaving a narrow wake behind them. A fish
- leapt joyously and curved in a streak of silver. With his chin resting in
- the highest branches, the sun stared roundly and smiled a challenge.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will be a boy,” she whispered rebelliously.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her arms flew up and circled about her neck. Lest her daring should go
- from her, she commenced unbuttoning in a tremendous hurry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hi, Princess, what are you doing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was busy drawing off her stockings.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I say, but you can’t do that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, you can’t do that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The scandalized duet of protests continued. Her knight-errants watched her
- aghast.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sullen gray eyes glared defiance at them; yet they weren’t altogether
- sullen, for a glint of mischief hid in their depths.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am doing it. You daren’t come out to stop me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’ll come out if you’ll promise to turn round. We’ll do anything,
- Princess. You can have the pond all to yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t want the pond all to myself, stupids.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She began to slip off her petticoat. Two shocked backs were turned on her.
- As the boys retreated further into the lilies, their pleadings reached her
- in spasms. Their agony at the thought of violated conventions made her
- relentless.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was tired of being a girl; tired of being without a father. “I’ll be a
- boy,” she whispered, “and wear knickerbockers and have a father, like
- Teddy.” She really thought that, in some occult way, her outrageous
- conduct would accomplish that. It was all a matter of dress. She chuckled
- at imagining her mother’s amazement. The still sheet of water was a Pool
- of Siloam that would heal a little girl of her sex.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When she’s once got in,” whispered Ruddy, “it won’t be so bad. We can——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy grabbed his shoulder fiercely. “You shan’t see her. We’ll stay just
- as far away as——”
- </p>
- <p>
- A scream startled the air. They swung about. Knee-deep in the pool, at bay
- and pale as a wood-nymph, was Desire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I won’t come out,” she was shouting, “and I’m not a naughty girl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Leaning out from the bank, trying to hook her with an umbrella, was a
- balloon-shaped old lady.
- </p>
- <p>
- Behind her, peering above the bushes, was the face of Farmer Joseph, his
- merry eyes screwed up with amusement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you’ll catch cold, darling,” Mrs. Sheerug coaxed. “Oh, dear, oh,
- dear! What shall I do? Please do come out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shan’t catch cold either. And if I do come out you’ll only be cross
- with me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I won’t be cross with you, darling. I’m too glad to find you for that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did my beautiful mother send you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- With what guile Mrs. Sheerug answered the boys could only guess by the
- effect.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then,” came the piping little voice, “tell Farmer Joseph to stop
- looking, and you stop poking at me. I don’t like your umbrella.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They saw her wade out, drops of water falling from her elfin whiteness
- like jewels; then saw her folded in the bat-like wings of the
- faery-godmother’s ample mantle. The glade emptied. The wood grew silent
- They dared to swim to land.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ruddy was the first to say anything. “Ma—Ma’s a wonder. I oughtn’t
- to have sent that pigeon till this s’moming.” Then, in a burst of
- penitence for his zeal, “I’m afraid I’ve spoiled—— I say, I’m
- beastly sorry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had spoiled everything; there was no denying it There would be no more
- camp-fires, no more slaying of bird-catchers, no more pretending you were
- a war-horse with a rescued Princess from Goblinland riding on your back.
- Teddy was too unhappy to blame or forgive Ruddy. He pulled on his shirt
- and indulged in reflections.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wonder how they found us?” muttered Ruddy. “Must have seen the smoke of
- our fire. That wasn’t my fault anyhow; you did agree to lighting that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, be quiet,” growled Teddy. “What does anything matter? Who cares now
- how they found out?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ruddy stole away to see what was happening, thinking that he might prove
- more acceptable elsewhere.
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy stared at the pool. Birds flew across its quiet breast; fish leaped;
- the sun smiled grandly. Everything was as it had been, yet he was altered.
- They would take her away from him; of that he was certain. Perhaps they
- would put her on another ship and send her traveling again across the
- world. There would be other boys who had never had a sister. He hated
- them. Because he was young, he would have to stay just where he had been
- always—in Eden Row, where nothing ever happened. The tyranny of it!
- </p>
- <p>
- He was roused by hearing his name called softly. She was tiptoeing down
- the glade, dragging Mrs. Sheerug by the hand. Mrs. Sheerug’s other hand
- still clasped her umbrella.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he turned, the child ran forward and flung her arms about his neck.
- “Oh, Teddy, this person says perhaps she’ll help us to find her.” Then, in
- a whisper, bringing her face so dose that the thistledown of her hair
- brushed his forehead and his whole world sank into two gray eyes, “The
- Princess wasn’t very nice this morning—not modest, so this person
- says. But you don’t mind—say you don’t I did so want to be like you
- and to do everything that boys do,” and then, long drawn out, when he
- thought her apology was ended, “Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Sheerug trundled up, her hands folded beneath her mantle, and looked
- down at them benevolently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Boys aren’t to be trusted; they shouldn’t be left alone with girls, <i>shouldn’t</i>.”
- Having uttered the moral she felt necessary, she allowed herself to smile
- through her shiny spectacles. “She’s fond of you, Teddy—a dear
- little maid. Ah, well! We must be getting back with Farmer Joseph to
- breakfast.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the wagonette, as they drove through the golden morning, few words were
- said. Mrs. Sheerug sat with Desire cuddled to her, kissing her again and
- again with a tender worship. Teddy-couldn’t divine why she should do it,
- since she had never seen her until that morning. He was conscious of a
- jealousy in Mrs. Sheerug’s attitude—a protective jealousy which made
- her want to keep touching Desire, the way Hal did, to realize her
- presence. It was as though they both shared his own dread that at any
- moment they might lose her.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was in the late afternoon when Mrs. Sheerug left. Before going she led
- him aside. “I want to talk to you.” Her cheeks quivered with earnestness.
- “You did very wrong, my dear, very wrong. Just how wrong you didn’t know.
- Something terrible might have happened. That little girl’s in great
- danger. You must keep her in the garden where no one can see her. Promise
- me you will. I’d take her back to London to-night, only Hal doesn’t know
- I’ve found out I want to give him the news gently.” She broke off,
- wringing her hands and speaking to herself, “Why, oh why, was he so
- foolish? Why did he keep it from me?” Then, recovering, “Either Hal or I
- will come and fetch her to-morrow. Don’t look so down-hearted, my dear. If
- the good Lord remembers us, everything may turn out well. If it does, I’ll
- let you come and see her. Perhaps,” her dim eyes flickered with
- excitement, “I shall be able to keep her always and make sure that she
- grows into a good woman. Perhaps.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She caught the boy to her breast. She was trembling all over and on the
- verge of tears. When she had climbed into the wagonette, with Ruddy seated
- beside her, and had lumbered slowly out of the farmyard, she left Teddy
- wondering: Why had she said “a good woman”? As though there was any doubt
- that little Desire would grow up good!
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXI—VANISHED
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>E had searched the
- farmhouse, calling her name softly. He had peered into the lumber-room,
- where shadows were gathering. He had looked everywhere indoors. Now he
- stepped into the orchard and called more loudly, “Desire. Desire.
- Princess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Leaves shuddered. Across moss-grown paths slugs crawled. Everything
- betokened rain; all live things were hurrying for shelter. Behind high red
- walls, where peach-trees hung crucified, the end of day smoldered. The
- west was a vivid saffron. To the southward black clouds wheeled like
- vultures. The beauty of the garden shone intense. The greenness of
- apple-trees had deepened. Nasturtiums blazed like fire in the borders of
- box. The air was full of poignant fragrances: of lavender, of roses, and
- of cool, dean earth.
- </p>
- <p>
- To-morrow night all that he was at present feeling would have become a
- memory. He called her name again and renewed his search. To-morrow night
- would she, too, have become a memory? How loud the whisper of his
- footsteps sounded I And if she had become a memory, would she forget—would
- the future prove faithless to the past?
- </p>
- <p>
- The garden would not remember. The brook would babble no less contentedly
- because he was gone. All these flowers which shone so bravely—within
- a week they, too, would have vanished. The birds in the early morning
- would Scarcely notice his absence. In the autumn they would fly away; in
- the spring, when they returned, they would think no more of the boy who
- had parted the leaves so gently that a little girl might peep into their
- nests. And would the little girl remember? Even now, when he called, she
- did not answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- In an angle of the garden, most remote from the farmhouse, he espied her.
- Something in her attitude made him halt Her head was thrown back; she was
- staring into a chestnut which tumbled its boughs across the wall. Her lips
- were moving. She seemed to be, talking; nothing reached him of what was
- said. At first he supposed she was acting a conversation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Desire,” he shouted. “Princess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She glanced across her shoulder and distinctly gave a warning. The
- chestnut quivered. He was certain some one was climbing down. She kissed
- her hand. The bough was still trembling when he reached her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who was it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She pressed a finger to her lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was it Ruddy? But it couldn’t have been Ruddy unless——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Beyond the wall he heard the sound of footsteps. They were stealing away
- through grass.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he turned to her, she was smiling with mysterious tenderness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who was it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She slipped her hand into his. “I <i>am</i> fond of you, dear Teddy, but I
- mustn’t, mustn’t tell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They walked in silence. Rain began to patter. They could hear it hiss as
- it splashed against the sunset.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Best be getting indoors,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the lumber-room, where so many happy hours had been spent, they sat
- with their faces pressed against the window.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you want to play?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re not sulky with me, Teddy, are you? It would be unkind if you were.
- I’m so happy.” She flung her arms about his neck, coaxing him to look at
- her. “What shall I do to make you glad? Shall I make the babies come into
- my eyes?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He brushed his face against her carls. “It isn’t that. It’s not that I’m
- sulky.” Her hands fluttered to his lips that he might kiss them. “It’s—it’s
- only that I want you, and I’m afraid I may lose you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed softly. “But I wouldn’t lose you. I wouldn’t let anybody, not
- even my beautiful mother, make me lose you. I would worry and worry and
- worry, till she brought me back.” She lowered her face and looked up at
- him slantingly. “I can make people do most anything when I worry badly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled at her exact self-knowledge. She knew that she was forgiven and
- wriggled into his arms. “Why do you want me? I’m so little and not nice
- always.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know why I want you, unless——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Unless?” she whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Unless it’s because I’ve been always lonely.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She frowned, so he hastened to add, “But I know I do want you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “When I’m a big lady do you think you’ll still want me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah!” He tried to imagine her as a big lady. “You’ll be proud then, I
- expect. I once knew a big lady and she wasn’t—wasn’t very kind. I
- think I like you little best.” Outside it was growing dark. The rain beat
- against the window. The musty smell of old finery in boxes fitted with the
- melancholy of the sound.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m glad you like me little best, because,” she drew her fingers down his
- cheek, “because, you see, I’m little now. But when I’m a big lady, I shall
- want you to like me best as I am then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed. “I wonder whether you will—whether you’ll care.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You say all the wrong things.” She struggled to free herself. “You’re
- making me sad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “D’you know what you’ll be when you grow up?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She ceased struggling; she was tremendously interested in herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A flirt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is a flirt?” she asked earnestly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A flirt’s a——” He puzzled to find words. “A flirt’s a very
- beautiful woman who makes every one love her especially, and loves nobody
- in particular herself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She clapped her hands. “Oh, I hope I shall.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Outside her bedroom at parting she stopped laughing. “I <i>am</i> fond of
- you, dear Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course you are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She pouted. “Oh, no, not of course. I’m not fond of everybody.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had set too low a value on her graciousness. He had often done it
- wilfully before for the fun of seeing her give herself airs. “I didn’t
- mean ‘of course’ like that,” he apologized; “I meant I didn’t doubt it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But—but,” she sighed, “you don’t say the right things, Teddy—no,
- never. You don’t understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- What did she want him to say, this little girl who was alternately a baby
- and a woman? When he had puzzled his brain and had failed to guess, he
- stooped to kiss her good-night She turned her face away petulantly; the
- next moment she had turned it back and was clinging to him desperately. “I
- don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to leave you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You shan’t.” He had caught something of her passion. “Mrs. Sheerug has
- promised. She lives quite near our house, and you’ll be my little sister.
- You shall come and feed my pigeons, and see my father paint pictures. My
- mother’s called Dearie—did I tell you that? Don’t be frightened;
- I’ll lie awake all to-night in case you call.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, sleep.” She drew her fingers down his face caressingly. “Sleep for my
- sake, Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He tried to keep awake, but his eyes grew heavy. Farmer Joseph and Mrs.
- Sarie came creaking up the stairs. The house was left to shadows. Several
- times he slipped from his bed and tiptoed to the door. More than once he
- fancied he heard sounds. They always stopped the second he stirred. The
- monotonous dripping of rain lulled him. It was like an army of footsteps
- which advanced and halted, advanced and halted. Even through his sleep
- they followed.
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed the last notes of a dream. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Where
- was he? In his thoughts he had gone back years. He ought to have been in
- Mrs. Sheerug’s bedroom, with the harp standing thinly against the panes
- and the kettle purring on the fire. He was confused at finding that the
- room was different. While that voice sang on, he had no time for puzzling.
- </p>
- <p>
- It came from outside in the darkness, where trees knelt beneath the sky
- like camels. Sometimes it seemed very far away, and sometimes just beneath
- his window. It made him think of faeries dancing by moonlight It was like
- the golden hair of the Princess Lettice lowered from her casement to her
- lover. It was like the silver feet of laughter twinkling up a Beanstalk
- ladder to the stars. It was like spread wings, swooping and drifting over
- a faery-land of castellated tree-tops. It grew infinitely distant. He
- strained his ears; it was almost lost It kept calling and calling to his
- heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- Something was moving. A shadow stole across his doorway. It was gone in an
- instant—gone so quickly that, between sleeping and waking, it might
- have been imagined. His heart was pounding.
- </p>
- <p>
- In her room he saw the white blur of her bed. Timid lest he should disturb
- her, he groped his hand across her pillow. It was still warm.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he ran down the passage a cold draught met him. The door into the
- farmyard was open. He hesitated on the threshold, straining his eyes into
- the dusk of moonlight that leaked from under clouds. As he listened, he
- heard Desire’s laugh, low and secret, and the whisper of departing
- footsteps. Barefooted he followed. In the road, the horses’ beads turned
- towards the wood, a carriage was standing with its lamps extinguished. The
- door opened; there was the sound of people entering; then it slammed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Desire! Desire!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The driver humped his shoulders, tugged at the reins, and lashed
- furiously; the horses leapt forward and broke into a gallop. From the
- window Vashti leant out. A child’s hand fluttered. He ran on breathlessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Under the roof of the woods all was blackness. The sounds of travel grew
- fainter. When he reached the meadows beyond, there was nothing but the
- mist of moonlight on still shadows—he heard nothing but the sullen
- weeping of rain-wet trees and grass. He threw himself down beside the
- road, clenching his hands and sobbing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Next day Hal arrived to fetch him back to London. The wagonette was
- already standing at the door. He thought that he had said all his
- farewells, fixed everything indelibly on his memory, when he remembered
- the lumber-room. Without explanation, he dashed into the house and climbed
- the stairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- Pushing open the door, he entered gently. It was here, if anywhere, that
- he might expect to find her—the last place in which they had been
- together. Old’ finery, dragged from boxes by her hands, lay strewn about.
- The very sunshine, groping across the floor, seemed to be searching for
- her. He was going over to the place by the window where they had sat, when
- he halted, bending forward. Scrawled dimly in the dust upon the panes, in
- childish writing, were the words, “I love you.” And again, lower down, “I
- love you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His heart gave a bound. That was what she had been trying to make him say
- last night, “I love you.” He hadn’t said it—hadn’t realized or
- thought it possible that two children could love like that. He knew now
- what she had meant, “You don’t say the right things, Teddy—no,
- never. You don’t understand.” He knew now that from the first he had loved
- her; his boyish fear of ridicule had forbidden him to own it. There on the
- panes, like a message from the dead, soon to be overlaid with dust, was
- her confession.
- </p>
- <p>
- Voices called to him, bidding him hurry. Footsteps were ascending. Some
- one was coming along the passage. The writing was sacred. It was meant for
- his eyes alone. No one should see it but himself. He stooped his lips to
- the pane. When Hal entered the writing had vanished.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You—you played here,” he said. All day he had been white and silent
- “I’m sorry, but we really must be going now, old chap.”
- </p>
- <p>
- On the stairs, where it was dark, he laid an arm on the boy’s shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You got to be very fond of her? We were both fond of her and—and
- we’ve both lost her. I think I understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXII—THE FEAR OF KNOWLEDGE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he journey back to
- London was like the waking moments of a dream. He gazed out of the
- carriage window. He couldn’t bear to look at Hal; his eyes seemed dead, as
- though all the mind behind them was full of darkened passages. It wasn’t
- easy to be brave just now, so he turned his face away from him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Teddy.” There was no one in the carriage but themselves. “Did she ever
- say anything about me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She said that you were fond of her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, yes, but I don’t mean that. Did she ever say how she felt herself?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “About you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “About me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was hunger in Hal’s voice—hunger in the way he listened for
- the answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not—not exactly. But she liked you immensely. She really did, Hal.
- She looked forward most awfully to your coming.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Any child would have done that when a man brought her presents. Then she
- didn’t say she loved me? No, she wouldn’t say that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hal spoke bitterly. Teddy felt that Desire was being accused and sprang to
- her defense. “I don’t see how you could expect her to love you after what
- you had done.” The man looked up sharply. “After what I had done! D’you
- mean kidnaping her, or something further back?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean taking her away from her mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hal laughed gloomily. “No, as you say, a person with no claims on her
- couldn’t expect her to love him after that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sinking his head forward, he relapsed into silence and sat staring at the
- seat opposite. When the train was galloping through the outskirts of
- London, he spoke again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve dragged you into something that you don’t understand. Don’t try to
- understand it; but there’s something I want to say to you. If ever you’re
- tempted to do wrong, remember me. If ever you’re tempted to get love the
- wrong way, be strong enough to do without it. It isn’t worth having. You
- have to lie and cheat to get it at first, and you have to lie and cheat to
- keep some of it when it’s ended.” He turned his face away, speaking
- shamefully and hurriedly. “I sinned once, a long while ago—I don’t
- know whether you’ve guessed. I’m still paying for it. You’re paying for
- it. One day that little girl may have to pay the biggest price of any of
- us. I was trying to save her from that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Through the window shabby rows of cabs showed up. A porter jumped on the
- step, asking if there was any luggage. Hal waved him back. Turning to
- Teddy, he said, “When you’ve sinned, you never know where the paying ends.
- It touches a thousand lives with its selfishness. Remember me one day, and
- be careful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Driving home in the hansom, he referred but once to the subject “I’ve made
- you suffer. I don’t know how much—boys never tell. I owed you
- something; that’s why I spoke to you just now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy’s arrival home scattered the last mists of his dream-world. As the
- cab drew up before the house, the door flew open and his father burst out,
- bundling a mildly protesting old gentleman down the steps.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I don’t paint little pigs,” he was shouting, “and I don’t paint
- little girls sucking their thumbs and cooing, ‘I’m baby.’ You’ve come to
- the wrong shop, old man; no offense. I’m an artist; the man you’re looking
- for is a sign-painter. Good evening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The door banged in the old gentleman’s face. Jimmie Boy was so enjoying
- his anger that he didn’t notice that in closing the door he was shutting
- out his son.
- </p>
- <p>
- When Teddy had been admitted by Jane, he heard his mother’s voice dodging
- through his father’s laughter like a child through a crowd.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You needn’t have been so sharp with him, Jimmie. He only wanted to buy
- the kind of pictures you don’t paint You can’t expect every one to
- understand. Now he’ll go the rounds and talk about you, and you’ll have
- another enemy. Why do you do it, my silly old pirate?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old pirate pretended to become suspicious that his wife was trying to
- lower his standards—trying to persuade him to paint the rubbish that
- would sell She protested her innocence. Long after Teddy had made his
- presence known the argument continued, half in banter, half in
- seriousness. Then it took the familiar turning which led to a discussion
- of finance.
- </p>
- <p>
- He stole away. The impatient world had swept him back into its maelstrom
- of realities. It had taken away his breath and staggered his courage.
- Hal’s harangue on the consequences of sin had made him see sin everywhere.
- He saw his father as sinning when he indulged his genius by pushing
- would-be purchasers down his steps. Hal was right—he and Dearie
- would have to pay for that; all their lives they had been paying for his
- father’s temperament. They had had to go short of everything because he
- would insist on trying to exchange his dreams for money.
- </p>
- <p>
- He wandered out into the garden where his pigeons were flying.
- Instinctively his steps led him to the stable. From the stalls he dragged
- out <i>The Garden Enclosed</i>, which was to have made his father famous.
- He gazed at it; as he gazed, the world seemed better. The world must be a
- happy place so long as there were women in it like that. People said that
- his father hadn’t succeeded; but he had by being true to what he knew to
- be best.
- </p>
- <p>
- He climbed the ladder to the studio where, through long years of
- discouragement, his father had refused to stoop below himself. Leaning
- from the window, he gazed into the garden. The dusty smell of the ivy came
- to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- There in the darkness his mother found him. Coming in quietly, she
- crouched beside him, taking his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother, you’re very beautiful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her heart quickened. “Something’s happened. Once you wouldn’t have said
- that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve been thinking about so many things,” he whispered, “about how it
- must have helped a man to have had some one like you always to himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were thinking,” she brushed his cheek with hers, “you were thinking
- about yourself—about the long, long future.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.” His voice scarcely reached her. “I was growing frightened because
- of Hal. I was feeling kind of lonely. Then I thought of you and Jimmie
- Boy. It would be fearful to grow up like Hal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You won’t, Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a long silence. They could hear each other’s thoughts ticking.
- At last he whispered, “Desire said she never had a father.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor little girl! You must have guessed?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hal?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Choking back her tears, she nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Things like that——” He broke off, staring into the darkness.
- “Things like that make a boy frightened, when first they’re told him.” She
- drew his head down to her shoulder. He lay there without speaking, feeling
- sheltered for the moment. All the threats of manhood, the fears that he
- might fail, the terror lest he might miss the highest things like Hal,
- drew away into the distance.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the night, when he awoke and they returned, he drove them off with a
- new purpose. The pity and white chivalry of his boyhood were aflame with
- what he had learnt. Until he met her again, he would keep himself
- spotless. She should be to him what the Holy Grail was to Sir Gala-had. He
- would fight to be good and great not for his own sake—that would be
- lonely; but that he might be strong, when he became a man, to pay the
- price for Desire that Hal’s sin had imposed on her.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIII—TEDDY AND RUDDY
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>ear is a form of
- loneliness; it was Ruddy who cured Teddy of that.
- </p>
- <p>
- For years they had met in Orchid Lodge and up and down Eden Row, nodding
- to each other with the contemptuous tolerance of boys whose parents are
- friends. It was the shared memory of the adventure in the woodland that
- brought them together.
- </p>
- <p>
- Two days after his return from the farm he stole out into Eden Row as
- night was falling. In the park, across the river, the bell for closing
- time was ringing. On tennis courts, between slumbering chestnuts, men in
- flannels were putting on their coats and gathering their shoes and
- rackets, while slim wraiths of girls waited for them. They swept together
- and drifted away through the daffodil-tinted dusk. Clear laughter floated
- across the river and the whisper of reluctantly departing footsteps. Park
- keepers, like angels in Eden, marched along shadowy paths, herding the
- lovers and driving them before them, shouting in melancholy tones, “All
- out. All out.” They seemed to be proclaiming that nothing could last.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hulloa!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy turned to find the sturdy figure in the midshipman’s suit leaning
- against the railings beside him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Must be rather jolly to be like that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Like what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, don’t be a sausage.” Ruddy smiled imperturbably. “To be like them—old
- enough to put your arm round a girl without making people laugh.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ruddy sank his voice. “Wonder where they all come from. Suppose they look
- quite proper by daylight, as though they’d never speak to a chap.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The crowd was pouring out from the gates and melting away by twos and
- twos. Each couple seemed to walk in its own separate world, walled in by
- memories of tender things done and said. As they passed beneath lamps, the
- girls drew a little apart from their companions; but as they entered long
- intervals of twilit gloom their propriety relaxed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Turning away from the river, the boys followed the crowd at random. Once
- Ruddy hurried forward to peer into a girl’s face as she passed beneath a
- lamp. She had flaxen hair which broke in waves about her shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy flushed. He had wanted to do it himself, but something had
- restrained him. Secretly he admired Ruddy’s boldness. “Don’t do that,” he
- whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She looked pretty from the back,” Ruddy explained. “Wanted to see by her
- face whether her boy had been kissing her. You are a funny chap.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They got tired of wandering. On the edge of a low garden wall, with their
- backs against the railing, they seated themselves. It was in a road of
- small villas, dotted with golden windows and shadowy with the foam of
- foliage.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ruddy pulled out a cigarette. “I liked her most awfully. Us’ally I don’t
- like girls.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Desire?” Teddy’s heart bounded at being able to speak her name so
- frankly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Desire. Yes. I’ve got an idea that she’s a sort of relation. Ma won’t
- tell a thing about her. I can’t ask Hal—he’s too cut up. When I
- speak to Harriet, she says ‘Hush.’ There’s a mystingry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For a week Ruddy opened his heart wider and wider, till he had all but
- confessed that he was in love with Desire. Then one day, with the
- depressed air of a conspirator, he inveigled Teddy into the shrubbery of
- Orchid Lodge.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Want to ask you something. You think I’m in love with that kid, Desire,
- don’t you? Well, I’m not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m glad you’re not, because—you oughtn’t to be. Why you oughtn’t
- to be, I can’t tell you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I never was.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, weren’t you?” Teddy shrugged his shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- Up went Ruddy’s fists. His face grew red and his eyes became suspiciously
- wet. “You’re the only one who knows it. You’ve got to say I wasn’t. If you
- don’t, I’ll fight you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you’ve just said that I’m the only one who knows it. You silly chump,
- you’ve owned that you were in love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ruddy stood hesitant; his fists fell “Don’t know what God’ll do to me.
- I’ve been in love with my——” He gulped. “I’m her uncle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For a fortnight he posed as a figure of guilt and hinted darkly at
- suicide. But the world at fifteen is too adventurous a place for even a
- boy who has been in love with his niece to remain long tragic. It was on
- this dark secret of his unclehood, that his momentous friendship with
- Teddy was founded. Mrs. Sheerug approved of it; she did all that she could
- to encourage it. She sent him to Mr. Quickly’s school in Eden Row which
- Teddy attended. From that moment the boys’ great days began.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Ruddy who invented one of their most exciting games, <i>Enemies or
- Friends</i>. This consisted in picking out some inoffensive boy from among
- their school-fellows and overwhelming him with flatteries. He was made the
- recipient of presents and invited to tea on half-holidays, till his
- suspicions of evil intentions were quite laid to rest. Then one afternoon,
- when school was over, he was lured into Orchid Lodge to look at the
- pigeons. Once within the garden walls, Orchid Lodge became a brigand’s
- castle, the boy a captive, and Ruddy and Teddy his captors. The boy was
- locked up in the tool-shed for an hour and made to promise by the most
- fearful threats not to divulge to his mother what had delayed him.
- Intended victims of this game knew quite well what fate was in store for
- them; a rumor of the brigands’ perfidy had leaked out. The chief sport in
- its playing lay in the Machiavellian methods employed to persuade the
- latest favorite that, whatever had happened to his predecessors, he was
- the great exception, beloved only for himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- Opportunity for revenge arrived when Teddy’s first attempt at authorship
- was published. Mr. Quickly, the Quaker headmaster, brought out a magazine
- each Christmas to which his students were invited to contribute. Teddy’s
- contribution was entitled <i>The Angel’s Sin</i>. Perhaps it was inspired
- by remorse for his misdoings. Dearie nearly cried her eyes out when she
- read it, she was so impressed by its piety. But it moved his
- school-fellows to ridicule—especially the much-wronged boys who had
- spent an hour in the tool-shed. They recited it in chorus between classes;
- they followed him home reciting it; they stood outside the windows of his
- house and bawled it at him through the railings. “Heaven was silent, for
- one had sinned. Before the throne of God a prostrate figure lay. But the
- throne was wrapped in clouds. A voice rang out,” etc.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They have no souls,” his mother whispered comfortingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>The Angel’s Sin</i> cost the brigands many bruises and their mothers
- much repairing of torn clothing. Teddy’s mother declared that it was all
- worth it—she had spent her life in paying the price for having
- genius in her family; Mrs. Sheerug was doubtful Ruddy was loyal in his
- public defense of Teddy, but secretly disapproving. “Stupid ass! Why did
- you do it? Why didn’t you write about pirates? Might have known we’d get
- ragged.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy shook his head. He was quite as much puzzled as Ruddy. “Don’t know.
- It just came to me. I had to do it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Christmas holidays brought a joyous week. Teddy had a cold and was
- kept in bed. The light was too bad for painting, so his father came and
- sat with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re younger than you were, chappie—more like what I used to be
- at your age. That young ruffian’s doing you good. What d’you play at?”
- </p>
- <p>
- When penny dreadfuls were mentioned, Jimmie Boy closed one eye and
- squinted at his son humorously. “That’s not much of a diet—not much
- in keeping with <i>The Ange’s Sin</i> and a boy who’s going to be a
- genius. Tell you what I’ll do; let’s have Ruddy in and I’ll reform you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then began a magic chain of nights and days. As soon as the breakfast-tray
- had been carried down, Jimmie Boy would commence his reading. It was <i>Margaret
- of Valois</i> that he chose as being the nearest thing in literature to a
- penny dreadful. Teddy, lying cosily between sheets, would listen to the
- booming voice, which rumbled like a gale about the pale walls of the
- bedroom. Seated in a great armchair, with his pipe going like a furnace
- and his knees spread apart before the fire, his rebel father acted out
- with his free hand all the glorious love scenes and stabbings. Ruddy,
- stretched like a dog upon the floor, his elbows digging into the carpet,
- gazed up at Jimmie Boy adoringly. For a week they kept company with kings
- and queens, listening to the clash of swords and witnessing the intrigue
- of stolen kisses. They wandered down moonlit streets of Paris, were
- present at the massacre of St. Batholomew’s Eve, and saw the Duchess of
- Guise, having rescued Coconnas from the blades of the Huguenots, hide him,
- dripping with blood, in her secret closet.
- </p>
- <p>
- When <i>Margaret of Valois</i> was ended, <i>Hereward the Wake</i>
- followed, and then <i>Rienzi</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And that’s literature,” Jimmie Boy told them. “How about your penny
- dreadfuls now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the afternoons Dearie would join them. “You three boys,” she called
- them. She always made a pretense that she was intruding, till she had been
- entreated in flowery romance language to enter. Then, sitting on the bed
- like a tall white queen, her hand clasped in Teddy’s, she would watch
- dreamily, with those violet eyes of hers, the shaggy head of Jimmie Boy
- tossing in a melody of words.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was this week, with its delving into ancient stories, that taught him
- what his parents’ love really meant—it was a rampart thrown up by
- the soul against calamity. They had been poor and harassed and
- disappointed. There had been times when they had spoken crossly. But in
- their hearts they still stood hand-in-hand, always guarding a royal place
- in which they could be happy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I say,” whispered Ruddy, “your people—they’re toppers. Let’s go
- slow on the penny dreadfuls.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIV—DUKE NINEVEH ENTERS
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>s the years passed
- the two boys grew into explorers of the undiscovered countries that lie
- behind the tail-treed reticence of people’s minds. Their sole equipment
- for these gallant raids was a daring sort of kindness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ruddy’s actions were inspired by good nature and high spirits; Teddy’s by
- introspection and a determination to inquire. He was possessed by a
- relentless curiosity to find out how things worked.
- </p>
- <p>
- By a dramatic turn of luck their faculty for curious friendships flung the
- whole Sheerug household, and Jimmie Boy with it, high up on the strand of
- what Mrs. Sheerug would have termed “a secure nincome.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At the time when this happened Teddy was already getting his hand in by
- helping his father with the letter-press for his illustrated volumes.
- Ruddy, much to Mrs. Sheerug’s disgust, had announced his intention of
- “going on the sands,” by which he meant becoming a pierrot.
- </p>
- <p>
- One sparkling morning in June they were setting out for Brighton. Ruddy
- had heard of a troupe who were playing there and was anxious to add to his
- store of pierrot-knowledge. At the last moment, as the train was moving, a
- distinguished looking man who had been dawdling on the platform seemed to
- make up his mind to travel by it Paying no heed to the warning shouts of
- porters, as coolly as if he had been catching a passing bus, he leapt on
- the step of the boys’ third-class smoker, unlocked the door and entered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Handy things to keep about you,” he said, “keys to Tallway carriages. Oh,
- a third! Thought it was a first. Too bad. Make the best of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a cheerful insolence about the way in which he sniffed, “Oh, a
- third!” addressing nobody in particular and thinking his thoughts aloud.
- He had a fine, rolling baritone. His aristocratic, drawling way of talking
- set up an immediate barrier between himself and the world—a barrier
- which he evidently expected the world to recognize.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ruddy raised a democratic foot and tapped him on the shin. “Your ticket’s
- a third. It’s in your hand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The distinguished looking man leant down and flapped his trousers with his
- glove where the democratic foot had touched it Then he fixed Ruddy with a
- haughty stare. “Ah! So it is. Chap must have given it me in error.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He settled himself in a corner, paying the utmost attention to his
- comfort, screwed a monocle in his eye and spread a copy of <i>The Pink
- </i>’<i>Un</i> before him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The boys threw inquiring glances at each other. Why should this ducal
- looking individual, with his complete self-assurance and patronizing
- vastness, have worried himself to try to make them believe that he was
- traveling third-class by accident? Was he an escaping criminal or a
- lunatic? Had the porters who had shouted warnings at him been disguised
- detectives? Was there any chance of his becoming violent when they entered
- the Box Hill Tunnel?
- </p>
- <p>
- They scrutinized him carefully. He was probably nearing forty; he wore a
- straw hat, a black flannel suit with a thin white stripe running down it,
- patent-leather shoes and canvas spats. Everything about him was of
- expensive cut and bore the stamp of fashion. His face was wrinkled like a
- bloodhound’s, his hair sleek and tawny, his complexion brick-red with good
- living. His nose was slightly Roman, his eyes a sleepy gray; his attitude
- towards the world one of fastidious boredom. He was a large-framed man and
- would pass for handsome.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ruddy was not easily awed. Reaching under the seat, he drew out one of the
- boxes which Mr. Hughes had entrusted to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What message shall we send? The usual?”
- </p>
- <p>
- On a narrow strip of paper he wrote, “<i>We have just completed another
- murder</i>.” As the train slowed down at Red Hill, he leant out of the
- window and tossed the pigeon up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never trouble trouble, till trouble troubles you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The distinguished looking person had laid aside his paper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Excuse me,” he said, and with that he drew off his patent-leather shoes
- and rested his feet on the window ledge to air them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tight?” suggested Teddy politely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very,” said the distinguished looking person. “To tell the truth, they’re
- not mine. I’m too kind-hearted.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He picked up his paper and wriggled his toes in his silk socks. It was
- difficult to trace the connection between wearing tight shoes and
- kind-heartedness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A mystingry,” whispered Ruddy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Eh! What’s that?” The Roman nose appeared for an instant above <i>The
- Pink </i>’<i>Un</i> and the lazy gray eyes twinkled. “I’m wearing ’em
- easy out of affection for a dear friend. No splendor without pain. I take
- the pain and leave him the splendor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Both boys nodded as though his explanation had made his conduct, which had
- at first seemed unusual, entirely conventional. Teddy drew a pencil from
- his pocket and commenced to make a surreptitious sketch. If the imposing
- stranger were anything that he ought not to be, it might come in useful.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What are you doing?” The paper was tossed aside. “Humph! Colossal! If I
- may, I’ll keep it I’m a black-and-white artist myself.” He narrowed his
- eyes as if to hide their real expression. “You won’t know my name. I’m
- what you might call a professional amateur. Could make a fortune at it,
- but won’t be bothered with the vulgarity of selling.” And then, with an
- airy wave of his hand, flicking the ash off his cigarette: “Of course I
- don’t need to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course not,” said Teddy, with winning frankness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course not,” echoed Ruddy, with a sly intonation, winking at the
- patent-leather shoes.
- </p>
- <p>
- The stranger, who had been using the seat as a couch, shifted his position
- and glanced at Ruddy. “My dee-ar boy, I meant that. If you have very
- affectionate friends and enough of them, you never need to earn money. It
- was only when I was young—about as young as you are—that I was
- fool enough to labor.” He pronounced it “laybore.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I’ve not been fool enough to ’laybore’ yet,” said Ruddy,
- with sham indignation, as though defending himself from a shameful
- accusation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you do what I do, there’ll be no necessity.” The stranger closed his
- eyes. “If you cater to the world’s vanity you can live well and do
- nothing. There’s nothing—absolute—” he yawned widely, “—lutely
- nothing to prevent you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They waited for his eyes to open. If he wasn’t mad, he was the possessor
- of a secret—a secret after which all the world was groping: nothing
- more nor less than how to fare sumptuously and not to work. But his eyes
- remained shut. Ruddy spoke. “I wish you’d tell us how.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The stranger didn’t answer; he appeared to be sleeping—sleeping,
- however, with considerate care not to crumple the beautiful flannel suit
- The train raced on. A clear, sea-look was appearing above the Sussex
- Downs, like the bright reflection of a mirror flashing. It was
- exasperating. They would soon be at Brighton and this man would escape
- them with his valuable knowledge.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the second message they sent back to Mr. Hughes they wrote, “<i>A
- mystingry</i>.” On the third, “<i>The mystingry deepens</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Brakes began to grind, slowing down the train as they neared their
- destination. The man sat up. “Best be putting on my shoes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ruddy seized his last opportunity. “Look here, it ’ud be awfully
- decent of you if you’d tell us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How to cater to people’s vanities. How to live without doing a stroke of
- work. My father’s been trying for years—he’s a promoter. You might
- tell us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So your father’s a promoter!” The man was pulling on his spats. “Well,
- I’ll give you a hint and let you reason the rest out There are more women
- in the world than men, aren’t there? The women are always trying to win
- the men’s affection. The way in which they think they can do it is by
- being beautiful. There!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s a long stoop,” said Ruddy; “let me button them for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- By the time the spats were buttoned they had come to a halt in the
- station.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man stood up. “Here’s my card. We may meet again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He jumped out of the carriage, leaving Ruddy turning his card over. It
- bore no address, only a name, <i>Duke Ninevah</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not <i>the Duke of</i>,” whispered Teddy, peering over his shoulder, “so
- it can’t be a title.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here, come on,” said Ruddy. “Let’s follow him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Further down the platform they saw Duke Ninevah helping a lady from a
- first-class carriage. She was slight and extremely stylish; even at that
- distance they guessed she must be beautiful. They had begun to follow when
- they remembered that they had left the empty pigeon boxes behind. They
- dashed back to find them; when they again looked up and down the platform,
- Duke Ninevah and his lady had vanished.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Must be traceable,” said Ruddy. “Here, let’s leave these things at the
- parcel-room and clear for action. Now then, let’s use our intellecks. What
- does one come to the seaside for? To see the sea. We’ll find him either in
- it or beside it Why does one bring a lady to Brighton? To make love to
- her, and to make love one needs to be private. We’ve to find a private
- place by the sea, and then he’s cornered.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what about the pierrots?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let ’em wait. Humph!”
- </p>
- <p>
- As they came down on to the promenade the waves heliographed to them. A
- warm south wind flapped against their faces. The air was full of voices,
- rising and falling and blending: ice-cream men shouting their wares;
- cabmen inviting hire; an evangelist, balancing on a chair and screaming
- “Redemption! Redemption!”; a comedian, dressed like a sultan and bawling
- breathlessly, “I’m the Emperor of Sahara, Tarara, Tarara”; the
- under-current chatter of conversation, and the laughing screams of girls
- as they stepped down from bathing huts and felt the first chill of the
- bubbling surf. Wriggling out like sea-serpents, their tails tethered to
- the land, were piers with swarms of insect-looking objects creeping along
- their backs. Gayety everywhere, and somewhere the man who knew how
- pleasure could be had without working! “By the sea with privacy,” Ruddy
- kept murmuring; the more remote their chances grew of finding him, the
- more certain they became that Duke Ninevah had a secret worth the knowing.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had searched everywhere. It was afternoon and soon they would have to
- be returning. “Why not try the piers,” suggested Teddy; “if I wanted to
- gaze at the sea and make love to anybody——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good idea. So would I.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They passed through the turnstile and recommenced their quest On
- approaching a shelter, halfway down the pier, their attention was arrested
- by a slight and lonely figure. She was crouched in a corner with her head
- sunk forward.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hulloa! Left his girl. Let’s present his card and talk with her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But when they had walked round the glass shield of the shelter, they saw
- that she was sleeping. She must be sleeping soundly, for the insistent
- yapping of a Pomeranian did not seem to disturb her. Her hands lay loosely
- folded in her lap; in one of them a crumpled hankerchief was clutched. It
- was plain that she had been crying.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She’s pretty!” They stole nearer. Then, “Jumping Jehosaphat!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The tears had washed the color from her cheeks in places; they still hung
- sparkling on her painted lashes. With the sagging of her head her hat had
- slipped, and with it her wig, so that a scanty lock of white hair escaped
- across her forehead. But none of these things had called for the
- exclamation; they were apprehended at the same moment by something far
- more startling.
- </p>
- <p>
- The lady’s head had came forward with a jerk; her mouth opened; her
- girlish beauty became convulsed, and then crumbled. As though a living
- creature were forcing an exit, something white and gleaming shot from her
- mouth. A complete set of excellent false teeth were only prevented from
- falling into the sea by the excited Pomeranian, who pounced on them and
- raced away, as though it were in expectation of precisely this event that
- he had been waiting.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a flash the boys gave chase, leaving the distressed, scarcely awakened
- lady gazing after them and clasping imploring hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here’s a go!” panted Ruddy as they dodged through the crowd. “She’ll lose
- ’em for a cert. Why, I could have been in love with her myself if
- this hadn’t—— What a rumpage!”
- </p>
- <p>
- They were nearing the turnstile. Above the turmoil of their pursuit they
- heard the comedian on the sands still declaring, “I’m the Emperor of
- Sahara, Tarara, Tarara.” Probably he was. In Brighton anything was
- possible. To Teddy it seemed a mad romance, a wild topsy-turvy, a staged
- burlesque in which Arthurian knights rescued ladies’ teeth instead of
- their virtue. Of the two, in Brighton, false teeth were the more precious.
- </p>
- <p>
- The day was hot The Pomeranian was fat Perhaps in Pomerania false teeth
- are more nutritious. He was beginning to have doubts as to their value,
- for he had twice turned his head, wondering whether peace might be patched
- up with honor. He was turning for a third time when he blundered full tilt
- into a nursemaid’s skirts. He was so startled by the weight of the child
- she dropped on him that he abandoned his loot and fled. Of the two
- pursuers Teddy was the first to arrive. Snatching up the teeth, before
- they could be trampled by the crowd which the child’s screams were
- attracting, he wrapped them in his pocket-handkerchief, hiding them from
- public view, and strolled back unconcernedly. But what to do next? How to
- return them? How to put the lady to least shame?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, they <i>are</i> hers,” Ruddy argued. “She knows that we know she
- wears ’em. They’re no good to us; and we shouldn’t have chased the
- dog unless we’d thought that she’d like to have ’em. You’re too
- delicate-minded.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Seen from a distance as they approached her, she looked slight as a
- schoolgirl. Is was impossible to believe that she was really an old woman.
- She came hurrying towards them with one hand held out and the other
- pressed against her mouth. Not a word was said as her lost property was
- returned. The moment she had it, she walked to the side of the pier and
- gazed seawards, while both boys turned their backs. She was closing her
- vanity-case when she called to them.
- </p>
- <p>
- They stared. The powder-puff and mirror had done their work. To the not
- too observing eye she was a girl.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want to thank you.” She gave them each a small gloved hand. “I’d like
- to send you a reward if you’ll give me your address. May I?”
- </p>
- <p>
- They shook their heads. Ruddy acted spokesman. “No. But let us stay till
- Mr. Nineveh comes back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Duke! You know him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had a charming, flute-like note in her voice when she asked a
- question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’ve been hunting him all day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He said he knew how to get pleasure without,” Ruddy’s face puckered with
- genial impertinence, “without ’laybore’.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The lady laughed. “I think I could tell you how he does it. You’ll never
- guess what the naughty man did to me. He brought me down here for one dear
- little day to our two selves and then,” she raised her shoulders ever so
- slightly, “he saw a pretty face and left me in the shelter to wait for
- him. I’ve waited; I’ve not had any lunch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Had no lunch!” Teddy spoke in the tones of one to whom a missed meal
- spelled tragedy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see, he carries my purse,” she explained.
- </p>
- <p>
- The boys asked each other questions with their eyes, jingled the coins in
- their pockets and nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you wouldn’t mind coming with us——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at them, this young girl, who was old enough to be their
- grandmother. “You’re very kind.” She smiled mysteriously. “Yes, I’ll let
- you treat me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They took her to the confectioner’s in a side street where they had had
- their midday meal. It was inexpensive. Seated at a marble-topped table,
- while trippers came in and out for buns, she looked strangely and
- exotically elegant.
- </p>
- <p>
- She noticed that they weren’t eating. “Aren’t you having anything
- yourselves?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not hungry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She guessed their shortage of funds. “You’re kinder than I thought First
- you prevent me from—well, from becoming seventy and then you take
- care of me with the last of your money. I’ve known a good many boys and
- men—they were all greedy, especially the men. But there’s something
- still more wonderful—something you haven’t done. You didn’t laugh at
- me when—— I’m always losing them one way or another. I’m in
- constant dread that Duke’ll see me without them. I know you won’t tell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Has your husband got your ticket?” asked Teddy. He was wondering how they
- could get her to London.
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked puzzled. “My husband?” She gave a comic little smile. “My
- husband—oh, yes! We can meet him at the station. I know the train by
- which he’ll travel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she commenced to coquette with them till they blushed. “I’m a silly
- old woman trying to be young, but you like it all the same.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They did, for when she bent towards them laughing, fluttering her gay
- little hands, they forgot the strand of white hair and the way in which
- they had seen her beauty crumble.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, but when I was a girl, really a girl, not a painted husk, how you
- would have loved me! All the men loved me—so many that I can’t
- remember. What a life I’ve had! And you—you have all your lives
- before you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She made them feel that—this unaccountable old woman—made them
- throb to the wonder of having all their lives before them. She told them
- stories of herself to illustrate what that meant—<i>risqué</i>
- stories which failed of being utterly improper by ending abruptly. It was
- done with the gravest innocence.
- </p>
- <p>
- They wandered out on to the promenade. The sun was going down. The waves
- were tipped with a flamingo redness. It was as though scarlet birds were
- darting so swiftly that they could not see their bodies.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let me be old,” she whispered, “what I am, before I see him. It’s such a
- rest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- From frivolity she grew confessional. It seemed as though her false youth
- fell away from her and only the tell-tale paint was left “If I’d been
- wiser, I’d have had two boys like you for grandsons. But I’ve not been
- wise, my dears. I’ve always wanted to be loved; I’ve broken hearts, and
- now—— When a woman gets to my age, she’s left to do all the
- loving. I’m condemned to be always, always young. I’d like best, if I
- could choose, to be just a simple old woman. I’d like to wear a lace cap
- and no, corsets, and to sit rocking by a window, watching for you boys to
- come and tell me your hopes and troubles. You must have very dear mothers.
- I wonder—— If I asked you to visit me—not the me I look
- now, but the real me—would you come?”
- </p>
- <p>
- At the station they were climbing into a third, when Duke Nineveh came
- breezily up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ha! How d’you manage that? Made friends with Madame Josephine, have you?”
- Then to Madame Josephine, “I say, it’ll hurt business if you’re seen
- traveling third. Appearances, appearances, my dear—they’ve got to be
- kept up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Duke, for once I’m not caring.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She sat herself down between the two boys, like the little old lady she
- was, holding a hand of each in her lap. Duke Nineveh waited till her head
- was nodding, then drew off his shoes softly. “They’ve hurt most
- confoundedly all day.” He turned to Ruddy. “So your father’s a promoter!
- Is he any good at it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good at it! Phew! A regular steam-engine when he gets started.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does he promote everything? I mean, he’s not too particular about what he
- handles?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The description Ruddy gave of his father’s capacities would have compelled
- hair to grow on Mr. Ooze’s head, especially that it might stand up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Humph!” Mr. Nineveh rubbed his chin. “Here’s my address. If he cares to
- call on me, we might make each other’s fortunes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As the train was thundering between the walls of London, Madame Josephine
- woke up. Drawing out her vanity-case, she renewed her complexion. It was
- so elaborate an undertaking that it was scarcely completed when they came
- to a halt in the station. “We’re going to meet again,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they watched her drive away in the brougham that was waiting for her,
- accompanied by the man who never had to work, they could scarcely believe
- that she was not what she looked at that distance—a girl of little
- more than twenty.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A fine old world!” Ruddy stuck his hands in his trousers pockets. “One’s
- always walkin’ round the corner and findin’ something. It’s the walkin’
- round the corner that does it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Seems so,” Teddy assented.
- </p>
- <p>
- They climbed on a bus and drove back through the evening primroses of
- street-lamps to Eden Row. After all, in spite of Mr. Yaffon, Mr. Ooze,
- Hal, and all the other disappointed persons, it must be a fine old world
- when it allowed boys to be so young.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXV—LUCK
- </h2>
- <p>
- “Not a word to your mother,” Mr. Sheerug had warned Ruddy after his first
- interview with Duke Nineveh. “She wouldn’t understand—not yet. Um!
- Um!”
- </p>
- <p>
- What he had meant was she would have understood too well. Ruddy
- communicated this urgent need for secrecy to Teddy. “Can’t make it out—what
- he’s up to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They watched carefully, feeling that whatever Mr. Sheerug was up to, it
- was something in which they also were concerned.
- </p>
- <p>
- The first thing they noticed was that a proud-boy look was creeping over
- him—what Ruddy called an I-ate-the-canary look. For all his fatness
- he began to bustle. He began to make fusses if the meals weren’t punctual,
- to insist on his boots being properly blacked and to behave himself in
- general as though he were head of his household. He spoke vaguely of
- meetings in the city—meetings which it was vital that he should
- attend “punkchully.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I’m not punkchull,” he said, “everything may go up the spout.” He
- didn’t explain what <i>everything</i> was; he was inviting his wife to ask
- a question.
- </p>
- <p>
- She knew it—sensible woman. “Meetings in the city,” she thought to
- herself; “meetings in the city, indeed. Pooh! Men are all babies. If he
- thinks that he’s going to get me worked up——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had shared too many of his ups and downs to allow her excitement to
- show itself. She denied to herself that she was excited. These little
- flares of good fortune had deceived her faith too many times. So she
- treated her Alonzo like a big spoilt child, humoring his whims and
- feigning to be discreetly unobserving. She forbade the display of
- curiosity on the part of any of her family. “If you go asking questions,”
- she said, “you’ll drive him to it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had seen him driven to it before—<i>it</i> was the moment when
- the dam of piled-up ambitions burst and they scrambled to save what they
- could from the whirlpool of collapsed speculations. The end of <i>it</i>
- had usually been a hasty retreat to a less expensive house.
- </p>
- <p>
- Every day brought some new improvement in his dress. Within a fortnight he
- was looking exceedingly plump in a frock-coat and top-hat He hadn’t been
- so gorgeous in a dozen years—not since he had kept a carriage in
- Kensington. Each morning, shortly after nine, he left Orchid Lodge and
- marched down Eden Row, swinging his cane with a Mammon-like air of
- prosperity. When he came back in the evening, as frequently as not he had
- a flower blazing in his button-hole.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were times when he strove to revive husbandly gallantries—little
- acts of forethought and gestures of tenderness. He had grown too fat and
- had been too long out of practice to do it graciously, and Mrs. Sheerug—she
- blinked at him with a happiness which tried in vain to conceal itself.
- They were Rip Van Winkles waking up to an altered world—a world in
- which a husband need no longer fear his wife, and in which there were more
- important occupations than talking Cockney to Mr. Ooze as an escape from
- dullness.
- </p>
- <p>
- It took just three months for the suppressed expectations of Orchid Lodge
- to reach their climax. It was reached when Alonzo, of his own accord,
- without a helping hint or the least sign of necessity, offered his wife
- money. It happened one September evening, in the room with the French
- windows which opened into the garden. It was impossible for a natively
- inquisitive woman to refuse this bait to her curiosity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A hund—a hundred pounds! Why, Alonzo!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy and Ruddy were seated on the steps. At the sound of her gasping cry,
- they turned to gaze into the shabby comfort of the room. She stood
- tiptoeing against him, clinging to his hand and scanning his face with her
- faded eyes. Her gray hair straggled across her wrinkled forehead; her lips
- trembled. Her weary, worn-out, kindly appearance made her strangely
- pathetic in the presence of his plump self-assertiveness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Struck it,” he said gruffly, almost defiantly. “Going to do a splash. All
- of us. Um! Um! Those boys helped.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah!” She shuddered. “Ah, my dear, my splashing days are ended. Even if
- it’s true, I’m too old for that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Too old!” For the first time that Ruddy could remember, his father took
- the withered face between his hands. “Too old! Not a bit of it! Going to
- make a splash, I tell you. Going to be Lord Mayor of London. Going to be a
- duke, maybe an earl. Beauty forever. Appeals to women’s vanity. Going up
- like a rocket till I bust. Only I shan’t bust Um! Um! Going up this time
- never to come down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never to come down,” she whispered, “<i>never</i>.” The words seemed the
- sweetest music. She laughed softly to make him think that she did not take
- him seriously.
- </p>
- <p>
- They strolled out into the evening redness and sat beside the boys on the
- steps. Sparrows were rustling in the ivy. The drone of London, like a
- mill-wheel turning, came to them across the walls. In the garden there was
- a sense of rest Mr. Sheerug’s portly glory looked out of place and
- disturbing in its old-fashioned quiet He must have felt that, for he stood
- up and removed his frock-coat, loosened his waistcoat buttons, and sat
- down in his shirt-sleeves. He looked less like Mr. Sheerug, the conqueror,
- who had eaten the canary, and more like the pigeon-flying Mr. Sheerug now.
- </p>
- <p>
- With unwieldly awkwardness he put his arm about her shoulder and drew her
- gray head nearer. “Don’t mind, do you?” His voice was husky. “Can’t do it,
- somehow—never could unless I was making money. Oughtn’t to have
- married you. Uml Um! Often thought it Dragged you down. Well——”
- </p>
- <p>
- And then he told them. He began with Duke Nineveh. “He’s a chap who
- introduces outsiders to something that he says is society. Tells ’em
- where to buy their clothes and all that. Gets tipped for it. Calls himself
- a black-and-white artist. Maybe he is—I don’t know: but he’s a man
- of ideas. His great idea is Madame Josephine—she’s in love with
- him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At mention of Madame Josephine Mrs. Sheerug fluttered. “But Alonzo, she
- can’t be the same Madame Josephine——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The same,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The woman who used to dance at——?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He nodded. “A long time ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who caused such a scandal with the Marquis of —————?”
- She whispered behind her hand. “And was the mistress of——————?”
- Again she whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s who she is,” he acknowledged. “But don’t you see that all that
- helps? It’s an advertisement. She’s the best preserved woman of seventy in
- London.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She’s a notorious character,” Mrs. Sheerug said firmly. “Alonzo, you’ll
- have nothing to do with her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His arm slipped from her shoulder. She stood up and reentered the window.
- Before she vanished, she came back and patted him kindly. “You won’t,
- Alonzo. You know you won’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The mill-wheel of London droned on, turning and always turning. The
- sparrows grew silent in the ivy; shadows stole out Soon a light sprang up
- in the spare-room. They could hear the harp fingered gently; it brought
- memories of the ghost-bird of romance, beating its wings against the
- panes, struggling vainly to get out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Too righteous,” Mr. Sheerug muttered. “Not a business woman.” And then,
- as though stoking up his courage, “Won’t I? I shall.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He heaved him up from the steps and wandered off in the direction of the
- shrubbery to find comfort with his pigeons.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was Duke Nineveh, with his knowledge of human vanity, who won Mrs.
- Sheerug. He spoke to her as an artist to an artist, and asked permission
- to see her tapestries. He spent an entire afternoon, peering at them
- through his monocle. Next day he returned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Colossal! A shame the world shouldn’t know about them! It’s genius—a
- lost art recovered. Now, when we’ve built our Beauty Palace, if we could
- give an exhibition——”
- </p>
- <p>
- So Beauty Incorporated was launched without Mrs. Sheerug’s opposition.
- Almost over night the slender white turrets of the Beauty Palace floated
- up. Madame Josephine began to appear in the West End, looking no more than
- twenty as seen through the traffic. She drove in a white coach, drawn by
- white horses, with a powdered coachman and lackeys. The street stopped to
- watch her. People went to St. James’s to catch a glimpse of her as she
- flashed down The Mall. She became one of the sights of London and was
- talked about.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hints concerning her romantic career crept into the press. Old scandals
- were remembered, always followed by accounts of her beauty discoveries.
- Her discoveries, with her portrait for trade-mark, became a part of the
- stock-in-trade of every chemist: Madame Josephine’s Hair Restorer; Madame
- Josephine’s Face Cream; Madame Josephine’s Nail Polish. At breakfast when
- you glanced through your paper, her face gazed out at you, saying, “YOU
- Can Be Always Young.” It was on the hoardings, on the buses, in your
- theatre program. It was as impossible to escape as conscience. From
- morning till night it followed you, always saying, “YOU Can Be Always
- Young.” The world became self-conscious. It took to examining its
- complexion. It went to The Beauty Palace out of curiosity, and stayed to
- spend money. Madame Josephine became the rage: a theme for dinner
- conversations—a Personage.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXVI—DREAMING OF LOVE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he immediate
- outcome of this was money—more money than Eden Row had ever
- imagined. Mrs. Sheerug refused to leave Orchid Lodge.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll help you splash,” she told Alonzo, “but I won’t move out of Orchid
- Lodge.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As a compromise, Orchid Lodge was re-decorated in violent colors, and a
- carriage and pair waited before it. Mrs. Sheerug used her carriage for
- hunting up invalids that she might dose them with medicines of her own
- invention. She inclined to the garish in her method of dress, wearing
- yellow feathers and green plush, as in the old days when Jimmie Boy had
- dashed to the window to make sketches of her for the faery-godmother. And
- to him she was a faery-godmother, for she bought his pictures and insisted
- on having an exhibition of them at The Beauty Palace.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, my dear,” she would say, crossing her hands, “God sends us poverty
- that we may be kind when our money comes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Was she happy? Teddy wondered. Sometimes he fancied that she coveted the
- days of careless uncertainty and happy-go-lucky comfort. One of her chief
- hobbies had been taken from her: it was no longer possible to get into
- debt And her gifts didn’t mean so much, now that her giving could be
- endless. It would be absurd for the wife of the great Alonzo Sheerug to
- produce black bottles from under her mantle and thrust them at people with
- the information that the contents would “build you up.” She had to send
- whole cases of wine now, and there wasn’t the same personal pleasure.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had saved the spare-room from the imagination of the decorators. More
- than once Teddy caught her there, shuffling about in her woolen slippers
- and plum-colored dressing-gown. She seemed more natural like that It was
- so that he loved her best.
- </p>
- <p>
- For him the success of Beauty Incorporated brought two results: an income
- and a friend. Mr. Sheerug had rewarded his escapade at Brighton by
- allotting him shares in the company. The boom increased their value beyond
- all expectations; he found himself possessed of over three hundred pounds
- per annum. But the more valuable result was the knowledge of life which he
- gained from his friendship with Madame Josephine.
- </p>
- <p>
- To the world in general she was a notorious woman who had sinned
- splendidly and with discretion. She seemed to deny the advantages of
- virtue. Was she not beautiful? Was she not young? Hadn’t she wealth? Teddy
- had come to an age when youth tests the conventions; it was Madame
- Josephine who answered his doubts on the subject.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Madame Josephine he knew was a white-haired old lady who liked him to
- treat her as a grandmother. She would talk to him by the hour about books
- and dead people, and sometimes about love.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was an adventure in going to see her, for she only dared to be old
- in his presence—to the rest of the world it was her profession to be
- young. As Duke Nineveh was always telling her, appearances had to be kept
- up.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had a secret room at the top of her house to which Teddy alone was
- admitted. The servants were ignorant of what went on there. They invented
- legends.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had to speak his name distinctly; then a chair would be pushed back,
- footsteps would sound, and the key would turn. The moment he was across
- the threshold, the lock grated behind him. And there, after all these
- mysteries, was an old lady, sweet-featured and wistful-looking—an
- old lady who an hour before had been admired for her youth by the London
- crowds.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hanging from the ceiling was a cage with a canary. On the sill were
- flower-boxes. From the window, across trees, one could catch a glimpse of
- Kensington Gardens and the blown petals of children. It was an old lady’s
- room, filled with memories. On the walls were faded photographs with
- spidery signatures; on the table a work-basket; beside the table a rocking
- chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here’s where my soul lives,” she said. “The other person, phew!” Her
- hands opened expressively. “She’s the husk. Those who live to please, must
- please to live, Teddy. It’s a terrible thing to have to go on shamming
- when you’re seventy—shamming you’re gay, shamming you’re flippant,
- shamming you’re wicked. So few things matter when you’re seventy. Money
- doesn’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She caught the question in his eyes. “Ah, my dear, but when all your life
- has been lived for adoration, you miss it The poison’s in the blood. At my
- age one has to pay a long price even for what looks like love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- That was the nearest she ever came to explaining her relations with Duke
- Nineveh. She liked to forget him when Teddy was present. It was the
- ideality of the boy that appealed to her. She wanted to give wisdom to his
- sentiment, to forewarn his courage and to save him from disappointment It
- was a strange task for a woman with her record—a woman who had lived
- garishly, and was remembered for the careers she had ruined. Little by
- little she drew from him the story of Vashti, and later of Desire.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked up at her smiling, trying to treat his confession lightly.
- “Curious how people come into your life and make your dreams for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She bent over him, taking his hands gently. “Curious! Not curious. People
- are the most real dreams we have.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, but——” He hesitated. “Desire’s not as I remember her any
- longer. She’s growing up. I wonder what she’s like. If I met her, I might
- not recognize her. We might pass in the street, my dream and I. And yet——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He lifted his face to hers. “You know I still think of her—of the
- price. It’s idiotic, because,” his voice fell, “I know nothing about
- girls.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She drew him closer. “D’you know what women need most in this world?
- Kindness. Good men, like you’ll be,” she seemed to remember, “they’re
- harsh sometimes. They make women frightened. A good man’s always better
- than the best woman—that’s a truth that few people own to
- themselves. If you do find her or any one else, don’t judge—try to
- understand.” And later, “Never try to be fair to a woman, Teddy; when a
- good man tries to be fair, he’s unjust.”
- </p>
- <p>
- From time to time, as they sat together in that locked room, she told him
- of herself. She gave him glimpses of passion and the despair of its
- ending. “It doesn’t pay. It doesn’t pay,” was the burden of what she said.
- One night, it was four years since he had known her, they forgot to turn
- on the light. Across the ceiling, like a phantom butterfly, the flare from
- the street-lamps fluttered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “None of those others that I have told you about were love,” she
- whispered. “There was a good man in my life once. Whenever you see a woman
- like me, you may be sure of that. It’s the good men who make us women bad;
- they expect too much—build their dreams too high. There was a man——”
- She fell silent “You’re like him. That’s why.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When he was leaving, she put her arms about him. “When you find her, don’t
- try to change her. Women long to be trusted. Be content to love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For the time being he tried to satisfy his heart-with work. His passion to
- be famous connected itself with his passion to love. He had an instinct
- that he must win fame first, and that all the rest would follow.
- </p>
- <p>
- Much of what Madame Josephine told him about women he applied to Vashti.
- It made him look on all women with new eyes—the eyes of pity for
- their frailty. And all these emotions he wove about the figure of Desire.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the writing of his first book—the book which brought him
- immediate success, <i>Life Till Twenty-one</i>—was un-cannily
- conscious of her presence. He would find himself leaving off in a sentence
- to sketch her face for one of those quaint little marginal drawings. It
- was as though she had come into the room; by listening intently, he would
- be able to hear her breathe. Working late at night, he would glance across
- his shoulder, half expecting to find her. He told himself that she was
- always standing behind him; why he never saw her was because she dodged in
- front when he turned his head. It was the old game that she had played in
- the farmhouse garden, when she had hidden in the bushes at the sound of
- his coming. He explained these fancies by telling himself that somewhere,
- out there in the world, she was remembering, and that her thoughts, flying
- across the distance, had touched him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- BOOK II—THE BOOK OF REVELATION
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER I—THE ISLAND VALLEY
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was a golden
- summer’s evening. In his little temperamental car he was chugging through
- the Quantock Hills. His car was temperamental chiefly because he had
- picked it up as a bargain second hand. In his wanderings of the last month
- he had established a friendship with it which was almost human, as a man
- does with a piece of machinery when he is lonely.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the tour had first been planned it had included Ruddy; but at the
- last moment Ruddy had joined a pierrot-troupe, leaving Teddy to set off by
- himself. That vacant place at his side reproached him; a two-seater is so
- obviously meant for two persons. He had told himself faery-tales about how
- he might fill it. Sometimes he had invented a companion for himself—a
- girl with gray eyes and bronze-black hair. She seemed especially real to
- him when night had fallen and the timid shadows of lovers pressed back
- into the hedges as his lamps discovered them on the road ahead.
- </p>
- <p>
- For the past month his mind had been ablaze with an uplifted sense of
- beauty. He had come down from London by lazy stages, halting here a day
- and there a day to sketch. Every mile of the way the air had been
- summer-freighted; the freedom of it had got into his blood. Everywhere
- that he had gone he had encountered new surprises—gray cathedral
- cities, sleepy villages, the blue sea of Devon; places and things of which
- he had only heard, and others which he hadn’t known existed. Dreams were
- materializing and stepping out to meet him. Eden Row, with its recluse
- atmosphere, was ceasing to be all his world. His emotions gathered
- themselves up into an urgent longing—to be young, to live intensely,
- to miss nothing.
- </p>
- <p>
- To-day he had crossed Exmoor, black with peat and purple with heather, and
- was proposing to spend the night at Nether Stowey. He had chosen Nether
- Stowey because Coleridge had lived there. He had sent word to his mother
- that it was one of the points to which letters could be forwarded. When he
- had written his name in the hotel book, the proprietress looked up. “Oh,
- so you’re the gentleman!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why? Have you got such stacks of letters for me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. A telegram.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He tore it open and read, “<i>However late, push on to-night to The
- Pilgrims? Inn, Glastonbury</i>.” The signature was “Madame Josephine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked to see at what time it had been received. It had arrived at
- three o’clock; so it had been waiting for him five hours.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sorry I shan’t need that room,” he said. “How far is it to
- Glastonbury?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “About twenty-three miles. I suppose you’ll stay to dinner, sir? It’s
- being served.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m afraid not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Without loss of time, he cranked up his engine, jumped into his car and
- started.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>However late, push on to-night to Glastonbury</i>.” Why on earth? What
- interest could Madame Josephine have in his going to Glastonbury, and why
- to-night so especially? He had planned to go there to-morrow—to make
- a dream-day of it, full of memories of King Arthur and reconstructions of
- chivalrous history and legend. He had intended reading <i>The Idyls of the
- King</i> that evening to key himself up to the proper pitch of enthusiasm.
- It seemed entirely too modern and not quite decent, to go racing at the
- bidding of an unexplained telegram into “The Island Valley of Avilion,
- where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he hummed along through the green-gold country he gave himself up to
- the mood of enchantment. In the transforming light of the fading sunset it
- seemed certain that a bend in the road would bring to view champions of
- The Round Table riding together.
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled and shook his head at himself; he hadn’t grown much older since
- those old days at Ware. It was this sight that he and Desire had expected—the
- sight of knights in clanking armor and ladies with flowing raiment,
- sauntering together in a magic world. It had seemed to them that the
- enraptured land which their hearts-imagined, must lie just a little
- further beyond the hills and hedges. To find it, it was only necessary to
- go on and on.
- </p>
- <p>
- He recalled how he had read to her those legends as they had lain side by
- side, hidden in tall meadow-grasses from Fanner Joseph. He remembered how
- they had quarreled when she had said, “I like Sir Launcelot best.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you mustn’t. King Arthur was the good one. If Sir Launcelot hadn’t
- done wrong, everything would have been happy always.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, but if everything had been happy always, there wouldn’t have been
- any story, Teddy. I know why you don’t like my loving Sir Launcelot: it’s
- because you’re a King Arthur yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed. How hurt he had felt at her accusation that he was a proper
- person!
- </p>
- <p>
- And there was another memory: how, after playing at knights and ladies,
- she had tried to make him declare that she was beautiful. “Do you think
- I’m beautiful, Teddy?” And he, intent on keeping her vanity hungry, “You
- have beautiful hands.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had always promised himself that some day, if they ever met, one of the
- first places they would visit should be Glastonbury. It would add a last
- chapter to those chivalrous games which they had played together as
- children.
- </p>
- <p>
- Far away in the orchard valley lights were springing up. Out of the misty
- distance came the lowing of cattle. Like a cowled monk, with peaceful
- melancholy, the gloaming crept across the meadows.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he approached the town, it came as something of a shock to notice that
- its outskirts bore signs of newness. But as he drove into the heart of it,
- medieval buildings loomed up: gray, night-shrouded towers; stooping houses
- with leaded windows; the dusky fragrance of ivy, and narrow lanes which
- turned off into the darkness abruptly. Somewhere in the shadows was
- Chalice Hill, where the cup of the Last Supper lay buried. Not far
- distant, within the Abbey walls, the coffin of King Arthur was said to
- have been found. His imagination thrilled to the antiquity of the legend.
- </p>
- <p>
- With reluctance he swung his mind back to the present. Pulling up outside
- The Pilgrims’ Inn, he left his car and entered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you please, has any one been inquiring for me? My name’s Gurney.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The landlady inspected him through the office-window. She was a
- kind-faced, motherly woman; the result of her inspection pleased her. She
- laid down her pen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gurney! No. Not that I remember.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Puzzling!” He took her into his confidence, handing her the telegram. “I
- received that at Nether Stowey. I was going to have stayed there, and
- should have come on here to-morrow. But you see what it says, ’However
- late, push on to-night to The Pilgrims’ Inn, Glastonbury.’ So—so I
- pushed on.” He laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This Madame Josephine who signs it,” the landlady was turning the
- telegram over, “d’you know her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes. I know her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I asked because—— Well, ladies do play jokes cm gentlemen.
- And we’ve a lot of actor-folk in Glastonbury at present—larky kind
- of people. I don’t take much stock in them myself. Shouldn’t think you did
- by the look of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The landlady put her elbows on the desk and crouched her face in her
- hands. “I didn’t think you would. These people, they’ve been here a week
- for the Arthurian pageant Some of them stay with me; I’ve seen all I want
- of ’em. Too free in their manners, that’s what I say. It don’t seem
- right for girls and men to be so friendly. I wasn’t brought up that way.
- It puts false notions into girls’ heads, that’s what I say. I suppose
- you’ve dined already?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I haven’t. I hope it won’t put you to too much trouble.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She led the way through the low-ceilinged hostel, explaining its history
- as she went. How in the middle-ages it had been the guest-house of the
- Abbey and the pilgrims had stayed there at the Abbot’s expense. How they
- had two haunted rooms upstairs, in one of which Anne Boleyn had slept. How
- the walls were tunneled with secret stairways which led down to
- subterranean passages. When the meal had been spread she left him,
- promising to let him know if there were any inquiries.
- </p>
- <p>
- Odd! All through dinner he kept thinking about it. To have found out where
- to reach him Madame Josephine must have inconvenienced herself. Probably
- she’d had to send to Orchid Lodge, and Orchid Lodge had had to send to his
- mother. She wouldn’t have done all that unless her reason had been
- important.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went down to the office. “Has any one called yet?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He glanced at the clock; it was ten. Nobody would come now. He walked out
- into the High Street to garage his car and to take a stroll before turning
- in to bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- The town lay silent. Here and there a faint light, drifting from a
- street-lamp or from behind a curtained window, streaked the darkness. No
- people were about. Stars, wheeling high above embattled house-tops, were
- the only traffic.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The Island Valley of Avilion, where falls not hail, or rain, or any
- snow.” The words sang themselves over as he wandered. What if the telegram
- had been a bait to lure him back into the past? What if the door of
- forgotten ages had opened to him and closed behind him, as in William
- Morris’s romance of <i>The Hollow Land?</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- He played with the fancy, embroidering its extravagance. To-morrow he
- would awake in the ancient hostel to find that the landlady had changed
- into a fat old abbot. Pilgrims would be passing to and fro below his
- window; ladies on palfreys and palmers whose sandaled feet had brought
- them home from the Holy Land. What if he should remain a captive to the
- past and never find his way into the present?
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew up sharply. Wailing music came to him, made by instruments that he
- had never heard before. It rose into a clamor and sank away sobbing. He
- tried to follow it, but it seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all in the
- same moment It lost itself in the echoing of overhanging walls. At last,
- turning down a passage, he traced it to a barnlike building. As he got
- there the doors were flung wide and people came pouring out.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was amused; he had almost been persuaded that he had stumbled on the
- supernatural. Glancing in, he saw the orchestra gathering up their
- old-fashioned horns and wind-instruments. The curtain bad been partly
- raised; slipping from under it the performers, still in costume, were
- climbing down and mingling with the thinning audience. For the moment the
- audience seemed the unreal people and the performers the people of his
- world.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went out into the darkness and stood back a little from the passage
- that he might retain the medieval illusion as they passed. He made guesses
- at their characters. Here came Sir Galahad in silver armor, joking with
- Merlin, who carried his beard across his arm to prevent it from sweeping
- the ground. King Arthur, with his sword rattling between his legs, was
- running to catch up with Sir Launcelot. The girls were more difficult to
- identify; in their long robes, with their bare arms and plaited hair,
- there was nothing to distinguish them. As he watched, he saw one with a
- crown upon her head. The stones in it glinted as she approached. Queen
- Guinevere, he thought.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was supple and slight and tall. She walked unhurriedly, with an air of
- pride, as though she had not yet shaken off her part. A man accompanied
- her. He was speaking earnestly; she gazed straight before her, taking
- little notice of what he said. Her hair was brushed back from her forehead
- to reveal the curve of her ears and the gleam of her shoulders. Her
- garment was of green and gold, caught in at the waist with a golden
- girdle; on her feet were golden sandals, which twinkled. The white
- intensity of her face and throat shone in the darkness. There was an
- ardency about her that arrested attention.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It can’t be helped,” she spoke shortly, “so there’s no use talking. I’ve
- got to get there, whatever happens.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy followed her down the street. At the sound of her voice his heart
- had quickened. He wished she would turn her head beneath a lamp that he
- might see her clearly. Before The Pilgrims’ Inn there was a crowd; when he
- came up to it she had vanished.
- </p>
- <p>
- On entering, he found a scene which might have walked out of the brain of
- Chaucer, so utterly were the costumes in keeping with the hostel. He cast
- his eyes about, seeking for Queen Guinevere.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he stood hesitating between pursuing his fancy further or going to bed,
- the landlady came out from her office. Catching sight of him, she elbowed
- her way towards him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “News for me?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not exactly.” She frowned slightly. “I thought you said you didn’t know
- any of these actor-folk?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, there’s one of them in there,” pointing back into the office,
- “who’s got a telegram. She says you’re the man she’s expecting, though she
- wouldn’t know you from Adam. She says she’s sure you’re the man because
- you’ve got a car.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think I am. But I’ll go and find out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The landlady smiled disapprovingly: “I begin to have my doubts about you,
- sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the office the girl who had played the part of Guinevere was standing.
- The moment he caught her eyes he was certain. Excitement ran through him
- like a sword.
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt himself trembling. He wanted to rush forward and claim her. He
- wanted to go down on his knees to her. Most of all, he wanted to see her
- recognize him. But she stood there smilingly distant and gracious.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m so sorry to trouble you,” she said. “I’m afraid our introduction’s a
- trifle unconventional, but I’m in rather a pickle. You see, I want to go
- to London to-night. In fact, I must go to London, and there are no trains
- till to-morrow. I have a friend who’s—— But there, read my
- telegram. It’ll save explan—— to London to-night. In fact, I
- must go to London, and there are no trains till to-morrow. I have a friend
- who’s—— But there, read my telegram. It’ll save explanations.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He took it from her hand and read:
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Dear little D.—Got to sail New York to-morrow. Train leaves
- Euston at twelve. Have booked your berth. Ask for a man at Pilgrims’ Inn
- with telegram signed Madame Josephine. Madame Josephine says, if you ask
- him nicely, he’ll bring you to London in his car. Tell him she suggested.
- Awful sorry to rush you. Real reason Horace too pressing. My excuse
- engagement with Freelevy. Love and kisses. Fluffy.</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he reached the end, she came close and took it from him. He could hear
- the circlet about her waist jingle; her breath touched him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your hand’s trembling most awfully.” she laughed. “Is it too much of a
- shock?” And then, before he could answer: “Madame Josephine keeps The
- Beauty Palace. We go there to be glorified. You know Madame Josephine,
- don’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.” His voice hardly came above a whisper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, you are the man?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Was he the man? He wanted to tell her. He had planned this meeting so
- often—staged it with such wealth of romance and tenderness. And this
- was how it had happened!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, you are the man?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Perhaps his nod didn’t carry sufficient enthusiasm. She began to explain
- and apologize. She made the babies come into her gray eyes, the way she
- used to as a child when she wanted anything. “I know it’s a lot to ask of
- a stranger, robbing him of his night’s rest and all. But you see I can’t
- help it. My friend, Fluffy, is an actress and—— Well, you know
- what actresses are—she’s very temperamental Of course that part
- about Freelevy may be true. He’s the great American producer. She wouldn’t
- tell a downright fib, I’m sure. But the part about Horace is truer; I
- expect he’s wanting to marry her and—and the only way she can think
- of escaping him and not hurting his feelings—— You understand
- what I mean, don’t you? As for me, I have a beautiful mother in America
- who let me come abroad with Fluffy; so of course I have to go back with
- her. You see, I’m not an actress yet—I’m only an amateur.” She
- rounded her eyes and made them very appealing. “If I don’t sail to-morrow,
- I’ll have to go back unchaperoned, and that—— Well, it
- wouldn’t be quite proper for a young girl. So you will take me to London
- to-night, won’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He burst out laughing. If this wasn’t Desire, it was some one
- extraordinarily like her—some one who knew how to use the same dear
- inconsequent coaxing arguments. Who but Desire would urge the propriety of
- a night ride to London with an unknown man to save the impropriety of an
- unchaperoned trip across the Atlantic?
- </p>
- <p>
- She spread her fingers against the comers of her mouth to prevent her lips
- from smiling. “Why do you laugh? I rather like you when you laugh.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wasn’t going to tell her—at least, not yet. “I thought I’d strike
- a bargain with you. If you’ll promise not to change that dress, I’ll take
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But why this dress?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He hunched his shoulders. “A whim, perhaps.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right. I’ll go up and pack.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She walked slowly out of the office, her brows drawn together with
- thought. At the door she turned:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You remind me of some one I once knew. I can’t remember who it was. He
- used to screw up his shoulders just like that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Before he could make up his mind whether or not to assist her memory, she
- was gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER II—A SUMMER’S NIGHT
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e had hurried so
- as not to keep her waiting. By the time he had brought his car round to
- the hotel the clocks were striking eleven. He throttled down his engine;
- it didn’t seem worth while shutting it off, since she might appear at any
- moment. Its muffled throbbing in the shadowy street seemed the panting of
- his heart How impatient he was to see her! Running up the steps, he peered
- into the hall.
- </p>
- <p>
- The landlady approached him with a severe expression. “She sent word for
- me to tell you she’d be down directly. These—these are strange
- goings-on. Dangerous vagaries, I call them. It’s none of my business—me
- not being your mother nor related; but I do hope you know what you’re
- doing, young gentleman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young gentleman laughed. “We shan’t come to any harm,” he assured her.
- </p>
- <p>
- The company was breaking up. The vaulted hall and passages echoed with
- laughter, the jingling of armor and snatches of songs. Knights and ladies
- were bidding each other extravagant farewells, enacting the gallantries
- which went with their parts. Men dropped to one knee and pressed their
- lips to slender hands. Flower faces drooped above them mockingly—and
- not so mockingly after all, perhaps; for when the Pied Piper of Love makes
- his music, any heart that is hungry may follow. Those of them who were
- stopping at the inn caught up their lighted candles. By twos and threes,
- with backward glances, casting long shadows on the wall, they drifted up
- the wide carved stairs. Others, who had cheaper quarters, sauntered out
- into the summer stillness. The porter, like a relentless guardian of
- morals, stood with his hand upon the door, waiting sourly for the last of
- them to be gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy followed them out. As the girls passed beneath the hotel windows,
- they dragged on their escorts’ arms, raising their faces and calling one
- final good-night to their friends who were getting into bed. Heads popped
- out, and stared down between the stars and the pavement. All kinds of
- heads. Heads with helmets on. Close-cropped ordinary heads. Heads which
- floated in a mist of trailing locks. Some one struck up a song; there, in
- the medieval moonlit street, these romance people danced. Away through the
- shadows they danced, the booming accompaniment of the men’s voices growing
- fainter, fainter, fainter, till at last even the clear eagerness of the
- girls’ singing was lost.
- </p>
- <p>
- When Teddy turned to reenter the inn, the porter had barred the door. From
- the steep wall of windows which rose sheer to the stars all the different
- kinds of heads had been withdrawn. The only sound was the
- throb-throb-throbbing of the engine like the thump-thump-thumping of his
- heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat down on the steps to wait for her. She was a terribly long while in
- coming. It was nearly half-past eleven. Thirty minutes ago she had sent
- him word that she would be down “directly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course,” he told himself, “there’s no need for hurry. It’s about a
- hundred and forty miles to London, and we’ve all the night before us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was trying to decide to ring the bell, when the door opened noisily,
- and the porter stumbled out, bringing her luggage. As he helped Teddy
- strap it on the back of the car, he answered his questions gruffly:
- “Doin’! I don’t know wot she’s doin’. Said she’d be down direckly, which
- means whenever she chooses. The inkinsideration of these actresses beats
- all. Hurry ’er! Me hurry ’er! No, mister, she’s not the
- hurryin’ sort; she hurries other folk instead. I don’t know wot the
- world’s comin’ to, I’m sure. Thank you, sir.” He slipped the half-crown
- into his pocket “She’s a ’andsome lady; I will say that for ’er.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And then she appeared, standing framed in the doorway, with the weak light
- from the hall throwing a golden mist about her. Over her head a hood was
- drawn, shadowing her features. Her cloak was gathered round her, so that
- beneath its folds she was recognizable only by her slightness. He felt
- that, however she had disguised herself, there would have been something
- in her presence that would have called to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have I kept you waiting long?” In the old days her apologies had always
- taken the interrogative form; now, as then, she hurried on, not risking an
- answer: “You see, I had to say ’good-by’ to everybody. It wouldn’t
- have been kind to have slipped off and left them. I felt sure you’d
- understand. And I did send down messages. You’re not cross?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Cross! She spoke the word caressingly. Her voice sank into a trembling
- laugh, as though she herself was aware of the absurdity of such a
- question. Her explanation was totally inadequate, and yet how adorable in
- its childlike eagerness to conciliate and to avoid unpleasantness!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cross! Why, of course not. I was only anxious—a tiny bit afraid
- that you weren’t coming.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He sounded so friendly that he convinced her. She sighed contentedly. “Has
- it seemed <i>very</i> long?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked up from inspecting his lamps. She had come down the steps to the
- pavement. The porter had entered the hotel; inside he was shooting the
- last bolt into its socket.
- </p>
- <p>
- He held his breath. In the moon-washed street after all these years he was
- alone with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Without you, waiting would always seem long.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She started. Glanced back across her shoulder. The sounds on the other
- side of the door had stopped. There was no retreat. Turning to him with
- girlish dignity, she said: “It’s very kind of you to have offered to help
- me, but—— I don’t want you to say things like that. We’ll
- enjoy ourselves much better if we’re sensible.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt a sudden shame, as though she had accused him of taking advantage
- of her defenselessness. All the things he had been on the point of telling
- her—he must postpone them. Presently she would remember; her own
- heart would tell her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was foolish of me,” he said humbly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed softly and shook back her head. Her hair lay upon her
- shoulders like a schoolgirl’s. “There now, we understand each other. Why
- do men always spoil things before they’re started by making stupid love?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do they?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, don’t they?” She smiled tolerantly. “Let’s be friends. If we’re
- sensible, we can have such a jolly trip to London—such a lark. No
- more sentimentals—promise—— Shake hands on it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As she held out both her hands, the cloak fell open, revealing her pageant
- costume. She noticed that his eyes rested on it. “Yes, I kept my bargain—even
- to the sandals.” The glimmer of her feet peeped out for a second beneath
- the hem of her skirt. “Now, how about making a start?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He helped her into the seat which, up to now, had reproached him with its
- emptiness. He didn’t have to imagine any longer.
- </p>
- <p>
- He climbed in beside her. “Are you warm?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very comfy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What time do you want to get there? I can get you there by seven or
- eight, doing twenty an hour—that’s to say, if nothing goes wrong.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do me splendidly. I ought to tell you while I remember: I think this is
- awfully decent of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not decent at all” He hesitated. “It’s not decent because—well,
- because I always told myself that I’d do something like this some day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Remember your promise.” She held up a warning finger.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You didn’t let me finish. What I meant to say was that, ever since I was
- a little kid, I’ve played at rescuing princesses.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked up at him searchingly, then bit her lip to keep back her
- thoughts. “What a queer game to play!” That was all.
- </p>
- <p>
- Like a robber bee, seeking honey while the garden of the world slept, the
- car sped humming through the silver town. Gray, shuttered houses faded
- upon the darkness like a dream that was spent. They were in the open
- country now, the white road before them, trees and hedges leaping to
- attention like lazy sentinels as the lamps flared on them, and throwing
- themselves down to rest again before the droning of the engine was gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “‘The Island Valley of Avilion, where falls not hail, or rain, or any
- snow.’ Know that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She nodded. “It sounds so peaceful, doesn’t it? Like a cold hand laid on
- an aching forehead. That’s the way those words have felt to me sometimes
- in the glare and bustle of New York. They’ve come to me when I’ve been
- walking up Fifth Avenue, and it’s been like a door opening into a green
- still orchard, somewhere inside my head.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re sorry to leave it? Why should we leave it? Let’s turn back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He slowed down the car.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you foolish! I’ve got to catch my boat to-morrow. And besides——”
- She paused and reflected. “Besides, I’m never so very sorry to leave
- anything. I’m an odd girl” (The same old phrase, “D’you think I’m an odd
- child, Teddy?”) “I’m never too sorry to say good-by. I want to push on and
- on. I’m always looking ahead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Things.” She glanced away into the vagueness of the ghostly meadows. “The
- kind of things that people do look forward to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wanted to get her to talk about herself—about her past. He could
- make sure, then, and tell her—tell her everything without
- frightening her. So he said: “I don’t mean people. I mean girls. What kind
- of things do girls look forward to?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Had she shared his hours of remembering? Had it really been her thoughts
- that had touched him in that little room in Eden Row? He stooped his head
- nearer to listen. It seemed to him that, above the throbbing of the
- engine, he could hear the blood dripping in his heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- She stared into his eyes with her old suspicion—the veiled stare,
- half hostile, which a girl gives a man when she fears that he is going to
- kiss her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Girls look forward to—what kind of things?” she echoed. “I can’t
- tell. The same kind of things that men look forward to, I expect. The
- surprise things, and—yes, the excitements, most of all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Like our meeting—it was a surprise thing, wasn’t it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose so.” She slipped back her cloak from her white shoulders.
- “Heaps of things are surprise things like that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was as though she had said, “This meeting of ours—it’s of no
- importance.” He loved her for the way she was treating him. He knew now
- why she had dared to risk herself with a man who, so far as her knowledge
- went, was a complete stranger.
- </p>
- <p>
- They both fell silent. He felt that there was only one thing that he could
- talk about, and he didn’t know when or where to start. He wanted above all
- things to say nothing only to take her in his arms; to kiss her lips, her
- hair, her hands and to kneel to the little sandaled feet that peeped out
- from below her queenly robe. He hardly dared to look at her lest, then and
- there, he should leave the wheel and do it. All that his heart asked was
- to be allowed to touch and reverence her.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he stared between the rushing eyes of the car, watching the road ahead,
- his imagination painted pictures on the darkness. He saw her lifting her
- arms about his neck. He saw her lying close against his breast. He heard
- her whispering broken phrases—words which said so much by leaving so
- much unsaid. But whenever he stole a glance at her, he saw her gray eyes
- closed like a statue’s and her white hands folded.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was wasting time—it would so soon be morning. She was going to
- America. She must not go, and yet he was helping her. If he could only
- find words to tell her. He had never thought it would be so difficult. Ah,
- but then he had imagined a child-Desire, just grown a little taller. But
- this Desire was different—so self-possessed and calm, with so many
- new interests and unknown friends estranging her from the faery-Desire of
- the farmhouse garden.
- </p>
- <p>
- They passed through Wells, where the cathedral lay like a gigantic coffin
- beneath the stars. Having panted up the steep ascent beyond the town, they
- commenced the twenty-mile downhill run to Bath.
- </p>
- <p>
- He heard a stirring beside him. Her eyes were open, quite near to his and
- shining with friendliness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s the matter? We’ve both gone silent.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought you were tired, so I didn’t disturb you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tired! Perhaps I was. But I’m all right now. Isn’t it magic with all the
- stars, and the mist and the being away from every one? Don’t you want to
- smoke? Here, I’ll hold the wheel while you light a cigarette. Yes, I know
- how.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She leant across him to do it, her shoulder resting against his arm. The
- wind of their going fluttered her hair against his cheek. For a moment he
- was possessed with a mad longing to crush her to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Haven’t you a match?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She seemed utterly unconscious of her power to charm; yet instinctively
- she used it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right?” she asked. “I wonder whether you’d mind——” Her
- finger went up to her mouth and her gray eyes coaxed him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shouldn’t mind anything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head emphatically. “No. I won’t do it. People remember first
- impressions. You’d think me fast.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shouldn’t I couldn’t ever think that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you sure? Well, may I——?” She made a gesture imitative of
- withdrawing a cigarette from her lips. “I don’t smoke often—only
- when I feel like it. And, oh, I do feel so happy to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She lit her cigarette from his, steadying herself with her hand on his
- shoulder. Then she lay back, staring up at the fleecy sky where the moon
- tipped clouds to a silver glory. She began to sing softly between her
- puffs:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- The night has a thousand eyes,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- And the day but one;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Yet the light of a whole world dies
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- With the dying sun.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- She sang the same verse over three times, pausing between each singing as
- if she were repeating a question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t you know the second verse?” he asked unsteadily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I know it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Won’t you sing it? The whole meaning of life and everything is in the
- last two Unes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “D’you really want me to? I don’t care for it so much because it’s about
- love. I don’t think love ever made anybody happy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For a moment he was tempted to argue this heresy. “But sing it,” he urged.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a soft sleepy voice she sang:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “The mind has a thousand eyes,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- And the heart but one;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Yet the light of a whole world dies
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- When love is done.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- He waited for her to repeat it When she remained silent, he stopped the
- car. She turned to him lazily: “Something gone wrong with the engine?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was certain she knew what had gone wrong, and was equally certain that
- she was wilfully pretending to misunderstand him. Far below in the valley,
- like a faeryring, the lights of Bath winked and twinkled. The silence,
- after the sound of their going, breathed across the country like a
- prolonged sighing. How should he tell her? How did men speak to the women
- they loved? He turned aside from his purpose and procrastinated. “Sing it
- again,” he pleaded, “the last verse. Now, that everything’s quiet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No.” She sat up determinedly. “It’s very beautiful; especially that part
- about light dying when love is done. But it isn’t true. People love heaps
- of times, and each new time they get more sensible. It’s like climbing a
- ladder: you see more as you go higher. Besides, that last verse makes me
- cry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Love makes people happy.” His voice was low and trembling. “You shouldn’t
- pretend to be a cynic. You’re too beautiful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, well, perhaps you are right, but——” She threw away her
- cigarette. “Please be nice. You don’t know what things I’ve had done to me
- to make me talk like that” She touched him on the arm ever so lightly:
- “When we’re traveling, we talk so much better. Hadn’t we better be going?”
- And then, when they were again humming down the long hill, with the white
- lamps scything the shadows: “This really is fun. It’ll be something to
- remember.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Something to talk about together,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- She cuddled herself down into the seat. “Not much time for that with me
- sailing for America. But you’ve not told me what you think of my telegram.
- Wasn’t it a quaint, jumpy message? That’s just like Fluffy to decide a
- problem in five minutes that other people would take five months over. If
- she finds that anything’s worrying her, she moves away from it This
- Horace, he’s Horace Overbridge, the playwright, and he’s in love with her.
- Ever since we landed in April they’ve been going about together, having
- motor-trips into the country and picnics on the river, and—oh, so
- many good times. Of course I’ve been there, too, to take care of her. But
- the trouble is he wants to marry her and, if he did, he’d never let her do
- what she likes. He can’t understand that it means just as much to her to
- be an actress as it does to him to be a playwright Men aren’t very
- understanding. Of course, while they’re not even engaged, he raves about
- her acting and helps her all he can. But she knows perfectly well that all
- that would end with marriage. And then she doesn’t love him. So you see——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you said she’d let him take her about and give her good times.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, certainly. If a man chooses to do that it’s his own affair. And then
- Fluffy’s very dear and beautiful, and she wouldn’t let many men be in love
- with her. You did sound shocked when you said ‘But!’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was thinking that she hadn’t played fair. She must have led him on. You
- don’t think that’s fair, do you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fair!” She pursed her lips. “He enjoyed himself while it lasted, and it’s
- his own fault if he’s spoilt it.” She threw back her head and trilled
- gayly. “Oh, I can see her stamping her little foot and saying, ’No.
- No. No, Horace.’ And then, I expect, she jumped straight into a cab and
- booked our berths on the very first ship that was sailing. You—you
- don’t approve of her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know her. It wasn’t very thoughtful of her to give you such short
- notice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But if I don’t mind—you see, it’s my business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shrugged his shoulders. “Then I have no right to mind. But I’m
- wondering where you’d have been if I hadn’t turned up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I! Oh, I’d have hired a car, I suppose, and Fluffy’d have had to pay for
- it, or Horace, or somebody.—I wish I could remember who it was
- shrugged his shoulders the way you do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps it was——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He glanced at her and broke off. This didn’t seem the propitious time to
- assist her memory. She was frowning. He had displeased her. The flippancy
- of Fluffy’s way of loving had cheapened all passion for the moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were coming into Bath, with its narrow streets and wide spaces, its
- fluted columns and Georgian mansions.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When we get into the country on the other side,” he thought, “I’ll tell
- her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But on the other side he found that her eyes were shut She lay curled up,
- with her child’s face turned towards him and her cheek pillowed against
- her hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Desire,” he whispered. “Desire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She sighed, but her eyes did not open.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s Teddy. Don’t you remember?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not stir.
- </p>
- <p>
- Very tenderly, lest he should wake her, he tucked her cloak closer, and
- buttoned it across her breast. By degrees he pulled the hood up over her
- ears and forehead. He stooped to kiss her, but drew back at the last
- moment To kiss her, sleeping, seemed too much like theft; “I love you,
- dearest,” he whispered. “I love you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She made no answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- He drove on, dreaming, through the summer night.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER III—A SUMMER’S MORNING
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>tars were
- weakening in their shining. He wished she would wake up. It was still
- night, but almost imperceptibly a paleness was spreading. The sky looked
- mottled. As he passed through an anonymous, shrouded village a clock was
- striking. One, two, three! If he kept up this pace, they would be in
- London, at the latest, by seven.
- </p>
- <p>
- He began to calculate his respite. The boat-train left Euston at noon; if
- she allowed him to stay with her to the very last moment, he had—how
- much? About nine hours more of her company.
- </p>
- <p>
- But probably she wouldn’t let him stay with her. She’d have packing to do.
- This Fluffy person would want to carry her off and gossip about Horace—what
- he had said to her and what she had said to him, and how thoroughly
- justified she was in her treatment of him. And so—he widened his
- mouth bitterly—and so she would blow out of his life like
- thistledown. This splendid meeting, which had been the dream of his
- boyhood, would be wasted—cold-shouldered into oblivion by.
- trivialities.
- </p>
- <p>
- In his desperation he invented a dozen mad schemes for detaining her. It
- was on the cards that his car might break down. Unfortunately it showed
- every healthy sign of living beyond its reputation. Well, if it didn’t do
- it voluntarily, he might help it—might lose a spark-plug or loosen
- something. <i>He might</i>, but it wasn’t in him to do it. The moment he
- met her truthful gray eyes he’d be sure to shrive his conscience—then
- she’d detest him. No, if he was going to be a young Lochinvar, he had far
- better play the game boldly—swing off into side-roads and, when she
- wakened, explain to her laughingly: “You won’t catch your boat now, little
- Desire. I’ve made you lose it on purpose because—because I love
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Humph! And she’d be amiable, wouldn’t she? Some men might be able to carry
- that off. He couldn’t. He’d feel a cur; he’d look it. So he drove on
- through the darkness, cursing at every new mile-stone because it brought
- him nearer to the hour of parting.
- </p>
- <p>
- He wished to heaven she would wake up. While he fumed and fretted, he
- built topply air-castles. Couldn’t he marry her—propose clean off
- the bat and get it over? Such things had happened. The idea allured him.
- He began to reckon his finances to see whether he could afford it. He had
- saved seven hundred pounds from his Beauty Incorporated dividends; every
- year there would be three hundred more. Then he had his future. His work
- was in demand. Several commissions had been offered him. No fiction-writer
- since Du Maurier, so the critics told him, had illustrated his own stories
- quite so happily. His next book was going to make him famous—he was
- sure of it. Oh, yes, so far as money went, he was eligible.
- </p>
- <p>
- From somewhere at the back of his mind a wise voice kept warning: “You
- have to live all your life with a woman; marrying’s the least part of
- marriage. Go slowly. How d’you know that she isn’t another Fluffy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was just as though Mrs. Sheerug were talking. He argued angrily against
- her disillusions. “But she’s not selfish like Vashti; and, anyway, you
- weren’t fair to Vashti. You wouldn’t believe that she was good—you
- wouldn’t even let Hal believe it. That was why he lost her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Madame Josephine took a hand: “When you find her, don’t try to change
- her. Women long to be trusted. Be content to love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He gasped. What a lot Madame Josephine knew about men and women. He was
- doing what all men did—and he had promised himself so faithfully to
- be the exception. Already he was wanting to change Desire: wanting to make
- her give up such friends as Fluffy; wishing she didn’t smoke cigarettes,
- though so long as she wasn’t married to him he found it rather
- fascinating; feeling shocked that she had trusted a strange man so
- carelessly, though, when he happened to be her chance-selected companion,
- he had been glad to profit by her carelessness.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then—he didn’t like to own it—he felt piqued by her lack
- of curiosity. She had taken him so quietly for granted. She hadn’t asked
- who he was, or why he, of all men, had been sent to her rescue. Any man
- would have done, provided he had had a car. It was A Man with A Car that
- she had wanted. When the emergency was ended and he had served his
- purpose, she would dismiss him with a polite “Thank you,” and put him out
- of her memory. Thistledown—that was what she was.
- </p>
- <p>
- He bent over her. Still sleeping! Her red lips were parted, the glint of
- her white teeth showing. One hand was beneath her cheek, the other against
- her breast like a crumpled petal. Below her eyes the long lashes made
- shadows. How sweet she was, how fragile, how trusting—how like the
- child-Desire who had snuggled into his arms in the woodland! With a sudden
- revulsion he despised his fault-finding. Chivalry and tenderness leapt up.
- He must make it a law with himself to believe the highest of her, whatever
- happened or had happened.
- </p>
- <p>
- He longed to waken her. He imagined how her eyes would tremble on him if
- she awoke to find him bent above her hands. But would they? Because he
- wasn’t sure, he cursed his inherited reticence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Out of the east, driving his misty sheep before him, the shepherd of the
- dawn came walking. Like a mischievous dog, with his red tongue lolling,
- the sun sprang up and scattered the flock through many pastures.
- </p>
- <p>
- Still she slept.
- </p>
- <p>
- Outside Reading the engine went wrong. For a moment he hoped——
- But, no, it was nothing serious. In making adjustments he made much more
- noise than was necessary. She did not rouse.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nearly five o’clock! Other people would claim her in two hours. For the
- next forty minutes that thought, that other people would claim her,
- provided him with exquisite torture. Some of those other people would be
- men—how could any man be near her without loving her?
- </p>
- <p>
- He reached Maidenhead and came to the bridge—came to the river
- winding like a silver pathway between nose-gays of gayly painted
- houseboats.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ho-ho!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jamming on the brakes in the middle of the bridge, he brought the car to a
- halt. Her hand fluttered up to her mouth in a pretty pretense at checking
- the yawn. She rubbed her eyes. “Morning! Didn’t I choose a good place to
- wake up? Where are we?” She sat upright. “My, but I am cramped. And, oh,
- look at my dress! It’ll embarrass you most horribly when we get to London.
- The police’ll think you’re eloping with a faery.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He crouched above the wheel, clutching it tightly, fearing what he might
- do with his hands. Her casual cheerfulness stifled his words. It was like
- a blow across his lips. What he had intended to say was so serious. His
- eyes felt hot. He had a vision of himself as a wild unkempt being, almost
- primeval, who struggled and panted. He was filled with a sickening sense
- of self-despising and dreaded lest at any moment he might hear her
- laughing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What a shame!” She stroked his sleeve gently. Her voice was concerned. “I
- am a little beast. You’ve been at it all night while I’ve been——”
- She rippled into laughter. “Do tell me whether I snored. Why don’t you say
- something? You’ll get me frightened; you look most awfully strange and
- funny.” And then, softly: “Poor you! You’re very tired.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was like a man turned to stone. She listened for any sound of
- footsteps; she might need help. Except for the sunshine, the lapping of
- the river and the careless singing of birds, the whole world was empty.
- </p>
- <p>
- She swept the hair back from her forehead and gazed away from him. She
- mustn’t let him know that he’d upset her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The river! Isn’t it splendid? And all the little curly mists. Why, this
- must be Maidenhead. Yes, there’s the place where we hired the boat when I
- came here with Horace and Fluffy. I hate to leave it, but——
- We’d better be getting on to London, hadn’t we?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He didn’t answer. Slowly she turned and regarded him. Was he sulky, or
- ill, or——?
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m doing my best to be pleasant.” There was a hint of tears in the way
- she said it. “You won’t let me help you—won’t tell me what’s the
- matter. I suppose that’s because I look untidy and ugly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Princess!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tremblingly he seized her hands. She drew back from him: “Oh, please!
- You’re hurting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes had touched hers for a second, penetrating their cloudiness. He
- let her slip from his grasp. “I’m sorry. I thought—I thought you
- were some one else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was on the point of starting when she rose and jumped out
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m stiff. Let’s say ’Good-by’ to the dear old Thames. It won’t
- take a minute.” And then, over her shoulder, as she leant across the
- parapet: “You thought I was some one else. Who knows? Perhaps I am.”
- </p>
- <p>
- All that he could see of her was her slight figure and the back of her
- pretty head. He went and stood near her, within arm-stretch.
- </p>
- <p>
- Without looking at him she asked a question. “Why do you beat about the
- bush? Last night you had something on your mind that you wouldn’t tell.
- This morning it’s worse. What makes you so timid? I’m only a girl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because it’s something that would offend you if you weren’t——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head. “I’m never offended. I’m too understanding. Perhaps——
- Were you fond of this some one?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fond, I?” The river grew blurred “It was years ago. I was a boy and she
- was only a little girl. It’s like a story—like some one I read
- about, and then went out to try and discover.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A market-cart rumbled across the bridge, mountain-high with vegetables.
- When the sound of its going had died out, she moved closer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I knew a boy once who called me ’Princess.’ He used to tell me—it
- was a queer, dear thing to tell me—he used to tell me that the
- babies came into my eyes when I was happy. But that was only when I’d been
- awfully nice to him.” When he stared at her, she nodded. “Really. He did.
- I’m not joking.”
- </p>
- <p>
- How long had she recognized him? Had she been cruel on purpose? Had she
- kept him on tenter-hooks for her own diversion? He laughed softly. It
- wasn’t quite the rushing together of two souls that imagination had
- painted. And yet, there were compensations: the sleeping houses with their
- blinds discreetly lowered; the sparkling river; the spray of plunging
- clouds; on the bridge, suspended between sky and river, this pale queenly
- sprite of a girl. The golden girdle about her waist jingled. He took no
- notice the first time and the second; but the third it seemed a challenge.
- He reached out his arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- Tossing back her hair, she slipped from him. “Not allowed. You go too
- fast; you were too slow at first. Why on earth didn’t you tell me last
- night, instead of—— Think what a splendid time we might have
- had. And now we’ve only a few hours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He seized her hands and held them, palm to palm. This time she made no
- complaint that he hurt. “You’re not going.” He was breathing quickly.
- “You’re never going unless——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her half-closed eyes mocked him with their old impishness. “But you
- mustn’t hold me like that. It isn’t done in the best families—not in
- public, anyway—even by the oldest friends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She broke from him and stepped into the car. “Let’s be nice to each other.
- We haven’t been very nice yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Very nice! He’d sat up all night and tossed his holiday plans to the winds
- for her. He grinned to himself as he cranked the engine. This was the same
- Desire with a vengeance—the old Desire who had tried to make people
- ask pardon when she was the offender.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were traveling again. His hands were occupied; he could make love to
- her with nothing more alarming than words. She felt safe to lower her
- defenses.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were just a little judging last night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was I?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just a little. About Fluffy. You don’t even know her We were stupid to
- quarrel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It wasn’t as bad as that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was. You were, oh, so extremely righteous. But I’d have been just as
- angry in your defense, or any one else’s whom I liked. I make a loyal
- little friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would you truly quarrel in my defense?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She patted his hand where it rested on the wheel “Of course I would. But
- last night you hurt me so much that—— I wonder if I dare tell
- you. You see, it hurt all the more because we’d only just met. I pretended——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He finished her sentence: “To be asleep.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She bit her lip. “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you heard?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Heard what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What I said when I buttoned your cloak about you?” She made her eyes
- innocently wide. “Did you do that? That was kind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was dodging him. He knew it; yet he wondered. Had she heard him
- whisper that he loved her? If she had—— He glanced sideways;
- all he saw was the gleam of her throat through her blowy hair.
- </p>
- <p>
- His mind went back across the years. How much he had lost of her—a
- child then, a woman now! If they were to bridge the gulf, it would be
- wiser to start with memories.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I found what you’d written on the window—found it next morning,
- after you’d left.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did I write anything? It’s so long ago. How wonderful that you should
- have remembered!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not wonderful at all. If you’d meant it, you’d remember.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had gone too far with her evasions. Snuggling closer, their shoulders
- touching, she bent across him till their eyes met.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did mean it then. But you shouldn’t expect a girl to own it. I can
- prove to you that I meant it. I wrote, ’I love you,’ and then,
- lower down, ’I love you.’ I’ve—I’ve often thought about you,
- and about—— What times we had! D’you remember the bird-catcher
- and Bones? Poor Bones! How jealous you were of him, and I expect he’s
- dead.” She laughed: “So you needn’t be jealous any longer. And d’you
- remember how I would bathe? Shocking, wasn’t it? I thought it would change
- me from a girl to a boy. And how I called you King Arthur once, and made
- you angry? I think—— No, you won’t like me to say that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He urged her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think you’re still a King Arthur or else—you wouldn’t have
- objected to Fluffy, and you wouldn’t have made such a mess about
- recognizing me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Stung by the old taunt he grew reckless. “I did tell you. You heard what I
- said, but you tricked me by pretending you were sleeping.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A Sir Launcelot wouldn’t have, been put off by pretense. He’d have shaken
- me by the shoulders. Oh, don’t look hurt. Let’s talk of something else.
- What d’you suppose I’ve been doing with myself?”
- </p>
- <p>
- As they drove through the morning country, between hedges cool with dew
- and fragrant with opening flowers, she told him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “After my father had kidnaped me” (so she knew that Hal was her father!)
- “my beautiful mother took me to America. Sometimes we traveled in Europe,
- but she was afraid to bring me to England so long as I was little. This
- summer’s the first time I’ve been back. She let me come with Fluffy. I’m
- going to be an actress—going to start next fall in New York, I
- expect, if my mother allows me. Fluffy’s promised to help. She’s a star.
- Janice Audrey’s her real name. You must have heard of her. No! Oh, well,
- she’s quite famous, even if you haven’t. So you see why it’s so important
- for me to sail with her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re not going to sail with her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am.” She caught her breath and gazed at him wonderingly. “How foolish
- of you! That’s why we’ve driven all night, and——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re not going to now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She threw herself back in the seat a little contemptuously. “It’s nonsense
- to discuss it. I’d like to know what makes you say it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because——- It’s difficult to tell you. Because I couldn’t
- bear to lose you the moment we’ve met. I don’t think—well, of
- course, you can’t understand what you’ve been in my life. Don’t laugh,
- Desire; I’m not flirting—not exaggerating. I’ve always believed that
- I’d find you. I’ve lived for that. I’ve worked, and tried to be famous and
- worthy so that—so that you’d like me. I had an idea that somewhere,
- far out in the world, you were thinking of me and waiting for me.” He
- glanced at her shyly. “Were you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was sitting motionless, staring ahead.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Were you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tears came into her eyes. “It’s very beautiful—what you’ve told me.
- It makes me feel—— Oh, I don’t know—that I wish I were
- better. You see, you’ve thought of me as a dream-person, as some one very
- wonderful. I’m only a reality—an ordinary girl with a little
- cleverness, who wants to be an actress. Yes, I’ve thought about you
- sometimes. Mother and I have often talked about you—but not in the
- way you mean, I expect.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He thrilled. She had thought about him. She owned it “You couldn’t be
- better than you are,” he whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head. “You haven’t known me long enough. I’m disappointing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled incredulously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I am,” she pouted, with a touch of petulance. “Then I’ll have to know
- you long enough. You’ll have to give me the chance to be disillusioned;
- that’s only fair. All the while you were sleeping I was planning a way to
- keep you from going. At first I hoped the car would break down. When it
- didn’t, I was tempted to loosen something so that we’d get stuck on the
- road. Not at all a King Arthur trick, that! But I couldn’t bring myself to
- do it after you’d trusted me. Then I thought I’d run off with you—let
- you wake up in Devon, miles from any railway, with no time to get back.
- Somehow, from what I remembered of you, I didn’t think that that would
- make you pleasant. Then I had a mad notion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What was it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You won’t laugh at me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Honest Injun. I promise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought I’d propose to you the moment you woke and we’d get married.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You thought of that all by your little self!” Her voice rose in a clear
- carol of music. “You quaint, funny person.” Catching her humor, he joined
- in her laughing. “It seemed tremendously possible while you slept. I even
- reckoned up my bank-account. But I’ve a real scheme now. When we ran away
- from Fanner Joseph, I was going to take you to my mother. D’you remember?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let’s pick up our adventure where we dropped it. I’ll take you to her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dreamer! What about my sailing, and my mother waiting for me, and
- Fluffy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, hang Fluffy! She’s always intruding.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s not kind. Besides, I don’t want Fluffy hanged. If she were, she
- couldn’t help me to be an actress.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you’re not going to be an actress. I’d hate to think of you being
- stared at by any one who could pay the money. An actress marries the
- public, but you—— Look here, I’m serious.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You think you are. I never met any one like you. You weave magic cloaks
- in your imagination and try to make live people wear them. If the magic
- cloaks don’t fit, you’ll be angry. So don’t weave one for me; I warn you.
- What’s the time? Then in less than seven hours I sail for America.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt like a kite, straining toward the clouds, which the hand of a
- child was dragging down to earth. Her voice uttered prose, but her eyes
- smiled poetry. She seemed to be repeating disenchanted phrases which she
- had borrowed without comprehending. Every time he looked at her she
- inspired him to flights; but she refused to follow him herself. Because of
- that he fell silent.
- </p>
- <p>
- Streets commenced. The smoke of freshly kindled fires boiled and bubbled
- against the sky. Frowsy maids knelt whitening doorsteps, as though saying
- their prayers. Blinds shot up at second-story windows. The world was
- getting dressed. It was the hour when dreams ended.
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire drew her cloak closer, hiding the green and gold of her romance
- attire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn’t mean to be horrid. Don’t think that I don’t appreciate——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Whatever it was she said was lost in the clatter of a passing tram.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You weren’t horrid.” He spoke quietly. “Even if you had been, I deserved
- it. I’ve been,” he hesitated and shrugged his shoulders expressively,
- “just a little mad. What’s the address? Where am I to drive you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- They had entered Regent’s Park. For a moment the spell of the country
- returned. In fields, beyond the canal, sheep were grazing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can’t we go more slowly?” She touched his arm gently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We can. But, if we do, I’ll have more time to make a fool of myself, and
- I’ve done that pretty thoroughly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I have and I owe you an apology. You see, all my life you’ve been an
- inspiration. I’ve imagined you so intensely that I couldn’t treat you
- politely as a stranger—as what you call a ’real’ person.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her face trembled. All the mischief had gone out of it. Her hands moved
- distressfully as though they wanted to caress him, but didn’t dare. She
- crouched her chin against her shoulder and gazed away through the sun and
- shadows of the park.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t want you to be polite to me,” she faltered. “I don’t think you
- understand how difficult it is to be a girl. We neither of us know quite
- what we want.” She looked at him wistfully. “Disappointed in me already!
- Didn’t I warn you? And yet, if you’d take the trouble to know me, you’d
- find that I’m not—not so bad and heartless.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Little Desire, I never thought you were bad and heartless—never for
- one moment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The babies came into her eyes and her finger went childishly to her mouth.
- “No, you wouldn’t have the right to; but I’m ever so much nicer than you
- suspect.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He slowed down the engine. His face had gone white beneath its tan. They
- were both stirred; they seemed to listen to the beating of each other’s
- heart “Give me another chance,” he urged unsteadily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But how? I must sail.” She gazed at him forlornly. “Here we are. You were
- going past it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They drew up before a tall, buff-colored house, standing in a terrace. As
- though glad to escape from their emotional suspense, she jumped out the
- moment they had stopped, ran up the steps and rang the bell. While she
- waited for her ring to be answered, she kept her back towards him. The
- door was opened by a maid in a white cap and apron.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hulloa, Ethel! So you see I’ve got back. How’s Miss Janice? Busy
- packing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Still in bed, Miss Desire. I was just going up to help her dress.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Out last night with Mr. Horace?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. He’s to be here to breakfast He’s going to the station to see you
- off.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right. I’ll be in in a moment You needn’t stop.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She came tripping down the steps to Teddy. He had got out of the car and
- had been standing watching her. He had feared that she would glance across
- her shoulder and dismiss him with a nod.
- </p>
- <p>
- She rested her hand upon his arm and looked up at him timidly with an
- expression that was more than pity. The leaves of the park fluttered and
- the flakes of sunlight fell.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I wasn’t going——” The rumble of London shook the heavy
- summer stillness, hinting at adventures awaiting their exploring. “If only
- I wasn’t going—— I’m beginning to like you most awfully, the
- way I did once when—— But I must go. I can’t help it You’ll
- stay to breakfast, won’t you? Then we can drive to the station together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’d like to. But would they like it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who? Fluffy and Horace? I don’t suppose so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then breakfast with me somewhere else?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She played with the temptation, raising his expectations. Then, “No. I’ve
- too much to do—packing and all sorts of things. Perhaps you’re right
- We’d be awkward with each other before them. We’d better say ’Good-by’
- now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But she didn’t say it. Her hand still rested on his arm and the gold-green
- leaves of the park fluttered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t let you go like this,” he whispered hoarsely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. I know it. But what can we do? Poor you! I’m so sorry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her mood changed swiftly. “Oh, how stupid we are! Give me a pencil and
- some paper. Now put your foot on the step of the car and make a table for
- me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As she stooped to his knee to write, her hair fell back, exposing the
- whiteness of her neck. The familiarity with which she was filling these
- last moments sent all his dreams soaring. The daintiness, the slimness,
- the elfin beauty of her quickened his longing. His instinct told him that
- she was hoping that he would kiss her; but he guessed that, if he did, she
- would repulse him. “You go too fast for me,” she had said. Once again his
- imagination wove a magic garment and flung it about her shoulders. There
- was no one like her. She was called Desire because she was desired. If
- love could compel love, she should come into his life. He vowed to himself
- that he would win her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he took the paper from her, their fingers touched and clung together.
- “What’s this? Your New York address? You mean that we can write to each
- other?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes mocked his trouble with tenderness. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That you’ll know where to find me when you come to America.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I can’t I——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She broke from him and ran up the steps. As she crossed the threshold she
- let her cloak slip from her. He saw again for one fleeting moment her
- sandaled feet and her pageant costume.
- </p>
- <p>
- The door was closing. Before it shut she kissed the tips of her fingers to
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can if you really care.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IV—HAUNTED
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e eyed the windows
- furtively, hoping to catch her peering out. He commenced to tinker with
- his engine to give himself an excuse for delaying. Why hadn’t he accepted
- her breakfast invitation? Without her he felt utterly desolate.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perhaps, if he stayed there long enough, she would come to him. The door
- would open and he would hear her saying shyly, “Ha! So it did break down!”
- Of course the sensible thing to do would be to walk boldly up the steps
- and ask for her. But love prefers strategy.
- </p>
- <p>
- A man came strolling along the terrace. He was in gray flannels, wore a
- straw hat and was swinging a cane jauntily. He had a distinct waist-line
- and humorous blue eyes. He was the kind of man who keeps a valet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hulloa! Something wrong?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy unstooped his shoulders. “Nothing much. Nothing that I can’t put
- right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I’m going in here.” The man glanced across his shoulder at the
- house. “If it’s water you want or anything like that, or if you’d care to
- use the phone——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy flushed scarlet beneath his tan. So this cheerful looking person was
- Horace who, cooperating with Fluffy, had set an example that had cheapened
- all love’s values?
- </p>
- <p>
- “I won’t trouble you. Thanks all the same.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Had he dared, he would have accepted the proffered assistance. But Desire
- would guess; they all would guess that he had acted a lie to gain an
- entrance. Contempt for the foolishness of his situation made him hurry.
- The car made a miraculous recovery—so miraculous that the blue eyes
- twinkled with dawning knowledge.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come a long way to judge from the dust! From Glastonbury, perhaps?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy jumped to the seat and seized the wheel. “Yes, from Glastonbury,” he
- said hastily.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he drove away he muttered, “Played me like a trout! He’s no cause to
- laugh when he’s been refused himself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- From the end of the terrace, he glanced back. The man, with leisurely
- self-possession, was entering the house. He felt for him the impotent envy
- that Dives in torment felt, when he saw Lazarus lying on Abraham’s bosom.
- He tried to jeer himself out of his melancholy. “I’m very young,” he kept
- saying. But when he imagined the party of three at breakfast, he could
- have wept.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now that she had vanished, he remembered only her allurement. Her faults
- became attractions: her coldness was modesty; her defense of Fluffy,
- loyalty; her unreasonable request that he should come to America, love.
- What girl would expect a man to do that unless she loved him?
- </p>
- <p>
- The reality of his predicament began to grow upon him. This wasn’t a
- romance or a dream he had invented; it had happened.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a shadowed spot, overlooking the canal, he halted the car. He must
- think matters out—must get a grip on himself before he went further.
- Water-carts were going up and down. Well-groomed men were walking briskly
- through the park on their way to business. Boys and girls on bicycles
- passed him, going out by way of Hampstead for a day in the country. The
- absolute normality of life, its level orderliness, thrust itself upon him.
- He looked at the sedate rows of houses, showing up substantially behind
- sun-drenched branches. He saw their window-boxes, their whitened
- doorsteps, their general appearance of permanency. The men who lived in
- those houses wouldn’t say to a girl, “I love you,” in the first half-dozen
- hours of acquaintance. But neither would the girls say to a seven-hour-old
- lover, “Come to America”; they wouldn’t even say, “Run down to Southend,”
- for fear of being thought forward.
- </p>
- <p>
- How distorted the views seemed to him now that he had held on the journey
- up from Glastonbury! They were the result of moonlight and of the pageant
- emotions stirred by a medieval world. How preposterously he had acted!
- </p>
- <p>
- He tried to put himself in Desire’s place that he might judge her fairly.
- Irresponsible friends send her a telegram, saying that a man is coming to
- fetch her. Of course she believes that the man is to be trusted; but the
- first thing he does is to make love. In spite of that, she has to go with
- him; he is her one chance of getting to London. He at once commences to
- take advantage of her; she gets frightened and pretends to go to sleep in
- order to escape him. In the morning she discovers that he’s an old friend,
- but there’s too little time to replace the bad impression. At the last
- moment she feels sorry for him—begins to feel that she really does
- care for him; so she says the only thing possible under the circumstances,
- “Come to America.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Obviously she wasn’t going to give herself away all at once. In that she
- had been wise, for, though he had wanted her to, he knew that if she had,
- she would have lowered her value.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he wished she had shown more curiosity. She’d talked all about herself
- and hadn’t asked him a single question. She hadn’t even called him by his
- name—not once.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then the cloud of his depression lifted. The truth came home to him in a
- flash: all these complaints and this unhappiness were proofs positive that
- at last he was in love. The splendor of the thought thrilled him—in
- love. The curtain had gone up. His long period of lonely waiting was
- ended. For him the greatest drama that two souls can stage had begun.
- Whither it would lead he could not guess. Everything was a blank except
- the present, and that was filled with an aching happiness. She was going
- from him. Already she was out of sight and sound; in a few hours he would
- be cut off from all communication with her. Yet he was happy in the
- knowledge that, however uncertain he might be of her, he belonged to her
- irrevocably. He longed to give himself to her service in complete
- self-surrender. His work, his ambitions, everything he was or could be,
- must be a gift for her. But how to make her understand this, while there
- was yet time?
- </p>
- <p>
- He drove out of the park, passing by her house. Of her there was no sign.
- He wondered what they were doing in there. Was the man with the blue eyes
- taking his place and helping to strap her trunks? Or was he making love to
- Fluffy, while Desire looked on wistfully and wished—wished what he
- himself was wishing?
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were a little judging?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Yes, he had been judging. It had all taken place so differently from
- anything that he had conjectured. She herself was so different from the
- Desire he had imagined. All these years he had been preparing for her
- coming, but to her his coming had been an accident. That had hurt—hurt
- his pride, to have to acknowledge that she had almost forgotten the old
- kindnesses. And then she had tantalized him—-had taken a pleasure in
- treating him lightly. Perhaps all girls did that; it might be their way of
- defending themselves. Probably she hadn’t meant one half of what she had
- said, and had been trying to shock him. He couldn’t bear that she should
- think him narrow or censorious. The more he condemned himself, the more he
- longed to convince her of his breadth and generosity.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found a florist’s and ordered a quantity of flowers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall I enclose your card, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It doesn’t matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was afraid that, if she knew for certain they were from him, she might
- not accept them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The lady’s leaving Euston on the boat-train for Liverpool, so you must
- get them to her at once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You shall see the boy start, sir. Going on a liner, is the lady, sir?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, to America.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, may I make a suggestion?” Desire would have said that the florist
- was very understanding; he rubbed his hands and looked out of the window
- to avoid any needless causing of embarrassment. “If I might make a
- suggestion, sir, I would say it would be very nice to send the lady seven
- bouquets—one for every day of the voyage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But can it be done? I mean, will the flowers keep fresh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, sir. It’s quite the regular thing. We pack them in seven boxes
- and we mark each box for the day on which it’s to be opened. We send
- instructions with them for the lady to give to the purser, to keep them on
- ice. Usually we slip five shillings into the envelope with the
- instructions. Then the lady finds her bouquet waiting for her on her plate
- each morning with her breakfast. The idea is that she’ll think of the
- gentleman who sent them.” This florist understood too much. He treated
- love as a thing that happened every day, which, of course, it didn’t.
- Teddy assumed an off-hand manner. “If it won’t take too long to make up
- the bouquets, I’ll have them as well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “As well as the cut flowers?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He helped to select the rosebuds, orchids and violets that were to lie
- against her breast It gave him a comforting sense of nearness to her. When
- the man’s back was turned he stooped to catch their fragrance and brushed
- his lips against their petals. Perhaps she might do the same, and her lips
- would touch the flowers where his had touched. By subtler words than
- language they would explain to her his love. When she landed in that
- far-away New York, he would be with her, for the flowers would have kept
- his memory fresh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certain you won’t send your card, sir? It’s quite etiquette, I assure
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head irritably. The man took the hint and became absorbed in
- his own affairs. The boxes were tied up, the bill settled. Teddy watched
- the boy bicycle away on his errand and envied him the privilege of ringing
- her door-bell.
- </p>
- <p>
- Breakfast! He hadn’t had any. He was too excited to feel hungry. He didn’t
- want to go home yet; he’d have to explain the abrupt ending of his
- holiday. He was trying to make up his mind to go to the station to see her
- off. As he drove about, killing time, he came to Trafalgar Square. That
- made him think of Cockspur Street and the shipping offices. He pulled up
- at Ocean House to find out what boats were sailing on that day. There were
- three of them, any one of which might be hers. A mad whim took him. Of
- course it was out of the question that he should go to America. How could
- he explain such a voyage to his parents? He couldn’t say, “I met Desire
- for a handful of hours and I’m in love.” Besides, he would never let any
- one suspect that he was in love. He wouldn’t even be able to mention his
- night ride from Glastonbury. It would sound improper to people who weren’t
- romance-people. He could see the pained look that would steal into his
- mother’s eyes if he told her. Nevertheless, although it was quite
- impossible, he asked for a list of sailings and made inquiries as to
- fares.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he drove to Gatti’s for breakfast and a general tidy-up. Something
- was the matter with the mirrors this morning. He saw himself with humble
- displeasure. Until he had met Desire, he had felt perfectly contented with
- his appearance; he had found nothing in it at which to take offense. But
- now he began to have a growing sense of injury against the Almighty. As he
- sat in the mirrored room, waiting for his meal to be served, his
- reflections watched him from half-a-dozen angles. They seemed to be saying
- to him, “Poor chap! May as well face up to the fact. This is how you look;
- and you expect her to love you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He compared himself with her. He thought of her eyes, her lips, her hair,
- the grace of her figure, the wonderful smallness of her hands. Her voice
- came back to him—the sultry, emotional, coaxing way she had of using
- it The arch self-composure of her manner came back—the glances
- half-mocking, half-tender which she knew how to dart from under her long
- lashes. She was more elf than woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- All her actions and speech were unconsciously calculated to win affection.
- Her beauty was without blemish; the memory of her filled him with
- self-ridicule. He regarded himself in the mirrors with sorrowful
- despising. His face was too long, his eyes too hollow, his mouth too
- sensitive—nothing was right. How could she ever bring herself to
- love him? How monstrous it seemed to him now that he should have dared to
- criticize her! There was only one way to win her approbation—to make
- her admire his talent A thought struck him. Leaving his meal untasted, he
- ran out in search of a bookshop.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A copy of <i>Life Till Twenty-One</i>. Yes, by Theodore Gurney. Can you
- deliver it?... No, that’s too late. It’s got to be there by eleven. If you
- can send a boy now, I’ll give him half-a-crown for his trouble. I’ll drive
- him in my car to within a hundred yards of the house. It’s most important.
- The people who want it are sailing for America.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As the shopman wrapped it up, he remarked, “You were in luck to get a
- copy. There’s been a run on it. The publishers are out of stock. This is
- our last one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Once again he came within sight of her house. At a discreet distance he
- set his messenger down and saw the book delivered. His heart fluttered as
- the door opened; she might—it was just possible—she might come
- out. But no, all he had was a fleeting glimpse of the maid in the white
- cap and apron.
- </p>
- <p>
- The moment the deed was done, he was assailed by trepidations. It might
- seem egotistical to her, bad taste, vaunting. He could almost hear her
- laughing. Oh, well, if she troubled to read it—and surely she would
- do that out of curiosity—she would learn exactly how much she had
- meant to him. She would see her own face looking out from the pen-and-ink
- drawings that dodged up and down the margins.
- </p>
- <p>
- Within the next hour he sent her three telegrams. The first simply gave
- his address in Eden Row. The second said, “Please write to me.” The third
- was a bold optimism, “Perhaps coming.” After that he had to stop, for the
- time was approaching when she would be leaving for the station. The
- signing of the telegrams gave him much difficulty. The first bore his
- signature in full, “Theodore Gurney”; the next was less formal,
- “Theodore”; the last touched the chord of memory, “Teddy.” His difficulty
- had arisen because he couldn’t remember that she had called him anything.
- </p>
- <p>
- She lived in his thoughts as a phantom—too little as a creature of
- flesh and blood. Within the brief space that had elapsed since he had
- touched her, she had become again a faery’s child. The sound of her
- laughter was in his ears. He imagined how her finger had gone up to her
- mouth and the babies had come into her eyes, each time the bell had rung
- and something fresh had been handed in to her. “Very queer and dear of
- him,” she had said—something like that.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was nearly twelve. He was torn between his anxiety to see her and his
- shyness at intruding. If he had had only her to face, he would have gone
- to Euston; but she’d be surrounded by friends. When it was too late, he
- cursed his lack of enterprise.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perhaps she had sent him an answer to his telegrams. He hurried back to
- Eden Row. As he came in sight of the tree-shadowed street, with the river
- gleaming along its length and the staid, sleepy houses lining its
- pavement, the calm normality of an orderly world again accused him. To
- have suggested to Eden Row a trip to America merely to see a girl would
- have sounded like an affront to its sanity. As he passed by Orchid Lodge,
- the carriage-and-pair was waiting for Mrs. Sheerug to come out. For
- fifteen years she had been going through the same curriculum of
- self-imposed duties—playing her harp, working at her tapestries,
- scattering her philanthropies. How could he say to her, “I’m going to
- America,” without stating an adequate reason?
- </p>
- <p>
- His mother met him in the hall. “Why, Teddy, back! What’s the matter? You
- didn’t send us warning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I got tired of roving,” he said. “Has anything come?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come! No. I forwarded your last letters to Glastonbury. I thought you
- were to be there this morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So I was to have been, but—I changed my mind suddenly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You look awfully tired.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am.” He forced a laugh. “I haven’t slept. I drove all night for the fun
- of it. I think I’ll go and lie down.” In the room where he had passed his
- boyhood dreaming of her, he sat down to wait for her message. He looked
- out of the window. How unaltered everything was, and yet how different!
- The pigeons fluttered. In the studio at the bottom of the garden he could
- make out the figure of his father, standing before his easel. Across the
- wall, Mr. Yaffon carried cans of water back and forth among his flowers.
- He remembered the great dread he had had that nothing would ever happen.
- And now it had happened—money, reputation, and at last Desire. He
- ought to be feeling immensely glad; he was in love—the make-believe
- passions of childhood on which he had fed his imagination were ended. The
- real thing had come. If he could only have one sign from her that she
- cared——
- </p>
- <p>
- He listened. Every time he heard the bell ring he went out on to the
- landing and called, “Anything for me? What is it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Afternoon lengthened out. He manufactured reasons for her silence. She had
- probably intended to telegraph him from Euston, but had been rushed at the
- last minute. She would do it from Liverpool before she sailed. That would
- mean that he would hear from her by seven. Anyway she had his flowers and
- she had his book—so many things to remind her of him. He pictured
- her curled up in a corner of the railway-carriage, blind to the flying
- country, deaf to what was going on about her, smiling over the pages of <i>Life
- Till Twenty-One</i>, and recognizing what poetry he had brought to his
- loving of her. She wouldn’t be hard on him any longer for his behavior on
- the ride from Glastonbury. She would understand why he hadn’t liked her to
- speak of love as though it were flirtation. Perhaps already she was
- feeling a little proud of him—nearly as proud as he felt of her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Seven struck on the clock downstairs. Eight, nine, ten! No message would
- come till morning now; but he would not let himself believe that she had
- not sent one. Probably she had given it to Horace, and he had slipped it
- into his pocket and forgotten. Something like that! Or else, being a girl
- and afraid to appear forward, she would write a letter on the ship and
- send it ashore by the pilot. A letter would seem to her so much less
- important than a telegram.
- </p>
- <p>
- His mother looked in on her way to bed. “Still up? You’ve been hiding all
- evening. What have you been doing? Working?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She slipped her arm about his neck and laid her face against his cheek.
- She was trying to sympathize—trying to draw him out. What did she
- suspect? Instinctively he barricaded his privacy. He felt a cruel shame
- that his secret should be guessed. Why he should feel ashamed of love—of
- love which was so beautiful—he could not tell. “What have you been
- doing, Teddy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled cheerfully. “Doing! I’ve had an idea. A good one. I’ve been
- thinking it out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For your next book?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When she was gone, he turned out his light. He knew she would be watching
- for its glow against the trees. If she did not see it, she would believe
- him sleeping and her mind would be at rest. Then he seated himself by the
- open window in the darkness.
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought of Vashti, who had not married Hal. Did Desire know that her
- mother had not married? He remembered the horror he had felt when he had
- learnt that fact—the chivalrous pity for Desire it had aroused. It
- was then that he had planned, when he became a man, to help her in the
- paying of the price. And now——
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled frowningly. She didn’t seem to need his help. She was the
- happiest, most radiant person he had ever met. She had found the intenser
- world, for which he had always been searching—the world which is
- forever somewhere else. His world—his poor little world, which he
- had tried to make so fine that he might offer it to her—his world
- seemed dull in comparison.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come to America,” she had said, as though the people she knew were those
- lucky persons who are at all times free to travel, and never need to
- trouble about expense. It hadn’t seemed to enter her head that he might
- have obligations or a living to earn. She hadn’t even inquired; she had
- just said, “Come to America,” as another might say, “If you care to call,
- you’ll find me at home on Fridays.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He adored her the more, as is the way with lovers, for the magnificent
- inconsequence of her request. It was the standard she set for his need of
- her—the proof she required. The more he thought, the more certain he
- was of that.
- </p>
- <p>
- Next morning brought neither telegram nor letter. All day he stayed at
- home, fearing that, if he went out, something might arrive in his absence.
- Her silence drove him to distraction. Could it be that she was offended?
- Was she annoyed because he had put her into a book? Had she expected him
- to turn up at Euston for a final farewell? He must get some word to her.
- There were three ships, any one of which might be carrying her. He went
- out that evening and addressed a wireless message to her on each of them:
- “Thinking of you. Longing to hear from you. Love.” He felt very
- discomforted when the clerk, before accepting them, insisted on reading
- them over aloud. Again he hoped vainly that she might guess his suspense—perhaps
- gauge his by her own—and return a wireless. Nothing.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next three weeks were the longest in his memory. He became an expert
- on transatlantic sailings. Every day he covered several pages to her. He
- filled them with sketches; he put into them all the emotion and cleverness
- of which he was capable. He said all the tender and witty things he had
- intended to say to her when they met.
- </p>
- <p>
- He burlesqued his own shyness. He recalled happenings of the old farmhouse
- days which even he had all but forgotten. As an artist he knew that he was
- outdoing himself. His letters were masterpieces. He laughed and cried over
- some of the passages in the same breath. They couldn’t fail to move her.
- When three weeks had elapsed he began to look for an answer. None came. It
- was as though she mocked him, saying: “Come to America if you really
- care.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He grew hurt. For a month he tried the effect of not writing. Then he
- tried to forget her, and did his best to become absorbed in his work. But
- the old habits of industry had lost their attraction; every day was a gray
- emptiness. His quietness seemed irrecoverable. She haunted him. Sometimes
- the wind was in her hair and her face was turned from him. Sometimes her
- gray eyes watched him cloudily, and her warm red lips pouted with tender
- melancholy. He saw her advancing through the starlit streets of
- Glastonbury, walking proudly in her queen’s attire. He saw her in a
- thousand ways; every one was sweet, and every one was torturing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is love,” he told himself; “love which all the inspired people of
- the world have painted and described and sung.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The odd thing was that, much as it made him suffer, he would not have been
- without it.
- </p>
- <p>
- His mother noticed his restlessness and would have coaxed hi$ secret from
- him, but his lips were obstinately sealed. He could not bring himself to
- confess. He resorted to evasions which he felt to be unworthy.
- </p>
- <p>
- Gradually the determination grew up in him to go to America. He sought for
- an excuse that would disguise his real purpose. It came to him in a letter
- from a New York editor, offering prices, which sounded fabulous by English
- standards, for a series of illustrated reminiscences of childhood similar
- to those contained in <i>Life Till Twenty-one</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- He read the letter aloud at the breakfast table. “I’m going,” he said, “to
- talk it over.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Going where?” his father questioned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “To America.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, nonsense!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He let the subject drop for the time being; but a few days later he walked
- out of Ocean House and whistled his way down Cockspur Street to Trafalgar
- Square. He halted in the drowsy August sun and pulled the ticket from his
- pocket to examine it. He could scarcely credit the reckless length to
- which his infatuation had carried him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He seemed to see her again, standing on the threshold in her
- green-and-gold pageant costume, whispering tauntingly, “Come to America if
- you really care.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She would have to acknowledge now how much she meant to him. He couldn’t
- wait to tell her. Crossing the street to Charing Cross Telegraph Office,
- he cabled her the date of his arrival, the ship on which he was sailing
- and the one word, “Coming.” Then he turned thoughtfully homeward, to break
- the news to Eden Row.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her masterly faculty for silence had conquered.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER V—SUSPENSE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>ot until the
- shores of England had faded behind him did he realize the decisiveness of
- the step he had taken. Divorced from his familiar surroundings, in the
- No-Man’s-Land of shipboard, he had an opportunity of taking an outsider’s
- view of his actions. Now that there was no going back, a fatalistic calm
- settled down on him. During the past weeks he had lived in a tempest of
- speculations, of wild hopes and unreasonable doubts. He had had to hide
- his emotions, and yet had dreaded lest they were suspected. The fear of
- ridicule had been heavy upon him. He had walked on tiptoe, always
- listening for a voice which never answered. Now at last he regained
- self-possession.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lying lazily in his steamer-chair, with the sun-dazzled vacancy of ocean
- before him, the bigness of life came acutely home to him. Looking back
- over his few years, he saw that the supreme need for great living is
- charity—to be content to love, as Madame Josephine would put it. He
- saw something else: that life has amazing recuperative powers and that no
- single defeat is overwhelming. Disappointment only becomes overwhelming
- when it is used for bitterness, as it was used by Hal.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Life’s an eternal picking one’s self up and going forward,” he told
- himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- And so, if the unthinkable were to befall him, and he were to fail to make
- Desire love him—— He couldn’t believe that love could ever
- fail to awaken love—not the kind of love he had for her; but, lest
- that disaster should happen and that he might prevent it from crushing
- him, he tried not to take the purpose of his voyage too seriously. He
- pretended to regard it cavalierly as an adventure. He schooled himself in
- the knowledge that he might not be wanted. Except for her having said,
- “Come to America if you really care,” he had no grounds for supposing that
- she would want him. Why should he be anything to her? She was only
- something to him because, by reason of her parentage, she had appealed
- powerfully to his imagination at the chivalrous period of adolescence. He
- had woven his dreams about her memory, clothed it with affection and
- brought it with him up to manhood; then, by pure accident, he had met her.
- She herself had warned him that he did not love the actual Desire, but the
- magic cloak in which he had enfolded her. Perhaps most men did that—worshiped
- a fantastic ideal, till they became sufficiently humble to set out in
- search of reality.
- </p>
- <p>
- It didn’t follow that, because the child-Desire had cared for him, the
- Desire of twenty was still fond of him. It was that supposition that had
- made him so precipitate in his own actions, and so unreasonable in his
- expectations of hers. She had cared for him so little that she had been in
- England since April and hadn’t troubled to discover him. Well, if he found
- that she didn’t care for him now, he would make his business the excuse
- for his voyage and return directly it was ended. He wasn’t going to repeat
- Hal’s humiliating performance and give himself hopelessly. He couldn’t, if
- he would. He knew that ultimately, if a woman didn’t choose to make
- herself important, his work would take him from her. That, at least, was
- his compensation for being an artist and over-sensitive: when reality had
- made him suffer, his dreams would again claim him. So, having assured
- himself many times that he was calm, he came to believe that he was
- fortified against disillusion and would remain unshaken by it.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was living up to her test by coming to America—proving to her
- beyond a doubt that he really did care. A few days would be sufficient to
- let him know precisely how much that meant to her. At worst, he would have
- enriched himself by an experience. And at best—at best, he would
- have gained the thing which in all the world was most precious to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Thus armed with the cardboard weapons of a sham cynicism, he allowed
- himself to wander, like a knight-errant, still deeper into the haunted
- forest of his imagination. And there, as is the way with knight-errants,
- he grew impatient with his caution. Why should he strive so desperately to
- rein in his passion with doubts—this strange and wonderful passion
- that was so new to him? Of course she had wanted him. At this very moment
- she was thinking of him—ticking off the hours till they should be
- together. If she hadn’t written, hadn’t cabled, had ignored him entirely,
- it was because—— Perhaps because in the early stages women
- show their love by hiding it, just as men show theirs by displaying it A
- man’s excitement is to win; a woman’s to be won. Perhaps! He smiled
- humorously; he had invented so many motives for her silence. The obvious
- motive he had overlooked—that it was her silence that was compelling
- him to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Probably his ardor had frightened her. Their introduction had been so
- unusual that it afforded no basis for correspondence, though he had shut
- his eyes to that. If Desire were here, and he were to ask her why she
- hadn’t written, she would probably crouch her chin against her shoulder
- and tell him, “It isn’t done in the best families.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It wasn’t. But in New York conditions would be different. Vashti would be
- there. Vashti for whom he had saved his marriage-box. Vashti who could
- make Mrs. Sheerug believe that she was good only when she sang. Vashti
- whose voice was like a beanstalk ladder by which lovers might escape to
- the stars. Did she remember <i>The Garden Enclosed</i>, and how his boyish
- kiss had changed her painted lips from an expression of brooding to one of
- kindness? Odd to think of her as Desire’s mother! “My beautiful mother!”
- Vashti would be generous; already he was counting on her alliance. When
- Desire had her mother’s consent, she would no longer want to conceal her
- affection.
- </p>
- <p>
- His optimism caught fire. It was a wonderful world to which he was sailing—a
- world of enchantment.- She might be on the dock to meet him. Would she
- look very altered with her hair done like a woman’s? How would a modern
- dress suit her? What fun it would be to go wandering through a strange
- city at her side!
- </p>
- <p>
- His thoughts ran madly ahead. Marriage!’ Where would they live? Would
- Vashti want them to stay in America? Anyway, they’d go back to Eden Row
- for their honeymoon. Hal would be happy at last In time he might meet
- Vashti. They might learn to love each other afresh, and then——
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew up sharply, assuring himself gravely that all these peeps into the
- future were highly problematic. The chances were that in two weeks’ time
- he’d be sailing on the return-journey, doing his best to forget that he
- had ever believed himself in love.
- </p>
- <p>
- The blue trackless days passed quickly, while his mood alternated between
- precautionary coldness and passionate anticipation. His thoughts spread
- their wings, beating up into the unknown in broad flights of fancy.
- </p>
- <p>
- The last morning. He had scarcely slept. The throb of the engines was
- slower. Overhead he could hear the creaking of pulleys, and the commotion
- of trunks being raised from the hold and piled upon the deck. He rose with
- the first flush of dawn to see the wraith of land stealing nearer. He had
- the feeling that, in so doing, he was proving his loyalty. Somewhere, over
- there to the westward, her eyes were closed and she was dreaming of him.
- It was his old idea that their thoughts could reach out and touch.
- </p>
- <p>
- His heart was in his throat. He paced up and down in a vain endeavor to
- keep it quiet. Gulls, skimming the foam with shrill cries, seemed her
- messengers. Through the pearl-colored haze white shipping passed
- noiselessly. The sun streamed a welcome.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they crept up the harbor, he could no longer disguise his excitement.
- It nearly choked him. He seemed disembodied; he was a pair of eyes. His
- soul ran out before him. He felt sure she would be waiting for him. He saw
- nothing of the panting little tugs, which pulled and shoved the liner to
- her moorings. He hardly noticed the man-made precipices of New York,
- rising like altar-steps to a shrine of turquoise. He was straining his
- eyes toward the gaps in the dock-shed, white with clustered
- indistinguishable faces. One of them must be hers. It seemed wrong that,
- even at this distance, he should not be able to pick her out As they moved
- slowly alongside, he kept persuading himself that he had found her and
- waved furiously—only to realize that he had been mistaken.
- </p>
- <p>
- He passed down the gang-plank with eager eyes, asking himself: “How shall
- I greet her? What will she expect me to say to her?” On every side,
- friends were darting forward, shaking hands, clasping each other and not
- caring who witnessed their emotional gladness. At any minute he might see
- her pressing through the crowd.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had been searching for her for half-an-hour. “If your friends have come
- to meet you,” an official told him, “they’ll look for you where your
- baggage is examined. What’s your name? Gurney. Well, they’ll be waiting
- for you under the letter G., if they’re waiting anywhere.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His luggage had been passed by the inspector. The crowd was thinning. The
- only people left were a few flustered passengers who were having trouble
- with the customs. His hope was ebbing; after his high anticipations he was
- suffering from reaction. Loitering disconsolately by his trunks, he
- clutched obstinately at the skirts of his vanishing optimism. His brain
- was fertile in producing excuses for why she had not met him. The news
- that the ship had docked might not have reached her, or it might have
- reached her too late. Perhaps at this very moment she was hurrying to him,
- sharing his suspense.
- </p>
- <p>
- He wouldn’t leave yet. It would seem as though he blamed her, didn’t trust
- her, if she should arrive to find him gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- Two hours had elapsed since he had landed. It wasn’t likely that she would
- come now. As he drove to the Brevoort, he tried to explain the situation
- to himself so that it might appear in its bravest aspect. She must know
- that he had landed to-day; if his cable, telling her of his coming, had
- failed to be delivered, he would have been notified. And if, when she had
- received it, she hadn’t wanted him, she would have replied. Therefore, she
- both wanted him and knew that he had landed. He came to the conclusion
- that he had hoped for too much in expecting her to meet him. Until he had
- got excited, he hadn’t really expected that. It was only at the last
- minute that he had persuaded himself she would be there. To have had to
- welcome him in public, knowing the purpose of his voyage and knowing so
- little about him, would have been embarrassing. She was waiting for him to
- go to her home where their meeting would be private.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the Brevoort, the telephone-clerk found the phone-number of her
- address. He was trembling as he slipped into the booth. He was going to
- hear her voice. What would she say to him—to his daring at having
- accepted her challenge; and what would he say to her? He took up the
- receiver.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve come, Desire. Who’s this? Can’t you guess? It’s the person you used
- to call Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He listened. There was a pause. “Hulloa! Are you there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Muffled and metallic the answer came back: “Yes.—But Miss Desire’s
- not at home. This is Madame Jodrell’s maid speaking.—No. Madame
- Jodrell’s gone out. She won’t be home to lunch. She didn’t say when I was
- to expect her.—Has she gone to the dock to meet some one? No. I’m
- sure she hasn’t. Will you leave a message?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He repeated his name and gave her his address.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll tell whichever of them gets home first,” the distant voice assured
- him; then he heard the click of the receiver hung up.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was bewildered. Things grew more and more discouraging. Desire must
- have mistaken the day of his arrival. If not, however pressing her
- engagement, she would have left him some word of welcome.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had a lonely lunch at a table looking out on Fifth Avenue. From where
- he sat he caught a glimpse of Washington Square—a glimpse which
- suggested both Paris and London. He was inclined to feel angry; the next
- moment he was amused at his petulance. A lover was always in haste. He
- wouldn’t let himself feel angry. It would be time enough for that if he
- found that she’d led him on a wild-goose chase. Then anger would help him
- to forget. In the meanwhile he must take Madame Josephine’s advice and be
- content to love. “Women long to be trusted.” Perhaps all this apparent
- indifference was a part of Desire’s test; she was trying to discover how
- far he would trust her. When he thought of her cloudy gray eyes, he felt
- certain that any seeming unkindness wasn’t intended. “I’m far nicer than
- you suspect,” she had told him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, from anger he became all tenderness. What did a little postponement
- matter? It would make their meeting all the finer. He wouldn’t ask her a
- single accusing question..That was the kind of thing Hal would have done,
- spoiling available happiness by a remembered grievance. Love, if it was
- worth anything, was a rivalry between two people to be generous. The man
- had to set the example; the girl didn’t dare.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he passed out of the hotel, his eye caught a florist’s tucked away
- behind the doorway. He ordered some lilies of the valley to be sent to
- her. This time he inclosed his card. He smiled. If he took to sending her
- presents at the rate he had in London, she’d have no excuse for not
- knowing that he had landed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She feedeth among the lilies.” Where had he heard that? As he sauntered
- up Fifth Avenue in the ripe September sunlight, the scene drew from out
- the shadows of his memory: a little boy standing naked in a stable-studio,
- while a piratical-looking wild-haired father worked upon a canvas and
- chanted, “‘She feedeth among the lilies. She looketh forth in the morning,
- fair as the moon, clear as the sun, and terrible as an army with banners.
- If a man give all his substance for love he cannot...’” He remembered how
- his father had wagged his head at him: “No, he cannot, Teddy. Yet many
- waters cannot quench love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She feedeth among the lilies!” He wished he had sent her a different kind
- of flower.
- </p>
- <p>
- The magic of the streets took his interest—the elation of being in a
- new country. He was conscious of a height, a daring, a vigor which were
- novel in his experience. Mountains of concrete and steel met his gaze.
- What kind of a people was this who raised soaring palaces, bigger than
- cathedrals, and used them as offices? To get to the top must be a day’s
- journey. The people who inhabited the highest stories must live among the
- clouds and come down for week-ends. He watched the eagerness of the keen
- alert faces which hurried past him on the pavements—the quick
- tripping step of the girls, and the thin racing look of everybody. The
- types of the faces were cosmopolitan, but their expression was one: they
- all had the high-wrought look of athletes who were rushing to a future
- which would not wait for them. He felt himself caught up, daunted, stung
- into vitality, and whirled forward by a wave of monstrous endeavor.
- </p>
- <p>
- That afternoon he visited the editor who was the excuse for his journey.
- All the while, as he sat talking to him, he kept thinking: “The flowers
- will have arrived by now. She’ll know that I have come.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He talked prices which should have astounded him; but the only thought he
- had was how much this influx of money and reputation would enable him to
- do for her. When he had arranged the nature of his contributions, he was
- on edge for his interview to end. The moment it was over, he dashed to the
- elevator, found the nearest telephone and rang up his hotel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is Mr. Gurney. Has a message been left for me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “None.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Strange. There must be some reason. She would tell him when they met.
- Should he call her up? Or go to her house and camp till she came back? He
- shook his head. His pride warned him that that wouldn’t be policy. The
- next sign must come from her. And then he wondered, was it right to have
- either pride or policy when you were in love? It was pride and policy that
- had made him waste his chances on that night drive from Glastonbury.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went to see his publisher, who was astonished by his youth and had had
- no idea that he was in America. He found himself treated as a personality—a
- man to be reckoned with. It was exhilarating, flattering; but all that it
- meant to him was something to tell Desire to make her glad. That was all
- that any success meant now.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was five o’clock when he returned to his hotel. He went to the desk.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Any message?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The clerk glanced down the row of pigeon-holes and drew out a slip of
- paper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A lady called you up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- With nervous fingers he took it from him and read:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come to dinner seven forty-five. Vashti Jodrell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- From Desire nothing!
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VI—DESIRE’S MOTHER
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he address which
- Desire had given him was on Riverside Drive. Shortly after seven he left
- the Brevoort and climbed to the roof of a passing bus. The polished
- asphalt of Fifth Avenue gleamed like a waterway. Round and unwinking, like
- tethered moons, arc-lights shone in endless lines. As he passed through
- Madison Square, he had a glimpse of carnival—trolleys streaming like
- comets, and Broadway seething in a blaze of light. Then, as though velvet
- curtains had fallen, again the quiet.
- </p>
- <p>
- With the secret magic and passivity of night, the city had undergone a
- change. It had lost its haste. It went on tiptoe now. Tall buildings stood
- silent as tombs, quarried from the granite of the dusk. Streets had become
- orientalized. A spirit of poetry was abroad. Over the turrets of this
- Babylon of a day the wings of Time brooded, shadowing its modern glare
- with the pomp of a sombre and mysterious austerity. It had become a
- metropolis of dreamers, as fitting a stage as Florence for any tale that
- love might choose to tell.
- </p>
- <p>
- Vashti! It was a far cry from this September night to the spare-bedroom at
- Orchid Lodge, with the red winking eye of the winter’s fire, the tapestry
- of Absalom swinging by his hair and the little boy sitting up in bed,
- spellbound by the enchantment of a woman’s voice. A far cry to the
- marriage-box, to the wistful consultations with Harriet and to that same
- ecstasy of love, unfulfillable then, that he was dreaming now! He wondered
- how much of his passion for Desire was the outcome of that ghostly passion
- for her mother. It was like a faery-story which, with pauses and
- diversions, had been telling itself throughout his life. Vashti had been
- the enchantress who, by lifting her voice, had created his hopes and his
- despairs. Her voice had lured Desire from him in the darkened silence of
- the farmhouse. And now, with starry eyes, he was going to her that she
- might give him back Desire.
- </p>
- <p>
- The coolness and rustling of trees! To his left a river black and silent
- To his right a rampart of houses, honey-combed with fire. Flitting on
- speedy errands, cars darted through the shadows with staring eyes. He
- caught glimpses of women, and of men who sat beside them. Men and women
- always and everywhere together! Where were they going? What did they talk
- about? With them lovers’ ways were an old story, but with him——
- </p>
- <p>
- The conductor called from the top of the steps and pointed to an
- apartment-house. While his name was being telephoned up, he took in his
- surroundings. All this was familiar to her. He compared it with Eden Row,
- and was filled with hesitations. Everywhere his eye detected luxury. She
- might be wealthy. He had never thought of that; he had only thought of
- what he could give her. Their ways of life must be utterly divergent. What
- had he to offer? And he had come to America to marry her!
- </p>
- <p>
- He was told he was expected. The elevator shot up and halted; the boy
- directed him to a door in the passage. As he stood waiting, he heard the
- sound of a piano played softly. The moment he was admitted, the playing
- stopped.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a luxurious room illumined by a solitary shaded lamp, a woman was
- seated with her hands upon the keyboard. The window was open and a breeze
- rustled the curtains. Distant across the river in the abyss of night
- lights twinkled like stars in an inverted firmament. The air was filled
- with a summer fragrance: it drifted from a bowl of lilies of the valley
- which had been placed on the piano beneath the lamp.
- </p>
- <p>
- The woman turned her head slightly; he could just begin to see her
- profile. Her voice reached him softly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t speak. I was remembering. It pains, and yet it’s good to remember—sometimes,
- Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her hands commenced to wander, picking out chords, starting little airs,
- leaving them abruptly and starting them afresh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder what you look like, and I’m afraid to find out. I’ve always
- thought of you as still a little chap, and I don’t want to undeceive
- myself. You used to be the faery-tale I told my little girl. ’Tell
- me more about Teddy,’ she used to say. And then I’d invent such wonderful
- stories. You were our dream-person.—She wouldn’t let you know that
- for worlds; you mustn’t let her guess that you know. She’s like that—an
- odd girl: she feels far more than she’ll ever express—goes out of
- her way to make people misunderstand, to make them think she’s cold and
- careless. It’s because—— Can you guess? It’s because she’s
- afraid to love too much. Her mother let love have power over her and—she
- got hurt. Oh, well!” She shrugged her white shoulders. “No use regretting.
- Ah, this brings memories!”
- </p>
- <p>
- In a half-voice, like a lark beating up into the clouds, she commenced to
- hum to the accompaniment; then took up the words. In the dim-lit room,
- with the blackness of night peering in at the window and the lilies
- breathing out their exotic fragrance, all the wistful past came trooping
- back. He forgot New York, forgot his anxiety and loneliness. Pictures
- formed and melted under the spell of her singing. He remembered his
- childish elation, when she had carried him back to the tapestried bedroom,
- making him believe that she preferred him to Hal. He saw again the
- tenderness in her face as she had bent over him by the firelight,
- listening expectantly for Hal’s footstep in the passage. He felt again the
- despair of his first disillusion, when the great day had been spoilt and
- she had driven home with him through the lamp-smirched London night,
- begging him to believe that she was good—that she was good whatever
- happened. After all these years the memory of that childish tragedy burnt
- again intensely.
- </p>
- <p>
- Had love hurt her? A strange complaint to hear from Vashti! Hadn’t she
- rather hurt herself? Her fatal sweetness must have proved cruel to many
- men.
- </p>
- <p>
- His mother, Mrs. Sheerug, every one had doubted her. Even Hal doubted her
- now—Hal who had promised to follow her through the dark wood that
- few women had dared to tread. What had happened to her in the dark wood?
- Teddy could only guess; but because she was Desire’s mother, and still
- more at this moment because she was singing, he could not help but think
- that she was good. At last, after all these years of following, he had
- come up with her. Did she need his help? Was she trying to tell him?
- </p>
- <p>
- She swung round with a rippling laugh which had tears in it. “Have you
- forgiven me, Teddy? A sentimental question! Of all the big sins I’ve done,
- that’s the one that I’ve most regretted.—Ah, you’ll not say that you
- havel Boys don’t forget things like that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was filled with an immense compassion for her. Beneath her forced
- gayety he suspected heart-hunger. She looked a proud woman, with just that
- touch of distinction and mystery that makes for lurement. Her smile was a
- mask, rather than a means of self-expression. She would impress a stranger
- as being courteously on the defensive, yet anxiously ready for the
- excitement of attack. “A woman of experience!” one would say. “A
- proficient man-tamer! She fears nothing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her face was made up; her lips too scarlet. Teddy could see that even in
- the half-light. Her figure was finer than in the old days—more
- rounded and gracious, but still sinuous in its lines. She possessed to an
- even greater extent her dangerous power to fascinate. By a trick of
- kindness, which might mean nothing, by a hint of restrained tenderness,
- she could quicken the blood and set a man dreaming of goddesses in a riot
- of blue seas, and the throb of Pan’s pipes heard distantly in sun-smitten
- woodlands. Her eyes spoke of other things to Teddy. They had lost their
- old contentment. He recognized in them the questing melancholy that he had
- seen in Hal’s.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was beautiful—in some ways more beautiful: haunting and
- unsatisfying: an instrument for romance; a shuttered house from behind
- whose windows there was a continual sense of watching.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her forehead was intensely cold and white, contradicting the eagerness of
- the rest of her expression. Her brows were like spread wings, hovering and
- poised; her eyes vague as sea-clouds till they smiled, when they flashed
- with gleams of blue-gray sunlight. Again he wondered whether his love for
- Desire was an outcome of this earlier ghostly passion. They were more than
- ordinarily alike, even to their gestures. The hair of both was the color
- of ancient bronze, dark in the hollows and burnished at the edges. The
- mouth of each gave the key to her character, becoming any shape that an
- emotion made it: petulant and unreasonable; kind and gracious and adoring.
- But there was this great difference: Desire’s beauty had youth’s conscious
- certainty of conquest; in Vashti’s there was the pathetic appeal to be
- allowed to conquer. Her throat was still her glory, throbbing like a
- bird’s and slender as a flower. Rising from her low-cut gown, it showed in
- its full perfection.
- </p>
- <p>
- She clapped her hands, as Desire would have done, and laughed softly at
- the impression she had created. “Nearly old enough to be your mother; but
- still vain and pleased because you like me. I dressed especially for you,
- my littlest lover. And now—now that I’ve seen you, I’m not sorry
- that you’ve grown up.” She stretched out both her hands and drew him to
- her. “You’re nice. You’re even nicer. So tall! So brave-looking! And
- you’re still a dreamer, Teddy—a little god Love, peering in through
- the gate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly she reached up her arms. “There! Why, you’re blushing, you dear
- boy. We’re going to be great friends, you and I and Desire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wanted to ask about Desire, but he couldn’t bring himself to frame the
- question. He listened intently to catch the rustle of her approach. He
- expected every minute to see her through the darkness, across the
- threshold. Why didn’t Vashti tell him? Was her kindness a subtle way of
- apologizing foe Desire’s absence? He had found hidden meanings in
- everything that had been said: “She feels far more than she’ll ever
- express—goes out of her way to make people misunderstand.” And then:
- “We’re going to be great friends, you and I and Desire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Vashti touched his hand gently. “You’ve something on your mind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Would she never be frank with him?
- </p>
- <p>
- “On my mind! No, really. It’s only seeing you and finding myself a man.
- Last time,” he laughed into her eyes, “it was you that I thought I was
- going to marry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And wouldn’t you now? No, you wouldn’t. I can see that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A gong tinkled faintly. She slipped an arm through his. On the right-hand
- side of the passage doors led off. He watched for one of them to open.
- When they reached the small paneled dining-room at the far end, his heart
- sank: only two places had been set.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let’s make it our day—the day that I promised you. Now tell me
- everything. What brought you over?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He glanced sharply across the table. Was she poking sly fun at him?
- “Brought me over?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. That’s not such an unreasonable question. You can’t persuade me that
- you came just to see me, Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yet,” he said, “it was partly that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the rest?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Work. I’m a writer. I’ve had a little success. Don’t you remember how I
- always said I was going to be famous? But aren’t you playing with me?
- D’you really mean that you didn’t expect me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Vashti met his eyes quietly. “My baby-girl told me something. But how did
- you discover our address?”
- </p>
- <p>
- While he answered, he watched her narrowly to catch the flicker of any
- tell-tale expression. “When she was in London this summer, she visited
- Madame Josephine’s Beauty Parlors. Madame Josephine’s my friend. I’ve told
- her a good many things about myself; amongst others—— You
- spoke about dream-persons. I’ve had my dream-person for years—ever
- since I was at the farmhouse. So there——! She spotted Desire
- directly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Vashti raised her glass: “To our dream-persons; and may they not
- disappoint us when they become realities.” There was a pause. He trembled
- on the brink of a confession. The maid entered to change the dishes. When
- she had gone, he leant towards Vashti. His voice was husky. “When shall I
- see her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Vashti closed her eyes and caught her breath in a quick laugh. “That
- depends—depends on how late you stay. Desire’s out at Long Island,
- taking part in some amateur theatricals. She may ’phone me up
- presently to say she’s stopping the night If she comes back, she’ll have
- to get some man to drive her, She won’t arrive till after twelve.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had a curious feeling of impropriety in discussing Desire with her
- mother. It was a stupid feeling to have just because, long ago, he had
- given Vashti his boyish affection. Yet instinctively he felt that he might
- rouse her jealousy if he laid too much stress on his change of homage. Was
- that why she was evading him? How much did she know of what had happened?
- He began to skirmish for information.
- </p>
- <p>
- Speaking carelessly, he said, “So she’s not gone on the stage yet?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Vashti betrayed surprise. “She wants to—but, how did you know?”
- Then, finding her own explanation: “Madame Josephine again, I suppose.
- Desire talks about her ambitions to every one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don’t want her to be an actress?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She’ll do what she likes. I shan’t thwart her. I’d much rather——
- It’s funny that I should tell you, Teddy. I’d much rather that she should
- marry some nice boy, and have heaps of children. I’d like her to have all
- the wholesome things that her mother hasn’t had—the really good
- things—not the shams. It’s lonely to be forty and to have no one to
- protect you. Unfortunately we don’t find that out till we’re forty, and we
- can’t hand on our experience. She’s very young.—Tell me about
- yourself. How’s that big father with the bushy head?”
- </p>
- <p>
- While they talked of the past a closer sense of comradeship grew up
- between them. He told her about Madame Josephine and Duke Nineveh, and how
- the wonderful change in their fortunes had occurred.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And Mrs. Sheerug,” she asked, “does she still wear green plush and yellow
- feathers?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She still wears green plush and yellow feathers. But she does a bit of
- splashing now—drives about in a carriage-and-pair. I don’t think she
- likes it; she wants to please her Alonzo.—It is good to be able to
- speak of Eden Row. Why, I don’t feel a bit homesick now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Homesick!” She pushed back her chair and rose languidly. Her hand went
- slowly to her heart. “My home’s hidden here; it’s an imagined place,
- Teddy. I’ve lived always swinging on a perch. How I envy your being able
- to feel homesick!—It’s seeing you that’s done it. I want to be
- young, young, young again to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- With the reflected light from the table drifting up across her breast and
- her eyes brooding on him through the shadows, she looked both gorgeous and
- tragic. He couldn’t think of anything to say; he had always pictured her
- as wandering from happiness to happiness. While he struggled with his
- silence, a sob escaped her; she hurried from him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He followed her into the other room, where the shaded lamp shone softly on
- the lilies. Ever since he had entered the apartment, he had had the sense
- of a thinness of atmosphere, a temporary quality, a consciousness of
- something lacking. He knew what it was that he had missed now; these rooms
- were tenanted only by women.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was beside the window, with one knee upon the couch, staring out to
- where night yawned above the river and lights twinkled, like stars in an
- inverted firmament.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Come</i>.” She slipped her arm about his shoulder. “Wouldn’t you have
- loved me once for doing that? Am I terribly older—not quite what you
- expected? No, don’t tell me. Don’t lie to me. Life! It goes from us. When
- a woman’s lived merely to be beautiful, she’s reached the fag-end at
- forty. Seeing you so brave and tall, has brought that home to me. I’ll
- have to live whatever life I have left, through the beauty of Desire now.
- A little hard for a selfish woman! I trusted to my beauty to do
- everything. And I <i>was</i> beautiful when first you knew me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you’re still beautiful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear of you to say so! Still beautiful! In a way, yes. But,” she laughed
- scornfully, “with an effort—with such an effort. How I’d love to see
- myself the way I was when your father painted me. A garden enclosed, he
- called me, a spring shut up, a fountain sealed. You see, I remember. It
- was my remoteness that attracted then. All the men were at my feet, even
- your father. Oh, yes, he was; your mother knew it. Common men in the
- street, and little boys like you, and—and poor old Hal—they’d
- do anything for me if I raised an eyelash.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The maid brought in coffee.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let’s sit down. No, not so far away—quite near to me, for old
- times’ sake, my littlest lover. D’you mind if I smoke a cigarette? Mrs.
- Sheerug, dear old Mrs. Sheerug, she wouldn’t approve of it. I always loved
- her and wanted her to think well of me. She’d never believe that. You’re a
- bit shocked yourself. I don’t often do it before my baby-girl. But tell
- me,” she sank her voice, “what about Hal?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He tried to think of things to tell her. What was there to tell? Good
- fortune had worked no change in Hal. Money hadn’t made him happier. He was
- a man thrust forward by the years, but always with his face turned back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah,” she whispered, “I know. Don’t go any further. He would be like that.
- He lives remembering.” Her grip on Teddy’s hands tightened. “Learn a
- lesson. Don’t be kind to women, Teddy. You’ll get no thanks. A woman’s
- mean-hearted. If a man’s too good to her, she doesn’t try to be nobly good
- in return; she takes advantage. She plays pranks with him—wants to
- see how much he’ll forgive her; if he’s still magnanimous, she despises
- him. It takes a good woman to appreciate a good man; few women are both
- good and beautiful. It wasn’t till Mary Magdalene had lost her looks that
- she broke the alabaster box of ointment. What I mean is that beautiful
- women are cruel; God gives them too much power. Oh, yes, it’s true.
- Desire’s like that—sweetly ungrateful. I can see myself in her. A
- man’ll have to be a brute to make her love him.—Ah, you almost hate
- me! I wish she could make you hate her so that you’d go home to Eden Row,
- and—oh, do big work and marry another Dearie. I’m fond of you,
- Teddy.” She let go his hands. “When we’re forty, we beautiful women learn
- to be gentle, and—and you thank us, don’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She got up and buried her face in the lilies. “Sent them to her, eh? Hoped
- you’d find her wearing them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She seated herself at the piano, looking back across her shoulder and
- playing while she spoke, as though her hands were a separate personality.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. There was a garden enclosed—the gates
- all locked, and Love gazed in at it! But there came a time when Love grew
- tired. While he had waited, the garden had taken no notice. But when he
- had gone, all the lilies, and sunflowers, and roses rushed to the gates
- and clamored to follow him. But the locks had grown rusty. The garden
- which had enclosed itself against Love, found itself shut out from Love.
- Tra-la-la! Yea, verily.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her hands lay idle in her lap for a moment. “You mustn’t mind me. It’s a
- luxury to indulge in self-pity. I shall be so gay to-morrow you won’t know
- me. But just at present I’m wishing,” she mocked her own melancholy,
- slanting her eyes at him, “rather wishing I were Mrs. Hal Sheerug—wishing
- I were any good domestic woman instead of Vashti, the singer. And if I
- were Mrs. Hal, I’d be as much of a curiosity as Eden Row set down on
- Broadway.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Again she took up her playing. “And yet—and yet life would be
- tedious without love. We’re so afraid that love will never come to us,
- aren’t we, Teddy? Afraid that our latest chance will be our last. You see,
- I’m like that, too; I know all about it. You’re asleep. Perhaps we’re both
- asleep—both dreaming of something more splendid than reality. Don’t
- let’s wake up—we’ll be unhappy. Let’s go on dreaming together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She ceased speaking, but her hands wandered from melody to melody. She
- played very softly. From far below in the darkness the hum of speeding
- cars was like the drowsy trumpeting of gnats in an English garden. Through
- half-closed eyes he watched her, trying to make himself believe she was
- Desire.
- </p>
- <p>
- Why had she so deliberately filled his mind with doubts? And Desire—why
- had she gone away without mentioning him on the very day that he had
- landed? Was it carelessness, or a young girl’s way of impressing him with
- her value? “She feels far more than she’ll ever express.” It might be that—a
- paradoxical way of showing affection.
- </p>
- <p>
- Vashti gazed towards him and nodded, as much as to say, “I know what
- thoughts are passing.” She struck three chords.
- </p>
- <p>
- What happened next was like arms spread under him, carrying him away and
- away from every trouble. “Oh, rest in the Lord, wait patiently for Him.”
- Her voice sprang up like a strong white bird; at every beat of its wings
- the accompaniment fluttered like the weak wings of small birds following.
- “Oh; rest in the Lord”—the white bird rose higher with a braver
- confidence and the little birds took courage, plunging deeper into the
- grave and gentle stillness. “Oh, rest in the Lord”—it was like a
- sigh of contentment traveling back from prepared places. The room grew
- silent.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was kneeling beside him—kneeling the way his mother would have
- knelt, with her arms about him and her face almost touching.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m really religious, Teddy. Won’t you trust me? Don’t you think that
- there must be some good in me when I can sing like that?” It was like a
- little child pleading with him. “I’ve tried to turn you back. Desire’s too
- young and I don’t think—— But you won’t be turned back; so let
- me help you. I don’t know much of what’s happened between you, but——”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the hall a key grated. The sound of the door opening. A gust of
- laughter—a man’s and a girl’s.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shish! It’s tee-rrifically late.—My goodness, Tom, but you were
- reckless! I thought every moment we’d upset.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Some driving, wasn’t it? You oughtn’t to complain. You liked it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Liked it! I should say so. But Twinkles didn’t like it Poor Twinkles was
- mos’ awf’lly scared. Wasn’t ’oo, Twinkles?—Wonder if mother’s
- in bed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Coming. I have a visitor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After Vashti had left him, their voices sank to a whisper.
- </p>
- <p>
- So she’d been out with another man! While he had been waiting, almost
- counting the seconds, she’d been out with another man! They’d been driving
- through the darkness together. Perhaps they’d been making love. No wonder
- she hadn’t answered his letters or cables. “Come to America if you really
- care.” She had said it lightly and forgotten. It had meant nothing to her.
- And here he’d been finding delicate excuses to explain what was no more
- than indifference.
- </p>
- <p>
- A Pekinese lap-dog waddled in; catching sight of him, it sniffed
- contemptuously. It was followed by a boy who had the perky air of an
- impudent fox-terrier. He stared at Teddy with an amused gleam of
- challenge.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here, all this evening! Oh, what a shame and me out!” It was Desire’s
- piping voice. “Get out of the way, Tom, you’re blocking up everything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He saw her—her piquant face alight with welcome. She tripped across
- the room, extending both her hands. Her eyes begged him to keep their
- secret “It is good of you to visit us so promptly,” she said. “Fancy your
- remembering! I didn’t think we’d see you till to-morrow at earliest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She waited for him to help her. Then: “Mother says you’re over on
- business. Are you going to be here long?” His sense of injury died down.
- He saw only the small penitent face, with its gray eyes and quivering
- childish mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That depends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, we’ll see heaps of you, won’t we?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He couldn’t endure this pretending. He pushed aside her question. “What
- are you doing to-morrow?” he asked abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “To-morrow! To-morrow!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gazed vaguely round. Her mother came to her rescue. “My baby-girl
- never knows what she’s doing tomorrow. She never plans ahead. Better call
- her up, Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not too early,” Desire smiled poutingly. “I’m awfully tired. And Twinkles
- is tired. Isn’t ’oo, Twinkles darling?” She stooped down and
- touched the dog’s nose with the tip of her finger. “We shan’t get up till——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Call up at eleven,” said Vashti. “Before you go, I may as well introduce
- you two men. If I don’t, you’ll glower at each other all the way down in
- the elevator.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was passing out; Desire touched him on the arm possessingly. “I
- couldn’t help it,” she whispered. “We’ll have all to-morrow to ourselves.
- You’re not angry?” Angry! As though he’d come all the way to America to be
- angry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Couldn’t ever be angry with you,” he whispered back.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VII—LOVING DESIRE
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>uring the past two
- hours since he had breakfasted, he had watched the telephone as though it
- were a live thing—as though it were her lips which might speak to
- him at any moment He felt that she was there in the room with him,
- obstinately keeping silent.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had told him not to disturb her till eleven, but he had persuaded
- himself that he would hear from her long before that—at nine,
- perhaps; at ten, at latest. She had tried to appear offhand in arranging
- the appointment because another man had been present He pretended to think
- it rather decent of her to have let the chap down so lightly.
- </p>
- <p>
- During every minute of the last two hours, he had been expecting to hear
- the shrill tinkle of her summons. As he bent above his writing his heart
- was in his throat He kept glancing up, telling himself that his sixth
- sense had warned him that her voice was already asking its way across the
- wires. Though previous premonitions had proved unwarranted, he was
- confident that his latest was truly psychic.
- </p>
- <p>
- Surely a girl who knew that she was loved wouldn’t sleep away the
- freshness of a blue September morning! Curiosity, if nothing better, would
- rouse her. It didn’t often happen that a man came three thousand miles to
- do his courting. She’d kept him waiting so long. If she felt one-tenth
- part of his impatience——
- </p>
- <p>
- He finished his letter to his mother. It was all about his voyage and the
- interviews of yesterday. He ought to tell her more—but how, without
- telling her too much?
- </p>
- <p>
- He scrawled a postscript, “By the way, yesterday I met Vashti”; then
- sealed the envelope. By the time an inquiry could be returned, he would
- know everything. He would know for certain whether Desire loved him. He
- pulled out his watch. A few minutes past ten! To keep his nerves quiet he
- made a pretense at working. He would outline the first of his series of
- articles.
- </p>
- <p>
- But his thoughts wandered. There was no room in his mind for anything save
- her. She possessed him. The birdlike inflexions of her voice piped in his
- memory; he could hear her laughter, the murmur of her footsteps, the
- rustle of her dress. The subtle fragrance of her presence was all about
- him. In the silence of his brain she pleaded with him, taunted him,
- explained her omissions of consideration. “You don’t know what things have
- done to me—don’t know what things have done to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was useless; he gave up his attempt. All he had accomplished was to
- fill a page with sketches of her face. Here she was as he had seen her
- last night, fashionably attired, with her hair like a crown of bronze upon
- her forehead. And here as the Guinevere of that bewildering drive, mystic
- as the dawn in a web of shadows. And here as the coaxing, elusive sprite,
- who had scribbled her heart upon the dusty panes of childhood.
- </p>
- <p>
- Would he ever be able to work again, ever be able to pursue any ambition
- or any dream in which she did not share?
- </p>
- <p>
- He rose restlessly and fumbled for his watch. A minute to eleven! He
- stepped across to the telephone. While the boy at the switchboard was
- getting his number, he tapped with his foot, consumed with impatience.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madame Jodrell’s apartment?—I want to speak to Miss Desire.—Oh,
- no, I’m sure she’s not sleeping. You’re mistaken.” He laughed nervously.
- “This is Mr. Gurney. She asked me to ring her up at eleven.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Silence. A long wait. “She’ll speak to you, sir.” The clicking of a new
- connection. He heard the receiver taken down at the other end and a
- curious sound which, after puzzling over, he decided must be the running
- of bathwater.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He listened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that you, Desire?”
- </p>
- <p>
- No answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she gave herself away. Across the wire came to him a stifled yawn,
- followed by a bubbling little laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, it’s Desire. What a lot of time you’re wasting. A whole minute! Time
- enough to decide the destiny of nations. And weren’t you punctual!—Can
- you come at once! Certainly not. Can’t you guess where I am? I shan’t be
- ready till twelve.—Oh, well, if you don’t mind waiting, I’ll expect
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had intended to say more, but she rang off.
- </p>
- <p>
- Streets were gilded with sunlight The sky was a smooth shell-like blue,
- without a cloud. It seemed much more distant than any sky he had seen in
- London. Over London the sky broods companionably; from London streets,
- even at their merriest the hint of melancholy is never absent But here, in
- New York, he was conscious of an invigorating reckless valor, a
- magnificent and lonely daring. It was every man for himself. There was no
- friendship between the city and the heavens; as ladders of stone were set
- up higher against the blue, the heavens receded in challenge.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a tang of autumn in the air. Leaves on trees began to have a
- brittle look. Everything shone: trolley-lines, windows, the slender height
- of sky-scrapers. It was a wide day—just the day for adventures.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he passed further uptown, he noticed that people walked more leisurely;
- men’s faces grew rarer. He had a glimpse of the Park, a green valley of
- coolness between the quarried, sun-dazzled crags of the metropolis.
- Presently he turned off to the left, down one of those tunnels hewn
- between apartment-houses and sacred to the morning promenades of yapping
- dogs—proud little useless dogs like Twinkles, led on leashes by
- lately-risen mistresses. Then, in a flash, he saw the Hudson, going from
- one great quietness to another, sweeping down to the ocean full-bosomed
- and maternal from its sanctuary in the hills.
- </p>
- <p>
- The elevator-boy seemed to have been warned of his coming; when he gave
- his name, he was taken up without suspicious preliminaries.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Desire hasn’t finished dressing yet,” the maid told, him. “If you’ll
- wait in here, she’ll be with you presently.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was shown into the room in which Vashti had played to him. He hadn’t
- taken much notice of it on his previous visit Now, as he tiptoed about he
- saw that it was expressive of its occupants’ personalities. It had a gay,
- delicate, insubstantial air. It didn’t look lived in. Everything could be
- packed up within an hour. It wasn’t a home; it was what Vashti had called
- a “perch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The furniture was slight and dainty, as though there for appearance rather
- than for use. The sofa by the window seemed the only piece meant to be sat
- on. On the table a dwarf Japanese garden was growing. Beside it lay a copy
- of <i>Wisdom and Destiny</i>, opened and turned face down. The books
- within sight were few, for the most part plays and the latest fiction.
- They were strewn about with a calculated carelessness. On the walls was a
- water-color of the Grand Canal and another of the Bay of Naples. The rest
- of the pictures were elaborate photos of actresses, with spidery
- signatures scrawled across them. One face predominated: the face of a
- beautiful woman, with a vague smile upon her childish, self-indulgent
- mouth and a soft mass of hair swathed about her head. She was taken in a
- variety of poses, but always with the same vague smile and always with her
- face stooping, as though she were trying to hypnotize the onlooker. One
- might have supposed that this was the den of a man who was in love with
- her. Scratched hurriedly in the corner of each of her portraits, prefaced
- by some extravagant sentiment, was the name “Fluffy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- On the piano stood the photo of the only man in the collection, signed “To
- my dearest Girl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy paused before it. He recognized the man who had brought Desire home
- last night—the man who had kept her from him. “To my dearest Girl.”
- He read and re-read it. Was that the secret of her indifference—that
- she was in love already? But wouldn’t Vashti have warned him? He stared
- his defiance. The more inaccessible she became to him, the more he felt
- the need of her. Something of the valor and bright hardness of the day had
- entered into his soul. He was like those tall buildings, climbing more
- recklessly into the blue every time the sky receded from them. He didn’t
- care who claimed her. He was glad that he would have to fight. She was his
- by the divine right of the dreamer, and had been his for years. At
- whatever sacrifice he would win her. Inconsistently, the more difficult
- she became to him, the more certain he grew of success.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hulloa, King Arthur! Getting impatient? I’ll soon be> with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stepped to the door and looked out into the passage. “Impatient! Of
- course I’m impatient. Where are you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her laugh floated back. “Where you’re not allowed to come. You can’t
- complain; I told you I wouldn’t be dressed till twelve.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s nearer one by now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it? But you’ve nothing to do. If you hunt about, you’ll find some
- cigarettes. Make yourself happy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had hoped she would continue the conversation; but her voice grew
- secret as she whispered to her maid. He heard cupboards and drawers being
- opened and shut, a snatch of song, and, every now and then, the infectious
- gayety of her laughter.
- </p>
- <p>
- He came back into the room and smiled at the photo on the piano. “She
- mayn’t be in love with me yet, but she’s certainly not in love with you,”
- he thought. Then he stood gazing at his unresponsive rival, wondering how
- much he could tell.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was still intent upon the portrait when she danced across the
- threshold, swinging her gloves.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Taking a look at Tom? Be careful; you’ll make him jealous.” She slipped
- her small hand into his. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “D’you mean that—that you’re really glad?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes sparkled with mischief, but she said demurely: “Why shouldn’t I
- mean it? I’m always glad to see my friends.—And now, don’t you think
- you’ve held my hand long enough? See how lonely it looks, just as if it
- were asking me to put on its glove.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She tripped over to the window and gazed out. “Isn’t it glorious?—And
- I feel so happy—so full of life, so young.” Her back was towards
- him; she felt him drawing nearer. “I ought to tell you about my hands
- before we know each other better. They have names. The right one is Miss
- Self-Reliance, and the left Miss Independence. They’re both of them very
- ambitious and—” she swung round, lowering her eyes—“and they
- don’t like being held.” He glanced at the photo on the piano. “Did no one
- ever hold them?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hardly any one, truth and honest” She finished the last button and winked
- at him solemnly. “Here have I been ready since eleven, sending you cables
- and whole gardens of flowers.” She burst out laughing: “I’m glad you don’t
- drizzle. Come on, I’m hungry for the sun.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As they shot down in the elevator he asked her: “Drizzle! That’s a new
- word. What do you mean by it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll know soon enough.” She nodded. “Sooner or later all men do it. Tom
- drizzles most awfully. He drizzled last night, when I didn’t want him to
- come up because I thought you’d be in the apartment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you did think that? You hadn’t forgotten that it was the day I
- landed?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Forgotten after you’d cabled me! You must think me callous.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave her shoulders a haughty shrug and ran down the steps into the
- sunlight. He followed, inwardly laughing. Already she had taught him one
- way of stealing a march on the rest of her suitors. All the other men grew
- gloomy—“drizzled,” as she called it—when they fancied that she
- had hurt their feelings. He decided, then and there, that under no
- provocation whatsoever would he drizzle. She might do what she liked to
- him, he would always meet her smiling. <i>Amor Omnia Vincit</i> should be
- the legend written on his banner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What shall we do?” She clasped her hands against her throat in a gesture
- of ecstasy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anything you like.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anything! Really anything? Even something quite expensive?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hang the expense.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then come on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had no idea where she was taking him, and he didn’t care. All places
- were alike, so long as he was alone with her. They walked shoulder to
- shoulder, their arms just touching. Sometimes in crossing a road they drew
- apart and then, as if to apologize for their brief aloofness, came
- together with a little bump on the farther pavement. They were
- embarrassed, and glad to be embarrassed. When their silences had lasted
- too long, they stole furtive glances at each other; when their eyes met,
- they smiled archly.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had passed through the tunnels where the dogs take their morning
- walks, and had come out on to Broadway. Suddenly she stopped and regarded
- him with an expression of unutterable calamity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve got to go back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, don’t—please.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He scented tragedy—a previous engagement, perhaps. “But why—why,
- when we’ve only just met?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve forgotten your lilies. I was going to wear them as—as an
- apology.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed his relief. “Pooh! There are heaps more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it isn’t that. I wouldn’t accept any more. It’s the dear old ones
- that I want—the ones you sent me almost the minute you landed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He glanced round sharply; a few doors off he saw a florist’s. “Don’t go
- back,” he pleaded. And then, with a frankness which he feared might offend
- her: “If you did go back, we might meet other people. I want you all to
- myself to-day; I can’t spare a second of you to other persons. Promise to
- stop here for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I—perhaps I don’t want to lose a second of you to other
- persons.” She rested her hand on his arm lightly. “Where are you going?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Be back before you can say Jack Robinson.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He darted off. As he entered the shop, he caught her slow smile of
- intelligence forbidding him.
- </p>
- <p>
- While the flowers were being arranged, he kept his eyes turned to where
- she hovered on the pavement; the anxiety that she might escape him was not
- quite gone. He saw her hail a taxi. For a moment he thought——
- But, no, she was having an earnest conversation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s all arranged, brother. We’re going to drive down
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t tell me.” He banged the door and settled himself beside her.
- “Life’s much more surprising when you don’t know where you’re going.” He
- laid the flowers in her lap. “For you. You won’t refuse them?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She bent over them curiously, as though she hadn’t the least idea what he
- had been purchasing. As she stripped the paper from them and the white cup
- of the blossoms began to appear, she frowned severely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lilies of the valley! You’re too good. You spoil me. And now you’ll think
- that I was asking for them. No. I won’t wear them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Having registered her protest, she at once rewarded him with her
- fluttering delight as she turned back her coatee and tried several effects
- before finally deciding where to fasten them.
- </p>
- <p>
- While he had walked at her side, he had been too embarrassed to take much
- notice of how she was dressed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now that her attention was occupied, he grew bold to examine her toilet.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her beauty was a subtle, intoxicating perfume, like incense suggesting the
- spirit of worship. She was different from his mother—different even
- from Vashti, and from any woman that he had known. Her difference might
- not be the result of virtues—might even be due to omitted qualities.
- He did not stop to analyze; to him the very newness of her type was a
- fascination.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nothing that she wore was useful. It was perishable as a spring garden. A
- shower of rain, and it would be eternally ruined. None of it could be
- employed as second-best when its first freshness was gone. It couldn’t
- even be given to the poor: her attire was too modish—it bespoke
- luxury and marked the wearer’s class in society. Her clothes were the whim
- of the moment—utterly uneconomic. If Mrs. Sheerug had had to pass
- judgment on them, she would have said that they weren’t sensible.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the exact sense they weren’t even clothing; they were adornments,
- planned with a view to exposing quite as much as to concealing the person.
- To enhance the effect of beauty was their sole purpose.
- </p>
- <p>
- The skirt was a creamy shade of muslin, with small green and blue flowers
- dotted over it. It was thin and blowy, and so modeled as to pronounce
- rather than to hide the lines of the figure. A pair of pretty feet peeped
- from under; the kind of feet that demand a carriage and are not meant for
- walking. They were clad in gossamer silk-stockings; the shoes seemed to
- have been designed for dancing and were absurdly high in the heel. Both
- shoes and stockings exactly matched the creamy tint of the muslin. Teddy
- thought with joy that any one who wore them would be in constant need of a
- man’s protection. There would be many puddles in life over which, with
- such shoes, she would require to be carried.
- </p>
- <p>
- The coatee was of apple-green satin, turned back from the neck and belted
- in at the waist, revealing a gauzy blouse cut into a low V-shape, so as to
- display the gentle breathing of the throat and breast.
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes stole up to her face. It was shadowed by a broad hat of limp
- straw, trimmed with dog-roses and trailing cherry-colored ribbon. On her
- fresh young cheeks was the faintest dust of powder, giving to them a false
- bloom and smoothness. He wondered why she did that, when her unaided
- complexion would have been so much more attractive. Below her left eye was
- a beauty-patch. Behind her left ear hung a tremulous curl, which added a
- touch of demure quaintness. In appearance she was like to one of Lely’s
- portraits of the beauties of the Cavalier period—to a Nell Gwynn,
- whose very aspect of innocence made her latent naughtiness the more
- provocative.
- </p>
- <p>
- Though he was exceptionally ignorant of the feminine arts and familiar
- only with domestic types of women, Teddy thought that he now understood
- why she had taken two hours to dress. For his sake she had made herself a
- work of art. It was as though she had told him, “I want you to like me
- better than any girl in the world, Teddy”—only, for some unexplained
- reason, she had avoided calling him Teddy as yet.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat watching her as she pinned the lilies against her breast How pretty
- her hair was, with its reddish tinge like specks of gold shining through
- its blackness! And her ears—they were like pale petals enmeshed
- within her tresses.
- </p>
- <p>
- He couldn’t blame her if other men had loved her first; but he wished they
- hadn’t. The knowledge had come as a shock.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Been inspecting me for quite some time! Do I meet with monsieur’s
- approval?” She leant her head at a perky angle and glanced up at him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Approval! My mind was made up before I started. I didn’t come to America
- to——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I know.” She cut him short. “Mother told me: you’re a gree-at
- success. You came on business.—Please don’t interrupt; I’ve
- something most important to tell you. I do want you to approve of me
- to-day— to-day most especially. That’s why I didn’t get up till
- eleven.” She saw the smile creeping round the edges of his mouth. “I
- didn’t mean that the way you thought. You’re looking sarcastic and—and
- I hate sarcastic persons. I stayed in bed to get rested that I might look
- my prettiest, because——- Presently I’ll tell you. I’ve done
- something terrible; No, I won’t tell you now—later. But promise
- you’ll forgive me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Forgive you!” His voice trembled. Had he dared, he would have slipped his
- arm about her; but she had huddled herself closer into her corner. “I’ll
- forgive you anything, if you’ll do one thing to please me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He waited for her to ask him what it was; but her strategic faculty for
- silence again asserted itself. She sat, not looking at him, with her eyes
- shaded.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a childish longing that prompted him to make his request. “I want
- to see your hands,” he whispered. “They’re so beautiful. It’s a shame to
- keep them covered. On my word of honor,” he sank his voice, “I won’t—won’t
- take advantage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She considered poutingly whether she would grant the favor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The first I’ve ever asked,” he urged.
- </p>
- <p>
- The smile came like sunshine flashing through cloud. “That kind is rarely
- the last.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She pulled off the glove from her right-hand, Miss Self-Reliance, because
- it was furthest from him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When I was very little,” she said, “I used to ask you whether I was
- pretty. You used to drizzle in those days; all you’d tell me was, ’You
- have beautiful hands.’ Then Bones and I would steal away and cry in the
- currant-bushes. D’you remember?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must have been a grudging little beast.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, you were a nice boy when you weren’t quite horrid. But if I were to
- ask you now, ’Do you think I’m pretty?’ Please don’t answer. I’m
- not asking. But because of all that—the times we used to have—let’s
- be good playfellows while it lasts. We won’t say silly things or do silly
- things. Let’s be tremendously sensible. There! That’s a bargain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It wasn’t. If being in love wasn’t sensible, the last thing he wanted was
- to be sensible. He hadn’t come to America to be sensible in her meaning of
- the word. But the swiftness with which she took his consent for granted
- left no room for argument. She might mistake his arguing for drizzling—the
- fault which she held the most in contempt. So he kept both his tongue and
- his hands quiet, doing his best to forget all the ardent scenes which his
- imagination had conjured.
- </p>
- <p>
- The lonely distance in the taxi between his corner and hers seemed to have
- widened. They passed over a long cat’s-cradle of girders, spanning the
- East River. She didn’t speak. She sat with her ungloved hand before her
- eyes and her face averted. Any stranger who had glanced in on them at that
- moment would have said they had quarreled. It felt very much like it to
- Teddy.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VIII—FAITH RENEWS ITSELF
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>hey had traveled
- for fully twenty minutes in silence; to Teddy it had seemed as many hours.
- The patches of waste-land with hoardings, advertising chewing-gums and New
- York plays, were growing less frequent. A sea-look was softening the
- blueness of the sky. The greenness by the roadside remained unmarred for
- longer and longer stretches. They skirted a little bay, where power-boats
- lay tethered to buoys and a white-winged yacht was spreading sail. They
- panted through a town of scattered wooden houses, cool with lawns and
- shadowy with trees. Then they came to a sandy turf-land, across which a
- horseman distantly galloped, leaping ditches and hurdles.
- </p>
- <p>
- He paid scant attention to his changing surroundings. He kept gazing at
- the girl at his side. He feared to raise his eyes from her for a second,
- lest she should drift away like thistledown.
- </p>
- <p>
- Was she asleep or pretending? Why should she be asleep, when they had so
- much to say and she had been up for barely three hours? Her ungloved hand
- screened her eyes. He suspected that she was spying on him through her
- fingers. Did it amuse her to torment him with silence? She had done that
- with variations from the moment of their meeting at Glastonbury. He
- couldn’t understand her motive in trying to make him wretched. His
- impulse, if he liked people, was to make them glad. He became ingenious in
- unearthing reasons for her conduct. Perhaps she was getting ready to
- confess the thing for which she had to ask his forgiveness. Perhaps she
- was offended by his request that she should remove her glove. But she
- hadn’t seemed offended at the time of asking. And, if she were, how
- trivial! She need only have refused him. She’d given him far graver causes
- for offense.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had reached this point in his despair, when suddenly she uncovered her
- face and sat up vivaciously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Smell the sea! Cheer up. We’re nearly there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Darting out her hand, she patted his knee, laughing gayly at her
- familiarity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are restful You don’t expect me to chatter all the time. People need
- to be very good friends to be able to sit silent. I know men who’d be
- quite snappy if I—— But you’re different.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She spoke caressingly, giving him credit for a delicacy which he did not
- merit. He felt cheap in the accepting of it He wasn’t at all convinced of
- her sincerity. He had the uncomfortable sense that she was aware that he
- wasn’t convinced of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor you! You do look squashed. One would think you weren’t enjoying
- yourself. Was it really only business that brought you to America?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled crookedly, making a lame effort to clamber back to her level of
- high spirits. “Didn’t you arrange that we were going only to be sensible?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She clasped her hands and gazed at him wistfully. “But we needn’t be
- sensible quite always; it wouldn’t be fun. Besides, if it was just
- business that brought you over, I ought to know, because——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because,” he laughed, “if it was just business, then it wasn’t you that
- brought me. And, if it wasn’t you, I’ll be going back directly. If it was
- just business, the only way you could make me stop longer would be by
- being more lavish with your sweetness. You’ve not changed. Desire; you’re
- still the dear, imperious Princess, always kindest at the moment of
- parting.‘’
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now you’re drizzling.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not. But you push me over precipices for the sheer joy of making me
- thank you when you pull me back to safety. I’m most happy to thank you,
- little Desire; but I’d be ever so much obliged if you wouldn’t try such
- risky experiments. You see, you know you’re going to rescue me, but I’m
- never certain.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She drooped towards him fluttering with merriment “Oh, youl What a lot you
- know!”
- </p>
- <p>
- With a quick transition of mood, she sat erect and became severely solemn.
- “I shan’t be nice all day unless you tell me. But if you do tell me——”
- The blank was wisely left for his imagination to fill in with eloquent
- promises. Then, putting all her charm into the question, “Why did you
- come?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked away, ashamed that she should see his unshared emotion. “You
- know already.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I’d rather hear it from your lips. It isn’t half as exciting to have
- to take things for granted.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you must have it, I came because of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And not one scrap because of business?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not one scrap because of business. Business was my excuse to my people. I
- had to tell them something.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was staring at her now. His soul stood beckoning in the windows of his
- eyes, watching for an answering signal.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was her turn to glance away. She had wakened something which both
- thrilled and frightened her. She took refuge in disappointment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you didn’t mention me to them. My father doesn’t know. I wonder why
- you didn’t mention me. Was it because they—all those old-fashioned
- people—wouldn’t think me good enough?—No. No. Don’t touch me.
- Perhaps, after all, it’s better to be sensible. Let’s talk of something
- else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’ve got to finish this now that you’ve started it.” His face was stern
- and he spoke determinedly. “I’d have passed over everything, for your
- sake, Princess-gone on pretending to take things for granted. But-d’you
- think you’re fair to me? You said, ‘Come to America if you really care.’ I
- thought that meant that you’d begun to care.-I hope it does.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She crossed her feet and resigned herself to the danger she had courted.
- “You’re spoiling a most glorious day; but I suppose it’s best to get
- things off one’s chest.” Then, in a composed, cool little voice, “Well?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He surprised himself by a touch of anger. It came and was gone like a
- flicker of lightning.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve obeyed you,” he said slowly; “I’ve come. I’ve done everything decent
- that I could think of to keep you reminded of me. Since we said ’Good-by,’
- I’ve known nothing but purgatory. Even happy things haven’t been happy,
- because you weren’t there to share. That’s the way I feel about you,
- Desire: whatever I am or can be must be for you. But you——
- From the moment you sailed out of Liverpool, you dropped me. You didn’t
- answer my letters. You went out of New York the day I landed, leaving no
- message. When we met last night for five minutes, you were with another
- man. This morning for about half-an-hour you did seem glad, but since then——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He bit his lips and watched her. Outwardly she seemed utterly unmoved.
- “Shall I go on?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just as you like.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His words came with a rush. “This means too much to me; it’s all or
- nothing. If it means nothing to you, say so. I’m not playing. I can go
- away now—there’s time; soon you’ll have become too much a part of
- me.—When you’ve forced me up to the point of being frank, you say,
- ’Let’s talk of something else.’ Can’t you understand that you’re
- becoming my religion—that I do everything thinking, ’This’ll
- make her happy,’ and dream about you day and night?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She sat beside him motionless. He had expected her either to surrender or
- to show resentment. She made no attempt to alter her position; their
- shoulders were still touching.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last, when he had come to the breaking-point, she lifted her grave gray
- eyes. “You’re foolish,” she said quietly. “Of course I’m glad of you. But
- you’ll spoil everything by being in such a hurry. You don’t know what kind
- of a girl I am. We’ve not been together twenty-four hours all told, and
- yet that’s been long enough to teach me that we’re totally unlike. I’m
- temperamental—-one of those girls who alter with the fashions.
- You’re one of the people who never change. You’re the same nice boy I used
- to play with, and fancy that—oh, that on some far-off day I might
- marry. You’re nearly famous, so mother says. I want to be famous, too; but
- I’m younger than you—I’ve not had time. But I know much more about
- the world. Don’t be hurt when I say it: your ideas about love and your
- generosity, and everything you do, make me feel that you’re such a child.
- I like you for it,” she added quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, speaking in a puzzled way: “You make things difficult. I shouldn’t
- be doing right by encouraging you, and——” She faltered over
- her words. The innocent kindness shone in her eyes. “And I can’t bear to
- send you away. I don’t know what to do. I’d have encouraged you if I’d
- written to thank you for those flowers, shouldn’t I? But they made me just
- as happy as—— I was a regular baby over them. Every morning
- they lay there on my plate and I wore them the whole day. Fluffy used to
- chaff me. You don’t like Fluffy.” She winked at him provokingly. “Oh, no,
- you don’t! You think actresses improper persons. You needn’t deny it.—And
- I do so want to be an actress, so as to prove to my father and Mrs.
- Sheerug, and all the lot of them, that I’m worth knowing. Can’t you
- understand? After I’m great, I might be content to chuck the stage and
- become only a simple good little wife.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wouldn’t it be as fine,” he whispered, “to share some one else’s
- success?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gazed at him wisely. “Philanthropic egotist! You know it wouldn’t. Own
- up—don’t you know it wouldn’t?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For a man it wouldn’t,” he conceded ruefully.
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled vaguely. “Then why for a woman? Only love could make it
- different. You believe in love at first sight. I don’t At least, I’m not
- sure about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you can’t call ours love at first sight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ours!” She raised her brows. “Yours was. You had your magic cloak ready
- to pop over me the moment you thought you’d found me. I’m only a lay
- figure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re not,” he protested hotly. “If you’d read my book, you’d know that.
- Your face is on every page.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A lay figure,” she repeated imperturbably.
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not gratify his curiosity as to whether she had read <i>Life Till
- Twenty-one.</i> He waited. At last, driven to desperation, he asked, “What
- am I to do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. I’ve nothing to keep me in America; I had nothing to bring me over
- except you. If I stay here and don’t give my people an explanation,
- they’ll begin to wonder. It won’t be playing the game. So if you don’t
- care——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed so gayly that she made all his mountain difficulties seem
- molehills. “What an old serious! You can’t set times and seasons for love.
- Sooner or later, if you keep on jogging, everything turns out all right.
- You’ve got to believe that. <i>It does</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Since she was his prophetess, he let her optimism go undisputed. He almost
- shared it. But it didn’t provide him with a certain foundation for his
- future.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you’ll stop drizzling,” she said, “I’ll set Miss Independence free for
- a run. There!” She pulled the glove off her left hand and made it scamper
- in the blue and green meadow of her gown. Then, of a sudden, the temptress
- fingers shot out and caressed him for the merest second.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Life’s so much more surprising when you don’t know where you’re going.
- That’s what you said, King Arthur. We don’t know where we’re going—we’re
- both too young. It’s silly to pretend we do. Let’s agree to be immensely
- kind to each other. Don’t let’s try to be anything closer as yet. If we do—”
- She wriggled her shoulders; the little curl trembled violently. “I do hate
- quarreling.—Hulloa! There’s the sea. We’ll be there in a second.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The taxi had halted in a line of automobiles. They were on a bare,
- sun-baked road. On every side salt-marshes stretched away, criss-crossed
- with ditches which drained into a muddy canal The canal crossed the road;
- the bridge was up to allow a fishing-boat passage. Over to the left a
- board-walk ran; behind it the sea flashed like a mirror. Straight ahead,
- in a straggling line of diminishing importance, hotels rose up. A little
- over to the right an encampment of match-box summer-cottages sweltered in
- the glare. Hoardings met the eyes wherever they turned, announcing the
- choicest places to lunch, to garage or to put up for the night in Long
- Beach. At no great distance a wooden cow, of more than lifelike
- proportions, gave a burlesque imitation of the rural, stooping its head as
- if to graze while its back advertised a brand of malted milk.
- </p>
- <p>
- The landscape would have been dreary enough without the people and the
- sun. But the people lent the touch of vivacity. The bright colors of
- women’s dresses stood out boldly in the strong, fluttering air. When seen
- distantly clumped together, they looked like a stage-garden, a-blow with
- artificial flowers. The men and women were for the most part in pairs and
- young—only the older people were in parties. Teddy had the sense
- that he had joined a carnival of irresponsible lovers. Probably all those
- men had their problems. And the girls—they, too, didn’t know where
- they were going. No one was indulging in the careful cowardice which takes
- thought for the morrow. They were leaving all future evil to take care of
- itself. They were finding to-day sufficient in its goodness; and of its
- goodness they intended to miss nothing.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he turned to Desire, he found her studying her face in a
- pocket-mirror and dabbing a film of powder on her impertinent little nose.
- He glanced away, thinking his watching would embarrass her.
- </p>
- <p>
- She spoke with a bewitching self-composure, still scrutinizing her
- reflection: “I could hear your brain ticking. I was right, wasn’t I? It’s
- best at first not to be too much to each other?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her naive frankness in not attempting to hide her vanity, sent a wave of
- affection tingling through him. It was as though by one foolish act she
- had entrusted him with the key to her character—her unabashed
- truthfulness.
- </p>
- <p>
- He leant forward, brushing her shoulder intimately, and peered into the
- mirror from which her eyes watched him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve been an old serious,” he whispered tenderly. “But now I’ll be
- anything you choose. Let’s be just as kind as we know how.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let’s,” she nodded, “you convenient person.” The curl against her neck
- shook roguishly.
- </p>
- <p>
- They pulled up in the courtyard of a hotel. By its architecture it might
- have been in Spain. Great palms in tubs cast heavy shadows. Somewhere
- nearby, but out of sight, an orchestra twanged a ragtime tune. He held her
- hand for one breathless moment as she alighted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What next? Are you hungry?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She closed her eyes with feigned contempt: “Hungry! Glutton.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Away she fled, light as pollen, dancing in her steps in unconscious rhythm
- with the unseen orchestra. He caught her up where the flash of waves,
- rising and falling, burst upon them in tumultuous glory. She was leaning
- back, clutching at the brim of her hat, while the eager wind dragged at
- her skirt like a child entreating her to join in its frolic. She laid her
- hand on his arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is life. Doesn’t it wake you up—make you wonder why you ever
- had the drizzles? We’re not the same persons. I’m not. Cling on to me.
- I’ll blow away. You’ll have to chase me as you would your hat.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They stepped down on to the sands and strolled along by the water’s edge,
- watching the bathers bobbing and splashing. When they had reached the
- point where the crowd grew less dense, they climbed to the board-walk for
- the return journey. They had made a discovery which their action
- confessed: aloneness brought silence; they spoke more freely when
- strangers swarmed about them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy became aware that, wherever they passed, Desire roused comment. Men,
- who were themselves accompanied, turned to gaze after him enviously. He
- compared her with the other women; she was in a separate class—there
- wasn’t one who could match her. She had a grace, a distinction, a subtlety—an
- indescribable and exquisite atmosphere of freshness, which lifted her
- beyond the range of competition. She was like a tropic bird which had
- flown into a gathering of house-sparrows. Moreover, she had a knack,
- highly flattering to his masculine vanity, of appearing to have
- appropriated him, of appearing to be making him her sole interest. The
- pride of possession shot through him that he, of all living men, should be
- allowed to walk by her side as if she belonged to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re creating quite a sensation,” he told her.
- </p>
- <p>
- She affected an improvised boredom. “Oh, yes. I always do.” Then, with a
- flash of girlishness: “Look here, you’re mine to-day absolutely, aren’t
- you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To-day and always.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’ll leave out the always. But to-day you’ll do whatever I tell you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anything at all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then go and bathe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He grimaced his astonishment at the smallness of the request What was she
- after?
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll bathe,” he consented, “if you’ll come with me. But aren’t you
- hungry?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not a bit I breakfasted late.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, if you’ll wash first, I’ll let you feed after.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—” he hesitated, “I don’t want to leave you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I’m keen to see you bathe,” she insisted childishly. Then, employing
- her most winning manner, “I’ll sit here on the beach and watch you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He made a last effort to tempt her. “D’you remember the pool in the
- woodland—the place where we camped? You thought it would make you a
- boy. Perhaps, if you tried now——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nonsense.” She shook her head determinedly and sat down.
- </p>
- <p>
- The situation was too absurd to argue over. Before he left, he gave his
- watch and money into her keeping. He derived a queer sensation from seeing
- her pop them into her vanity-case. That was just the matter-of-fact way in
- which she’d do it if they were married.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he undressed in the concrete bathing-house, he puzzled to discover what
- caprice had prompted her order. Had she done it to prove that she had
- power over him? Or had she wanted to get rid of him? Had he bored her? He
- reviewed their conversation. All small talk! Not very inspiring! His brain
- had been weaving a lover’s phrases, which she wouldn’t permit him to
- utter. The result was that the potentially eloquent lover, when stifled,
- had been neither brilliant nor entertaining—in fact, a dull fellow.
- </p>
- <p>
- A horrid little suspicion sprang up. He tried to stamp it out, but it ran
- from him like flame through withered grass. Had she wanted to be alone to
- enjoy the admiration she inspired? By Eden Row standards they had no right
- to be out unchaperoned. It was still less respectable for her to be alone
- in that fast crowd.
- </p>
- <p>
- He hurried into his bathing-costume and stepped into the sunshine. She
- wasn’t where he had left her. She was nowhere in sight He was half-minded
- to go back and dress, but was deterred by her imagined laughter. He ran
- down to the sea and swam about. Every time he rose on the crest of a wave
- he watched for her. When he passed the spot again she was still absent.
- </p>
- <p>
- Making haste over his dressing, he came out. She wasn’t there. Panic began
- to seize him—all kinds of feverish alarms. He was setting out to
- search, when he saw her coming sauntering along the beach.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hulloa!” she called breezily. “You haven’t been long. Did you only paddle
- or did you duck your head as well?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where’d you get to?” he asked pantingly. “I’ve been awfully nervous.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She cocked her head on one side like a knowing little bird.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nervous! I’ve lived years and years without you to take care of me, and
- haven’t come to much harm.—You silly old thing, I was getting
- something for you.” She opened her vanity-case and pulled out a tin-type
- photograph. “There!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she noticed that his hand trembled. “Why—why, you <i>are</i>
- upset I thought you were only cross. I’m awfully sorry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She melted and gazed at him penitently. In the next breath she was
- chaffing. “If you go on this way, I shan’t bring you out for holidays. You
- might die in my arms. Nice thing, that! It’d ruin my reputation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was regarding the cheap little picture. It was of her, with the wind
- breaking against her dress and the sea backing her. It was scarcely dry
- yet. “For me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course. And, before I lose them, here’s your watch and money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And—and that’s why you insisted on my bathing: to get rid of me for
- a little while so that——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She cut him short. “Feeding-time. You ask too many questions.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As they walked to the hotel, she chattered at length of her adventure.
- “The man who took it, he thought I was an actress. Wanted to know in what
- show I was playing.—You don’t consider that a compliment?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was only half listening. He was remembering his unworthy suspicion,
- that she had stolen a respite to court admiration. Perhaps all his
- suspicions had been equally ill-founded. Perhaps behind each of her
- inconsideratenesses lay a concealed kindness—a tender forethought.
- If it had been so in one case, why not in all?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sweetly ungrateful,” Vashti had called her; “she feels far more than
- she’ll ever express—goes out of her way to make people misunderstand
- her.” And she’d added: “It’s because—— Can’t you guess? She’s
- afraid to love too much. Her mother got hurt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt humiliated—unworthy to walk beside her. No wonder she’d
- smiled at his ideas of love! He’d make it his life’s work, if need be, to
- teach her what love really meant. He vowed to himself that whatever she
- did, no matter how compromising the circumstances, for the future he would
- give her the benefit of the doubt He would never again distrust her. He
- would keep that pathetically cheap little photograph and gaze at it as a
- poignant warning.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IX—SHE ELUDES HIM
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>hey were crossing
- the hotel foyer, when something caught her attention. Without explanation,
- she darted from his side. Thinking she had seen a friend, he did not
- follow at first. She made straight for the news-stand; picking up a
- magazine, she commenced skimming its pages. He strolled over and peered
- across her shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>The Theatre!</i> Something in it that you want? Shall I buy it for
- you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not seem to hear him. He touched her hand, repeating his question.
- For answer she turned back to the cover-design. “Isn’t she wonderful?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He recognized the stooping face and the vague hypnotic smile that he had
- seen in the many photographs that decorated the walls of the apartment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t know about wonderful,” he said carelessly; “she’s all right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right!” Desire frowned her restrained annoyance. “No one who knows
- anything about Fluffy would call her ‘all right.’ She’s wonderful. I adore
- her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He chuckled. He hadn’t wakened to the enormity of his offense. “You’re a
- curious girl Surely you, of all persons, don’t want me to adore her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her frown did not lighten.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall I buy it for you, Princess? You can glance through it while we’re
- waiting for our meal to be served.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She ignored his offer and drew out her purse. As they turned away she
- said, “If you’d liked her, I’d have allowed you to pay for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But why should I like her? I’ve never met her. You talk as though I
- detested her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do. And I know why. You’re jealous.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Again her daring truthfulness took away his breath. She had discovered
- something so latent in his mind that he hadn’t owned it to himself. He <i>was</i>
- jealous of Fluffy—just as jealous as if she had been a man. He
- resented her power to whisk Desire from his side. He dreaded lest she had
- occupied so much of the girl’s capacity for loving that nothing worth
- having was left He suspected that the use of powder, the trivial views of
- marriage, the passion to go upon the stage were all results of her
- influence. It wasn’t natural that a girl of twenty should focus all her
- dreams on an older woman. She should be picturing the arrival of Prince
- Charming, of a home and the graciousness of little children.
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire lifted to him a face grown magically free from cloud. “That wasn’t
- at all nice of me—not one bit ladylike. After all, I am your guest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Did she say it out of sweet revenge? It was as though she had told him, “I
- keep my friendships in separate watertight compartments. To-day it’s your
- turn to be taken but. To-morrow I shall lock you away and remember some
- one else.” It hurt, this polite intimation of his standing. He wanted to
- be everything to her—to feel all that she felt, to know her as his
- very self. To him she was his entire life. And she—she was satisfied
- to term herself his guest.
- </p>
- <p>
- She led the way as they entered the grill-room. Heads were turned and
- glances exchanged, in the usual tribute to her beauty. The orchestra was
- still madly twanging. Between tables in the centre, a space had been
- cleared that two paid artistes might give exhibitions of the latest
- dance-steps. When they rested, the diners took their places and did their
- best to copy their example. Doors and windows were open. In lulls, while
- the musicians mopped their foreheads, the better music drifted in of waves
- breaking and the long sigh of receding surge. They took their seats in a
- sunlit corner, a little retired, to which they were piloted by a discreet
- and perspiring waiter. As Desire examined the mena he inquired, “What will
- madam have?” To every order that she gave he murmured, “Yes, madam.
- Certainly, madam.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When he had left, she glanced mischievously across at Teddy. “Why did he
- call me that?” She knew the answer, but it amused her to embarrass him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because—obviously, he thought we were married.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Married!” She was pulling off her gloves. “I shan’t be married for ages—perhaps
- never. I expect he thought we were married because we looked so separate—so
- uninterested.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She didn’t speak again till she had satisfied herself, by means of the
- pocket-mirror, that no irreparable ruin had befallen her pretty face since
- the last inspection. Her action seemed prompted by childish curiosity
- rather than by vanity. It was as though when she saw her own beauty, she
- saw it with amazement as belonging to another person. It made him think of
- the first sight he had had of her: a small girl kneeling beside the edge
- of a fountain and stooping to kiss her own reflection. He remembered her
- clasped hands and dismay when her lips had disturbed the water’s surface,
- and her image had vanished.
- </p>
- <p>
- The examination ended, she gazed at him thoughtfully. “I’ve still to tell
- you about that—the thing for which I’ve to ask your forgiveness.
- Shall I tell you now?—No. It’s about Fluffy, and——” Her
- finger went up to her mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We don’t agree on Fluffy. And we’ve neither of us recovered from our last——
- Was it a quarrel?” She coaxed him with her smile, as though he were
- insisting that it was. “Not quite a quarrel. Not as bad as that I expect
- you and I’ll always have to be forgiving. I have a feeling—But
- you’ll always forgive me, won’t you?” Before he could answer, she leant
- companionably across the table, “Do you believe in romance? I don’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His sense of humor was touched. One minute she rapped him over the
- knuckles as though he were a tiny, misbehaving boy, the next it was she
- who was young and he who was elderly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re irresistible.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah!” She gave a pleased little sigh. “When I choose to be fascinating—yes.
- D’you think the waiter would call me madam, if he could see me now? But
- tell me, do you believe in romance?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Believe in romance!” He felt her slippered foot touching his beneath the
- table. “I couldn’t look at you and not believe in it. Everything that’s
- ever happened to you and me is romance: the way Hal and Farmer Joseph
- brought me to you; the way we met in the dead of night at Glastonbury; and
- now—— I’ve come like a troubadour as far as Columbus, just to
- be near you. Isn’t that romance? Romance is like happiness; it’s in the
- heart It doesn’t shine into you; it shines out Even those people over
- there, hopping about to rag-time, they don’t seem vulgar; they become
- romance when you and I watch them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But they’re not vulgar.” She spoke on the defensive. “If you could
- turkey-trot, I’d be one of them. Oh, dear, what an awful lot of things you
- disapprove of. I’ll have to make a list of them. There! You see——”
- She spread out her appealing hands. “I’m being horrid again. I can’t help
- it.” The babies crept into her eyes. “I’m not the girl you think me. I’m
- really not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The slippered foot beneath the table had withdrawn itself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re better,” he whispered. “You’re unexpected. None of my magic cloaks
- fit you. You’re surprising. A man likes to be surprised.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She refused to look at him. With her chin tucked in the palm of her hand,
- she gazed listlessly to where the dancers whirled and glided. When she
- spoke, her voice sounded tired, as if with long contending.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why won’t you be disillusioned? Every time I show you a fault, you turn
- it into a virtue. From the moment we met, I’ve acted as selfishly as I
- knew how; and yet you still follow, follow, follow. Don’t you ever lose
- your temper? You can’t really like me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- To her bewilderment a great wave of gladness swept into his eyes. At last
- he had stumbled on the hidden forethought that lurked behind all her
- omissions of kindness. She had been trying to save him from herself. In
- the light of this new interpretation, every grievance that he had harbored
- became an infidelity. He stretched out his hand, as though unconsciously,
- till the tips of his fingers were just touching hers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall always follow, and follow, and follow. I shall know now that,
- even when you’re trying to be cross, it only means that you’re——”
- </p>
- <p>
- What it would only mean he didn’t tell her; at that moment the waiter
- returned.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the covers had been removed from the dishes and they had something to
- distract them from their own intensity, the gayety of the rag-time caught
- them.
- </p>
- <p>
- She flashed a friendly glance at him. “We’re always getting back to that
- old subject, like sitting hens to a nest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We hadn’t got there quite.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She pursed her lips judiciously. “Perhaps not quite. Wouldn’t it be safer
- to talk of something else?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “About what? I can’t think of anything but you, Princess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She clapped her hands. “Splendid. Let’s talk about me. You start.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He bent forward, smiling into her eyes, grateful for the chance. “There’s
- so much to tell. All day I’ve been making discoveries. I’ve found out that
- you’re half-a-dozen persons—not just the one person whom I thought
- you, Desire. Sometimes you’re Joan of Arc, with dreams in your eyes and
- your hands lying idly in your lap. Sometimes you’re Nell Gwynn, utterly
- unshockable and up to any naughtiness. That’s the way you are now—the
- way I like you best. And sometimes you’re a faery’s child, a Belle Dame
- Sans Merci, a beautiful witch-girl, who won’t come into my life and won’t
- let me forge.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She became extraordinarily interested. At last he had absorbed her
- attention. “That Belle Dam whatever you call her, she sounds rather lurid.
- Tell me about her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- All through the meal, to the alternate thunder of the sea and the jiggling
- accompaniment of rag-time, he told her. How La Belle Dame Sans Merci lay
- in wait in woodlands to tempt knights aside from their quests and, when
- she had made them love her, left them spell-bound and unsatisfied. They
- forgot time and place as they talked. The old trustful intimacy held them
- hanging on each other’s words. They were children again in the meadows at
- Ware, hiding from Farmer Joseph; only now Farmer Joseph was their fear of
- their own shyness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did something last summer,” he said; “it was just before I met you.
- Perhaps it’ll make you smile. I’d just come to success, and I wanted to
- tell you; but I hadn’t an idea where to find you in the whole wide world.
- I tried to pretend that you were still in the woodland beside the pond. I
- went there and stayed all day, willing that you should come. You couldn’t
- have been so far away; you may have been in London. Well, I had that poem
- with me, and—— You know the way one gets into moods? It seemed
- to me that you weren’t a truly person and never had been—that you
- were just a faery’s child, a ghost in my mind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent25">
- ‘I set her on my prancing steed,
- </p>
- <p class="indent25">
- And nothing else saw all day long;
- </p>
- <p class="indent25">
- For sidelong would she bend, and sing
- </p>
- <p class="indent25">
- A faery’s song.’
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “That sort of thing. Perhaps you were thinking of me at the very time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps,” she nodded. “Coming back to England after all those years did
- make me think of you. But how does the whole poem go? Can’t you repeat
- it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had come to, “And there I shut her wild, wild eyes with kisses four,”
- when she stopped him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should never let you do that If I did——” She bent towards
- him flippantly, lowering her voice. “If I did, d’you know what I’d do
- next? I should marry you.” The curl against her neck shook in emphatic
- affirmative. “I’m not going to be La Belle Dame whatever you call her any
- more. I’m going to try to be Nell Gwynn always. You must tell me next time
- I’m that La Belle person, and I’ll stop it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, but I can’t—that’s a part of the spell When you look that way I
- can’t speak to you. I’m dazed. It’s as though you’d buried me beneath a
- mountain of ice. I can only see you and feel unhappy. I can’t even stir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He fell to gazing at her. His silence lasted so long that she grew
- restless. “Say it,” she urged.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was thinking that, in spite of all these people and the orchestra and
- the dancing, we’re by ourselves—not afraid of each other the way we
- were.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh!” She twisted her shoulders. “And now I’ll tell you why: it’s because
- there’s a table between us and, however much you wanted, you couldn’t do
- anything silly. So, you see, I’m safe, and can afford to be gracious.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew at once that it was the truth that she had stated. How few girls
- would have said it! They had finished their coffee. She had been very
- pressing that he should smoke a cigar. He had just lighted one, and was
- comfortably wondering what they should do next; a drive in the country
- perhaps, and then back to the tall city lying spectral in moonlight. She
- consulted her wrist-watch and pushed back her chair. “How about the taxi?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He at once began to seek the connection between his smoking and the taxi.
- Behind all her actions lay a motive, which she disguised with an
- appearance of irresponsibility. Being in her company was like studying the
- moves in a game of chess. Had she persuaded him to smoke in
- self-protection, so that he might be occupied when they were alone
- together?
- </p>
- <p>
- “The taxi! It’s early. We don’t need to go yet. Or d’you mean that you
- want to take a longer drive?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve——” She winked at him. “This isn’t the great big
- confession—— I’ve to get back for the theatre. Don’t look
- crestfallen; you’re coming—just the two of us. If we don’t start
- now, I shan’t have time to dress.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he followed her out into the courtyard, he made a mental note: her
- insistance that he should smoke had been a precautionary measure for a
- home-defense. Already her manner towards him was growing circumspect. When
- she had given the driver instructions, she took her seat remotely in the
- corner. There was one last flicker of her Nell Gwynn mood when she leant
- out to gaze at the sea lying red behind the gray salt-marshes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-by, dear little day; you’ve been a sort of honeymoon.” She spied out
- of the comers of her eyes at Teddy with an impish raising of her brows. It
- was as though she were asking him whether the day need end.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why go back? Why ever go back? Why not get married?” The hand which he
- tried to seize happened to be Miss Independence. It gave him a friendly
- pat in rebuke as it escaped him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’re getting stupid again.” Closing her eyes, she curled herself up
- against the cushions. Her voice was small and tired.
- </p>
- <p>
- In an instant he was miles away from her, buried beneath his mountain of
- ice. She was La Belle Dame Sans Merd, chilling his affection with silence.
- He was amused. He was beginning to understand her tactics. She was easy of
- approach, but difficult of capture. He looked back; from a child she had
- been like that. But he wished that she wouldn’t show distrust of him
- whenever they were alone. It made love seem less gallant, almost ugly—a
- thing to be dreaded. Was it what had happened to her mother that made her——?
- “She’s afraid to love too much. Her mother got hurt.” Was this the price
- of which Hal had spoken? Was his share of the paying to have his ideal
- lowered by the girl by whom it had been inspired?
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat in his corner, smoking and scrupulously preserving the gap that lay
- between them. He was doing his best to show her by his actions that her
- defensive measures were unnecessary. One hand shaded her eyes, the other
- lay half open in her lap. Her head drooped forward slightly and her knees
- were crossed. Her attitude was one of prayer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Please go on talking,” she murmured. “Don’t mind if I’m a little quiet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He tried to talk. His monologue grew halting. He asked a question; she
- returned no answer. He ceased speaking to see if that would pique her and
- rouse response. She seemed to have divined his intention; he felt that, if
- he peeped behind her hand, he would find her laughing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Easy of approach, but difficult of capture! If he didn’t take care, she
- might keep him dawdling and spellbound forever. Ah, but when she began to
- learn what love really was, not Fluffy’s kind of tepid flirtation, but the
- kind of love that thinks no sacrifice too costly—— How long
- would it take him to fire her with earnestness?
- </p>
- <p>
- Traffic was thickening. Automobiles, snorting and tooting their horns,
- came racing up behind and passed. The road ahead was a cloud of dust,
- which the sunset tinted to a crimson glory. The laughter of women’s voices
- was in the air. He had glimpses of their faces peering merrily into men’s.
- In a flash they were gone; but his imagination followed, listening to the
- happy tendernesses that were said. How closely these other lovers sat!
- Sometimes beneath the dust-cloth that lay across their knees, he suspected
- that hands were being clasped. At others he didn’t need to suspect; it was
- done proudly and bravely. There were disadvantages in being in love with a
- young lady who gave remarkable names to her hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled grimly at the respectable distance that separated him from his
- praying girl. It so honestly published to the world: “The two people in
- this taxi are wasting an opportunity—they are not in love.” The
- waiter, had he had to address her now, would certainly have called her
- madam.
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy tried to see the humor of his situation. He wondered whether she was
- really as indifferent as she pretended—whether she might not be glad
- if he were to slip his arm about her? But he refrained from making the
- experiment; he feared lest she should interpret his action flippantly or
- resent it. When he pictured the kind of happiness they were losing, he
- felt a little sick at heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had come to the great cat’s-cradle of girders that spans the East
- River.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s better. I’m rested. You are good.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She spoke gratefully and sat up. From his corner, making no attempt to
- narrow the distance, he watched her quietly. “D’you always do that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pretend to go to sleep when you’re unchaperoned? You don’t need to do it
- with me. It’s the third time you’ve done it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed tolerantly. “Oh, you! What old-fashioned notions! I never am
- chaperoned.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was on the tip of his tongue to say that in her case it wasn’t
- necessary. Instead he asked: “Do you do that with Tom? Does he appreciate
- it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She threw up her hands in an abandonment to merriment “Tom! He hates it
- Poor Tom! Haven’t I told you he drizzles?”
- </p>
- <p>
- When no answer was returned, she began to sing provocatively:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent25">
- “If no one ever marries me,
- </p>
- <p class="indent25">
- And I don’t see why he should.
- </p>
- <p class="indent25">
- For Nurse says I am not pretty
- </p>
- <p class="indent25">
- And I’m very seldom good,
- </p>
- <p class="indent25">
- I’ll——”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- She broke off and glanced over at him, making her mouth sad. “You do sit
- far away.” When he made no motion to accept her invitation, she smiled the
- unreserved smile of friendship. “Look here, if I come half way over, will
- you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She made the journey and waited for him to follow her example. He came
- reluctantly, but not all the way; there was still a gap between them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, if you won’t, I’ll have to be forward.” She closed up the distance.
- “There! Isn’t that happier?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. But what’s the good? We’re in the middle of streets and nearly there
- now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was tired,” she said appealingly. “I thought you’d understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was impossible to resist her. Perhaps she had been tired. Perhaps she
- had done with him what she would have dared to do with no other man; and
- what he had mistaken for indifference and distrust had been a reliance on
- his chivalry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ahead, across the misty greenness of the Park, the troglodyte dwellings of
- the West Side barricaded the horizon. In some of the windows lights were
- springing up. It was as though lonely people flashed unnoticed signals to
- the cold hearts beating in the heavens.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Desire, why do we try to hurt each other?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do we? I wasn’t trying. I was thinking of something that Fluffy told
- Horace. She said that men never married the women who said ‘Yes.’ It’s the
- women who say ‘No’ sweetly that men marry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you were saying ‘No’ sweetly by keeping quiet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was looking back to find out if it was true.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And is it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gazed down demurely at her folded hands. “I once knew a girl; she
- didn’t care a straw for her man. He waited for her for five years always
- hoping, and she made all kinds of cruel jokes about him. Then one night—she
- didn’t know how it happened—all the ice broke and she felt that she
- wanted him most awfully. They were alone. Suddenly, without warning and
- without being asked, she kissed him and put her arms about his neck——
- Can you guess what he did? You’re a man. You ought to know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He kissed her back again, I suppose, and after that they were married.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wrong. He picked up his hat and walked out of the house. He’d made her
- want him ten times worse than he’d ever wanted her. He never went back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But why? I don’t understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They were on Riverside Drive. The taxi was halting. She leant forward and
- opened the door. “He’d won, don’t you see? Because she’d given in he
- despised her. It was the holding off that made her value.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A parable?”
- </p>
- <p>
- As she jumped out, she glanced roguishly across her shoulder. “No. A
- fact.”
- </p>
- <p>
- To save time, since they both had to dress, they arranged to meet at the
- theatre. The curtain had gone down on the first act when they entered.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a first-night performance; the place was packed. Desire at once
- became interested in the audience, spying round with her glasses and
- picking out the critics, the actors and actresses who were present She
- gave him concise accounts of their careers, surprising him with her
- knowledge. She was intensely alive; it was difficult to recognize in her
- the bored praying girl who had traveled with him from Long Beach on that
- late September afternoon. In her low-cut evening-dress, with her white
- arms and dazzling shoulders, he found her twice as alluring. But he wished
- she would show more interest in him and a little less in the audience.
- Every time he thought he had secured her attention, she would discover a
- new face on which to focus her glasses.
- </p>
- <p>
- The curtain had risen only a few minutes, when he realized why she had
- brought him. From the wings Tom entered; from that moment she became
- spellbound. Teddy tried to reason away his jealousy—his feeling that
- he had been trapped into coming. It was quite natural that she should have
- wanted to see her friend—there was nothing so disastrous in that.
- But—— And he couldn’t get over that <i>but</i>. It would have
- been fair to have warned him.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the second interval he found that he was expected to eulogize his
- rival’s acting. This time, cautioned by the error he had made over
- Fluffy’s portrait, he was more careful in expressing his opinion. She
- quickly detected the effort in his enthusiasm. “I didn’t like to tell
- you,” she whispered apologetically; “but I had to come. Ever so long ago,
- before I knew you’d be here, I promised him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So that’s the confession that’s been worrying you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “One of them.” She touched his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- It wasn’t until midnight, when they had had supper and were flying uptown,
- that she told him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’ve had a good first day, Meester Deek, in spite—in spite of
- everything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mister Dick had been the name of the hero in the play; Meester Deek had
- been the caressing way in which the Italian woman who loved him had
- pronounced it. That Desire should call him Meester Deek seemed an omen.
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned to her gladly. She was in her Nell Gwynn mood and at her
- tenderest. Through the darkness he could see the convulsive little curl.
- The beauty-patch seemed a sign put there to mark the acceptable place to
- kiss her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So I’m Meester Deek! You won’t call me Teddy. I knew you’d have to find a
- name for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “D’you like my name for you, Meester Deek?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She sat bending forward, her face illumined by the racing street-lights
- and her body in darkness. He was tempted to trespass—tempted to
- reach out for her hand and, if she allowed that, to take her in his arms.
- She looked very sweet and unresisting, with her cloak falling back from
- her white shoulders and her head drooping. But instinct warned him: she
- beckoned attack only to repell it. He remembered what she had told him
- about the women who said “No,” the women who eked out their affection.
- </p>
- <p>
- “D’you like my name for you, Meester Deek?” There was all the passion of
- the south in the way she asked it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I like it. But why don’t you call me by my own name? You speak of Horace
- and Tom.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, that’s different.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shrugged her shoulders and threw back her cloak. The fragrance of her
- stole out towards him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They’ll be always just Horace and Tom to me, while you—perhaps. I
- can’t explain, Meester Deek, if you don’t understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In her own peculiar way, half shy, half bold, she had told him that, just
- as he held her separate from all women, so she held him separate.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’d rather have you call me Meester Deek than—than anything in the
- whole world, now that I know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And will you forgive me the big confession?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed emotionally. “Anything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shrank back into the shadow so that her face was hidden. “I’m just as
- sorry as I can be. But I can’t break my word. Perhaps you’ll be so hurt
- that you’ll sail back to England, and won’t wait for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His heart sank. For a moment he had felt so sure of her. Again she was
- planning to elude him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don’t say anything, Meester Deek. I’m afraid you’re angry. It’s only
- for two weeks. I start to-morrow.” Two weeks without her! It spelt
- tragedy. He had a desperate inspiration, “Can’t I come with you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor you! No.” She shook her head slowly. “I wish you could. You see,
- I’ve got to do without you, too. But you don’t like her—I mean
- Fluffy. She’s on the road in a try-out before she opens in New York.—Only
- two weeks, Meester Deek! Look on the bright side of things. You can get
- through all your work while I’m gone and then, when I come back, we can
- play together.—If you stay,” she added softly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Two weeks! It seemed a very short time to make a fuss over.
- </p>
- <p>
- But in two weeks he had hoped to go so far with her. He had hoped to be
- able to win a promise from her, so that he could send good news to Eden
- Row. And now, at the end of two weeks, he would be just where he had
- started.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll write to you, oh, such long letters.” And then, like a little child
- on the verge of crying: “You said you’d forgive me. You’re not keeping
- your promise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At the moment of parting, as she was stepping into the elevator, he drew
- her back. “When d’you start? Mayn’t I come and fetch you, and see you
- off?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’ll be so early. Won’t that be a lot of trouble for a very little
- pleasure?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But if I think the trouble’s worth it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I’d love to have you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She held out her hand and let it linger in his clasp. Other revellers,
- returning from theatres and dinners, passed them. For the first time that
- day she didn’t seem to care who guessed that he loved her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s too late to ask you up,” she whispered regretfully. “It’s been a
- nice day in spite of—of everything, Meester Deek. Thank you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She withdrew her hand and darted from him, as if fearing that, if she
- stayed, she might commit herself irrevocably. He saw her gray eyes smiling
- pityingly down on him as the iron cage shot up.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER X—AND NOTHING ELSE SAW ALL DAY LONG
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e had lost count
- of days in the swiftness of happenings. As he drove uptown to fetch her,
- he wondered why the streets were so quiet. He pulled out his watch; it was
- past eight. Not so extraordinarily early! His watch might be wrong. His
- eye caught a clock; it wasn’t Then the knowledge dawned on him that the
- emptiness of the streets and his sense of earliness were due to the
- leisure which betokens Sunday morning.
- </p>
- <p>
- New York had a look of the rural. Now that few people were about, trees
- claimed more attention and spread abroad their branches. Grass-plots in
- squares showed conspicuously. It almost seemed that on these islands of
- greenness, lapped by sun-scorched pavement, one ought to see rabbits
- hopping.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he reached the apartment, she wasn’t ready. From somewhere down the
- passage she called to him: “Good-morning, Meester Deek. You’re early.”
- Then he heard her tripping footsteps crossing and recrossing a room, and
- the busy rustling of packing.
- </p>
- <p>
- He leant out of the window, drinking in the sunny stillness. A breeze
- ruffled the Hudson. The Palisades shone fortress-like. Far below, dwarfed
- by distance beneath trees of the Drive, horsemen moved sluggishly like
- wound-up toys. A steamer, heavily loaded with holidaymakers, churned its
- way up-river; he caught the faint cheerfulness of brazen music. The
- tension of endeavor was relaxed; a spirit of peace and gayety was in the
- air. His thoughts went back to Eden Row, lying blinking and quaint in the
- Sabbath calm. In this city of giant energies he smiled a little wistfully
- at the remembrance.
- </p>
- <p>
- He listened. The sounds of packing hadn’t stopped. Time grew short; it
- wasn’t for him to hurry her. Secretly he hoped she would lose her train;
- they might steal an extra day together.
- </p>
- <p>
- She entered radiant and laughing. “You’ll think I always keep you waiting.
- Come on. We’ve got to rush for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But let me have a look at you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Time for that on the way to the station.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When he had seen the luggage put on, he jumped in beside her—really
- beside her, for she sat well out of the corner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Almost like a honeymoon,” he laughed, “with all the bags.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A spoilt honeymoon.” As they made a sharp turn into Broadway she was
- thrown against him. “Poor old you, not to be coming!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hulloa!” He looked at her intently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A discovery?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The beauty-patch has wandered. It’s at the corner of your mouth to-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Observing person! There’s a reason.” She leant nearer to whisper. “It’s a
- sleep-walker.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the midst of her high spirits she became serious. “It’s mean of me to
- leave you. If I’d known that it was only to see me that you’d sailed——
- I couldn’t believe it—not even when you’d cabled. I ought to feel
- flattered. I shouldn’t think—shouldn’t think it’s often happened
- that a man came so far on ’spec.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps never,” he said. “There was never a Desire——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then they felt that they had gone far enough with words, and sat catching
- each other’s smile in silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don’t want to go?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I oughtn’t to say that.” She frowned thoughtfully. “It would be
- ungracious to Fluffy. But I don’t want to go much.” Then, letting her hand
- rest on his for a second: “It’ll make our good times that are coming all
- the better.”
- </p>
- <p>
- All the way to the station, like shy children, without owning to it, they
- were doing their best to comfort each other.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m glad I had that photograph taken.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was that why? Because——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Meester Deek, I didn’t know you so well then. It didn’t seem so terrible
- to leave you. But—it was partly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The tiffs and aloofness of yesterday seemed as distant as a life-time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We were stupid to quarrel.” His tone invited her indorsement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’ll do it again,” she laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- They swung into the Grand Central. She let him look to her luggage as
- though it were his right. It was nearly as good as being married to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall I take your ticket?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let’s get it together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When they came to the window, she opened her bag and handed him the money.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where to?” he asked. Then he remembered: “Why, you haven’t given me your
- address.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To Springfield. Here, I’ll scribble out the address while you get the
- change. You’d better write your first letter to the theatre in care of
- Fluffy. I’ll send you the names of the other towns later.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At the barrier they met with an unexpected setback; the gateman refused to
- let him see her off. “Not allowed. You ought to have a pass.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed hopeless. The man looked too righteous for bribery and too
- inhuman for argument. Desire leant forward: “Oh, please, won’t you let my
- brother——?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Slowly and knowingly the man smiled. He glanced from the anxious little
- face, doing its best to appear tearful, to the no less anxious face of
- Teddy. He scented romance and signed to them to go forward. So Teddy had
- proof that others could become weak when she employed her powers of
- fascination.
- </p>
- <p>
- He followed her into the train and sat down at her side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish I were coming.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gazed out of the window. He bent across to see her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Desire, you’re——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m silly,” she said quickly. “Parting with anybody makes me cry. Oh,
- dear, I wish I wasn’t going.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then don’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He covered her hand in his excitement. There was no time to lose. The
- conductor was calling for the last time; passengers were scurrying to get
- aboard.
- </p>
- <p>
- She considered the worth of his suggestion. “I must There’s Fluffy. But
- why don’t you come? You can get back to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wavered. She was always at her sweetest when saying good-by; if he went
- with her, she might get “tired” and become the praying girl again. He had
- almost made up his mind to accompany her when the train gave a preliminary
- jerk, as though the engine were testing its strength.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, well, you know best.” Her expression was annoyed and her tone
- disappointed. “Only two weeks, after all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But two weeks without you.” He had not quite given up the idea of
- accompanying her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hurry up,” she said, “or you won’t get off.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was no good going with her now. From the platform he watched her. As
- the train began to move, he ran beside her window. At the point of
- vanishing she smiled forgiveness and kissed the finger-tips of Miss
- Self-Reliance.
- </p>
- <p>
- In passing out of the station it occurred to him to inquire how long it
- took to get to Springfield. He wanted to follow her in imagination and to
- picture her at the exact hour of arrival. He was surprised to find that it
- was such a short journey and that she might have gone by a later train. If
- she’d been so sorry, she needn’t have left him in such a hurry. When he
- came to reason things out, he saw that she could have gone just as well on
- Monday, since Fluffy’s company was evidently playing in Springfield
- another night. Perhaps she had a good reason for going. It was some
- comfort to remember that at the last train. If she’d been so sorry, she
- needn’t have left him in such a hurry. When he came to reason things out,
- he saw that she could have gone just as well on Monday, since Fluffy’s
- company was evidently playing in Springfield another night. Perhaps she
- had a good reason for going. It was some comfort to remember that at the
- last moment she had wanted to stay.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then began the long days of waiting, from which all purpose in living
- seemed to have been banished. Ambitions, which had goaded him forward,
- were at a halt. Everything unconnected with her took on an air of
- unreality. His personality became distasteful to him because it seemed not
- to have attracted her sufficiently.
- </p>
- <p>
- Things that once would have brought him happiness failed to stir him. A
- boom was being worked for him. He was on the crest of a wave. Interviewers
- were continually calling to get personal stories. Articles appeared in
- which he confided to the public: “How I Became Famous at Twenty-three,”
- “Why I Came to America,” “What I Think of New York,” “Why I Distrust
- Co-education.” There seemed to be no subject, however trivial, upon which
- his views were not of value to the hundred million inhabitants of America.
- He was continually finding his face in the papers. He sprang into an
- unexpected demand both as writer and artist.
- </p>
- <p>
- The fun he derived from this fluster was in imagining the added worth it
- would give him in her eyes. He liked to think of her as dashing up to
- news-stands and showering on him the enthusiasm he had seen her shower on
- Fluffy. Success left him the more humble in proportion as it failed to
- rouse her comment. If success couldn’t make her proud of him, there must
- be some weakness in his character. He searched her letters for any hint
- that would betray her knowledge of what was happening. Perhaps her very
- omissions were a sign that she was feeling more than she expressed. At
- last he wrote and told her. She replied inadequately, “How very nice for
- you!” His hope had been that she would have included herself as a sharer
- in his good fortune.
- </p>
- <p>
- Though he sat for long hours at a stretch, he accomplished laborious
- results. His attention refused to concentrate. He was always thinking of
- her: the men who might be with her in his absence; the things she had said
- and done; the things he had said to her, and which might have been said
- better; her tricks of gesture and shades of intonation. Her very faults
- endeared themselves in retrospect He coveted the least happy of the hours
- he had spent in her company.
- </p>
- <p>
- For the first day he was consoled by the sight of her tin-type photograph
- on the desk before him. He glanced at it between sentences and felt that
- she was near him. But soon he made a sad discovery: it was fast fading. As
- the days went by he exposed it to the light more and more grudgingly. He
- had the superstitious fear that, if it was quite dark before she returned,
- his hope of winning her would be ended.
- </p>
- <p>
- He lived for the arrival of her letters. His anxiety was a repetition of
- what he had suffered after her departure from London. He left orders with
- the hotel-clerk to have them sent up to his room at once. Every time a
- knock sounded on his door he became breathless.
- </p>
- <p>
- They came thick and fast, funny little letters dashed off at top-speed in
- a round girlish handwriting and made to look longer than they were by
- being sprawled out over many pages. They were full of broken phrases like
- her speech, with dashes and dots for which he might substitute whatever
- tenderness his necessity demanded. Usually they began “<i>Dear Miester
- Deek</i>” and ended “<i>Yours sincerely, Desire</i>.” Once, in a glorious
- burst of expansiveness, she signed herself “<i>Affectionately, Desire,</i>”
- and scratched it out. He watched for the error to occur again; it was
- never repeated. They were the kind of letters that it was perfectly safe
- to leave lying about; his replies emphatically were not. He marveled at
- her unvarying discretion.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had a knack of reproducing the atmosphere of her environment. It was a
- gay, pulsating world in which she lived. Like Flora, flowers and the
- singing of birds sprang up where she passed. He contrasted with hers the
- world he had to offer; it seemed a dull place. She had the keys to Arcady.
- How false had been his chivalrous dream that a fate hung over her from
- which she must be rescued!
- </p>
- <p>
- His lover’s eye detected a wealth of cleverness in her correspondence. He
- sincerely believed that she was more gifted as a writer than himself. Her
- letters were full of descriptions of Fluffy in her part, thumb-nail
- sketches of the other members of the cast and accounts of the momentously
- personal adventures of a theatrical company on tour. She had a trick of
- humor that made her intimate in an adjective, and made him laugh. She also
- had a trick of allotting to him prejudices. “You’d call our leading man a
- very bad character, but I like him: I think one needs to have faults to be
- truly charitable. I’d ask you to join us, but—— You wouldn’t
- get on with theatrical people; you rather—I know, so you needn’t
- deny it—you rather despise them. I think they’re the jolliest crowd.
- We dance every night when the show is ended and have late suppers, and—you
- can guess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was after receiving this that he made up his mind, in preparation for
- her return, to learn the latest dances. He wondered where she could have
- gathered the impression that he was puritanical.
- </p>
- <p>
- But there were other letters in which she joined his future with hers.
- “Perhaps you’ll write a great play one day, and allow me to be your
- leading lady.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He paused to let the picture form before he went further. It would be
- rather fun. He saw himself holding hands with her and bowing to applauding
- audiences. As husband and wife they’d travel the world together,
- emancipated beings who never gave a thought to money, each contributing to
- the other’s triumph. Fun! Yes. But unsettling. The life that he had always
- planned was a kind of glorified Eden Row existence without the worries. He
- thought of Jimmie Boy and Dearie, and all the quiet bonds of dependence
- they had built up by living always in one place together.
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes went back to her letter. “You’ll come and see me, won’t you,
- Meester Deek, if ever I become a great actress? And I shall.—Oh, did
- I tell you? Horace is on his way over. I wonder what he and Fluffy will
- do? Perhaps quarrel. Perhaps just dawdle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was tempted to go to her; but she hadn’t really invited him. He felt
- that she wouldn’t be his in her nomad setting. He couldn’t bear to have to
- share her with these butterfly people who viewed love as a diversion, and
- marriage as a catastrophe.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sometimes he doubted whether he was as unhappy as he fancied. He searched
- through books to prove to himself that his case was by no means solitary—that
- it was the common lot of lovers. He became an admirer of the happy ending
- in novels. He sought for fiction-characters upon whose handling of similar
- situations he could pattern his conduct One writer informed him that the
- secret of success in love was to keep a woman guessing; another, that with
- blonde women a heated courting brought the best results, while with women
- of a darker complexion a little coldness paid excellently. All this was
- too calculating—too like diplomacy. He fell back on the advice of
- Madame Josephine: “Don’t judge—try to understand. When a good man
- tries to be fair, he’s unjust.” As an atonement for the disloyalty of his
- research, he sent Desire a needlessly large box of flowers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s only two weeks, after all,” she had said. But the two weeks had come
- and gone. All his plans were dependent on hers, and she seemed to be
- without any. Already he was receiving inquiries from Eden Row as to when
- he could be expected back. He could give no more definite answer than when
- he had left; he procrastinated by enclosing press-cuttings and talking
- vaguely about taking advantage of his American opportunities. His position
- was delicate. He didn’t dare to use the argument with Desire that she was
- his sole reason for remaining in New York; it would have seemed like
- blackmailing her into returning. Meanwhile, since her letters arrived
- regularly, he attributed her continued absence not to lack of fondness,
- but to fear of facing up to a decision. He must do nothing to increase her
- timidity.
- </p>
- <p>
- On several occasions he visited Vashti. Each time other people were
- present. He noticed that her eyes followed him with a curious expression
- of amusement and compassion. At last one afternoon he found her alone.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was curled up on the couch by the window, wearing a pale-blue peignoir
- and a boudoir cap embroidered with tiny artificial roses. A novel lay face
- downwards on the floor beside her, and she was playing with the silky ears
- of Twinkles, who snuggled in her lap. As he entered, she reached out her
- hand without rising and made a sign for him to sit beside her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Twinkles is lonely, too. Aren’t you, Twinkles? We’re all waiting for our
- little mistress.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She went on smiling and playing with the dog’s ears. Slowly she raised her
- eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can guess what you’re wishing. You’re wishing that I wore a little curl
- against my neck and had a beauty-patch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A beauty-patch that’s a sleep-walker,” he added.
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed softly. “And did she tell you that? I’ve been thinking about
- you—expecting to hear any day that you were sailing to England.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head. “I’m like Twinkles. I’m waiting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Vashti lifted herself from the cushions and gazed at him intently. “How
- long are you prepared to wait?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “D’you mean how long till she comes back?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. For her. She’s young, Teddy, and she asks so much—so many
- things that life’ll never give her. She’s got to learn. She may keep you
- waiting a long, long while yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll wait.” He smiled confidently.
- </p>
- <p>
- She leant forward and kissed him. “I’m glad. If you win, she’ll be worth
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She went back to playing with Twinkles; he watched her in silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- With her face averted she said: “At first you thought you had only to love
- and she’d love you in return—wasn’t that it? With you to love her
- has been a mission; that’s where you’re different from other men. Other
- men start by flirting—they intend the run-away right up to the last
- minute; then they find themselves caught But you—— It takes an
- older woman than Desire to understand. You’re so impetuously in earnest,
- you almost frighten her. You’re such a dreamer—the way you were
- about the marriage-box. You always take a woman at her word; and a woman,
- when she’s loved, means most by the things she leaves unsaid. What
- happened to the marriage-box after you found me out?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He blushed at the confession. “I burnt it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! Burnt me in effigy. That’s what Hal’s done, I expect. That’s where
- men make mistakes; they’re so impatient. Often a woman’s love begins at
- the point where a man’s ends. I wonder, one day will you get tired and do
- something like that to her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wanted to ask her whether her love had begun for Hal at the point where
- his had ended; but he said, “I was a little boy, then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She took his hands and made him meet her eyes. “Little boys and men are
- alike. Don’t wait at all, Teddy, unless you know you’re strong enough to
- wait till she’s ready.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Easily said. A man once told me that. There came a time when I wanted him
- badly; I turned round to give him all that he had asked; he was gone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She sank her voice. “Can you go on bearing disappointment without showing
- anger? Can you go on being generous when she hides her kindness? You may
- have to see her wasting her affection on all kinds of persons who don’t
- know its value. She may stop away from you to punish herself—she
- won’t tell you that; and perhaps all the time she’ll be longing to be with
- you. That’s the kind of girl Desire is, Teddy; she leaves you to guess all
- that’s best Can you stand that?”
- </p>
- <h3>
- 280
- </h3>
- <p>
- He nodded. He couldn’t trust his voice to answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, here’s a word of advice. Don’t let her see that you’re too much in
- earnest.” She laughed, relieving the suspense. “Almost like the
- wedding-service, wasn’t it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he left, the last sight he had of her she was still sitting curled up
- on the couch, in her pale-blue peignoir, with the sky behind her, playing
- with the silky ears of Twinkles snuggled asleep in her lap. She, too, was
- waiting. For whom? For what?
- </p>
- <p>
- That night he wrote a letter to Hal; tore it up and rewrote it. Even then
- he hesitated. At last he decided to sleep over the wisdom of sending it.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XI—THE KEYS TO ARCADY
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>f a sudden life
- became glorious—more glorious than he had ever believed possible. It
- commenced on the morning after he had written his letter to Hal.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was seated in the white mirrored room of the Brevoort which looks out
- on Fifth Avenue. From the kitchen came the mutter of bass voices, passing
- orders along in French, and the cheerful smell of roasting coffee.
- Scattered between tables, meditative waiters were dreaming that they were
- artists’ models, each with a graceful hand resting on the back of a chair
- in readiness to flick it out invitingly at the first sight of an
- uncaptured guest. From the left arm of each dangled a napkin, betraying
- that he had served his appenticeship in boulevard cafés of Paris.
- </p>
- <p>
- Outside, at irregular intervals, green buses raced smoothly with a <i>whirr-whirr</i>,
- which effaced during the moment of their passage the clippity-clap of
- horses. Past the window, from thinning trees, leaves drifted. When they
- had reached the pavement, the breeze stirred them and they struggled
- weakly to rise like crippled moths. There was an invigorating chill in the
- October air as though the sunshine had been placed on ice. Pedestrians
- moved briskly with their shoulders flung back. They seemed to be smiling
- over the great discovery that life was worth living, after all.
- </p>
- <p>
- A boy halted under the archway and threw about him a searching glance.
- Catching sight of Teddy, he hurried over and whispered. Teddy rose. In the
- hall the telephone-clerk was watching. “Booth number three, Mr. Gurney.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he lifted the receiver he was still discussing with himself whether or
- no he should send Hal that letter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. It’s Mr. Gurney.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A faint and unfamiliar voice answered—a woman’s voice, exceedingly
- pleasant, with a soft slurring accent. It was a voice that, whatever it
- said, seemed to be saying, “I do want you to like me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn’t quite catch. Would you mind speaking a little louder?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a laughing dispute at the other end; then the voice which he had
- heard at first spoke again:
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is Janice Audrey, Desire’s friend—Fluffy. Desire’s too shy to
- phone herself, so I—— She’s here at my elbow. She says that
- she’s not shy any longer and she’ll speak with you herself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was as though he could feel her gray eyes watching.
- </p>
- <p>
- A pause. Then, without preliminaries: “You can’t guess where I am. For all
- you know, I might be dead and this might be my ghost.—No. Let me do
- the talking. It’s long distance from Boston and expensive; I don’t know
- how many cents per second. If you were here, I’d let you do the paying;
- but since you’re not—— Here’s what I called up to tell you:
- we’re coming in on the Bay State Limited at three o’clock.—I thought
- you’d be interested. Ta-ta.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He commenced a hurried question; she had rung off.
- </p>
- <p>
- Adorably casual! Adorably because she contradicted herself. By calling him
- up all the way from Boston she had said, “See how much I care.” By not
- allowing him to speak, she had tried to say, “I don’t care at all.” It
- amused him; the odd thing was that he loved her the more for her languid
- struggles to escape him. He agreed with her entirely that the woman who
- said “No” bewitchingly increased her value. As he finished his breakfast
- he reflected: she was dearer to him now than a week ago, and much dearer
- than on the drive from Glastonbury. Instead of blaming her for making
- herself elusive, he ought to thank her. He’d been too headlong at the
- start. He fell to making plans to take Vashti’s advice: he wouldn’t speak
- to her of love any more—he’d try to hide from her how much he was in
- earnest.
- </p>
- <p>
- In his eagerness not to disappoint her, he had reached the Grand Central a
- quarter of an hour too early. He was standing before the board on which
- the arriving trains are chalked up, when from behind some one touched him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Seen you before. How are you? I expect we’re here on the same errand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He found himself gazing into the humorous blue eyes which had discovered
- him playing tricks with his engine before the house in Regent’s Park.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re Mr. Horace Overbridge, I think.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. I’m here to see <i>October</i> put on; that’s my new play in which
- Miss Audrey is acting. What are you doing?” Then, because Teddy hesitated,
- “Perhaps I oughtn’t to ask.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At that moment the arrival-platform of the Bay State Limited was
- announced; they drifted away at the tail of the crowd towards the barrier.
- Teddy wanted to hurry; his companion saw it. “Heaps of time,” he laughed.
- “If I know anything about them, they’ll be out last.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His prophecy proved correct. The excited welcomes were over; the stream of
- travelers had thinned down to a narrow trickle of the feeble or heavily
- laden, when Desire, walking arm-in-arm with a woman much more beautiful
- than her portraits, drew into sight behind the gates. After hats had been
- raised and they knew that they had been recognized, they did not quicken
- their pace. They approached still leisurely and talking, as much as to
- say: “Let’s make the most of our opportunity before we sink to the level
- of these male-creatures.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Horace Overbridge, leaning on his cane, watched them with tolerant
- amusement. “Take their time, don’t they?” he remarked. “One wouldn’t think
- we’d both come three thousand miles to meet them. What fools men are!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hulloa,” said Desire, holding out her hand gladly, “it’s good to see you.
- So you two men have introduced yourselves! Fluffy, this is Mr. Gurney.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was arranged that the maid should be seen into a taxi to take care of
- the luggage. When she had been disposed of, they crossed the street for
- tea at the Belmont. Fluffy and Desire still walked arm-in-arm as though it
- was they who had been so long separated. At the table Teddy found himself
- left to talk to Fluffy; Desire and the man with the amused blue eyes were
- engaged in bantering reminiscences of the summer. The game seemed to be to
- pretend that you were not in love; or, if you were, that it was with some
- one for whom actually you didn’t care a rap.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did it go well?” asked Teddy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wonderfully.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish you’d tell me. Of course Desire wrote me; but I don’t know much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- While she told him, he kept stealing glances at the others. He wondered at
- what they were laughing; then he came to the conclusion that it wasn’t at
- what was being said, but at the knowledge each had of the game that was in
- the playing. He began to take notice of Fluffy. She had pale-gold hair—quantities
- of it—a drooping mouth and eyes of a child’s clearness. She had a
- way of employing her eyes as magnets. She would fix them on the person to
- whom she talked so that presently what she said counted for nothing;
- questions would begin to rise in the mind as to whether she was lonely,
- why she should be lonely and how her loneliness might be dispelled. Then
- her glance would fall away and she would seem to say: “I shall have to
- bear my burden; you won’t help me.” After that all the impulse of the
- onlooker was to carry her over rough places in his arms. Her voice sounded
- as though all her life she had been petted; her face made you feel that,
- however good people had been, she deserved far more. Why had Desire been
- so positive that he wouldn’t like her? He did; or rather he would, if she
- would let him. But he had the feeling that, while she was kind, she was
- distrustful and had fenced herself off so that he could not get near her.
- He had an idea that he had met her before; he recognized that grave
- assured air of being worthy to be loved without the obligation of taking
- notice of the loving. Then he spotted the resemblance, and had difficulty
- to refrain from laughing. In her quiet sense of beautiful importance she
- was like Twinkles.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s wonderful,” she was saying; “I never had such a part. ‘Little girl,’
- Simon Freelevy said when he saw me, ‘little girl, you’ll take New York by
- storm.’ And I shall.” She nodded seriously. “Simon Freelevy ought to know;
- he’s the cleverest producer in America; I believe he was so pleased with
- himself that he’d have kissed me if I hadn’t had my make-up on. And then,
- you see, it’s called <i>October</i>, and we open in October. The idea’s
- subtle; it may catch on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She spoke as though the play was a negligible quantity and any success it
- might have would be due to her acting. Teddy caught the amused eyes of the
- playwright opposite. He turned back to Janice Audrey. “What’s the plot?”
- he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The plot! I’m the plot. You may smile, but I am.—I am the plot of
- <i>October</i>—isn’t that so, Horace?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, Miss Audrey is the plot,” the playwright said gravely. “I have
- nothing to do with it, except to draw my royalties.” He picked up the
- thread of his conversation with Desire.
- </p>
- <p>
- A puzzled look crept into Fluffy’s clear child’s eyes—a wounding
- suspicion that she was being mocked. She put it from her as incredible.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When I say I’m the plot, I mean I gave him the story. I told it to him in
- a punt at Pangbourne this summer. It’s about a woman called October, who’s
- come to the October of her beauty, but has spring hidden in her heart.
- She’d loved a man excessively once, when she was young and generous; and
- he hadn’t valued her love. After that she determined to wear armor, to
- keep her dreams locked away in her heart and to leave it to the men to do
- the loving. She becomes an actress, like me. Almost autobiography! At
- last, when she realizes that her popularity depends on her beauty and she
- hears the feet of the younger generation climbing after her—at last
- he comes, the one wearing a smoke-blue corded velvet, trimmed with
- gray-squirrel fur at the sleeves and collar. Her hat was the gray breast
- of a bird and sat at a slant across her forehead. There was a flush of
- color in her cheeks. Again the beauty-patch had wandered; it was on the
- left of her chin now. As he watched, he felt the lack of something; then
- he knew what it was.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, what’s happened to your curl?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She put her hand up to her neck and opened her eyes widely. “H’I sye, old
- sort, yer don’t mean ter tell me as I’ve lost it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- While he was laughing at this sudden change of personality, she commenced
- searching her vanity-case with sham feverishness; to his amazement she
- drew out the missing decoration.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, ’ere it is. You’re learnin’ h’all me secrets, dearie. It ain’t
- wise. But, Lawd, ‘cause yer likes it and ter show yer ‘ow glad I am ter be
- wiv yer——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She deliberately pinned it into place behind her ear; it hung there
- trembling, looking entirely natural.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dropping her Cockney characterization, she bowed to him with bewitching
- archness: “Do I look like Nell Gywnn now? I expect, if she were here for
- an inquisitive person like you to ask, she’d tell you that hers were
- false.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He loved her for her honesty; if any one had told him a month ago that so
- slight and foolish an action could have made him love her better, he would
- have laughed them to scorn.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was intoxicating—transforming. It was as though these
- stone-palaces of Fifth Avenue fell back, disclosing magic woodlands—woodlands
- such as his father painted through whose shadows pale figures glided.
- People on the pavement were lovers, going to meetings which memory would
- make sacred. Like Arcady springing out to meet him, the Park swam into
- sight, tree-tufted, lagooned, embowered, canopied with the peacock-blue
- and saffron of the sunset.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s a pity,” Desire murmured, as though continuing a conversation, “that
- they couldn’t have remained happy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Those two. They were such good companions, till he began to speak of
- love. I was with them all summer, wherever they went We used to talk
- philosophy, and life, and—oh, everything. Then one day I wasn’t with
- them; after that our happiness stopped.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But she must have known that he loved her before he told her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course. That was what made us all so glad, because there was something
- left unsaid—something secret and throbbing. It was all gone when
- once it had been uttered.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It oughtn’t to have gone. It ought to have become bigger and better.” He
- spoke urgently, hoping to hear her agree, “Yes. It ought.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They were fencing with their problem, discussing it in parables of other
- people’s lives.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why doesn’t she marry him?” he asked. “I expect I’ve been brought up to a
- different set of standards, so I’m not criticizing; I’m trying to see
- things from her angle. I’ve been brought up to believe that marriage is
- what we were all made for; that it’s something gloriously natural and to
- be hoped for; that to grow old unmarried is to be maimed, especially if
- you’re a woman. All poetry and religion springs from motherhood; it’s the
- inspiration of all the biggest painters. I never dreamed that there were
- people who wilfully kept themselves from loving. I don’t know quite how to
- express myself. But to see yourself growing up in little children has
- always seemed to me to be a kind of immortality. There was a thing my
- mother once said: that marriage is the rampart which the soul flings up to
- guard itself against calamity. Don’t you think that’s true?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You put it beautifully. That’s the man’s view of it.” She smiled
- broodingly; the plodding of the horse’s steps filled the pause. “When a
- man asks a woman to marry him, he asks her to give up her freedom. Before
- she’s married, she has the power; but afterwards—— When a man
- tells her that he loves her, he really means that he wants to be her
- master.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not her master.” He had forgotten now that it was Fluffy they were
- supposed to be discussing; he spoke desperately and his voice trembled.
- “Women aren’t strong like men. They can’t stand alone and, unless they’re
- loved, they lose half their world when their beauty’s gone. You say a
- woman gives up her freedom, but so does a man. They both lose one kind of
- freedom to get another. What he wants is to be allowed to protect her, to——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what Fluffy wants is the right to fulfill herself,” she interrupted,
- bringing the argument back to the point from which it started. “My
- beautiful mother——” There she stopped. Their glances met and
- dropped. He hadn’t thought of her mother. Everything that he had been
- saying had been an accusation. “My beautiful mother——” She had
- said it without anger, as though gently reminding him of the reason for
- her defense. He felt ashamed; in uttering things that were sacred he had
- been guilty of brutality. Would the shadow of Vashti always lie between
- them when he spoke to her of love?
- </p>
- <p>
- She came to the rescue. “You’ll think I haven’t any ideals; but I have.”
- She laughed softly. “You men are like boys who make cages. Some one’s told
- you that if you can put salt on a bird’s tail, you can catch it. Away you
- go with your cages and the first bird you see, you start saying pretty
- things to it and trying to creep nearer. It hops away and away through the
- bushes and you follow, still calling it nice names. Presently it spreads
- its wings and then, because you can’t reach it, you throw stones at it
- That’s what Horace is doing to poor little Fluffy. He never ought to have
- made his cage; if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have got angry.—But we’ve
- not struck a happy subject, Meester Deek. Tell me, did you miss me much?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It took one and a half times round the Park to tell her. That she cared to
- listen was a proof to him that she wasn’t quite as interested in
- preserving her freedom as she pretended. As he described his anxiety in
- waiting for her letters, she made her eyes wide and sympathetic. Once or
- twice she let her hands flutter out to touch him. He didn’t touch hers; it
- was so important to hide from her how much he was in earnest. He mustn’t
- do a thing that would startle her.
- </p>
- <p>
- As darkness fell and her face grew indistinct, he found that he had less
- difficulty in talking. Horsemen had disappeared. The procession of cars
- and carriages was gone. They jingled through a No-Man’s-Land of whispering
- leaves and shadows; lamps buoyed their passage like low-hanging stars.
- </p>
- <p>
- Behind trees on a knoll, lights flashed. She pushed up the trap and spoke
- to the driver: “Well stop here for dinner.” She turned to Teddy: “Shall
- we? It’s McGown’s.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He helped her out As they passed up the steps to the bungalow, he took her
- arm and felt its shy answering pressure. In the hall she drew away from
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where are you going? Don’t go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only for a minute. Please, Meester Deek, I want to make myself beautiful
- for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I can’t spare a minute of you. I’ve lost you for so long.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only one little minute,” she pleaded, “but if you don’t want me to be
- beautiful——”
- </p>
- <p>
- While she was gone he played tricks to make the time pass quickly. He
- would see her returning by the time he had counted fifty; no, sixty; no, a
- hundred. If he walked to the door and looked out into the Park, by the
- time he turned round she would be waiting for him. At last she came—ten
- minutes had elapsed; her eyes were shining. He guessed that she had
- purposely delayed in order to spur her need of him. They seated themselves
- by a window through which they could watch the goblin-eyes of automobiles
- darting through the blackness, and the white moon climbing slowly above
- tattered tree-tops.
- </p>
- <p>
- She sat with her hand against her throat, gazing at him smilingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What are you thinking, Princess?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thoughts.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Won’t you tell me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was thinking that I say some very foolish things. I pretend to know so
- much about life, and I don’t know anything. I borrow other people’s
- disappointments—Fluffy’s, for instance. And then I talk to poor you,
- as though you had disappointed me. I wish I were a little girl again,
- asking you what it was like to have a father. D’you remember?—I
- always wanted to have a father. Tell me about my father, please, won’t
- you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- His eyes had grown blurred. The witch-girl was gone. They had traveled
- mysteriously back across the years to the old untested faiths and
- loyalties. She had become his child-companion of the lumber-room days. On
- her submissive lips, like parted petals, hovered the unspoken words: “I
- love you. I love you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn’t mean to make you sad,” she said gently, “so, if it’ll make you
- sad to tell me——” Two fingers were spread against the comers
- of her mouth to prevent it from widening into smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s what Mrs. Sheerug does when she doesn’t want to smile.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When she asked him “What?” he showed her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Funny! The only time I saw her was when she fished me out of the pond
- with her umbrella. She seemed a strict old lady. And there was a boy named
- Ruddy; he was my cousin, wasn’t he? It’s a kind of romance to have a
- father whom you don’t know. I sometimes think I’m to be envied. D’you
- think I am, Meester Deek?—Ahl you don’t Never mind; tell me about
- him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then they fell to talking of Eden Row. He had to describe Orchid Lodge to
- her and how he had first met her mother there, and had thought that she
- had really meant to marry him. They got quite excited in building up their
- reminiscences.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, and you came to our house when my father, whom I didn’t know was my
- father, was playing lions with me. And I ran to you for protection. When
- Pauline took me away, I fought to get back to you and got slapped for it
- You didn’t know that? Didn’t you hear me crying? Go on with what you were
- saying. It’s fine to be able to remember. Don’t let’s stop.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They were picking up the threads of each other’s lives and winding them
- together. She told him about herself—how for long stretches, while
- her mother had been on tour singing, she had been left in the care of
- maids, and her favorite game had been to play that she was a great
- actress. “And you’ll never guess why it was my favorite. I used to pretend
- that my father was in the audience and came afterwards to tell me he was
- proud of me. That’s why——— Do you think he would be
- proud of me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’d be proud of you without that, wild bird.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why do you call me wild bird, Meester Deek? But I know: because I’m
- always struggling and flying beyond my strength. You think that, if I
- became an actress, I wouldn’t succeed. You don’t believe in me very much.
- I’ll have to show you—have to show you all. Everybody discourages
- me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His heart was beating furiously. Where was the good of hiding things? She
- knew he was in earnest “My dear,” he said, and a kind disapproval came
- into her eyes, “I believe in you so much—more than in any woman. It
- isn’t that; but I’m afraid that you’ll lose so many things that you’ll
- some day want.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean that an actress oughtn’t to marry? That’s what Fluffy says—she
- must be like a man and live for her art. If you married, you’d still go on
- sketching and writing; but men expect their wives to drop everything. It’s
- selfish of them and hard.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it’s always been like that and you’re not an actress yet, and—and,
- if you were, it would be terrible to think of you going through
- love-scenes every night with some one else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed into his eyes; he almost believed that her talk had been an
- ambush to lead him on. “You could be very jealous.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She rose from the table. When they were settled in the hansom, she
- whispered: “Let me be little again, Meester Deek. Tell me abouts knights
- and faeries, the way you did when you were only Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There was once a knight,” he began, “who dreamt always of a princess whom
- he would marry. At last he found her, and she pretended that she didn’t
- want him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And did she?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She did at last The title of the story is <i>The Princess Who Didn’t Know
- Her Heart</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s very short.—That’s Miss Self-Reliance you’re holding, Meester
- Deek. I don’t know whether she likes it.” And again she said in a drowsy
- whisper, “I don’t know whether she likes it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They both fell silent, staring straight before them into the darkness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don’t mind if I close my eyes, Meester Deek? I’m really tired.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He answered her with a pressure of the hand. She drooped nearer. “You are
- good to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In a husky contented little voice, she began to sing to herself. It was a
- darkie song about a pickaninny who had discovered that she was different
- from the rest of the world because the white children refused to play with
- her. To Teddy it seemed Desire’s pathetic way of explaining to him the
- loneliness of her childhood. At the end of each verse the colored mammy
- crooned comfortingly:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “So, honey, jest play in your own backyard,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Don’t mind what dem white chiles say.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- He stooped lower over her closed eyes and murmuring lips. She seemed aware
- of him; she turned her face aside. He brushed her cool cheek and thrilled
- to the touch of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- He waited. She still sang softly with her eyes fast shut, as though
- advising him:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “So, honey, jest play in your own backyard.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Over and over she hummed the line. He crept back into his place in the
- darkness.
- </p>
- <p>
- When they had drawn up before the apartment and he had jumped to the
- pavement to help her out, she whispered reproachfully, “Meester Deek, you
- did get out quickly.” Then, as they said good-by, “It’s been the nicest
- time we’ve ever had.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was only after she had vanished that he asked himself what she had
- meant, “You did get out quickly.” At the last moment was she going to have
- kissed him, or to have given him her lips to kiss? And, “The nicest time
- we’ve ever had”—did she know that he had been trembling to ask her
- to marry him?
- </p>
- <p>
- When he got back to the Brevoort he destroyed the letter he had written to
- Hal. His optimism was aflame; soon he would have something better to write
- him. He fell asleep that night with the coolness of her cheek upon his
- lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XII—ARCADY
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>is first sensation
- on awaking next morning was of that stolen kiss. All night he had been
- dreaming of it. All night he had been conscious of the porcelain
- smoothness of her hand held closely in his own. He closed his eyes against
- the amber shaft of sunlight which streamed from the window across the
- counterpane. He strove to recall those dreams; but the harder he strove
- the dimmer grew the lamps in the haunted chamber of remembrance. He saw
- vague shapes, which receded from him and melted. Since dreams failed him,
- he flung wide the windows of imagination.
- </p>
- <p>
- He saw himself walking with his arm about her, between pollarded trees
- along a silver road. She clung against his breast like a blown spray of
- lilac. Now he was stretched at her feet in the greenest of green meadows,
- while above the curve of her knees her brooding smile watched him. He
- pictured her, always in new landscapes of more than earthly beauty,
- enacting a hundred scenes of uninterrupted tenderness.
- </p>
- <p>
- The burden of his longing made him weary. Until he had kissed her, he had
- had no real understanding of what love meant; she had been to him an idea—an
- enchanting, disembodied spirit. Now she was white and warm, exquisitely
- clothed with glowing flesh. It was not the magic cloak any longer, but
- Desire herself, sweetly perverse and wilfully cold, that he worshiped.
- </p>
- <p>
- How old he had become since last night, and yet how young! In kissing her
- he had tasted of the Tree of Knowledge; from now on his thirst would grow
- unquenchably till he knew her as himself. All that that knowledge might
- mean passed before his mind in slow procession. Ominous as the rustle of
- God’s feet in Eden, he could hear her humming her plaintive warning:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “So, honey, jest play in your own backyard.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- He threw back the clothes and jumped out. Such imaginings were not
- allowed. But they returned. Like a snow-capped mountain in the dawning,
- his manhood caught the rose-red glow of passion and trembled, a tower of
- flame and ivory, above the imperiled valleys of experience.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he dressed he molded the future to any shape he chose, rolled it into a
- ball and molded it afresh. Now that he had kissed her, all things were
- possible. His interest in all the world was quickened. His work and
- success again became important. He thought of her thin little high-heeled
- shoes, her dancing decorative way of walking, the costly frailty of her
- dress. He would need money—heaps of it—to marry her.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was half-an-hour later, while he sat at breakfast, that a small cloud
- loomed on his horizon. It grew out of the sobering effect which comes of
- being among everyday people. A doubt arose in his mind as to the propriety
- of his last night’s actions. He’d whisked her away from the station
- without letting her see her mother, and had brought her home late after
- driving for hours through the darkness. Would Vashti consider him a safe
- person after such behavior? He knew that Eden Row wouldn’t. But in
- Desire’s company he lost sight of conventions in the absolute rightness of
- their being together. Besides, as he knew to his cost, she was well able
- to take care of herself. Strangers might think—— It didn’t
- matter what they thought. Nevertheless, it was with some trepidation that
- he approached the telephone and heard Vashti answer; “You brought my
- baby-girl home rather late. I hope you had a good time.—Oh, no, I
- didn’t mind; but I should have if it had been any one but Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wondered whether Desire had told her mother that he had kissed her. Did
- girls tell their mothers things like that?
- </p>
- <p>
- “May I speak with Desire?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She’s not here. Fluffy called with Mr. Overbridge just after you’d
- brought her back. They took her out to supper. Desire slept with her last
- night. I don’t know what plans she’s made for to-day.—Yes, I’ll ask
- her to call you up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fluffy again! He frowned. Overbridge hadn’t wanted her—that was
- Fluffy’s doing; she had taken her for protection. He didn’t like to think
- of Desire’s being put to such uses. He didn’t like to think of her being
- made a foil to another woman’s ill-conducted love-affair. There was a lack
- of system about not knowing where you were going to sleep up to within
- five minutes of getting into bed. He felt chagrined that his imagination
- had been wasted in picturing her thinking of him. He criticized Vashti for
- the leniency of her attitude; it was proper, if bonds of affection were
- worth anything, for a mother and daughter to be together after a three
- weeks’ separation. For his own lack of consideration in keeping Desire
- from her mother, there was some excuse; but for Fluffy’s—— The
- thing that hurt most was that Desire should have been willing to telescope
- the most exalted moment of his life into the next trivial happening,
- allowing herself no time for reflection.
- </p>
- <p>
- All that day he waited with trembling suspense to hear from her; it was
- not until the following morning that she called him and arranged to go to
- lunch. Almost her first words on meeting were, “I’ve thought it over.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Over! Was there anything?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thieves must be punished. You mustn’t do it again.” Then, with a quick
- uplifting of her eyes—so quick that the gray seas seemed to splash
- over: “Come, Meester Deek, let’s forget and be happy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So he learnt that it was he who had done wrong—he who had to be
- forgiven. Her forgiveness was offered so generously that it would have
- been churlish to dispute its necessity. Besides, argument wasted time and
- might lead to fretfulness.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the weeks that followed a dangerous comradeship sprang up between them;
- dangerous because of its quiet confidence, which seemed to deny the
- existence of passion. Her total ignoring of the fact of sex made any
- reference to it seem vulgar; yet everything that she did, from the
- itinerant beauty-patch to the graceful frailty of her dress, was a silent
- and provocative acknowledgment that sex was omnipresent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn’t dare to trust myself so much with any other man,” she told
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was what Vashti had said: “Oh, no, I didn’t mind; but I should have if
- it had been any one but Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So he found himself isolated on a peak of chivalry, from which the old
- sweet ways of love looked satyrish. Other men would have tried to hold her
- hands. Given his opportunities, other men would have crushed their lips
- against her sweet red mouth. Because she had proclaimed him nobler than
- other men he refrained from any of these brutalities—and all the
- while his mind was on fire with the vision of them. Instead, he put the
- poetry of his passion into the parables of love that he told her. They
- were like children in a forest, hiding from each other, yet continually
- calling and making known their whereabouts out of fear of the forest’s
- solitariness.
- </p>
- <p>
- They showed their need of each other in a thousand ways which were more
- eloquent than words. Every morning at ten promptly—ten being her
- hour for rising—he phoned her. Sometimes he found her at Vashti’s
- apartment, sometimes at Fluffy’s; at Fluffy’s there were frequently sleepy
- sounds which told him that she was answering him from bed. This morning
- conversation grew to be a habit on which they both depended.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a rare day when they did not lunch together. She would meet him in
- the foyer of one of the fashionable hotels. They had special nooks where
- they found each other—nooks known only to themselves. In the Waldorf
- it was against a pillar at the end of Peacock Alley, opposite to the
- Thirty-fourth Street entrance which is nearest to Fifth Avenue. In the
- Vanderbilt it was a deep armchair, two windows uptown from the marble
- stairs. In the same way they had their special tables; they got to know
- the waiters, and often to please her he would order the table to be
- reserved. He learnt that lavish tips and the appearance of wealth were the
- Open Sesame to pleasures of which the frugality of Eden Row had never
- dreamt.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was invariably late to their appointments—or almost invariably;
- if he counted on her lateness and arrived late himself, it would so happen
- that she had got there early. Her instinct seemed to keep her informed,
- even when he was out of her sight, as to what he was thinking and doing,
- so that she was able to forestall him, thwart him, surprise him. He felt
- that this was as it should be if she were in love. The contradiction was
- that, though he loved her, his sixth sense never served him. When he had
- calculated that this would be her early day and had arrived with ten
- minutes in hand, he would watch for an hour the surf of faces washed in
- through the revolving doors. As time passed, he would begin to conjecture
- all kinds of dismal happenings; underlying all his conjectures was the
- suspicion of unexpected death. Then, like a comforting strain of music,
- she would emerge from the discord of the crowd and take his hand. In the
- joy that she was still alive, he would hardly listen to her breathless
- apologies.
- </p>
- <p>
- In all his dealings with her there was this constant harassment of
- uncertainty. She would never make an arrangement for a day ahead; he must
- call her up in the morning—she wasn’t sure of her plans. He knew
- what this meant: she wasn’t sure whether Fluffy would command her
- attentions. Fluffy came first. He determined at all costs to supplant
- Fluffy’s premiership in her affections. He had to prove to her, not by
- talking, but by accumulated acts, how much his love for her meant. So he
- never complained of her irresponsibility. She could be as capricious as
- she chose; it never roused his temper. His reward was to have her pat his
- hand and murmur softly, “Meester Deek, you are good to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Through the blue-gold blur of autumn afternoons they would drift off to a
- matinée or he would accompany her shopping. There was a peculiar intimacy
- attaching to being made the witness of her girlish purchases. She would
- take him into a millinery shop and try on a dozen hats, referring always
- to his judgment. The assistant would delight him by mistaking him for her
- husband. Desire would correct the wrong impression promptly by saying: “I
- don’t know which one I’ll choose; I guess I’ll have to bring my mother.”
- In the street she would confess to him that she’d done it for a lark and
- hadn’t intended to buy anything.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But why do they all—waiters and everybody—think that we’re
- married?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps because we were made for each other, and look it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She would twist her shoulders with a pretense of annoyance; her gray eyes
- would become cloudy as opals. “That’s stupid. I’m so young—only
- twenty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- On one of these excursions she filled him with joy by accepting from him a
- dozen pairs of silk-stockings. He was perpetually begging her to let him
- spend his money on her and she was perpetually refusing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You tempt me, Meester Deek. What would people think?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know and don’t care. People be hanged. There aren’t any people—only
- you and I alone in the world. How’d you like a new set of furs?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, do be good,” she would beg of him, eyeing the furs enviously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know,” he told her, “whether you really mean no or yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And perhaps I don’t know myself,” she mocked him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Later, when wild-flowers of the streets flamed in the hedges of the dusk,
- they would again postpone their parting. Some new palace would magically
- spring up to lure them. Then they would dine to music and she would insist
- on acting the hostess and serving him; sometimes by seeming inadvertence
- their hands would touch. They would dawdle over their coffee; like a
- mother humoring a child full of fancies, at his repeated request she would
- sweeten his cup with the lips that were forbidden him. They might sit on
- all evening; they might stroll languorously off to find a new stimulus to
- illusion in a theatre. Their evenings were intolerably fugitive. Before
- midnight they would ride uptown through the carnival of Broadway, where
- light foamed on walls of blackness like champagne poured across ebony.
- </p>
- <p>
- At first he was inclined to be dissatisfied that he gained so little
- ground: when he advanced, she retreated; when he retreated, she advanced.
- If, to woo him back to a proper demonstrativeness, she had to display some
- new familiarity, she was careful not to let it become a habit.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The more stand-offish I am with you,” he said, “the more sweet you are to
- me. Directly I start to fall in love with you again——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Again?” she questioned, with a raising of her brows.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Again,” he repeated stubbornly. “Directly I do that, you grow cold. The
- thing works automatically like a pair of scales—only we hardly ever
- balance. When you’re up, I’m down. When I’m up, you’re down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What charming metaphors you use,” she exclaimed petulantly; and then,
- with swift tormenting compassion, “Poor Meester Deek.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But his protestations worked no difference. One night, in crossing Times
- Square, she said, “You may take my arm if you choose.” When an hour later
- he tried to do it, she drew away from him, with, “I cross heaps of streets
- without that.” Sometimes, driving home, she would unglove a temptress hand
- and let it rest invitingly in her lap. At the first sign that he was going
- to take it, it would pop like a rabbit into the warren of her muff.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the moment of parting she became most fascinating; then, for an
- instant, poignancy would touch her, making her humble. The dread
- foreknowledge would creep into her eyes that even such loyalty as his
- could be exhausted; the imminent fear would clutch her that one evening
- there would be a final parting and the hope of a new dawn would bring no
- hope of his returning. She would coax him to come up to the apartment; if
- he consented, she would divert him by chattering to the astonished
- elevator-boy in what she conceived to be French. She would slip her key
- into the latch, calling softly: “Mother! Mother!” Sometimes Vashti would
- come out from the front-room where she had been sitting in the half-light
- with a man—usually a Mr. Kingston Dak. As often as not she would be
- in bed. Like conspirators they would tiptoe across the passage. By the
- piano, with her back towards him, she would seat herself and play softly
- with one hand, “In the Gloaming, oh My Darling,” one of the few tunes
- which she could strum without error. He would stand with his face hanging
- over her shoulder, and they would both wonder silently whether he was
- going to crush her to him. Just as he had made up his mind, she would
- swing round with eyes mysterious as moonstones: “Meester Deek, let’s take
- Twinkles out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So, leaving the apartment with its heavy atmosphere of sleepers, they
- would seize for themselves this last respite.
- </p>
- <p>
- Loitering along pale streets with the immensity of night brooding over
- them, the world became wholly theirs and she again the haunting dream of
- his boyhood. There was only the blind white eye of the moon to watch them.
- Reluctantly they would come back to the illumined cave which was fated to
- engulf her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Their hands would come together and linger. Their lips would stumble over
- words and grow dumb.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And to-morrow?” he would falter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “To-morrow!—Phone me.—It’s one of the nicest days we’ve ever
- had.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In a flash she would stoop to Twinkles, tuck the bundle of wriggling fur
- beneath her arm, wave her hand and run lightly up the steps.
- </p>
- <p>
- If he stayed, he would see her turn before entering the elevator, wave her
- hand again and throw a last smile to him—a smile which seemed to
- reproach him, to plead with him and to extend a promise.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIII—DRIFTING
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>hrough the red
- flame-days of October she danced before him, a tantalizing heart of
- thistledown. If she settled, it was always well ahead. When he came up
- with her and stooped, thinking her capture certain, some new breeze of
- caprice or reticence would sweep her beyond the reach of his grasp.
- </p>
- <p>
- They discussed love in generalizations—in terms of life, literature
- and the latest play. They discussed very little else.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When I’m married———-” he would say.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well?” she would encourage him, snuggling her face against her white-fox
- furs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When I am married, every day’ll be a new romance. I can live anywhere I
- like—that’s the beauty of being an artist. I think I shall live in
- Italy first, somewhere on the Bay of Naples. I and my wife” (how her eyes
- would twinkle when he said that!), “I and my wife will dress up every
- evening. We’ll have a different set of costumes for every night in the
- week, and we’ll dine out in an arbor in our little garden. Sometimes
- she’ll be a Dresden Shepherdess, and sometimes a Queen Guinevere, and
- sometimes——-”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And won’t she ever be herself?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She’ll always be that, with a beauty-patch just about where you wear
- yours and a little curl bobbing against her neck.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But what’s the idea of so many costumes?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall never get used to each other; we shall always seem to be loving
- for the first time—beginning all afresh.—Doesn’t it attract
- you, Princess?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Me? I don’t see what I’ve got to do with it. Here’s the kind of woman
- you’ll marry: a nice little thing without any ambitions, who’ll think
- you’re a genius. You’ll live in one house forever and ever, and have a
- large family and go to church every Sunday. And you’ll have a dead secret
- that you’ll never be able to tell her, about a famous actress whom you
- once romped with in New York before she was famous.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had a thousand ways of turning him aside from confession.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Men are rotters—all men except you, Meester Deek. Poor little
- Fluffy! Horace isn’t at all nice to her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It transpired on inquiry that Horace wasn’t at all nice to Fluffy because
- she was dividing her leisure between himself and Simon Freelevy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see, she must,” Desire explained. “It’s business. <i>October</i>
- isn’t the success they expected—it’s too English in its atmosphere.
- If Freelevy likes her, he can put her into his biggest productions. Horace
- won’t understand that it’s business. He sulks and makes rows. That’s why I
- go about with her so much—her little chaperone, she calls me. Men
- have to be polite and can’t take advantage when a young girl is present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But what does she give them in return?” Teddy asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire became cold. “Any man should feel proud to be seen in her company.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her way of saying it made him feel that all women were queens and all men
- their servitors. His idea that love-affairs ended in marriage seemed
- rustic and adolescent. To be seen in the company of a pretty face was all
- the reward a man ought to expect for limousines, late suppers, tantalized
- hopes and the patient devotion of an honorable passion. He couldn’t bear
- that Desire should class herself with the nuns of pleasure, who dole out
- their lure as payment, and have blocks of ice where less virtuous women
- have hearts. In her scornful defense of Fluffy, she seemed to be building
- up a case for herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the last extremity, when a proposal of marriage threatened, she
- employed a still more effective weapon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look here, Meester Deek, I like you most awfully and we’ve had some
- splendid times, but why are you stopping in America?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He would gaze into her eyes dumbly, thinking, “Now’s my chance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His hesitancy would infect her with boldness. “If it’s for my sake, I’m
- not worth the trouble. I think you’d better go back to England. The <i>Lusitania’s</i>
- sailing tomorrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Piqued by her assumed indifference, he would pretend to take her at her
- word: “Perhaps I had better. Would you come to see me off?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Maybe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And kiss me good-by?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I felt like it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then it’s almost worth going.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why don’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Once he gave her a fright They were passing The International Sleeping Car
- Company on Fifth Avenue. “I think I will,” he said lightly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Entering, he made a reservation and paid the deposit money. During the
- next hour she was so sweet to him, so sad, that they raced back through
- the thickening night, arriving just as the last clerk was leaving, and
- canceled the booking.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you mean it?” she whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, didn’t I?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But do tell me,” she pleaded. “If you don’t, I shall never be at rest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He slipped his arm into hers without rebuff. “Odd little, dear little
- Princess, was it likely?”
- </p>
- <p>
- After that, when in this mood of self-effacement, she would insist without
- fear of being taken seriously that he should sail.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you don’t, I’ll refuse to see you ever again. But,” she would add,
- “that’s only if you really are stopping here on my account.”
- </p>
- <p>
- To relieve her conscience of responsibility he would lie like a corsair,
- bolstering up the fiction that business was his sole reason for remaining.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, it’s your funeral, isn’t it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My funeral,” he echoed solemnly.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Indian summer sank into a heap of ashes from which all heat was spent.
- November looked in with its thin-lipped mornings and its sudden
- pantherlike dusks. Still they wandered, separate and yet together, from
- the refuge of one day to the next, establishing shrines of habit which
- made them less and less dispensable to each other’s happiness. She was
- always darting ahead into the uncertain shadows, hiding, and springing out
- that she might test his gladness in having refound her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Each new day was an exquisite wax-statue which by night had melted to
- formlessness in his hands. He made repeated resolutions to organize his
- energies. He lived im-paradised in a lethargy of fond emotions. His career
- was at a halt; his opportunities were slipping from him. To encourage his
- industry he drew up a chart of the hours in the current month that he
- would work. He pinned it to the wall above his desk that it might reproach
- him if he fell below his average. The average was never reached. The chart
- was tom up. His most stalwart plans were driven as mist before the breath
- of her lightest fancy. Not that she encroached on him by deed or word; but
- her memory was a delirium which kept him always craving for her presence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you were to drop me to-morrow,” she told him, “you’d never hear from
- me. I’m like that. I shouldn’t run after you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She left him to place his own construction on the statement—to
- discover its origin in nobility or carelessness. Whichever it was, it made
- him the needle while she remained the magnet. When he wasn’t with her, he
- was waiting for her; so the hours after midnight, when he had seen her
- home, were the only ones free from feverishness. His work suffered; he
- stole from the hours when he ought to have been in bed. He began to
- suspect that he was losing his confidence of touch. The suspicion was
- sharply confirmed when one of his commissioned articles came back with the
- cryptic intimation that it wasn’t exactly what the editor had expected.
- That meant the loss of five hundred dollars; what was worse, it filled him
- with artistic panic.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the old days—the days of <i>Life Till Twenty-one</i>—fame
- had been the goal of his ambitions. He had set before his eyes, as though
- it were a crucifix, the austere aloofness of his father’s pure motives. He
- couldn’t afford to do that any longer. He was spending lavishly; the
- example of the extravagance of Fluffy’s lovers spurred his expenditures.
- He didn’t care how he won Desire’s admiration; win it he must.
- Unconsciously he was trying to win it with a display of generosity. Dimly
- he foresaw that he was doing her an injustice; he would have to cut down
- and recuperate the moment they were married. In preparation he painted to
- her the joys of simplicity and of life in the country. Her curl became
- agitated with merriment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That isn’t the way I’ve been brought up. Cottages don’t have bathrooms,
- and the country’s muddy except in summer. It wouldn’t suit me. And I do
- like to wear silk.” Then, with a shudder: “Poverty’s so ugly. There’s only
- one thing worse, and that’s growing old. Please, Meester Deek, let’s talk
- of something else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was like a child, stopping her ears with her fingers and pleading,
- “Please don’t tell me any more ghost-stories.” He felt sorry for her; at
- such times she seemed so inexperienced and young. By her misplaced
- valuations, she was giving life such power to hurt her. Her sophistication
- seemed more apparent than real—a disguise for her lack of knowledge.
- He wanted to comfort her against old age. If one were loved, neither
- poverty nor growing old mattered. He thought of Dearie and the way she had
- married his father, with their joint affection and her high belief in him
- for their sole assets.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were times when Desire seemed to guess his problem.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish you’d do more work. Why don’t you leave me alone to-morrow? And
- you oughtn’t to keep on spending and spending. I’d be just as happy if you
- spent less.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The joy of her thoughtfulness gave him hope and made him the more
- reckless. Besides, it wasn’t possible to economize in her company. Her
- fear of the subway and her abhorrence of crowded surface-cars made taxis a
- continual necessity. Her shoes were so thin that a mile of walking tired
- her; her clothes were so stylish that she would have looked conspicuous in
- any but a fashionable setting. Her method of dress, in which he delighted,
- limited them both to costly environments. He had named her rightly years
- ago in calling her “Princess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Vashti puzzled him. She seemed to avoid him. When he visited the apartment
- she was out, just going out or expected back shortly. He had fugitive
- glimpses of her hurrying off to concert engagements, or going on some
- pleasure jaunt with the unexplained Mr. Dak, similar to those which he and
- Desire enjoyed together.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Kingston Dak was a little grasshopper of a man. He had lemon-colored
- hair, white teeth, extremely well-kept hands and was nearly forty. His
- littleness was evidently a sore point with him, for the heels of his shoes
- were built up like a woman’s. He held himself erectly and when others were
- seated he usually remained standing. He seemed to be always in search of
- something to lean against which would enable him to tiptoe unobtrusively
- and to add another inch to his stature. He was clean-shaven, and in
- appearance shy and boyish; he would have looked excellently well in
- clerical attire. By hobby he was an occultist; by profession a
- stockbroker. His chief topic of conversation was the superiority of
- Mohammedanism to Christianity.
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire called him “King” familiarly; Vashti referred to him as “My little
- broker.” Although in his early twenties he had been divorced and tattered
- by the thorns of a disastrous passion, neither of them seemed to regard
- him as dangerously masculine. They treated him as a maiden-aunt—as a
- pale person receiving affection in lieu of wages, expected to safeguard
- their comfort and to slip into a cupboard when he wasn’t wanted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “King’s quite nice,” Desire told Teddy; “he was most awfully fond of her.
- His troubles have made him so understanding.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy wondered what had happened to the world that all its women had
- become Vestal Virgins and all its men unassailable St. Anthonies. He
- watched Mr. Dak for any sign that he remembered the days of his flesh. The
- little man was as perfunctory over his duties as a well-trained lackey.
- </p>
- <p>
- Vashti’s bearing towards himself during their brief meetings was
- affectionately sentimental. There was a hint of the proprietary in the way
- she touched him, as though she regarded him already as her son. Her eyes
- would rest on him with veiled inquiry; she never put her question into
- words. She was giving him his chance, and he felt infinitely grateful to
- her—so grateful that he was blind to the unexplained situations
- which surrounded her. That she should allow his unchaperoned relations
- with Desire endowed her with broadmindedness. “Unto the pure all things
- are pure,” seemed the maxim on which she acted. In accepting that ruling
- for his own conduct, he had to extend the same leniency to Mr. Dak’s.
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire stretched it a point further and made it apply to herself. He found
- that frequently after he had said “Good-by” to her at close on midnight,
- Fluffy would call with a car and carry her off to make a party of three at
- supper, or sometimes to join a larger party—mostly of men—in
- her apartment. He remonstrated with her: “It’s all very well for an
- actress; but I hate to think of you mixing with all kinds of people whose
- standards are just anyhow, and playing ’gooseberry’ for two people
- older than yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t see that you can complain,” she laughed. “If my standards weren’t
- theatrical and if I were the kind of girl who sees evil in everything, you
- wouldn’t be allowed to go about with me so much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was his dilemma in a nut-shell. In joining the ranks of the
- superiorly pure, he was pledged to see purity everywhere. Divorces were
- pure. Nobody was to blame for anything. People ought to be sympathized
- with, not punished, when they got into trouble. He seemed to have made lax
- conventions his own by taking advantage of them for facilitating his
- courtship. It would look like hypocrisy to disapprove of them after
- marriage. It was very jolly, for instance, to hear her whisper in the
- jingling secrecy of a hansom, “Meester Deek, please light me a cigarette.”
- Very jolly to convey it from his lips to hers, and to watch the red glow
- of each puff make a cameo of her face against the blackness. But——
- And that <i>but</i> was perpetually walking round new corners to confront
- him—if she were his wife, would the sight of her smoking afford him
- such abiding happiness? She had taunted him with being a King Arthur. In
- the presence of her emotional tolerance, which found excuses for
- everything and ostracized nobody, his sense of propriety seemed a lack of
- social charity. He guessed the reason for her continual plea that people
- should be forgiving—her mother. The knowledge silenced his
- criticisms and roused his compassion.
- </p>
- <p>
- Two moods possessed him alternately: in the one he despised himself as an
- austere person, in whom an undue restraint of upbringing had dammed the
- stream of youth, so that it lay alone and unruffled as a mountain-tarn; in
- the other he saw himself as a man with a chivalrous duty.
- </p>
- <p>
- Little by little he came to see that her faery lightheartedness, her
- faculty for taking no thought for the morrow, made her an easy prey for
- the morrow. Her ease in acquiring new friendships made friendship of small
- value.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her butterfly Sittings from pleasure to pleasure left her without
- garnerings. She lived, he calculated, at the rate of at least five
- thousand dollars per annum. But different people paid for it; she
- contributed as her share her gay well-dressed schoolgirl self. The chances
- were that she rarely had a five-dollar bill in her purse, and yet she was
- accustoming herself to extravagance.
- </p>
- <p>
- He began to watch her friends. When he ran over the list of them, he found
- that they were all temporary, held by the flimsiest bonds of common
- knowledge. They had been met at hotels, in pensions, on transatlantic
- voyages. A good many of them were divorced or unattached persons. They
- were all on the wing; none of them seemed to comply with any settled code
- of morals. The more he saw of her, the more aghast he became at the
- precariousness of her prosperity. Some day these friends, who could
- dispense with her for months together, would happen all to dispense with
- her at the same moment Then the telephone, which was her wizard summons to
- dinners, balls, and motor-parties, would suddenly grow silent. She would
- wait and listen; and listen and wait; her round of gayeties would be
- ended. Perhaps this thirst for the insubstantial things of life was a part
- of the price which Hal had mentioned. Did she know it? Winged creature as
- she was, she must covet the security of a nest sometimes, though, while
- she was without it, she affected to despise it as dullness.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he married her—— He became lost in thought
- </p>
- <p>
- If they went on living as they were living now, his career would be torn
- to shreds by her unsatisfied energy. They would have to settle down. In
- putting up with any irritations that might result, he’d be helping her to
- pay the penalty—the penalty which Vashti had imposed on so many
- lives—on her own most of all—by her early selfishness.
- Towering above his passion and mingling with it oddly, was the great
- determination to save her from the ruinous lightness to which her mother’s
- undefined social position had committed her.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was fully aware of the unspoken strictures which lent melancholy to
- his ardor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You think I’m a silly little moth. I know you do. I’m pyschic. You think
- I’m fluttering about a candle and that my wings’ll get scorched. Just you
- wait. I’ll have to show you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Or she would say, leaning out towards him, “I wonder what it is that you
- like about me, Meester Deek. There are so many things you don’t like,
- though you never tell me. You don’t like my powdering, or my smoking
- cigarettes, or—oh, such lots of things. But where’s the harm? And
- there’s another thing you won’t like—I’m going to dye my hair to
- auburn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This threat, that she would dye her hair, led to endless conversations. It
- made him bold to tell her how pretty she was, which was exactly what she
- wanted.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sometimes she was sweetly grown up, preparing him for disillusionment; but
- it was when she was little that he loved her best Then she would give him
- the most artless confidences; telling him about her religion, how she
- prayed for him night and morning, and of her longings to know her father.
- She would plead with him to tell her about Orchid Lodge and Mrs. Sheerug,
- and Ruddy, and Harriet She came to picture the old house as if she had
- lived there, and yet she was never tired of hearing the old details
- afresh. Orchid Lodge became a secret between them—one of their many
- secrets, like the name she had given him. And still they drifted
- undecided.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then the series of events happened which forced their love to its first
- anchorage.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIV—THE TRIFLERS GROW EARNEST
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>ight was tremulous
- with the beat of wings. The first snow of the season was falling, giving
- to familiar streets a theatric look of enchanted strangeness. Large flakes
- sailed confidently as descending doves; little ones came in flurries like
- a storm of petals. Perhaps boy-angels in heavenly orchards were shaking
- the blossoms with their romping. Teddy glanced at the girl beside him; it
- seemed that an all-wise providence had sent the snow especially as a
- background for her.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were returning from the final performance of <i>October</i>. They had
- been behind the scenes with Fluffy, where friends had been drugging her
- melancholy with the assurance that, whatever might be said of the play,
- her acting had scored a triumph.
- </p>
- <p>
- The illusion of the footlights followed them. Streets were a new
- stage-setting in which they had become the dominant personalities. The
- shrieking of motor-horns above the din of traffic seemed the agonized cry
- of defeated lovers, divided in a chaos of misunderstandings.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they drove up Broadway Desire crouched with her cheek against the pane.
- She was trying to make out the hoardings on which the name of Janice
- Audrey was featured in large letters. While she performed her ritual at
- each vanishing shrine, Teddy sat unheeded.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her saint-like hands were clasped against her breast. Her face hung palely
- meditative, a shadow cast upon the dusk. She filled the night with
- fragrance. The falling flakes outside seemed to kiss her hair in passing.
- </p>
- <p>
- He could only imagine the old-rose shade of the velvet opera-cloak that
- hid her from him. Her white-fox furs lay across her shoulders like drifted
- snow. He ached intolerably to take her in his arms.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes were turned away. He could only see the faint outline of her
- cheek and the slender curve of her girlish neck. She threw out remarks as
- they traveled—remarks which called for no answer and expected none.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Horace’ll have to own now that she was wise in cultivating other
- friendships. Poor old Horace!—And all those bills will be covered up
- to-morrow with some new great success. Such is fame!—Fluffy’s so
- discouraged.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you think that was true?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What?” Her question was asked lazily, more out of politeness than
- curiosity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That <i>October</i> was her autobiography?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Partly. Artistic people like to think themselves tragic. You do. I’ve
- noticed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think it was.” He refused to be diverted. “I think it was real tragedy.
- She’s given up so much for fame; it’s brought her nothing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire laughed quietly. “The old subject. I knew where you were going the
- minute you started. It’s like a hat that you want to get rid of; you hang
- it on every peg you come to. No, I’m not meaning to be unkind; but you do
- amuse me, Meester Deek.—Fluffy’s very much to be envied.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She’s beautiful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So are you. But being beautiful isn’t everything. Being loved is the
- thing that satisfies.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does it? And loving too, I expect. But you see I don’t know: I’ve never
- loved.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You won’t let yourself love.” He spoke the words almost inaudibly.
- </p>
- <p>
- They both fell silent. She still bent forward, her head and shoulders
- silhouetted against the pane. Her lack of response made his passion seem
- foolishness.
- </p>
- <p>
- During the weeks of enforced friendship the physical bond between them had
- been growing more compelling.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was only in crowded places that her actions acknowledged it; when they
- were by themselves her reticence announced plainly, “Trespassers will be
- prosecuted.” Then she became forbidding; but her sudden gusts of coldness,
- her very inaccessibility, only added the more to her attraction. He told
- himself that women who left men nothing to conquer were not valued. He
- found himself filled with overpowering longings to defy her attempts to
- thwart him. His mind seethed with pictures of what might happen. He saw
- himself pressing those hands against his lips, kissing her eyes or her
- slender neck, where the false curl danced and beckoned. Would this pain of
- expectancy never end? Did she also suffer beneath her pale aloofness?
- </p>
- <p>
- With the high-strung sensitiveness of the lover, he began to suspect that
- his procrastination piqued her. Sometimes he fancied that even Vashti
- criticized his delay in announcing his intentions. He dreaded lest Desire
- should think that he was flirting. But why didn’t she help him? Did girls
- ever help their lovers? She increased his difficulties at every
- opportunity. Shyness, perhaps! Time and again when he had nerved himself
- to the point of proposing, she had struck him dumb with a languid
- triviality or flippancy of gesture.
- </p>
- <p>
- But to-night it would be different The enchantment of the snow tingled in
- his blood. The warning of the woman who had procrastinated so long that
- she had lost her sincerity, spurred him to confession. Surely to-night, if
- ever——
- </p>
- <p>
- His hand set out on a voyage of discovery. It slipped into her muff and
- found her fingers.
- </p>
- <p>
- She shuddered. It was as though a chill had struck her. “What are you
- doing? You’re queer to-night. Funny.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had no words in which to tell her. He was terribly in earnest. Hammers
- were pounding in his temples. His face was twitching. The darkness choked
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He drooped closer. His lips brushed her furs. She sat breathless. His lips
- crept higher and touched her hair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, please.” Her voice was shaky and childish. “Not now. I—I don’t
- feel like it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew back. Though she had denied him, their hands clung together. Hers
- lay motionless, like the beating heart of a spent bird that has lost the
- strength to save itself. The power that he knew he had over her at that
- moment made him feel like a ruffian who had lain in ambush and taken her
- unaware.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall I let it go?” he whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- For answer the slim fingers nestled closer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Meester Deek, you were never in love before, were you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very wonderful. I thought not. You don’t act like it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you, Princess?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah!” She smiled mysteriously. “There was a boy who asked permission to
- marry me once. It was just after I’d put up my hair. I was only fifteen,
- but I looked just as old as I do now. He told mother that he’d saved fifty
- dollars, and that he wanted to start early so as to raise a large family.
- Very sweet and domestic of him, wasn’t it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But that wasn’t serious.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, not serious, you poor Meester Deek; but it makes you jealous.—And
- there were others.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How many?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, dozens. I’ve always had some one in love with me, ever since I can
- remember. That’s why I gave names to my hands.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then no one ever held them before?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shouldn’t say that. But almost no one. I used to let Tom hold them when
- he wouldn’t stop drizzling. Tom was different; he was a kind of brother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what am I?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve often wondered.” Her brows drew together. “You’re a kind of friend,
- and yet you’re not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “More than a friend?”
- </p>
- <p>
- They were halting. She freed her hand and stroked his face daringly.
- “You’re Meester Deck. Isn’t that enough? Some one whom I love and trust.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She threw the door open. On the point of jumping out, she hesitated. “The
- pavement’s so slushy. Whatever shall I do with my thin shoes and all?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let me carry you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As his arms enfolded her, she stiffened. For a moment there was a
- rebellious struggle. Then her arm went about his neck and her face sank
- against his shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- How light she was! How little! How unchanged from the child-Desire of the
- woodland!
- </p>
- <p>
- “D’you remember the last time?” he whispered. “It’s years since I’ve done
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not your fault,” she laughed. “You’d have done it often and often, if I’d
- allowed you. I guess you wish it was always snowing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The distance was all too short. He would have carried her across the
- lighted foyer, into the elevator, up to the apartment. He didn’t mind who
- stared at him. He would have gone on holding her thus forever. As they
- reached the steps she slipped from his arms.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you big, strong man!” Her gray eyes were dancing; a faint flush
- spread across her forehead. “I do hope nobody saw us.” He was stealing his
- arm into hers. She turned him back. “Forgetful! You haven’t paid the
- taxi.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After he had paid, he searched round for her. She had gone. It was the
- first time she had done it; she always waited for him. So she knew what
- was coming! By her flight she was lengthening by a few more minutes their
- long uncertainty. In the quiet of the dim-lit room, with the snow gliding
- past the window, each separate flake tiptoeing like a faery, he would tell
- her. But would he need to tell her? She would be waiting for him, her face
- drooping against her shoulder, looking sweet and weary. She would be like
- a tired child, its mischief forgotten, ready to stretch out its arms and
- snuggle in his breast. All that need be said would come in broken phrases—phrases
- which no one but themselves could understand. And then, after that——
- She might cry a little. When they were married, perhaps Hal——
- </p>
- <p>
- He waited till the elevator had descended before he tapped. Probably she
- was listening for him, fearing and yet hoping for the pressure of his arms
- and all the newness that they would begin together. He would read in her
- eyes the writing of surrender—the same writing that he had read on
- the dusty panes of childhood, “I love you. I love you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He tapped; he tapped more loudly. The door was opened ty Mr. Dak. “Hulloa!
- Come in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where’s Desire?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In her room getting ready.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ready? For what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- They entered the dim-lit room where the most splendid moment of life
- should have been happening.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Didn’t you know?” Mr. Dak appeared not to notice his emotion. “Everybody
- else knew. There’s a supper-party to Miss Audrey. Just the six of us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They fell to making conversation. Mr. Dak did most of the talking. Teddy
- found himself agreeing to the statement that Christianity was a colossal
- blunder, and that Mohammedanism was the only religion worth the having. He
- would have agreed to anything. As he listened for Desire’s footstep, he
- nodded his head, saying, “Yes. Of course. Obviously.” All the while he was
- aware of the embarrassed kindness that looked out from the eyes of the
- little man. Somewhere, in the silence of his brain, a voice kept
- questioning, “Mr. Dak, are you in love with Vashti? Does she laugh at you
- when you try to tell her? Do you wish the world was pagan because then
- you’d be her lord and master?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In the Mohammedan faith,” Mr. Dak was saying, “a woman’s hope of
- immortality lies in merging her life with a man’s.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he set himself to criticize pedantically the breakdown of the
- Christian ideal of marriage.
- </p>
- <p>
- The door-bell rang. Fluffy and Horace entered. The sparkle of laughter was
- in their eyes. They brought with them an atmosphere of love-making. As
- Horace helped her out of her sables, his hands loitered on her shoulders
- caressingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned to the others with the sad little smile of one who summons all
- the world to her protection. She looked extremely beautiful and lavish,
- with her daffodil-colored hair floating like a cloud above her blue,
- hypnotic eyes. “I’m so depressed. I do hope you’ll cheer me. Fancy having
- to learn a new part and to worry with rehearsals, and then to go on the
- road again.” She sat down on the couch, her hands tucked beneath her, her
- arms making handles for the vase of her body. “I wish I wasn’t an actress.
- I wish I were just a wife in a dear little house—a sort of nest—with
- a kind man to take care of me. Only——” She glanced at Horace.
- “Only I never met the always kind man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Women never know their own minds,” said Horace. “A law ought to be passed
- to compel every woman who’s loved to marry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At supper Desire’s place was empty. Teddy turned to Vashti and whispered,
- “Where is she? Isn’t she coming?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Vashti looked at him with her slow, comprehending smile. “She’s coming.
- But she’s thinking. I wonder what about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At that moment Desire entered and slipped into the vacant chair beside
- him. All through the meal as the atmosphere brightened, she sat silent.
- She seemed to be doing her best not to notice that he was there.
- </p>
- <p>
- The talk turned on women and what men thought of them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Men may think what they like, but they never know us,”. Fluffy said.
- “Love’s a game of guess-work and deception. Half the time when a man’s
- blaming a woman for not having married him, he ought to be down on his
- knees thanking her for having spared him. She knows what she is, and she
- knows what he is. He doesn’t. Men invariably confuse friendship with
- matrimony. They can’t understand how women can enjoy their company and yet
- couldn’t fancy them as husbands.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire woke up. “And the worst of it is that sometimes we women can’t
- understand ourselves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Some men can.” Vashti glanced at Mr. Dak, whom she had so often praised
- for his understanding. Mr. Dak returned her gaze as non-committingly as a
- Buddhish idol. Horace leant forward across the table. The gleam of
- tolerant amusement was never absent from his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You ladies are all talking nonsense, and you know it. Even little Desire
- over there knows it. Directly you begin to like a man you begin to think
- of marriage—only some of you begin to think of running away from it
- ‘Between men and women there is no friendship possible. Passion, enmity,
- worship, love, but no friendship’—you remember Lord Darlington’s
- lines. When love is trifled with, it sours into hatred. Every man who
- loves a woman has his moments when he hates her intensely.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you ever hate me?” Fluffy covered his hand to insure the answer she
- required.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. And you’ve hated me. Desire could tell just how much if she dared.
- You women all discuss your love-affairs. You’re fondest of a man when he’s
- absent. When he’s present, you never confess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy sat quietly listening. He thought how silly these people were to
- talk so much and to love so little. Life was going by them; none of them
- had begun to live yet They were like timid bathers at the seaside, who
- splashed and paddled, but never really got wet. They wouldn’t learn to
- swim for fear of getting drowned. He wished he could take them to a house
- in Eden Row, where a man and woman were living bravely and accepting hard
- knocks as things to be expected. While he listened, he watched Desire,
- wondering what ghostly thoughts were wandering behind her wistful eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Chairs were pushed back. They were leaving the room. Fluffy turned to meet
- him in the doorway. Her arm was about Desire. She hung her head, glancing
- searchingly from one to the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’re a pack of fools,” she whispered intensely. “Don’t you listen to
- us.” She took Teddy’s hand and hesitated at a loss for words. With a
- sudden gust of emotion she kissed him. “Little Desire, why don’t you marry
- him? He looks at you so lovingly and sadly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Marry him!” Desire faltered. “I don’t know. But we’re very fond of each
- other, aren’t we, Teddy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the first time she had called him that. The babies came into her
- eyes; she broke from Fluffy and ran down the passage. From a safe distance
- she called laughingly, “I won’t have you hanging about with my beau.
- You’ll be kissing him again; and I won’t have you kissing him when I’m not
- present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the room which overlooked the Hudson, Vashti was playing. For a minute
- Teddy had a vision of how he had first seen her with Hal; only times had
- changed. The man who bent across her shoulder now was Mr. Dak. It was a
- child’s song that she was singing, about a lady who was devoted to a
- poodle-dog which died, and how she fretted and fretted. The last verse
- leapt out of melancholy into merriment,
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent25">
- “But e’er three months had past
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- She had bought another poodle-dog.
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Exactly like the last”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- To Teddy the words were a philosophy of fickleness; that was precisely
- what she had done on losing Hal. A worrying fear came upon him as he
- glanced from mother to daughter: in outward appearance they were so much
- alike. If he were to leave Desire, would she, too, replace him?
- </p>
- <p>
- The thought was in the air. Mr. Dak, leaning against the piano to make
- himself an inch taller, began to descant on the transience of affection.
- He had arrived at his favorite topic and was saying, “Now, among the
- Mohammedans——” when Horace interrupted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It depends on what you mean by transience. One’s got to go on living, so
- one goes on loving. But if you mean that one forgets—why, it’s not
- true.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- There fell thy shadow, Cynara! Thy breath was shed
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- I have been faithful to thee, Cynara, in my fashion.’
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “One never forgets. There’s always a Cynara. One may love twenty times,
- but betwixt your lips and the lips of the latest woman there’s always the
- memory of the first ghostly rapture. You seek Cynara to the end of life;
- but if you met her again, you would not find her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Across the window the snow drifted white as the loosened hair of Time. In
- the room there was no stir. Unseen people entered. Vashti shaded her face
- with her hand; it was easy to guess of whom she was thinking. Fluffy gazed
- into space, a child who finds itself alone and is frightened. Mr. Dak was
- inscrutable. Horace lay back, staring at the ceiling, watching the
- ascending smoke of his cigarette. To Teddy the room was like an empty
- house in which innumerable clocks ticked loudly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He met Desire’s eyes. “We are young. We are young,” they said. “Why won’t
- they leave us to ourselves?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My God, I wish I were little. I wish I were no older than Desire. I wish
- I could get away from all this rottenness and wake up to-morrow in the
- country. Think what it’ll look like, all white and sparkling and shiny!
- Where’s the good of your telling me you love me, Horace, if you can’t make
- me good and little—if you can’t put back the hands of Time?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fluffy jumped up, half laughing, half crying, and threw wide the window.
- She leant out, so that the snow fell glistening in the gold of her hair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not a sound. Listen!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Horace rose and stood beside her. “Would you like to wake up in the
- country? I’ll manage it. I’d manage anything for you, little girl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Dak broke his silence. “I know a farm. It’s up the Hudson—seventy
- miles at least from here. The people are my friends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In a babel of excited voices it was planned. Of a sudden the triflers had
- become lovers confessed. They seemed to think that by the childish trick
- of escaping, their youth could be recaptured. While the women ran off to
- change and wrap up, the men completed arrangements for the journey.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the limousine arrived it had seats for only five; cushions were
- strewn on the floor for Desire and Teddy. She kept far away from him till
- the light went out. Again it was like standing in an empty house; people’s
- brains were clocks which ticked solemnly, “And I was desolate and sick of
- an old passion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They two alone had nothing to remember—all the rapture of life lay
- ahead. In the darkness he felt her hand groping. One by one he coaxed
- apart the reluctant fingers and pressed the little palm against his mouth.
- She allowed herself to be drawn closer; he could feel the wild bird of her
- heart beating its wings against the walls of the flesh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dearest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hush! Dear is enough,” she whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- Long after she was asleep he sat staring into the blackness. To-morrow—all
- the long to-morrows would be theirs.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XV—SLAVES OF FREEDOM
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was as though he
- were in a nest; the windows were padded with the feathers of snow that had
- frozen to them overnight. He felt cramped. Then he found that his arm was
- about a girl and that her head was against his shoulder. She roused and
- gazed at him drowsily. She sat up, rubbing her fists into her eyes. They
- stared at each other in amused surprise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I never!” she whispered. “Wot liberties ter taik wiv a lady!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She drew away from him in pretended haughtiness, tilting her chin into the
- air.
- </p>
- <p>
- Some one yawned. “Good Lord! We must have been mad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Disenchantment spoke in the complaining voice. They turned. The rest of
- the party were awake, looking bored and fretful.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m aching for some sleep,” Fluffy sighed; “I know I’m going to quarrel
- with some one. It was you and your wretched Cynaras did this for us,
- Horace. If I’m not in bed in half-an-hour, I’ll never speak to you again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why mother, where’s King?” Desire noticed the absence of Mr. Dak.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If he’s wise, he’s walking back to New York,” Vashti said; “but I think
- he’s outside, directing the driver.—We certainly were mad. I am
- tired.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A discontented silence settled down. Teddy wished that they all would
- close their eyes and leave him alone with Desire. She was like a wild
- thing when others were watching; beneath her stillness he could detect her
- agitation lest he should betray to others that he loved her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re not cross, too—are you?” he whispered. “Are you, Princess?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head. “You made a splendid pillow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave him no encouragement, so he sank into himself. He tried to
- recapture his sensations of the night In his dreams he must have been
- conscious of her; they must have gone together on all manner of
- adventures. He blamed himself for having slept; if he had kept his vigil,
- what memories he would have had.
- </p>
- <p>
- The car halted. The door was opened by Mr. Dak. White and soft as a swan’s
- breast, gleaming in the early morning sunlight, lay a rolling expanse of
- unruffled country. Distant against the glassy sky mountains shone
- imperturbably, like the humped knees of Rip Van Winkles taking their
- eternal rest.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Dak beamed with pride. He seemed to be claiming all the credit for the
- stillness and whiteness, and most especially for the low-roofed farmhouse,
- with its elms and barns, and its plume of blue smoke curling up hospitably
- into the frosted silence. He was pathetically eager to be thanked. He
- looked more like a maiden-aunt than ever.
- </p>
- <p>
- As the company tumbled out, their self-ridicule was heightened by the
- patent unsuitability of their attire. The men in their silk-hats and
- evening-dress, the women in their high-heeled shoes and dainty gowns
- looked dishonest and shallow apart from their environment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Damn!” said Fluffy, giving way to temperament “I want to hide.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Horace attempted comfort. “You’ll feel better when you’ve had breakfast.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shan’t. I shan’t ever feel better. You oughtn’t to have brought me. You
- know I’m not responsible after midnight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you were so keen on waking in the country.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She swept by him indignantly up the uncleared path, kilting her skirt.
- “Could I wake when I haven’t slept?”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the door a young man was standing—a very stolid and sensible
- young man. He wore oiled boots and corduroy breeches; he was coatless; his
- sleeves were rolled up and, despite the cold, his shirt was unbuttoned at
- the neck. In an anxious manner Mr. Dak was explaining to him the
- situation. As the others came up he was introduced as Sam; he at once
- began to speak of breakfast.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t want any breakfast,” Fluffy pouted ungraciously; “all I want is a
- place to lie down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sam eyed her rather contemptuously—the way a mastiff might have
- looked at Twinkles.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The wife’s bathing the babies; but I daresay it can be managed.” He
- stepped back into the hall and shouted, “Mrs. Sam! Mrs. Sam!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Sam appeared with a child in her arms, which she had hastily wrapped
- in a towel. She was a wholesome, smiling, deep-breasted young woman, with
- a face as placid as a Madonna’s. Three beds were promised and the ladies
- immediately retired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cross, aren’t they?” said Sam, before the last skirt had rustled
- petulantly up the stairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Rather,” Horace assented.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s to be expected,” said Mr. Dak.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Expected! Is it?” Sam scratched his head. “Well, all I can say is if a
- woman doesn’t choose to be agreeable, she can go somewhere else, as far as
- I’m concerned.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a rambling old house, paneled, many-windowed, and full of quaint
- furniture. The room in which breakfast was set was a converted kitchen,
- with shiny oak-chairs and a wide open-fireplace in which great logs blazed
- and crackled. It was cheerful with the strong reflected light thrown in by
- the newly laundered landscape. From the next room came the rumble of
- farm-hands talking; as the door opened for the maid to bring in dishes,
- the smell of baking bread and coffee entered. When the guests had seated
- themselves, their host became busy about serving.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I used to be a bit wild myself,” he said. “I knew Broadway as well as any
- man. But it made me tired—there’s nothing in it. If you want to be
- really happy, take my advice: settle down and have babies.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Sam returned. Having dressed the fair-haired mite she was carrying,
- she gave it into her husband’s care. He took it on his knee and commenced
- spooning food into its mouth. Drawing nearer to the fire, she set about
- bathing her youngest. Teddy watched her as she stooped to kiss the kicking
- limbs, laughing and keeping up a flow of secret chatter. Neither she nor
- her husband apologized for this intimate display of domesticity. Sometimes
- he caught her quiet eyes. They made him think of his mother’s. Try as he
- would, he could not prevent himself from comparing her with the women
- upstairs. Old standards, odd glimpses of his own childhood flitted across
- his memory. “These people are married,” he told himself. How foolish the
- cynicisms of last night sounded now!
- </p>
- <p>
- “So I ran away from towns and the women they breed; I became a farmer and
- married her,” Sam was saying. “I don’t reckon I did so badly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When the meal was ended, Mr. and Mrs. Sam excused themselves and went
- about their work. Mr. Dak lit a cigar; before the first ash had fallen, he
- was nodding.
- </p>
- <p>
- Horace and Teddy drew up to the logs, toasting themselves and sitting near
- together. There was a distinct atmosphere of disappointment. They glanced
- at each other occasionally, saying nothing. It was an odd thing, Teddy
- reflected—the men whom he met at Vashti’s apartment rarely had
- anything to say to each other. They met distrustfully as the women’s
- friends. They never talked of their interests or displayed any curiosity;
- yet most of them were distinguished in their own line and would have been
- knowable, if met under other circumstances.
- </p>
- <p>
- Horace glanced up and spoke abruptly in a lowered voice. “When I was at
- Baveno one summer, I ran across an old man. He had a cottage in a vineyard
- half a mile up the hill, overlooking Maggiore. He came every year all the
- way from Madrid to photograph the view from his terrace. He thought it the
- most beautiful view in the world, and was as jealous of letting any one
- else share it as if it had been a woman. He had taken thousands of
- pictures of it, all similar and yet all different He was always hoping to
- get two that were alike; but the light on snow-mountains is fickle. I
- suppose he was a little cracked. He had fooled away his career, and was
- old and hadn’t married. When he went back to Madrid, it was only to earn
- money so as to be able to return and to take still more photographs next
- year.—Can you guess why I’ve told you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m afraid not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because we’re like that—you and I. We let a woman who’s as
- unpossessable as a landscape, become a destructive habit with us. You’re
- not very old yet, but you’ll find out that there are women in the world
- who can never be possessed. There’s only one thing to do when you meet one—run
- away before she becomes a habit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t you think that’s a bit cowardly?” Teddy objected.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In her heart every woman wants to marry and be like—— Well,
- like Mrs. Sam was with those kiddies.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go on believing. It’s good that you should believe it. But don’t put your
- belief to the test.” Horace leant forward and tapped him on the knee. “Go
- back to England while you can.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think you do. Fluffy isn’t discreet over other people’s affairs. You’ve
- fallen in love with a dream, my boy—with an exquisite, unrealizable
- romance. Keep your dreams for your work; don’t try to find ’em in
- life—they aren’t there. Look what’s happened this morning through
- following a dream into the daylight. Here we sit, a pair of foolish
- tragedies in evening-dress, while our ideals are sleeping off their
- tempers upstairs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When Teddy frowned and didn’t answer, Horace smiled. “I know how it is.
- I’ve been through it. You oughtn’t to get angry; anything that I’m saying
- applies twice as forcibly to myself. Look here, Gurney, your affection for
- Desire is made up of memories of how you’ve loved her. She’s given you
- nothing. That isn’t right. Neither she, nor her mother, nor Fluffy know
- how to——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Desire——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. Hear me out There are women who never take a holiday from themselves.
- They’re too timid—too selfish. They’re afraid of marrying; they
- distrust men. They’re afraid of having children; they worship their own
- bodies. They loath the disfigurement of child-bearing. All their standards
- are awry. They regard the sacredness of birth as defilement—think it
- drags them down to the level of the animals. They make love seem ugly.
- They’ve got a morbid streak that makes them fear everything that’s
- blustering and genuine. Their fear lest they should lose their liberty
- keeps them captives. They’re <i>slaves of freedom</i>, starving their
- souls and living for externals. Because they’re women, their nature cries
- out for men; but the moment they’ve dragged the soul out of a man their
- weak passion is satisfied. They have the morals of nuns and the lure of
- courtesans. They’re suffocating and unhealthy as tropic flowers.—I’ve
- been at it too long, but I want you to get out while you can.”
- </p>
- <p>
- All this was spoken in the whisper of a conspirator lest Mr. Dak should be
- aroused. It was as though Horace had raised a mask, revealing behind his
- bored good-humor a face emaciated with longings. Teddy wanted to be angry—felt
- he ought to be angry; but he couldn’t. “I’d rather we didn’t discuss
- Desire,” he said coldly. “You see, my case is different from yours. I
- intend to marry her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear boy, it’s not different; I was no more a trifler than you are—I
- intended to marry Fluffy. I gave up a good woman—a good woman who’s
- waiting for me now. But I’m like that old man at Baveno; the unpossessable
- haunts me. I’ve been infatuated so long that I can’t break myself of the
- habit. But you haven’t. You’re young, with a life before you. For God’s
- sake go back to the simple good people—the people you understand.
- Your mother wasn’t a Desire, I’ll warrant; if she had been, you wouldn’t
- be her son. A man commits a crime against his children when he willfully
- stoops below his mother to the girl he worships. Desire’ll never belong to
- you, even though you marry her. She’s not of your flesh. Her pretty, baby
- hands’ll tear the wings off your idealism. She won’t even know she’s doing
- it. You’ve made your soul the purchase-price of love, while she—she
- commits sacrilege against love every hour.” He gripped him by the arm.
- “Cut loose from her while there’s time. She doesn’t know what you’re
- offering.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shish!” Mr. Dak was sitting up, a finger pressed against his mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- Some one stirred behind them. In the middle of the room Desire was
- standing. Her hands were clasped against her breast as though she held a
- bird. Through the windows the purity of the snow-covered country formed a
- dazzling background for her head and shoulders. The gold in the bronze of
- her hair glistened. She might have been posing for a realist painting of
- the immaculate conception. There was a misty, pained looked in the
- grayness of her eyes—an eloquence of yearning.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- That was all. It was the second time. It meant more than if she had held
- out her arms to him. Her clear, lazy voice, speaking his name, seemed to
- mark the end of evasion. He went to her without a word. There was the heat
- of tears behind his eyes and a swollen feeling in his heart. The passion
- she had roused in him at other times sank into gentleness.
- </p>
- <p>
- The things that Horace had been saying were true—he knew it; but if
- his love could reach her imagination, they would prove them false
- together. What was the good of love if it couldn’t do that? Probably Hal
- had thought to do the same for Vashti, and Horace for Fluffy—all the
- men who had loved in vain had promised themselves to do just that; but
- they hadn’t loved with sufficient obstinacy—with sufficient courage.
- </p>
- <p>
- He helped her into her wraps. They passed out into the gold and silver
- landscape. It was like entering into a new faith—like leaving deceit
- behind. Merriness was in the air. Birds fluttered out of hedges, making
- the snow glitter in their exit. From farms out of sight, roosters blew
- shrill challenges, like trumpeters riding through a Christmas faeryland.
- Humping their knees against the horizon, mountains lay hushed in their
- eternal rest.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was scarcely a sound save the crunch of their footsteps. At a turn,
- where the lane descended and the house was lost to sight, she drew closer.
- “You may take my arm if you like.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He thrilled to the warmth of it. His fingers closed upon the slimness of
- her wrist. Their bodies came together, separated and came together with
- the unevenness of the treading.
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed softly. “It’s like a legend. It’s ever so much better than our
- other good times.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m glad you think that.” He pressed against her. “We’ve always talked
- across hotel-tables and in theatres; we’ve always been going somewhere or
- doing something up till now. We’ve never met only to be together. It was a
- little vulgar, wasn’t it, buying all our pleasures with money?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A little, and stupid when we had ourselves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They spoke in whispers; there was no one to hear what they said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Horace was persuading you to go away?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because of me? He was right. Are you going?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You ought to go. I’m—I’m glad you’re not going.”
- </p>
- <p>
- On they went, heedless of direction. At times their lips grew silent, but
- their hearts twittered like birds. They did not look at each other.
- Strange that they should be so shy after so much boldness! When one saw
- some new beauty to be admired, a hugging of the arm would tell it.
- </p>
- <p>
- They came to a wood—an enchanted place of maple and silver birch.
- The squirrel’s granary was full; there was no sound of life. It was a
- sylvan Pompeii frozen in its activities by the avalanche from the clouds.
- Trees stood stiffly, like arrested dancers, sheathed in their scabbards of
- burnished ice. Boughs hung heavy with snow blossoms. Scrub-oak and berries
- of winter-green wrought mosaics of red and brown on the silver flooring.
- Over all was the coffined stillness of death. Here and there a solitary
- leaf shone more scarlet, like the resurrection hope of a lamp kept burning
- in the hollow of a shrine. It was a forsaken temple of broken arches.
- Summer acolytes, with their flower-faces, no longer fidgeted on the
- altar-steps. The choir of birds had fled. The sun remained as priest and
- sole worshiper. Night and morning he raised the host to the wintry
- tinkling of crystal bells. Down a far vista, as they plunged deeper, their
- attention was held by a steady brightness—a pond which glowed like a
- stained-glass window. By its withered sedges they sat down.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s like—-”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, isn’t it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was a little girl then. Meester Deek, was I a dear little girl?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The dearest in the world. Not half so dear as you are now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, you would say that; you’re always kind. If—if you only knew, I
- was much dearer then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was holding her hand. Slowly he unbuttoned her glove. She watched him
- idly. He drew it off and raised the slender fingers to his lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You always told me I had beautiful hands.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He kissed the fingers separately and then the palm, which was delicate as
- a rose-leaf.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And don’t miss the little mole on the back; mother used to say that it
- told her when I had been bad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So he kissed the little mole on the back as well. Curious that he should
- take so little, when his heart cried out for so much! His head was
- swimming. He felt nothing, saw nothing but her presence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wouldn’t have let you do that once,” she whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the long silence that followed, the snow-laden trees shivered,
- muttering their suspense. Each time he tried to meet her eyes, she looked
- away as though his glance scorched her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear! My dearest!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I love you. I’ve always loved you. I can’t live without you. You’re more
- to me than anything in the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t say that” Her voice trembled. “It’s terrible to love people so
- much; you give them such power to hurt you. I might die, or I might love
- some one else, or——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you don’t—you wouldn’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His arm stole about her neck. Like a child fondling a child, he tried to
- coax her face towards him. He yearned, as if his soul depended on it, to
- rest his lips on hers. She smiled, closing her eyes in denial. As he leant
- out, she turned her face swiftly aside. He kissed her where the little
- false curl quivered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Meester Deek, why must you kiss me? Where’s the good of it? Can’t we
- be just friends?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All my life I’ve loved you,” he pleaded hoarsely. “Doesn’t it mean
- anything to you? Care for me a little—only a little, Desire. Say you
- do, and I’ll be content.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not good,” she whispered humbly. “You don’t know anything about me;
- and yet you’ve seen what I am. My friends are all so gay; I like them to
- be gay. And I want to be an actress; and I live for clothes and vanities.
- You’d soon get sick of me if we married.—Dear Meester Deek, please
- let’s be as we were. I’ve tried to spare you because I don’t love you so
- as to marry you. I couldn’t give up my way of living even for you. I never
- could love you as you deserve.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you do love me,” he urged. “Look at the way we’ve gone about
- together. I’ve never tired you, have I? If I had, you wouldn’t have wanted
- to see me so much. You must love me, Desire.” Then, in a voice which was
- scarcely above a breath, “I would ask so little if you married me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You dear fellow!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laid her cool cheek against his, trying to give comfort for what she
- had done. Their bodies grew hushed, listen-ing for each other. The wood,
- with its snow-paved aisles and arcades of twisted turnings, became a white
- cathedral in, which their hearts beat as one and worshiped.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do love me, Princess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m cold,” she whispered mournfully. “I’m trying to feel what I ought to
- be feeling, but I can’t. I’m disappointed. God left something out when He
- made me. If only you weren’t so fine, but—— My dear, you’re
- better than any man I ever met. I couldn’t be good the way you are, and
- I’m ashamed to be worse. Sometimes I’m almost bitter against you for your
- goodness. My beautiful mother.—I’m all she has. And there’s your
- family. I haven’t any. I’ve missed so much. Surely you under-stand?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Darling, I want to make it all up to you. I want to give you everything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I—I can give you nothing.” She closed her eyes tiredly. “I’m so
- young—so young. I don’t think I want to be married. So much may
- happen. If we married, everything would be ended; there’d be nothing to
- dream about. We’d know everything.” Her face moved against his
- caressingly. “But it is so sweet to be loved.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed softly. “You will marry me, Princess. You will. One day you’ll
- want to know everything. I’ll wait till you’re ready.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She let him draw her to him. Her eyelids drooped. She lay in his arms
- pulseless. The silkiness of her hair trembled against his forehead.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give me your lips.” His voice was thirsty.
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not stir.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just this once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She rested her hands on his shoulders. The moist sweet mouth shuddered as
- he pressed it. He clung to it; an eternity was in the moment. He was
- drinking her soul from the chalice of her body. Gently she pushed him from
- her. It was over—this ecstasy to which all his life had been a
- preface.
- </p>
- <p>
- She crumpled forward, her knees drawn up, burying her face in her hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was dizzy. The world swung under him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not crying,” she panted brokenly. “I’m not glad, and I’m not sorry.
- No one ever kissed me like that.—Oh, please don’t touch me. I ought
- to send you away forever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He knelt beside her, conscience-stricken. It was as if he had done her a
- great wrong. Passion was tossed aside by compassion. As he knelt, he
- kissed timidly the quivering hands which hid her eyes from him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Forgive me, my darling. You couldn’t send me away. I shall never leave
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor you! There’s nothing to forgive.” It was a little child talking.
- Making bars of her fingers, she peered out at him. “If I let you stay,
- will you promise not to blame me—never to think I’ve led you on when—when
- I don’t marry you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I won’t blame you,” his voice was strained and husky, “but I’ll wait for
- you forever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you? All men say that.” She shook her head wisely. “I wonder?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She tidied her hair. It gave him a thrilling sense of possession to be
- allowed to watch her. When he had helped her to rise, he stooped to brush
- the snow from her. Suddenly he fell to his knees in a wild abandon of
- longing, and reverently kissed the hem of her gown.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Meester Deek, don’t. To see you do that—it hurts.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They walked through the wood in silence, retracing their old footsteps. At
- the point where it was lost to sight, they gazed back, hand-in-hand, to
- the sacred spot where all had happened. The snow would melt; they might
- come in search of the place one day—they might not find it. Would
- they come alone or together? Their hands gripped more closely; the present
- at least was theirs.
- </p>
- <p>
- The storm of emotion which had rocked them, had left them exhausted. They
- had said so much without words; the eloquence of language seemed
- inadequate. Each thought as it rose to their lips seemed too trifling for
- utterance.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they turned from the wood into the road, she began to whistle softly.
- He listened. Memory set the tune to words:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “So, honey, jest play in your own backyard,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Don’t mind what dem white chiles say.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t bear it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She glanced at him sidelong. “Now, old dear, h’if I wants ter whistle, why
- shouldn’t I?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s as though you were telling me, I don’t want you.’ You sang it in the
- Park that night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But she doesn’t want him, perhaps. There! But she does a little. Does
- that make him feel better? Come, let’s be sensible. You don’t recommend
- love by getting tragic. Take my arm and stop tickling my hand. I’m going
- to ask you a question.—Hasn’t there ever been another girl?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never, upon my——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You needn’t be so fierce in denying. I didn’t ask you whether you’d
- killed anybody.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe you almost wish there had been another girl” She shrugged her
- shoulders. “My darling mother was before me—you forgot that. But I
- don’t mind her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think,” he said, smiling at the mysticism of the fancy, “I think I must
- have been loving you even then. Yes, I’m sure it was the <i>you</i> in
- her, before ever I knew you, that I was loving.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She glanced at him tauntingly. “I’m afraid I’ve not been so economic;
- you’ll hate me because I haven’t. Shall I tell you about all my lovers?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I won’t listen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But she insisted. Whether it was truth or invention that she told him, he
- could not guess. All he knew was that, having lowered her barriers, she
- was carefully replacing them for her defense. Her way of doing it was to
- make him suspect that he was only an incident in a long procession; that
- all this poetry of passion, which for him had the dew on it, had been
- experienced by her already; that she had often watched men travel through
- weeks and months from trembling into boldness; that Love to her was the
- clown in Life’s circus and that she was proof against the greed of his
- mock humility.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For God’s sake, stop!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why?” Her tone was innocent of offense.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If it’s all true, this isn’t the time to confess it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Confess it! D’you think I’m ashamed, then?” She withdrew her arm. “Thank
- you, I can walk quite nicely by myself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He tried to detain her. She shook him off and ran ahead. As he followed,
- his eyes implored her. She did not turn. Between the white cage of hedges
- she whistled her warning,
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “So, honey, jest play in your own backyard.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- He wondered how any one so beautiful could be so cruel. She seemed to
- regard herself as a shrine at which it was ordained that men should
- worship, while her right was to view them with neither heat nor coldness.
- “Slaves of freedom”—Horace’s words came back.
- </p>
- <p>
- He caught up with her. “Why did you tell me? I didn’t mean to speak
- crossly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Didn’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn’t, really. I’m sorry. But why did you tell me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because I wanted to be honest: to let you know the kind of girl I am. And
- because,” her eyes flooded, “because you’re the first man who ever kissed
- me like that and—and I didn’t want to let you know it—and I
- wish I hadn’t let you kiss me now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She didn’t give him her lips this time. With her face averted, she lay
- trembling in his arms without a struggle. While his lips wandered from her
- hair to her cheeks, to her throat, she seemed unconscious of what he was
- doing. “I do like being kissed by you,” she murmured.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re so fragrant, so soft, so sweet, so like a lily,” he whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her finger went up to her mouth. “Am I fragrant? That isn’t me. That’s
- just soap.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She sprang from his embrace laughing; he joined her in sheer gladness that
- their quarrel was ended.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they came into sight of the farmhouse she insisted that he should
- behave himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you’re walking further away from me,” he objected, “than you would
- from a stranger you’d only just met. No wonder Horace thinks you don’t
- care for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, and who said I did?” She slanted her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, well—— But before other people, I wish you wouldn’t
- ignore me so obviously. It makes me humiliated.”. “That’s good for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Sam was splitting logs by the wood-pile. He laid down his ax and came
- towards them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ve missed it,” he chuckled. “We’ve had a fine old row. They’ve queer
- notions of enjoying themselves, your city folks.—Has anything
- happened! I guess it has. When Golden-Hair got through with her snooze,
- she came down and started things going. She wanted to know whose fault it
- was that she had a head-ache, and whose fault it was she’d come here, and
- a whole lot besides. Her beau told her straight that he’d had enough of
- it, and got the car out. Mr. Dak seemed frightened that it would be his
- turn next; he said he was going too. So they all piled in, quarreling like
- mad, a regular happy little party. Daresay they’re still at it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But what about us?” Desire looked blank. “How do we get back?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No need to, unless you’re in a hurry. There’s plenty of room; we’ll be
- glad to have you. But if you must go, there’s a station ten miles distant;
- I can get the sleigh out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy tried to persuade her to stay a day longer. The country was changing
- her. Who knew what a few more walks in the silver wood might accomplish?
- New York meant Fluffy, life jigged to rag-time, and the feverish quest for
- unsatisfying pleasures.
- </p>
- <p>
- She laid her head on her shoulder and winked, like a knowing little bird.
- She understood perfectly what the country was doing for her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In these clothes,” she asked, “and borrow the hired man’s tooth-brush?
- And leave my dear mother alone, and Fluffy to cry her poor little eyes
- out? And run the risk of what people would think when we both came
- creeping back? I guess I’d have to marry you then, Meester Deek. No,
- thanks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So at four o’clock, as the dusk was drawing a helmet of steel over the
- vagueness of the country, the sleigh was brought round. There were
- farewells and promises to come again; the twinkling of lanterns; the
- jingling of harness; the babies to be kissed; the quiet eyes of the mother
- who had found happiness; the atmosphere of sentiment which kindly people
- create for half-way lovers; then the last good-by, the steady trot of the
- horses, and the tinkling magic of sleigh-bells. Romance!
- </p>
- <p>
- “You like babies, Meester Deek? If ever I were married, I’d like to have a
- baby-girl first. They’re so cuddly and dear to dress.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He tucked the robe round her warmly and held it against her chin to keep
- the cold out. His free hand was clasped in hers. Then he let go her hand
- and slipped his arm about her, and found her hand waiting for him on the
- other side.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Better and better,” she murmured contentedly, “and it isn’t the day we’d
- planned. I feel so safe with you, Meester Deek—far safer than I
- ought to if I loved you. You won’t say I led you on, will you? You won’t
- ever?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never,” he promised.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s what the sleigh-bells seem to say. ‘Never! Never! Never!’ as
- though they were telling us that this is the end.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To me they don’t say that.” His lips were against her cheek. “To me they
- say, ‘Forever. Forever. Forever.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- The moon, gazing down on them, recognized him and smiled. The stars
- clapped their hands. Even the mountains, which had slept all day,
- uncrouched their knees and sat up in bed to look at them. Farmhouse
- windows, across the drifted whiteness, blinked wisely, speaking of home
- and children, and an end of journeys. Sometimes she drowsed with the
- swaying motion. Sometimes when he thought her drowsing, her eyes were
- wide.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What are you thinking, dearest?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Isn’t dear enough?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It ought to be—— What was I thinking? I was wondering: could
- a girl make a man whom she liked very much believe that she loved him?
- Would he find her out?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’d find her out But liking’s almost loving sometimes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I haven’t kissed you yet. I’ve only let you kiss me. Have you noticed?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “When I kiss you, Meester Deek, without your asking, you’ll know then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Kiss me now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head. “It would be a lie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Once she said, “Shall we be horrid to each other one day like Horace and
- Fluffy?” And, when he drew her closer for answer, “I wonder why I let you
- do it. It’s so hard not to let you; you kiss so gently—I guess every
- girl loves to be loved.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When they came to the station he had to wake her. In the train she slept.
- He scarcely removed his eyes from her. Behind the window he was aware of
- the shadowy breadth of river, the steep mountains, and the winking,
- swiftly vanishing lights of towns. It was a return from faery-land, with
- all the pain of returning. He wasn’t sure of her yet, and he had used all
- his arguments. Was it always like that? Did girls always say “No” at
- first? He feared lest in the flare and rush of the city he might lose her.
- He dreaded the casualness of their telephone engagements—the way she
- fitted him into the gaps between her pleasures. He wanted to be first in
- her life—more than that: to be dearer to her than her body, than her
- soul itself. The permission which she gave him to love her, without hope
- of reciprocity, was torturing. He would not own it to himself, but at the
- back of his mind he knew that it was not fair.
- </p>
- <p>
- Once more they were fleeing up Fifth Avenue; night was polluted by the
- glare of lamps.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It isn’t the same,” she whispered. “It’s somehow different.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’ve seen something better and got our perspective.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I don’t know,” she laughed. “New York has its uses.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She sat up as they swung into Columbus Circle, and seemed to forget him.
- She was watching the hoardings for the announcements of <i>October</i>,
- seeing whether Janice Audrey’s name had been blotted out.
- </p>
- <p>
- Already she was slipping from him. The silver wood—had it ever
- existed? If it had, had they ever walked there? It seemed a dream created
- by his ardent fancy, too kind and generous for reality.
- </p>
- <p>
- He leant towards her; she drew away from him. “No more pilfering.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Our good times are always coming to an end,” he said sadly.
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled at his tone of melancholy. “And beginning; don’t forget that
- But I do wish it were last night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You do! Then, you do wish it could last forever? Dear little D., if you
- chose, you could make it last.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not forever. If anything lasted forever it would make me tired.—Hulloa,
- here we are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He helped her to alight The pavement had been swept; there was no excuse
- for carrying her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I live here,” she reminded him as he tried to touch her hand; “so let’s
- behave ourselves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was settling back into the old rut of reticence, thinking again more
- of appearances than affection; even employing her old phrases to defend
- herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- They stepped from the elevator and she slipped her key into the latch. He
- was trying to think of one final argument by which he might persuade her.
- </p>
- <p>
- As the door pushed open, they halted; there was a sense of evil in the
- air. Desire clutched his arm for protection. They listened: panting; a
- chair falling; silence. Then the panting recommenced.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The struggle stopped.
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy rushed across the hall to the front-room. He tried to keep Desire
- back. Vashti was stretched upon the couch, white as death, breathing hard,
- and exhausted. Her hair had broken loose and lay spread like a shawl
- across her breast. Mr. Dak was standing over her, his hands clenched. His
- collar was crumpled and had burst at the stud. His tie was drawn tight, as
- though it had been used to strangle him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire threw herself down beside her mother, kissing her wildly and
- smoothing back her hair. “Oh, what is it? What is it, dearest? Tell me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She leant her face against her mother’s to catch the words. Springing to
- her feet, she glared at Mr. Dak.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You low beast.” Her white virago fist shot up and struck him on the
- mouth. “You little swine. Get out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the hall, as Teddy was seeing him off the premises, Mr. Dak commenced a
- mumbling defense. “What did she suppose I thought she meant? I wanted to
- marry her, but she wouldn’t. If she didn’t mean anything, what right had
- she to let me spend my money trotting her round?” From the dim-lit room
- came the terrible sound of sobbing. Desire met him on the threshold.
- “She’s only frightened. She wants you to help her to bed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Outside the bedroom door Vashti took his face between her hands. “Thank
- God, there are good men in the world.” He waited for Desire. All
- tenderness had become a trap. She nodded to him sullenly, “Good-night.”
- Then, flam-ing up, “Fluffy’s right. All men are beasts, I expect.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The bedroom door shut. He switched off the lights and let himself out.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVI—THE GHOST OF HAPPINESS
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>o a man who has
- never been in love the humble passion of his heart is to be allowed to
- love. He conjures visions of the woman who will call out his affection; he
- is always looking for her, seeing a face which seems the companion of his
- dreams, following, turning back disappointed and setting out afresh. When
- he does find her, his first feeling is one of overwhelming gratitude. His
- one idea is to give unstintingly, expecting nothing. He robes himself in a
- white unselfishness.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the moment he has been allowed to love his attitude changes. He still
- wants to love, but he craves equally to be loved. He is no longer content
- to worship solitarily; he becomes sensitive to be worshiped in return. He
- is anxious to compete with the woman’s generosity. If she receives and
- does not give, he grows infidel like a devotee whose prayers God has not
- answered.
- </p>
- <p>
- The right to clasp her without repulse, which the silver wood had granted
- him, had brought him to this second stage in his journey—the urgent
- longing to be loved. Then, like a coarse cynicism, discovering in all
- love’s loyalties an unsuspected foulness, had come the scene which he had
- witnessed in her presence. It had struck the barbaric note, stripping of
- conventional pretenses the motives which underlie all passion. It had
- revealed to him the direction of impulses which he himself possessed. Mr.
- Dak was no worse than any other man, if only the other man were tantalized
- sufficiently. Vashti had starved him too much and relied too much on his
- awe of her. She was a lion-tamer who had grown reckless through immunity;
- the beast had taken her unaware. Probably Mr. Dak was as surprised as
- herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy understood now what Horace had meant by calling her “a slave of
- freedom.” All this gayety which he had envied, which had made him wish
- that he was more of a Sir Launcelot and less of a King Arthur—it was
- nothing but the excitement of skating over the treacherous thin ice of
- sex.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mr. Dak was no worse than he might be if circumstances pushed him far
- enough. Desire had told him as much: “All men are beasts, I expect.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt hot with shame. He sympathized with her virginal anger. He, too,
- felt besmirched. But her words rankled; they had destroyed their common
- faith in each other. Never again would he be able to approach her with his
- old simplicity. Never again would he hear her whisper, “I feel so safe
- with you, Meester Deek.” How could she feel safe with him? All men were
- beasts. She classed him with the lowest Any moment he might be swept out
- of caution into touching and caressing her. They would both remember the
- ugliness they had witnessed; she would flinch from him, and view him with
- suspicion. He would suspect himself. His very gentleness would seem to
- follow her panther-footed.
- </p>
- <p>
- He returned to the Brevoort, but not to sleep. As he tossed restlessly in
- the darkness, he could hear her words of dismissal. She spoke them
- sorrowfully with disillusion; she spoke them mockingly; she spoke them
- angrily, clenching her white virago fists. It was she who ought to have
- said, “Thank God, there are good men.” Her mother had said that She had
- said, “All men are beasts, I expect” In the saying of it, she had seemed
- to attribute to his courting the disarming smugness of a Mr. Dak. The
- silver wood with its magnanimity counted for nothing. Whatever ideals he
- had built up for her were shattered by this haphazard brutality.
- </p>
- <p>
- He shifted his head on the pillow. How did she look when she was tender
- and little? His last memory of her had blotted out all that. Rising
- wearily, he switched on the light and commenced a search for the tin-type
- photograph. At last he found it. Her features were undiscernible—faded
- into blackness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sleep refused to come to him. He dressed and sat himself by the window.
- How quiet it was! Night obliterates geography. The yards at the back of
- the hotel were merged into a garden—a garden like the one in Eden
- Row. He had only to half close his eyes to image it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Eden Row set him remembering. The disgust with life that he was now
- feeling, had only one parallel in his experience—that, too, was
- concerned with her: the shock which her father’s confession had caused him
- on the train-journey back from Ware. “If you’re ever tempted to do wrong,
- remember me. If you’re ever tempted to get love the wrong way, be strong
- enough to do without it” And then, “I sinned once—a long while ago.
- I’m still paying for it You’re paying for it One day Desire may have to
- pay the biggest price of any of us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was paying for it now when she could see no difference between his
- love and Mr. Dak’s—between honor and mere passion. “All men are
- beasts, I expect.” That was the conclusion at which she had arrived. She
- was incapable of high beliefs at twenty!
- </p>
- <p>
- He recalled what the knowledge of Hal’s sin had done for him. Perhaps it
- had done the same for her. It had made him see sin everywhere; marriage
- itself had seemed impurity—all things had been polluted until into
- the dusk of the studio his mother had entered. He could hear himself
- whispering, “Things like that make a boy frightened, mother, when—when
- they’re first told to him.” It was after that that he had determined to
- make Desire in his life what the Holy Grail had been in Sir Galahad’s.
- </p>
- <p>
- Would the consequences of this wrong, more than twenty years old, never
- end? Ever since he had begun to think, it had striven to uproot his
- idealism. Yet once, in the little moment of selfishness, it must have been
- ecstatic.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had been thinking only of himself. In a great wave of compassion his
- thoughts swept back to her. She had had to live in the knowledge of this
- sin always. For her there had been no escape from it—no people like
- his mother and father to set her other standards of truer living. What was
- his penalty as compared with hers? What was the worth of his chivalry if
- it broke before the first shock of her injustice? He saw her again as a
- little girl, inquiring what it was like to have a father. There must have
- been a day in her waking womanhood when the knowledge that all children
- are not fatherless had dawned on her. Perhaps it had been explained to her
- coarsely by a servant or by the cruel ostracism of school-children. He
- could imagine the shame and tears that had followed, and then the
- hardening.
- </p>
- <p>
- If she would only allow herself to understand what it was that he was
- offering! He longed to take her in his arms—not the way he had; but
- as he would cuddle a sick child against his breast to give it comfort. His
- compassion for her was almost womanly; it was something that he dared not
- tell her. Compassion from him was the emotion which she would most resent.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was her pride that made her so poignantly tragic—her pose of
- being an enviable person. There was no getting behind it except by a
- brutal statement of facts. The scene which they had surprised in the
- apartment had staged those facts with ugly vividness. Despite the gayety
- with which she drugged herself, she must know that her mother’s position
- made her fair game for the world’s Mr. Daks. Her way of speaking of her as
- “my beautiful mother” was an acknowledgment, and sounded like a defense.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her fear of losing her maiden liberty, her dread of the natural
- responsibilities of marriage, her eagerness to believe the worst of men,
- her light friendships, her vague, continually postponed ambitions—they
- were all part of the price she was paying. Her glory in her questionable
- enfranchisement was the worst part of her penalty; it made what was sad
- seem romantic, and kept her blind to the better things in the world. She
- did not want to be rescued from the dangers of her position. She ignored
- any sacrifice that he might be making and spoke only of the curtailments
- that love would bring to her. In putting forward her unattempted career as
- an obstacle, she did not recognize that his accomplished career was in
- jeopardy while she dallied.
- </p>
- <p>
- Increasingly since he had landed in New York, his financial outlook had
- worried him. At the time of sailing he had had seven hundred pounds in the
- bank; then there were the three hundred pounds per annum from his Beauty
- Incorporated shares. This, in addition to what he could earn, had looked
- like affluence by Eden Row standards. But in the last few months he had
- been spending recklessly. The frenzy which held him prevented work.
- Commissions from magazines were still uncompleted. His American and
- English publishers were urging him to let them have a second manuscript.
- He assured them they should have it, but the manuscript was scarcely
- commenced. The dread weighed upon him like a nightmare that he had lost
- his creative faculty. His intellect was paralyzed; he had only one object
- in living—to win her.
- </p>
- <p>
- And when he had won her, at the rate at which he was now going, marriage
- might be impossible. Already he had drawn on his English savings. After
- accustoming her to a false scale of expenditure, he could scarcely urge
- retrenchment It would seem to prove all her assertions of the dullness
- which overtakes a woman when she has placed herself absolutely in a man’s
- power. At this stage there was no chance of curtailing his generosity. So
- long as they were both in New York the endless round of theatres, taxis
- and restaurants must continue. He could not confess to her how it was
- draining his resources. It would seem like accusing her of avarice and
- himself of poverty. Poverty and the loss of beauty were the two calamities
- which filled her heart with the wildest panic.
- </p>
- <p>
- Like a thunderstorm that had spent itself, the clamor of argument died
- down. It left him with a lucid quietness. Again she lay hushed in his
- embrace; her lips shuddered beneath his pressure. That moment of dearness,
- more than any ceremony of God or man, had bound him to her. It had made
- him sure of subtle shades of fineness in her character which she refused
- to reveal to him yet His love should outlast her wilfulness. He would wait
- for years, but he would win her. The day would come when she would awake
- to her need of him. Meanwhile he would make himself a habit—what the
- landscape was to the old man at Baveno—adding link upon link to her
- chain of memories, so that in every day when she looked back, there would
- be some kindness to remind her of him.
- </p>
- <p>
- A thought occurred. He would put his chances to the test. He fetched a
- pack of cards from his trunk and drew up to the desk. Having shuffled
- them, he spread them out face-downwards. If he picked a heart, he would
- many her within the year. When he found with a thrill of dismay that it
- was a spade, he changed his bargain and agreed to give himself three
- chances. The next two were hearts. That encouraged him. He played on for
- hours in the silent room—played feverishly, as though his soul
- depended on it He craved for certainty. When luck ran against him, he made
- his test more lenient till the odds were in his favor. Whatever the cards
- said, he refused to take no for an answer. Morning found him with the
- lights still burning, his shoulders crouched forward, his head pillowed on
- his arms.
- </p>
- <p>
- All that day he waited to hear from her. He could not bring himself to
- telephone her. After what had happened, delicacy kept him from intruding.
- In the afternoon he sent her flowers to provide her with an excuse for
- calling him up. She let the excuse pass unnoticed. Her <i>strategic</i>
- faculty for silence was again asserting itself. He lived over all the
- events of the previous day, marking them in sequence hour by hour, finding
- them doubly sweet in remembrance. The longest day of his life had ended by
- the time he crept to bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Next morning he searched his mail for a letter from her. There was
- nothing. He was sitting in his room trying to work—it was about
- lunch-time—when the telephone tinkled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hulloa,” a voice said which he did not recognize, “are you Mr. Gurney,
- the great author?—Well, something terrible’s happened; you’ve not
- spoken to your girl for more than twenty-four hours. It’s killing her.” A
- laugh followed and the voice changed to one he knew. “Don’t you think I’m
- very gracious, after all your punishment?—Where am I?—No, try
- another guess. You’re not very psychic or you’d know. I’m within—let
- me count—forty seconds of you. I’m here, in a booth of the Brevoort,
- downstairs.—Eh! What’s that?—Will I stop to lunch with you?
- Why, of course. That’s what I’ve come for.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was extraordinary how his world brightened. The ache had gone out of it
- Finances, work, nothing mattered. The future withdrew its threat “I’m
- wearing my Nell Gwynn face,” she laughed as he took her hands. Then they
- stood together silent, careless of strangers passing, smiling into each
- other’s eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You silly Meester Deek,” she whispered, “why did you keep away if you
- wanted me so badly?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because——” and there he ended. He couldn’t speak to her of
- the ugliness they had seen together; she looked so girlish and innocent
- and fresh. It was hateful that they should share such a memory.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not proud when I’ve done wrong,” she said. Her eyes winked and
- twinkled beneath their lashes. “And it’s rather fun to have to ask
- forgiveness when you know you’ve been forgiven beforehand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He led her into the white room with its many mirrors. Quickly forestalling
- the waiter, he helped her off with her furs and jacket. She glanced up at
- him as he did it. “Rather mean of you to do the poor man out of that It’s
- about the nearest a waiter ever comes to romance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When he had taken his seat opposite to her, she questioned him, “Why did
- you act so queerly?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Queerly!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know. After the night before last?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wished she would let him forget it “I thought you might not want me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Want you!” She reached across the table and touched his hand. “You do
- think unkind thoughts. If I did say something cruel, it wasn’t meant—not
- in my heart I’m afraid you think I’m fickle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He delayed her hand as she was withdrawing it “If I did, I shouldn’t love
- you the way I do, Princess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A waiter intruded to take their order. It seemed to Teddy that ever since
- Long Beach, waiters had been clearing away his tenderest passages as
- though it were as much a part of their duties as to change the courses.
- </p>
- <p>
- When they were left alone, she brought matters to a head. “I suppose you
- got that strange notion because—because of what I said. Poor King!
- He did make me angry, and yesterday he came to us so penitent and sorry.
- We had to forgive him.—You’re looking as though you thought we
- oughtn’t But it doesn’t do to be harsh. We all slip up sooner or later,
- and the day’s always coming when we’ll have to ask forgiveness ourselves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared at her in undisguised amazement Was this merely carelessness or
- a charity so divine that it knew no bounds?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” she continued; “you’re thinking we’re
- lax. That’s what people thought about Jesus when he talked to the woman of
- Samaria. Mr. Dak’s quite a good little man, if he did make a mistake. He’s
- always been understanding until this happened.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She described as a mistake something that had appealed to him as tragedy.
- Had her innocence prevented her from guessing the truth? Perhaps it was he
- who was distorting facts.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You seem to be accusing me of self-righteousness when you speak of other
- people being understanding. I’m not self-righteous—really I’m not,
- Desire—I do wish you’d believe that. Can’t you see why I’m not so
- lenient as some of your friends? It’s because I’m so anxious to protect
- you. If people are too lenient, it’s usually because they don’t want to be
- criticized themselves. But when a man’s in love with a girl, he doesn’t
- like to see her doing things that he might encourage her to do if he
- didn’t respect her and if they were only out for a good time together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had frowned while he was speaking. When he ended, she lifted her gray
- eyes. “I do understand. I think I understand much more than you’ve said.
- But please don’t judge me—that’s what I’m afraid of. I know I’m all
- wrong—wrong and stupid in so many directions.—I’ve only found
- out how wrong,” her voice dropped, “since I’ve known you.” He felt like
- weeping. He had judged her; in spite of his resolutions to let his love be
- blind, he had been judging her. Every time he had judged her, her
- intuition had warned her. And there she sat abasing herself that she might
- treat him with kindness.
- </p>
- <p>
- He became passionate in her defense. “You’re not wrong. I wouldn’t have
- anything, not a single thing in your life altered—nothing, Desire,
- from—from the very first. You’re the dearest, sweetest——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She pressed a finger to her lips and pointed to the mirror. He caught
- sight of his strained expression, and remembered they were in public.
- </p>
- <p>
- While he recovered himself, she did the talking. “I’m not the dearest,
- sweetest anything; you don’t see straight. Some day you’ll put on your
- spectacles. You’ll see too much that’s bad then. That’s what Horace has
- done.—He sailed for England this morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s that? D’you mean he’s broken with——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She nodded. “Too bad, isn’t it? She didn’t much want him to come to
- America, but she’s fearfully cut up now he’s left She was counting on
- having such good times with him at Christmas. He didn’t explain anything;
- he just went. And——” She made a pyramid of her hands over
- which she watched him. “D’you know, she owns up now that some day she
- might have married him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But she never told him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire looked away. “A girl never tells a man that till the last moment.
- He got huffy because she was cross with him for taking her to the country.
- He didn’t know that when a woman dares to be angry with a man, it’s quite
- often a sign that she’s in love with him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it?” He asked the question eagerly. Desire had been cross; this might
- be the key to her conduct.
- </p>
- <p>
- She caught his meaning and smiled mysteriously. “Yes—quite often.”
- Then, speaking slowly, “I guess most misunderstandings happen between men
- and women because they’re not honest with each other.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The tension broke. “Fancy calling you a man and me a woman,” she laughed.
- She bent forward across the table. “We both ought to be spanked—you
- most especially.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why me especially?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A little boy like you coming to a little girl like me and pretending to
- speak seriously of marriage.—But let’s be honest with each other
- always. Do you promise?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I promise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, I’ll tell you something. I think it’s splendid of you to go on
- loving me when you know that I’m not loving you in return.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I think it’s splendid of you to let me go on loving.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But do I?” She eyed him mockingly. Then, with one of those sudden changes
- to wistfulness, “What Horace has done has made me frightened. I’m afraid—and
- I’m only telling you because we’ve promised to be honest—I’m so
- afraid that you’ll leave me, and that then I may begin to care. But you’d
- never be unkind like that, would you?” His hand stole out and met hers in
- denial. They kept on assuring each other that, whatever had befallen other
- people’s happiness, theirs was unassailable.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had dawdled through lunch. When at last they rose the room was nearly
- empty.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What next?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She clapped her hands. “I know. Make this day different from all the
- others. Let’s pretend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pretend what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll see.”
- </p>
- <p>
- On the Avenue they hailed a hansom and drove the long length of New York,
- through the Park to the Eighties on the West Side. Then she told him: they
- were to examine apartments, pretending they wanted to rent one. Wherever
- they saw a sign up they stopped the cabby and went in to make inquiries.
- Sometimes she talked Cockney. Sometimes she was a little French girl, who
- had to have everything that the janitor said translated to her by Teddy.
- She only once broke down—when the janitor, as ill-luck would have
- it, was a Frenchman; then they beat an ignominious retreat, laughing and
- covered with confusion.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a very jolly game to play with a girl you loved—this
- pretending that you were seeking a nest. It was all the jollier because
- she would not own that that was the underlying excitement of their
- pretense. As they passed from room to room, and when no one was looking,
- he would slip his arm about her and kiss her unwilling cheek. “Wait till
- we’re in the hansom,” she would whisper. “Oh, Meester Deek, you do
- embarrass me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Try as he would, he could not disguise the fact that he was in love with
- her. A light shone in his eyes. This seemed no game, but a natural
- preliminary to something that must happen. She was indignant when the
- custodians of the apartments took it for granted that they were an engaged
- couple. She ungloved her hand that they might see for themselves that the
- ring was lacking. “It’s for my mother,” she explained. “Yes, I like the
- apartment; but I can’t decide till my mother has seen it” She referred to
- Teddy pointedly as “My friend.” The janitors looked knowing. They smiled
- sentimentally and put her conduct down to extreme bashfulness.
- </p>
- <p>
- That afternoon was a sample of many that followed. In ingenious and
- unacknowledged ways they were continually playing this game that they were
- married. Frequently it commenced with his presumption that she shared his
- purse, and that it was his right to give her presents. If a dress in a
- window caught her fancy, he would say, “How’d you like me to buy you
- that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you can’t. It isn’t done in the best families.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I could if I were your husband.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If! Ah, yes!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, for the fun of it, she would enter and try on the dress. Once he
- surprised her. She had fitted on a green tweed suit-far more girlish than
- anything that she usually wore-and the shop-woman was appealing to him for
- his approval. When Desire wasn’t looking, he nodded and paid for it in
- cash.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very pretty,” Desire said, not knowing it had been purchased, “but a
- little too expensive. Thank you for your trouble.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At dinner, long after the store had closed, he told her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I can’t accept things from you like that. It’s very sweet of you, but
- the suit’ll go back to-morrow. Even if I were willing, mother wouldn’t
- allow it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Vashti only smiled. She was giving him his chance. It pleased her to
- regard them as children.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course it isn’t the thing to do, but if it gives Teddy pleasure——”
- </p>
- <p>
- So when the suit came home it was not returned. When she met him in the
- day time she invariably wore it He knew that her motive was to make him
- happy. The little tweed suit gave him an absurd sense of warmth about the
- heart whenever he thought of it. It was another bond between them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder whether my fattier was at all like you—whether he was
- always buying things for my beautiful mother. It is strange to have a
- father and to know so little of him. You’re the only person, Meester Deek,
- I ever talk to about him. That’s a compliment. D’you think——”
- she hesitated, “don’t you think some day you and I might bring them
- together?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It became one of the secret dreams they shared. He told her about the
- letter he had written to Hal and never sent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t you ever mention me to your father and mother?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was an awkward question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don’t Why not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wasn’t sure why he didn’t He hadn’t dared to admit to himself why he
- didn’t. His world was out of focus. He supposed that every man’s world
- grew out of focus when he fell in love. But the supposition wasn’t quite
- satisfying; his conscience often gave him trouble.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But why not?” she persisted. “Are you ashamed of me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ashamed of you!” he laughed desperately. “What is there to tell? If we
- were engaged———- But so long as we’re not, they wouldn’t
- understand. I’m waiting till I can tell them that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish they knew,” she pouted. “I wish it wasn’t my fault that you were
- stopping in America. I wish so many things. I wouldn’t do a thing to
- prevent you if you wanted to sail to-morrow. You won’t ever blame me, will
- you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It always came back to that, her fear that he might accuse her of having
- led him on.
- </p>
- <p>
- One day he made a discovery. He had gone to the apartment to call for her
- earlier than he was expected. She was out Lying on the table under some
- needle-work was a book which he recognized. He picked it up; it was the
- copy of Life Till Twenty-One which he had bought for her after the ride
- from Glastonbury, the receipt of which she had never acknowledged. He had
- invented all manner of reasons for her silence: that she was annoyed with
- him for having written about her; that she didn’t take him seriously as an
- artist. On opening it he found that not only had it been read, but
- carefully annotated throughout. The passages which referred most
- explicitly to herself were underscored. Against his more visionary flights
- she had set query marks. They winked at him humorously up and down the
- margins. They were like her voice, counseling with laughing petulance,
- “Now, do be sensible.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She came in with her arms full of parcels. He held the book up
- triumphantly. “I’m awfully-proud. You are a queer kiddy. Why didn’t you
- tell me? I thought you didn’t care.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her parcels scattered. She grabbed the book from him. “That’s cheating.”
- She flushed scarlet. “Of course I care. What girl wouldn’t? But if I feel
- a thing deeply I don’t gush. I’m like that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you talk about Fluffy’s work; you’re always diving through crowds to
- see if her picture isn’t on news-stands. You tell me what your friend,
- Tom, is doing and—and heaps of people.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They’re different.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you don’t know, I can’t tel! you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I’m so proud of you, Princess. I do wish that sometimes,” he tried to
- take her hand—she fortressed herself behind a chair, “that sometimes
- you’d show that you were a little proud of me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you!” She bit her finger the way she did when she suspected that he
- was going to try to kiss her mouth. Her eyes danced and mocked him above
- her hand. “Fancy poor little you wanting some one to be proud of you.
- Meester Deek, that does sound soft.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does it?” His voice trembled. “I don’t mind how foolish I am before you.
- But I do wish sometimes that you’d treat me as though I wasn’t different.
- You’ve only called me twice by my name. You won’t dance with me, though I
- learnt especially for you. You won’t do all kinds of ordinary things that
- you’re willing to do with people who don’t count.”
- </p>
- <p>
- All the while that he had been speaking she had smiled at him, her finger
- still childishly in her mouth. When he had ended, she came from behind her
- chair and threw herself on the couch. “I have piped unto you and ye have
- not danced. Is that it, Meester Deek? So now you’re weeping to see if I
- won’t mourn. I’m afraid I’m not the mourning sort; life’s too happy.—But
- I’m not nice to you. Come and sit down. I’m afraid I’m least gracious to
- the people I like best. Ask mother; she’ll tell you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Just as he was about to accept her invitation, Twinkles entered, her tail
- erect, and hopping on the couch, planted herself between them. She had the
- prim air of a dog who is the custodian of her mistress’s morals.
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire began to toy with the silky ears. “My little chaperone knows what’s
- best for me, I guess.—Meester Deek doesn’t love ’oo,
- Twinkles. He thinks ’oo’s a very interfering little doggie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did. Despite his best efforts Twinkles growled at him and refused to be
- friends. She was continually making his emotion ridiculous. She timed her
- absurdly sedate entrances for the moments when the cloud of his pent-up
- feelings was about to burst.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Love’s Labor Lost</i> or <i>Divided by a Dog.</i>” Desire glanced,
- through her lashes laughingly. “You could write a play on it Twinkles and
- I could take the leading parts without rehearsing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After his discovery that she had read his book he began to try to interest
- her in his work—his contemplated work which was scarcely commenced
- while she kept him waiting. She seemed pleased when he placed his
- manuscripts in her lap. She loved to play the part of his severest critic,
- sweeping tempestuously aside all ideas that she pronounced unworthy of
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The only side of his career in which she failed to show interest was the
- financial. The mere mention of money made her shrivel up. He had hoped
- that if he could persuade her to talk about it, he might be able to
- confess his straitened circumstances. He guessed the reason for her
- delicacy and respected it: concern on her part over his bank-account might
- make her look grasping. After each vain attempt to broach the subject, he
- would dodge back to cover as if he hadn’t meant it, and would commence to
- tell her hurriedly of his dreams of fame. While he did it, a comic little
- smile would keep tugging at the corners of her mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think you’re wasting time with me,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know I’m not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I meant something different. I meant that you’re learning about life;
- I’m making awfully good copy for you. One day, when I’m a famous actress
- and you’re married to some nice little woman who’s jealous of me, you’ll
- write a book—a most heart-rending book—that’ll make her still
- more jealous. It’ll be a kind of sequel to <i>Life Till Twenty-one</i>, I
- guess. All experience, however much it costs, is valuable.—You’re
- laughing at me. But isn’t it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You wise little person.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just common-sense—and not so terribly little, either,” she
- corrected.
- </p>
- <p>
- Many of these conversations took place towards midnight, after he had seen
- her home from dinners or theatres. Usually they were carried on in
- whispers so as not to waken Vashti, who left her bedroom door ajar when
- she knew that Desire was to be late in returning. As a rule, Desire was in
- evening-dress; he was sensitively conscious of her mist of hair, and of
- the long sweet slope of her white arms and shoulders. After taking
- Twinkles for a final outing, he always accompanied her up to the apartment
- Once she had had to press him to do so; now she often pretended that she
- had expected him to say good-night in the public foyer.
- </p>
- <p>
- Saying good-night was a lengthy process, packed with the day’s omitted
- tendernesses and made poignant by a touch of dread. After he had risen
- reluctantly from the couch, they would linger in the hall, lasting out the
- seconds. There were few words uttered. When a man has said, “I love you,”
- many times, there is no room for further eloquence. She would stand with
- her back against the wall, eyeing him luringly and a little
- compassionately. Presently her hand would creep up to the latch and he
- would seize the opportunity to slip his arm about her. Wouldn’t she
- appoint a place of meeting for to-morrow? She would shake her head and
- whisper evasively, “Phone me in the morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Gazing at each other in quivering excitement, they would droop nearer
- together. She knew that soon he would draw her to his breast. At the first
- movement on his part she would turn the latch and her free hand would fly
- up to shield her mouth. He would attempt to coax it away with kisses.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve only kissed your lips once. And you’ve never kissed me yet. Won’t
- you kiss me, Desire?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The tenacious little hand would remain obdurate. “Meester Deek, you
- mustn’t. The door’s open. If anybody saw us——”
- </p>
- <p>
- If he tried to pull it away, she would call softly so that nobody could
- hear her, “Help, Meester Deek is kissing me.” If he went on trying, she
- would gradually call louder.
- </p>
- <p>
- By degrees she would get him to the elevator; but unless she rang the
- bell, he preferred to descend by the stairs for the joy of seeing her
- leaning over the rail and raining down kisses to him. The further he
- descended the more willing she seemed to be accessible. If he turned to go
- back to her, her face would vanish and he would hear her door shutting.
- </p>
- <p>
- These farewells embodied for him the ghostly acme of romance. They were
- the balcony scene from <i>Romeo and Juliet</i> enacted on the stairway of
- a New York apartment-house. From such frail materials till the new day
- brought promise, he constructed the palace of his hopes and ecstasies. It
- was the ghost of happiness that he had found; happiness itself escaped
- him. He longed for her to love him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVII—THE TEST
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>as she incapable
- of passion—she who could rouse it to the danger-mark in others? He
- suspected that he was too gentle with her; but forcefulness brought
- memories of Mr. Dak. Though she made herself the dearest of companions, he
- knew that her feeling was no more than intense liking. He had failed to
- stir her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sometimes he thought that out of cowardice she was wilfully preventing
- herself from loving; sometimes that she was diverting the main stream of
- her affection in a wrong direction. She could still court separation from
- him without regret Fluffy had only to raise her finger and all his plans
- were scattered. Fluffy raised her finger very often now that Horace had
- left.
- </p>
- <p>
- He despised himself for feeling jealous of a woman; but he was jealous.
- Fluffy knew that she was his rival. When they were all three together, she
- would amuse herself with half-sincere attempts to help him in his battle:
- “He looks at you so nicely. Why don’t you marry him?” But she robbed him
- remorselessly of Desire whenever it pleased her fancy. “Oh, these men!”
- she would sigh, shrugging her pretty shoulders. “Don’t you know, little
- Desire, that it does them good to keep them guessing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- While the days slipped by unnumbered, he tried to persuade himself that
- Desire’s difficulty of winning made her the more worthy of his worship. He
- often thought of his father’s picture, buried beneath dusty canvasses in
- the stable at Eden Row. It was like that. He had stumbled into a Garden
- Enclosed, basking in lethargy, where Love peered in through the locked
- gate, and all things waited and slumbered. Then came the awakening,
- shattering in its earnestness.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was three days before Christmas. The weather had turned to a sparkling
- coldness. Tall buildings looked like Niagaras of stone, poured from the
- glistening blueness of the heavens. In Madison Square and Columbus Circle
- Christmas trees had been set up. New York had a festive atmosphere—almost
- an atmosphere of childhood. Schools had broken up; streets were animated
- with laughing faces. Mistletoe and holly were in evidence. At frequent
- corners a Santa Claus was standing, white-bearded and red-coated,
- clattering his bell. Broadway and Fifth Avenue were thronged with
- matinée-girls and their escorts. They sprang up like flowers, tripping
- along gayly, snuggling their cheeks against their furs. Stores were
- Aladdin’s Caves, where money could make dreams come true. The spendthrift
- good-nature of the crowds was infectious.
- </p>
- <p>
- All afternoon he had been shopping with her. “Our first Christmas
- together,” he kept saying. He invented plan after plan for making the
- season memorable. “When we’re old married people,” he told her, “we’ll
- look back. It’ll be something to talk about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only you mustn’t talk about it before your wife,” she warned him slyly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She won’t like it, naturally. A Joan likes to think she was her Darby’s
- first and only.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew her arm closer into his, and peeped beneath the brim of her hat,
- “Well, and wasn’t she?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Old stupid.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Over his cheerfulness, though he tried to dispel it, hung a mist of
- melancholy. He was reminded of all the Christmases which his father and
- mother had helped to make glad. If this was the first he had spent with
- Desire, it was the first he had been absent from them. They would be
- lonely. His gain in happiness was in proportion to their loss. He felt
- guilty; it came home to him at every turn that his treatment of them had
- not been handsome.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly she bubbled into laughter. “You do look tragic Cheer up.”
- Perching her chin on her clasped hands, she leant towards him, “What’s the
- matter?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But there is. Is it anything that I’ve said or done? I’m quite willing to
- apologize. Tell me.” Her voice sank from high spirits till it nearly
- trembled into tears. “You promised always to be honest” Her hand stole out
- and caressed his fingers. “Our first Christmas together! Mee-ster Deek,
- you’re not going to make it sad after—after all our good times
- together?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not making it sad.” He spoke harshly. His tone startled her. She
- stared at him, puzzled. For the first time he had failed to be
- long-suffering.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps we’d better be going.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Assuming an air of dignity, she slipped into her jacket and commenced to
- gather up her furs. Usually they enacted a comedy in which he hurried to
- her assistance and she made haste to forestall him. Instead, he beckoned
- for the bill.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps we had,” he said shortly.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the waiter had gone for the change, he began to relent. Fumbling in
- his breast-pocket, he pulled out the case and placed it on the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I got this for you, not because it cost money, but because I thought
- you’d like it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not touch it. “Three days till Christmas. It isn’t time for
- presents yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you promise to accept it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why shouldn’t I? It’s a little brooch or somethings isn’t it? Let’s wait
- till Christmas Eve, anyway—till the day after to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want you to see it now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The waiter came back with the change. He picked it up without counting it,
- keeping his eyes on hers. She was fingering the case with increasing
- curiosity.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But why now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because——-” He couldn’t explain to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her face cleared and broke into graciousness. “You are funny. Well, if it
- means so much to you——” She examined the case first.
- “Tiffany’s! So that’s what you were doing when you left me—busting
- yourself? Shall I take just one peek at it?—Give me a smile then to
- show that we’re still friends—— All right—to please
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He twisted on his chair and gazed into the room. The moment while he
- waited was an agony. He was a prisoner waiting for the jury to give its
- verdict. All his future hung upon her words.
- </p>
- <p>
- She gasped. “What a darling! Diamonds! Are they diamonds? They must be
- since they’re Tiffany’s. But it must have cost—-”
- </p>
- <p>
- He swung round. Her glance fell. “I can’t take it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can. You’re going to. Here, let’s try it on—There!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She fidgeted it round, watching the stones sparkle. She seemed fascinated,
- and wavered. Then she gathered her will-power: “No, Meester Deek. What
- kind of a girl d’you think I am?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She tried to remove it; he stayed her. They sat in silence. It was very
- much as though they had quarreled—the queerest way to give and
- receive a present.
- </p>
- <p>
- He picked up the empty case and slipped it in his pocket “I’ll carry it
- for you. What’ll we do next? A theatre?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She glanced down at her green tweed suit. “Not dressy enough. Besides,”
- she consulted the watch on her wrist, “it’s nine.—Oh, I know; let’s
- visit Fluffy. We’ll catch her between the acts.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fluffy was leading lady in <i>Who Killed Cock Robin?</i> which was playing
- to crowded houses at The Belshazzar.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the corner of Forty-second Street and Times Square he held her elbow
- gingerly to guide her through the traffic; on the further pavement he
- released it They walked separately. Then something happened which marked
- an epoch in their relations. Shyly she took his arm; previously it was he
- who had taken hers. She hugged it to her so that their shoulders came
- together. “Can’t you guess why I wanted to see Fluffy? I’m dying to show
- it to her.” Then, in a shamefaced little whisper: “Don’t think I’m
- ungrateful, Meester Deek. I never could say thanks. People—people
- who really like me understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They came to The Belshazzar with its blazing sign, branding Janice Audrey
- on the night in fiery letters. There was something rather magnificent
- about marching in at the stage-entrance unchallenged. As they turned into
- the narrow passage which ran up beside the theatre, passers-by would halt
- to watch them, thinking they had discovered a resemblance in their faces
- to persons well known in stage-land. Even Teddy felt the thrill of it,
- though he was loth to own it, for these peeps behind the scenes cost him
- dearly; they invariably rekindled Desire’s ambitions to be an actress. She
- would talk of nothing else till midnight. The chances were that the rest
- of his evening would be spoilt; that was what usually happened if he
- allowed himself to be coaxed into the lady-peacock’s dressing-room. If the
- lady herself was before the footlights, he would have to hear Desire
- talking theatrical shop with her dresser. If she was present, he would
- have to sit ignored, listening to her accepting the grossest flatteries,
- till he seemed to himself to have become conspicuous by not joining in the
- chorus of adoration. In the seductive insincerity of that little nest,
- with its striped yellow wall-paper, its dressing-table littered with
- grease-paints, its frothy display of strewn attire, its perfumed
- atmosphere and its professional acceptance of the feminine form as a fact,
- he had spent many an unamiable hour.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they passed the door-keeper, Desire smiled proudly. “We’re visiting
- Miss Audrey.” The man peered above his paper, recognized her and nodded.
- She glanced up at Teddy merrily, “Just as if we were members of the
- company.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Breaking from him, she ran ahead up the stairs: “You wait here. I’ll let
- you know if it’s all right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In his mind’s eye he followed her. He imagined her flitting along the
- passage from which the dressing-rooms led off, on whose doors were pinned
- the names of their temporary occupants. He imagined the faded photographs
- of forgotten stars, gazing mournfully down on her youth from the walls. At
- the far end she would pause and tap, listening like an alert little bird
- for the answer. Then the door would open, and she would vanish. She was
- showing Fluffy her watch-bracelet now; they were vying with each other in
- their excited exclamations. He could picture it all.
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed to him that she had kept him waiting a long while—a longer
- time than usual. It might be only his impatience; time always hung heavy
- without her. Men passed—men who belonged to the management. They
- looked worried and evidently resented his presence. He returned their
- resentment, feeling that they were mistaking him for a stage Johnny.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last he determined to wait no longer. As he climbed the stairs, he
- heard the muttering of voices and some one sobbing. All the doors of the
- dressing-rooms were open. The passage was crowded. The entire cast was
- there in their stage attire. Managers of various sorts were pushing their
- way back and forth. A newspaper man was being hustled out. Something might
- have happened to Desire. The disturbance was in Fluffy’s dressing-room. He
- elbowed his way to the front and peered breathlessly across the threshold.
- </p>
- <p>
- Stretched on a couch was a slim boyish figure, in the costume of a
- Tyrolese huntsman. Her face was buried in her hands, her feet twitched one
- against the other and her shoulders shook with an agony of crying. The cap
- which she had been wearing had been tom off and hurled into a far corner.
- Her hair fell in a shining tide and gleamed in a golden pool upon the
- carpet. By the side of the couch her dresser stood, wringing her hands and
- imploring: “Now, Miss Audrey, this’ll never do. They’ve sent for Mr.
- Freelevy. You must pull yourself together. The curtain’s waiting to go up.
- It’ll be your call in a second.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, go away—go away, all of you,” Fluffy wept “I don’t care what
- happens now. Nothing matters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire was kneeling beside her with her arms about her. She was crying
- too, dipping her lips into the golden hair. “Don’t, darling. You’re
- breaking my heart. Tell me. It may help.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Simon Freelevy shouldered his way into the room. He was a stout, short man
- with a bald, shiny head. His hurry had made him perspire; he was breathing
- heavily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s all this?” he asked angrily. “Tantrums or what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fluffy sat up. She looked pitiful as a frightened child. The penciling
- beneath her blue eyes made them larger than ever. She fisted her hands
- against her mouth to silence her sobs.
- </p>
- <p>
- The dresser answered. “A cable was waiting for her. She read it after the
- first act It took her by surprise, sir. It was to tell her that Mr.
- Overbridge had married.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sensible fellow.” Simon Freelevy took one look at Fluffy. In the quiet
- that had attended his entrance the roar of the impatient theatre,
- clamoring for the curtain to rise, could be heard. “She can’t go on,” he
- said brusquely. “She’s no more good to-night. Where’s her understudy?—Oh,
- youl Good girl—you got ready. Get back into the wings all of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He drove them out like a flock of sheep, slamming the door contemptuously
- behind him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire turned to Teddy. “Fetch a taxi. I can’t leave her to-night We’ll
- take her home to my apartment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As they drove through Columbus Circle the Christmas tree was illuminated
- at the entrance to the Park. The happiness which it betokened provoked
- another shower of tears from Fluffy. “It was cruel of him,” she wept,
- “cruel of him. I always, always intended—— You know I did,
- little Desire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was like a hurt child; there was no consoling her. Her only relief
- seemed to be derived from repeating her wrongs monotonously. She kept
- appealing to Desire to confirm her assertions of the injustice that had
- been done her. Desire gathered her into her arms and drew her head to her
- shoulder. “Don’t cry, darling. He wasn’t worthy of you. There are
- thousands more men in the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As soon as they had reached the apartment Fluffy said: “Let me go to bed.
- I want to cry my heart out.” In the hall as she bade Teddy good-night, she
- gazed forlornly from him to Desire: “You two, you’re very happy. You don’t
- know how happy. No one ever does until—until It ends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He watched them down the passage. He supposed he ought to go now. Instead,
- he went into the front-room and seated himself. He couldn’t tear himself
- away. He was hungry for Desire. He hadn’t known that she could be so
- tender. He yearned for some great calamity to befall him, that he might
- see her kneeling at his side and might feel her arms about him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Finality was in the air. Horace’s example had startled him into facing up
- to facts; perhaps it had done the same for her. He felt that this was the
- psychologic crisis to which all his courtship had been leading. She cared
- for him, or she wouldn’t have accepted his present. Knowing her as he did,
- the very ungraciousness of her acceptance was a proof to him of how much
- she cared. And now this new happening I It had darted swiftly across their
- insecurity as the shadow of nemesis approaching. To-night her lips must
- give him his answer. She had said: “When I kiss you, Meester Deek, without
- your asking, you’ll know then.” They could drag on no longer. It wasn’t
- honorable to her, to himself, to his parents—it wasn’t fair to any
- of them. Like a stave of music her words sang in his memory, “And we’re
- about the right height, aren’t we?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Twinkles wandered in; seeing that he was alone and that her services were
- not required, she wandered out. He got up restlessly. To kill time, he
- examined the little piles of books and set them in order. He picked up a
- boudoir-cap that she was making, pressing it to his lips because her hands
- had touched it. He smiled fondly; even in her usefulness she was
- decorative. She made boudoir-caps when buttons needed sewing on her
- gloves.
- </p>
- <p>
- Whatever he did, the eyes of Tom watched him from the photograph on the
- piano. He had been hoping for months that she would remove it The eyes
- watched him in malicious silence. She had told him that Tom was a sort of
- brother. He had never disputed it, but he knew that no man could play the
- brother for long with such a girl. He wondered if Tom had found her lips
- more accessible, and whether she had ever kissed him in return.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was getting late. Not quite the evening he had expected! Very few of
- his evenings were.
- </p>
- <p>
- At a sound he turned. She was standing in the doorway, a wrapper clutched
- about her, her hair hanging long as at Glastonbury, her bare feet peeping
- out from bedroom slippers. She looked half-child, half-elf.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it’s you. I thought you’d gone—been gone for hours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gone! How could I go? We didn’t say good-night.” He lowered his voice,
- copying her whisper. Everything seemed to listen in the quietness,
- especially Tom’s photograph.
- </p>
- <p>
- He approached her. If she would be only a tenth as tender to him as she
- had been to Fluffy! He was quivering like a leaf. The mystic wind that
- blew through him was so gentle that it could only be seen, not heard. It
- seemed to fill the room with flutterings. She shook her head, tossing her
- hair clear of her shoulders. He halted. Then he seized her hands. They
- struggled to free themselves.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re eating my heart out, Desire. I’m good for nothing. You must say
- yes. If you don’t love me, you at least like me. You like me immensely,
- don’t you? The other will come later.” His voice trembled with the need of
- her; it was more like crying. He tried to draw her to him; she clutched
- her wrap more tightly, and dodged across the threshold.
- </p>
- <p>
- Something in him broke. “Aren’t you going to kiss me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She closed her eyes in dreamy denial. “Never?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How can I tell?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then let me kiss you. You’ve let me do it so often. You’ll at least do
- that And—and it’s so nearly Christmas.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ve kissed me so many, many times. I don’t know why I allow it.” Her
- voice sounded infinitely weary.
- </p>
- <p>
- He let go her hand. His face became ashen. “This can’t go on forever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shish! You’ll wake Fluffy.” She pressed her finger to her lip. “I know.
- It can’t go on forever. Don’t let’s talk about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned slowly, and picked up his coat and hat. “You and I can talk of
- that or nothing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he approached the hall, she slipped after him into the passage. With
- his hand on the latch he looked back, “Then you won’t let me kiss you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her expression quickened into a bewitching smile. “You silly Meester
- Deek!” She glanced down at her gauzy attire. “How can I? You wouldn’t have
- seen me this way if it hadn’t been for an accident. Besides,” with a
- drooping of her head, “I’m so fagged; I don’t feel like kissing to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you loved me,” he said vehemently, “you’d let me kiss you, anyhow. You
- wouldn’t mind. You’d be glad. Why, you and I, the way we’ve been together,
- we’re as good as married.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not as bad as that,” she murmured drowsily.
- </p>
- <p>
- He opened the door. At the last moment she ran forward, holding out her
- hand. “You’re angry. Poor Meester Deek! You’re splendid when you’re angry.
- Cheer up. There are all the to-morrows.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He could have taken her in his arms then. He would have taken her cruelly,
- crushing her to him. He feared himself. He feared the quiet. He feared
- her, lest directly he relented, she would repulse him. She lifted her hand
- part way to his mouth. He arrested it; it was her lips for which he was
- hungry—to feel them shuddering again beneath his pressure before
- love died. He hurried from her.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last he had stirred her. He had wounded her pride. Tears gushed to her
- eyes, deepening their grayness. She stood gazing after him, dumbly
- reproachful.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he entered the Brevoort the clerk handed him a letter. He glanced at
- the writing; it was from his mother. He waited till he was in his room
- before he tore the envelope.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Aren’t you ever coming home!” [he read], “It makes us feel so old,
- living without you. What is it that’s keeping you? Until now I’ve not
- liked to suggest it. But isn’t it a girl? It can’t be the right one,
- Teddy, or you wouldn’t hide the news from your mother. When it’s the right
- one a boy comes running to tell her; he knows it’ll make her glad. But you
- must know it wouldn’t make me glad—so come back to where we’re so
- proud of you. If you cable that you’re coming, we’ll postpone our
- Christmas so that you can share it.”</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, in a paragraph:
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>I’ve bad news to tell you. The Sheerugs have lost all their money.
- Madame Josephine died suddenly; Duke Nineveh has stolen everything and
- decamped with a chorus-girl. Beauty Incorporated is exposed and exploded.
- The papers say it was a swindle. This’ll affect you financially, poor old
- chap</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVIII—THE PRINCESS WHO DID NOT KNOW HER HEART
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e sat with his
- mother’s letter in his hand—the same kind of letter that years ago
- Mrs. Sheerug must have penned to Hal. If Hal had preserved them, there
- must be stacks of them stowed away in the garrets at Orchid Lodge. How
- selfish lovers were in the price they made others pay! What dearly
- purchased happiness!
- </p>
- <p>
- And he was becoming like Hal. He resented the comparison; but he was. Fame
- and opportunity were knocking at his door. Instead of opening to them, he
- sat weakly waiting for a girl who didn’t seem to care. One day fame and
- opportunity would go away; when they were gone, he would have lost his
- only chance of making the girl respond. If he became great—really
- great—she might appreciate him.
- </p>
- <p>
- For the first time in his dealings with Desire strategy suggested itself.
- Not until Fluffy had lost Horace had she discovered that she had a heart.
- If he were to leave Desire—— Fear gripped him lest, while he
- was gone, some one else might claim her. The loneliness of what he would
- have to face appalled him. It was a loneliness which she would share at
- least in part; the habits formed from having been loved, even though she
- had not loved in return, might lead her into another man’s arms.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet, strategy or no strategy, he would have to leave New York; he
- couldn’t keep up the pace. The three hundred pounds per annum which had
- come to him from Beauty Incorporated hadn’t been much; but, while it
- lasted, it had seemed certain. It had been something to fall back on. It
- had stood between him and poverty. His nerve was shaken. What if his vein
- of fancy should run dry?
- </p>
- <p>
- His habits of industry were already lost. He would have to go into retreat
- to re-find them—go somewhere where people believed in him; then he
- might retrieve his confidence. The yearning to be mothered, which the
- strongest men feel at times, swept over him like a tide. He wanted to hear
- himself called Teddy, as though his name was not absurd or disgraceful—a
- name to be avoided with a nickname.
- </p>
- <p>
- If he appealed to Desire one last time, would she understand—would
- she be kind to him as she had been to Fluffy? He wondered—and he
- doubted. If he told her of the loss of the three hundred pounds his
- trouble would sound paltry. It might sound to her as though he were asking
- her to restore to him the watch-bracelet. It was in her company that he
- had spent so riotously; she might think that he was accusing her of having
- been mercenary. She had never been that; she had given him far more in
- happiness than the means of happiness had cost But he couldn’t conceive of
- being in her company and refraining from extravagance. Her personality
- made recklessness contagious; it acted like strong wine, diminishing both
- the future and the past, till the present became of total importance.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a phrase in his mother’s letter which brought an unreasonable
- warmth to his heart: “Come back to where we feel so proud of you.” It was
- a long while since any one had felt proud of him. But how had she guessed
- that? He had poured out his admiration. He had been so selfless in his
- adoration that he had sometimes fancied that he had been despised for it.
- He had almost come to believe that there was an unpleasantness in his
- appearance or a taint in his character which the love-blind eyes of Eden
- Row had failed to discover. Desire seemed most conscious of it when he
- stood in the light. It was only in the dusk of cabs and taxis that she
- almost forgot it. Sometimes she seemed morbidly aware of this defect; then
- she would say in a weary little voice, “I don’t feel like kissing
- to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Humiliation was enervating his talent. He was losing faith in his own
- worth—the faith so necessary to an artist. Desire said that it was
- “soft” of him to want her to be proud of him. Perhaps it was. But if she
- ought not to be proud of him, who ought?
- </p>
- <p>
- He would have been content with much less than her pride—if only,
- when others were present, she had not ignored him. Her friends
- unconsciously imitated her example. They passed him over and chattered
- about trifles. Their conversations were a shallow exchange of words in
- which, when every nerve in his body was emotionalized, it was impossible
- for him to take part. He showed continually at a disadvantage. They none
- of them had the curiosity to inquire why he was there or who he was. He
- felt that behind his back they must smile at Desire’s treatment of him.
- </p>
- <p>
- It would be good to get back to people who frankly reciprocated his pride—to
- artist father with his lofty ideals, who went marching through life with
- all his bands playing, never halting for spurious success to overtake him.
- It would be good to get back, and yet——
- </p>
- <p>
- She had worked herself into his blood. She was a disease for which she
- herself was the only cure. Without the hope of seeing her his future would
- lose its sight. Up till now the short nightly partings had been agonies,
- which called for many kisses to dull their pain. When absent from her, he
- had made haste to sleep, that oblivion might bridge the gulf of
- separation. To have to face interminable days which would bring no promise
- of her girlish presence, seemed worse than death. If he returned to
- England, what certainty would he have that they would ever meet again?
- </p>
- <p>
- He stung himself into shame by remembering what weakness had done for Hal.
- Hal would form a link between them, when every other means of
- communication had failed.
- </p>
- <p>
- The wildness of his panic abated. He urged himself to be strong. If he
- went on as he was going now, he would bankrupt his life. To-morrow he
- would plead with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- If she still procrastinated, then the only way to draw her nearer would be
- to go from her. The horror of parting confronted him again. He closed his
- eyes to shut it out. He would decide nothing to-night.
- </p>
- <p>
- Next morning he phoned her at the usual time. She was still sleeping; he
- left a request that she should call him. He waited till twelve. At last he
- grew impatient and phoned her again. He was told that she had gone out
- with Fluffy, leaving word that he would hear from her later. By three
- o’clock he had not heard. All day he had been kept at high tension on the
- listen. The cavalierness of her conduct roused his indignation. Her
- punishment was out of all proportion to his offense, especially after the
- way in which she had received the watch-bracelet A month ago he would have
- hurried out to send her a peace-offering of flowers. To-day he hurried out
- on a different errand.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jumping on a bus, he rode up Fifth Avenue and alighted at The
- International Sleeping Car Company. Entering swiftly, for fear his
- resolution should forsake him, he booked a berth on the <i>Mauretania</i>,
- sailing on Christmas Eve, the next night. He hesitated as to whether he
- should send his mother a cable; he determined to postpone that final step.
- He had booked and canceled a berth before. He tried to believe that he was
- no more serious now than on that occasion. He was only proving to himself
- and to her his supreme earnestness. ‘If she gave him any encouragement,
- even though she didn’t definitely promise to marry him, he would postpone
- his sailing.
- </p>
- <p>
- He wandered out into the streets. Floating like gold and silver tulips on
- the dusk, lights had sprung up. Crowds surged by merrily; all their talk
- was of Christmas. The look of Christmas was in their faces. Girls hung on
- the arms of men. Everywhere he saw lovers: they swayed along the pavement
- as though they were one; they snuggled in hansoms, sitting close together;
- they fled by in taxis, wraithlike in the darkness, fleeting as the emotion
- they expressed. He knew all their secrets, all their thoughts: how men’s
- hands groped into muffs to squeeze slender fingers; how the fingers lay
- quiet, pretending they were numb; how speech became incoherent, and faces
- drooped together. He listened to the lisp of footsteps—all going
- somewhere to sorrow or happiness. How many lovers would meet in New York
- to-night! He felt stunned. His heart ached intolerably.
- </p>
- <p>
- In sheer aimlessness he strolled into the Waldorf and hovered by the
- pillar from which he had so often watched to see her come. To see her
- approaching now he would give a year of his life. She would be wearing her
- white-fox furs and the little tweed suit he had given her. The fur rubbed
- off on his sleeves; it told many tales.
- </p>
- <p>
- His resolution was weakening every minute; soon it would be impossible to
- leave her—even to pretend he had thought of leaving her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He must keep his mind occupied; must go to some place which held no
- associations. Sauntering along Thirty-fourth Street, he passed by the
- Beauty Parlor where she went, as she said, “to be glorified.” He passed
- the shop to which he had gone with her to buy the earliest of his more
- personal gifts, the dozen silk stockings. Foolish recollections, full of
- poignancy! He crossed Broadway beneath the crashing Elevated. Gimbel’s at
- least would leave him unreminded; she despised any store which was not on
- Fifth Avenue. He had drifted through several departments, when he was
- startled by a voice. He turned as though he had been struck. A salesman,
- demonstrating a gramophone, had chosen the record of <i>Absent</i> for the
- purpose. He stood tensely, listening to the tenor wail that came from the
- impersonal instrument:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “Thinking I see you—thinking I see you smile.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the last straw. His pride was broken. What did it matter whether
- she cared? The terrible reality was his need of her. He made a dash for
- the nearest pay-station and rang her up.
- </p>
- <p>
- A man answered. He wasn’t Mr. Dak. “Who? Mr. Gurney? Hold the line. I’ll
- call her.—— Little D., here’s your latest. Hurry!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He heard Desire’s tripping footsteps in the passage and her reproving
- whisper to her companion, “You had no right to do that.” Then her clear
- voice, thrilling him even at that distance: “Hulloa, Bright Eyes! I’ve
- just this minute got home. Did you get my wire?—You didn’t! But you
- must have. I sent it after you left last night.—Humph! That’s what
- comes of staying at these cheap hotels. You’d better ask the clerk at the
- desk.—Oh, you’re not at the Brevoort. At Gimbel’s! What are you
- doing there? Buying me another watch-bracelet? Never mind, tell me
- presently.—No, I’m not going to tell you what was in the telegram.—What’s
- that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had asked who was with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Naturally I can’t answer,” she said; “not now—later. You understand
- why.—Of course you can come. Hurry! I’m dying to see you. By-by.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had been conscious, while she was speaking, that her conversation was
- framed quite as much for the other man’s mystification as for his own.
- There had been a tantalizing remoteness in her tones. But what man had the
- privilege to call her “Little D.”? He remembered now that, when he had
- done it, an annoyed look of remembrance had crept into her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Life had become worth living again. The madness was on him to spend, to be
- gay, to atone. On his way uptown he went into Maillard’s to buy her a box
- of her favorite caramels. He stopped at Thorley’s and purchased a corsage
- of orchids. He was allowing her to twist him round her little finger. He
- confessed it. But what did anything matter? He was going to her. Life had
- become radiantly happy. He no longer had to eye passing lovers with envy.
- He was of their company and glorified.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he had pressed the button of the apartment, he was kept waiting—kept
- waiting so long that he rang twice. On the other side Twinkles was barking
- furiously; then he heard the soft swish of approaching garments. The door
- opened. Through the crack he could just make out her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t come in till I hide,” she warned him in a whisper. “Every one’s
- out, except me and Twinkles. I’m halfway through dressing.” She retreated,
- leaving the door ajar. When she had fled across the hall into the passage,
- she called to him, “You may enter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He closed the door and listened in the discreet silence. She was in her
- bedroom. She had made a great secret of her little nest. She had told him
- about the pictures on the walls, the Japanese garden in the window, and
- the queer things she saw from the window when she spied across the
- air-shaft on her neighbors. She had a child’s genius for disguising the
- commonplace with glamour. Of this the name she had given him, which was
- known to no one but her and himself, was an example. She made every hour
- that he had not shared with her bristle with mysteries by sly allusions to
- what had happened in it Her bedroom was a forbidden spot; she deigned to
- describe it to him and left his imagination to do the rest. In his lover’s
- craving to picture her in all her environments—to be in ignorance of
- nothing that concerned her—he had often begged her to let him peep
- across the threshold. She had invariably denied him, putting on her most
- shocked expression.
- </p>
- <p>
- He walked into the front-room; it was littered with presents, received and
- to be given, and their torn wrappings.
- </p>
- <p>
- She heard him. “You mustn’t go in there,” she called.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then where am I to go?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bother. I don’t know. You can stand in the passage and talk to me if you
- like.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For a quarter of an hour he leant against the wall, facing her closed
- door. While they exchanged remarks he judged her progress by sounds.
- Sometimes she informed him as to their meaning. “It’s my powder-box that
- I’m opening now.—What you heard then was the stopper of my Mary
- Garden bottle.—Shan’t be long. Why don’t you smoke?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He didn’t want to smoke, but when she asked him a second time, her
- question had become an imperative.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her voice reached him muffled; by the rustling she must be slipping on her
- skirt. “I’m keeping you an awfully long while, Meester Deek; you’re very
- patient.” There was a lengthy pause. Then: “Of course it isn’t done in the
- best families, but we’re different and, anyhow, nobody’ll know. I’ve drawn
- down the shades.—If you promise to be good, you can come inside.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was seated at her dressing-table before the mirror, adjusting her
- broad-brimmed velvet hat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hulloa!” She did not turn, but let her reflection do the welcoming. “I
- haven’t allowed many gentlemen to come in here.” She seemed to be saying
- it lest he should think himself too highly flattered.
- </p>
- <p>
- He bent across her shoulder, asking permission by his silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You may take a nice Christmas kiss, if that’s what you’re after. Just
- one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He brushed her cool cheek, the unresponsive cheek of an obedient child.
- Her arms curved up to her head like the fine handles of a fragile vase.
- She proceeded quietly with the pinning of her hat. His arms went about her
- passionately. His action was unplanned. He was on his knees beside her,
- clutching her to him and kissing the hands which strove to push him from
- her. When his lips sought hers, she turned her face aside so that he could
- only reach the merest corner of her mouth. So she lay for some seconds,
- her face averted, till her motionlessness had quelled his emotion.
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed, freeing herself from his embrace. “Oh, Meester Deek,” she
- whispered softly, “and when I wasn’t wearing any corsets! Now let me go on
- with the pinning of my hat.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He filled in the awkward silence by placing the corsage of orchids in her
- lap. Before she thanked him, she tried them at various angles against her
- breast, studying their effect in the mirror. Then she whispered
- reproachfully:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Aren’t you extravagant? Money does burn holes in your pocket. You ought
- to give it to some one to take care of for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was no free chair. The room was strewn with odds and ends of
- clothing as though a cyclone had blown through it He seated himself on the
- edge of the white bed and glanced about him. On the dressing-table in a
- silver frame was a photograph of Tom. On the wall, in a line above the
- bed, were four more of him. Vaguely he began to guess why she had made
- such a secret of her bedroom, and why she had let him see it at this stage
- in his courtship. Jealousy smoldered like a sullen spark; it sprang into a
- flame which tortured and consumed him.
- </p>
- <p>
- What right had this man to watch her? Why should she wish to have him
- watch?
- </p>
- <p>
- He threw contempt on his jealousy. It made him feel brutal. But it had
- burnt long enough to harden his resolve.
- </p>
- <p>
- She rose and picked up her jacket. “D’you want to help me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He took it from her without alacrity. As he guided her arms into the
- sleeves, she murmured: “Why were you so naughty last night, Meester Deek?
- You almost made me cross, I was so upset and tired. You weren’t kind.”
- Then, with a flickering uplifting of her lashes, “But I’m not tired any
- longer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She waited expectant. Nothing happened. She picked up a hand-mirror,
- surveying the back of her neck and giving her rebellious little curl a
- final pat, as though bidding it be careful of its manners. In laying it
- down she contrived to hold the glass so as to get a glimpse of his face
- across her shoulder. Her expression stiffened. As if he were not there,
- she swept over to the door, switched off the light and left him to follow.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found her in the front-room. She had unwrapped a pot of azaleas and was
- clearing a space to set it on the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tom brought me this,” she explained in a preoccupied tone. “He was
- waiting for me when I got back. It was Tom who answered the phone when you
- called me. Kind of him to remember me, wasn’t it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very kind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don’t need to agree if you don’t really think so.” She spoke
- petulantly, with her back toward him. “Even a plant means a lot to some
- people. Tom’s only an actor. He’s not a rich author to whom money means
- nothing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I’m not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you act like it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had found that the bottom of the pot was wet and walked out of the
- room to fetch a plate before setting it on the table. While she was gone,
- he groped after the deep-down cause of her annoyance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you really send me a telegram?” he asked the moment she reentered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ve never caught me fibbing yet. I’ve been careful. Why d’you doubt
- it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought you might have said it—well, just for something to say.
- Perhaps because you were embarrassed, or to make Tom jealous.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Embarrassed! Why embarrassed? Tom’s an old friend. I must say you have a
- high opinion of me. It strikes me Mrs. Theodore Gurney’s going to have a
- rough time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a dead silence. She pivoted slowly and captured both his hands.
- Dragging him to the couch, she made him sit beside her. In the sudden
- transition of her moods, her face had become as young and mischievous with
- smiles as before it had been elderly and cross.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Meester Deek, haven’t you anything to say? Don’t you like me better
- now?” She dived to within an inch of his face as though she were about to
- kiss him, and there stopped short, laughing into his eyes. When he made no
- response, she became tensely grave. “I can be a little cat sometimes, and
- yet you want to live with me all your life. I should think you’d get sick
- of me. I’m very honest to let you see what I really am.” She said this
- with a wise shake of her head and an air of self-congratulation. “But
- you’re a beast, too, when you’re offended.” She stooped and kissed his
- hand. “The first time I’ve ever done that,” she murmured, “to you or any
- man. Haven’t we gone far enough with our quarreling?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think we have.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you’ve not forgiven me?—Well, I’ll tell you, and then you’ll
- ask my pardon.” She moved away from him to the other end of the couch.
- “I’ve really been very sweet to you all the time and you haven’t known it.
- Last night we were both stupid; I was upset. I don’t know which of us was
- the worst. But after you’d gone I was sorry, and I dressed, and I went out
- all alone at midnight to send you a telegram so you’d know that I was
- sorry directly you woke in the morning. It wasn’t my fault that you didn’t
- get it. And then about to-day—you’re angry because I didn’t call you
- up. It was because I was looking after your Christmas present. And when
- you came here all glum and sulky I let you see my bedroom. And now I’ve
- kissed your hand. Isn’t that enough?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was turning all the tables on him. “Let’s be friends,” he said. When
- he slipped his arm about her, she flinched. “Mind my flowers. Don’t crush
- them. You must first say that you’re sorry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sorry. Terribly sorry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, then. But you did hurt me last night when—when you went
- away like that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you often let me go away like that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She held up a finger. “You’re starting again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She rose and walked over to a pile of parcels which were lying on the
- piano. As he watched her, the thought of Tom came back. She hadn’t
- explained those photographs; his pride wouldn’t permit him to ask her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re not very curious, Meester Deek. Why d’you think I kept you waiting
- in the passage and wouldn’t let you come in here? I was afraid you might
- see something. I’ll let you see it now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was leaning against the piano. He went and stood beside her. She moved
- nearer so that her hair swept his cheek like a caress. “Do you like it?”
- She placed a miniature of herself done on ivory in his hand. “Better than
- the poor little tin-type portrait that faded!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For me?” he asked incredulously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who else? No, listen before you thank me. I thought they’d never get it
- done. They’ve been weeks over it. All day I’ve been hurrying them. Now,
- won’t you own that you have been misunderstanding?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve been an unjust idiot.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not so bad as that. And I’m not so bad, either, if you only knew——
- Now I’ll put on your bracelet Did you notice that I wasn’t wearing it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why weren’t you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The babies came into her eyes. “You’ve had a narrow escape. If you hadn’t
- been nice, I was going to have given it back to you. Let’s fetch it. You
- can fasten it on for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- From the steps of the apartment-house they hailed a hansom, and drove
- through the winking night to the Claremont. “‘So, honey, jest play in your
- own backyard,” she sang. When she found that she couldn’t intimidate him,
- she started on another fragment, filling in the gaps with humming when she
- forgot the words:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “Oh, you beautiful girl,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- What a beautiful girl you are!
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- You’ve made my dreams come true to me——”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sounds as though I were praising myself, doesn’t it? Don’t come so near,
- Meester Deek; every time you hug me you carry away so much of my little
- white foxes. ‘Beware of the foxes, the little foxes that spoil the
- something or other.’ Didn’t some one once say that? I wish you’d beware;
- soon there won’t be any fur left.”
- </p>
- <p>
- While she went to the lady’s room to see whether her appearance had
- suffered under his kisses, he engaged a table in a corner, overlooking the
- Hudson.
- </p>
- <p>
- Towards the end of the meal, when she was finishing an ice and he was
- lighting a cigar, a silence fell between them. She sat back with her eyes
- partly closed and her body relaxed. Up to that moment she had been
- daringly vivacious. He had learnt to fear her high spirits and fits of
- niceness. They came in gusts; they always had to be paid for with periods
- of languor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What are you thinking?” he asked. “Something sad, I’ll warrant.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fluffy.” She glanced across at him, appealing for his patience.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How is she?” He tried to humor her with a display of interest
- </p>
- <p>
- “She’s broken up. She’s been speaking to Simon Freelevy. She absolutely
- refuses to go on playing in New York; it’s too full of memories. So it’s
- all arranged; she’s going to California in the New Year with a
- road-company.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He understood her depression now. If Fluffy was leaving New York, this was
- his chance. Somehow or other he must manage to hang on. He was glad he had
- not sent that cable to his mother.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s hard lines on you.” He sank his voice sympathetically. “You’ll
- miss her awfully.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire woke up and became busy with what remained of her ice. “I shan’t.
- She wants me to go with her. It’ll do me good.” Then coaxingly, as though
- she were asking his permission, “I’ve never been to California.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The heat drained from him. He paused, giving himself time to grow steady.
- If he counted for so little, she shouldn’t guess his bitter
- disappointment. “But will you leave your mother? I should think she’ll be
- frightfully lonely.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My beautiful mother’s so unselfish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well?”
- </p>
- <p>
- They gazed at each other. He wondered whether she was only playing with
- him—whether she had only said it that he might amuse her with a
- storm of protests.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were going to ask about yourself?” she suggested. “I’ve thought all
- that out. You and mother can come and join us somewhere. There’s splendid
- riding out West. I’ve always wanted to ride. It would be fine to go flying
- along together if—if you were there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He didn’t understand this girl, who could give him ivory miniatures one
- minute and propose to go away for months the next—who, while she
- refused to become anything to him, undertook to arrange his life.
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed tolerantly. “I’m afraid that can’t be. I shouldn’t accomplish
- much by tagging after a road-company all across a continent. You don’t
- seem to realize that I have a living to earn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was a nasty laugh,” she pouted; “I didn’t like it one little bit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She played with his fingers idly, lifting them up and letting them fall,
- like soldiers marking time. “You manicure them now. You’ve learnt
- something by coming to America—— Your living!” She smiled. “It
- seems to come easily enough. I hear you talk about it, but I never see you
- working.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Here was the opening for which he had been waiting. “You’re right. I’ve
- hardly done a stroke since I landed. Winning you has taken all my time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Has it?” She glanced round the room dreamily, making confidences
- impossible by her lack of enthusiasm.
- </p>
- <p>
- He got up. “Shall we go back to the apartment? We can talk better there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She lounged to her feet. “If you’ll promise not to worry me. I’ve gone
- through too much to-day already.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew the meaning of her fatigue; once more she was barricading herself.
- He was doubly sure of it when he saw her open her vanity-case and produce
- a veil. A veil was a means of protection which, above all others, he
- detested. “Don’t put that thing on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must. It’ll keep the wind off. I don’t like getting chapped.”
- </p>
- <p>
- On the drive back she sat rigid with her hand before her eyes, as though
- she slept. It seemed to him that he had not advanced a pace since the ride
- to Long Beach; the only difference was that his arm encircled her. She
- paid so little heed to it that he withdrew it. She gave no sign that she
- noticed its withdrawal. It was only when they were halting that she came
- to herself with a drowsy yawn. Leaning against his shoulder for a second,
- she peered up at him with mock regret: “And to think that my head might
- have been resting there all the time!”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was plain that she didn’t want him to come up. In the foyer she held
- out her hand. When he did not take it, she lowered her eyes: “I’m sorry. I
- thought you were going.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After the elevator had left them, she stood outside the door and carefully
- removed her veil. It was a frank invitation to him to kiss her and say
- good-by. He did neither. She drew the palms of her hands across her eyes.
- “I ought to go to bed.—You are a sticker. Well, if you won’t go,
- just for a little while.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She produced the key from her vanity-case. He took it from her and slipped
- it into the latch. Only Twinkles was at home. For Twinkles she mustered
- the energy for a display of fun-making. Romping with the dog revived her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take the nice gentleman in there,” she said, “while mistress makes
- herself beautiful. Mistress can’t allow the same gentleman, however
- pleasant, to come into her bedroom twice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He didn’t feel flippant. He was quivering with earnestness. While he
- waited among the litter of presents and paper he tried to master his
- emotion. He knew that if he once got to touching and kissing her, he would
- go out of the door with matters as undecided as when he had entered.
- </p>
- <p>
- She drifted into the room rubbing her hands. “Been putting scent on them,”
- she explained, holding out to him her smooth little palms. “Don’t they
- smell nice?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He didn’t kiss them. He didn’t dare. She gave him a puzzled look of
- inquiry; then showed him her back and became absorbed in gathering up the
- scattered papers. When several minutes of silence had elapsed, she turned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not going to quarrel with you, if that’s what you want You’d have
- been wise to have said good-night to me downstairs. If you’ve really got
- something on your mind, for Heaven’s sake get it off.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s difficult and you don’t help me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She tossed her head impatiently. “You make me tired. It isn’t a girl’s
- place to help.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Seating herself on the floor, with her legs curled about her and her
- ankles peeping out from under her skirt, she began to wrap up presents.
- “Please be nice,” she implored him in a little voice, “because I really do
- like you. Sit down here beside me and put your finger on the knots, so
- that I can tie them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat down opposite to her. That wasn’t quite what she had intended. She
- made a mischievous face at him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It isn’t a question of being nice,” he said quietly; “it’s a question of
- being honest. I’ve booked my berth on the <i>Mauretania</i> for to-morrow
- night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave a scarcely perceptible start. When she spoke, it was without
- raising her eyes. “You did that once before. You can’t play the same trick
- twice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It isn’t a trick this time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She eyed him cloudily, still persuaded that it was. “Are you saying that
- because of what I told you about going to California? I thought you were
- too big and splendid to return tit for tat.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It isn’t tit for tat I booked this afternoon, before I knew about
- California.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave her shoulders a shrug of annoyance. “Well, you know your business
- best.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t; that’s why I’m telling you. I’m not being unkind. My business
- may be yours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At last she took him seriously. “I don’t see how it can be; you’d better
- explain. But first tell me: are you trying to imitate Horace? Because if
- you are, it won’t work.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then light me a cigarette and let’s be sensible.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Seated on the floor in the dim-lit room, with the Christmas presents
- strewn around, he told her. The first part was the old story of how he had
- dreamt about her from a child.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know that’s true, Princess?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I’ve dreamt about you,” she nodded. “You were my faery-story.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then why——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You tell me first.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So he told her: told her how she had pained him in England by her silence;
- told her what her words “Come to America” had implied; described to her
- the expectations with which he had set sail; the disappointment when on
- landing he had found that she was absent; and then the growing heartache
- that had come to him while she trifled with him. He spared her nothing.
- “And you act as if my loving bored you,” he said; “and yet, if I take you
- at your word, you’re petulant May I speak about money now? I know how you
- hate me to talk of it—— And you won’t misunderstand?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave her silent consent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t afford to live in New York any longer. Last night there was a
- letter waiting for me. It told me that my only certain source of income
- was lost. It told me a whole lot besides; they’re lonely and promise to
- postpone Christmas if I’ll cable them that I’m coming.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you cabled?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must. Your poor little mother,” she murmured.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’d love my mother,” he said eagerly, “and my father, too. The moment
- he clapped eyes on you he’d want to paint you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would he? And after I’d taken you from him?” She screwed up her mouth in
- denial and crushed out the stub of her cigarette against her heel. It
- seemed the symbol of things ended. “You were telling me about the letter.
- What else?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s all. But you see, I’ve got nothing now except what I earn. And
- when my mind’s distracted—— It’s—— You don’t mind
- my saying it, do you? It’s waiting for you that’s done it. My power seems
- gone. If only I were sure of you and that you’d be to me always as you are
- now, I’d be strong to do anything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had been fidgeting with her bracelet. When he had ended, she commenced
- to slip it off. “And it was the day that you lost everything that you were
- most generous. And I didn’t thank you properly, like the little pig I am.
- Teddy, please don’t be offended, but I’d so much rather you——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He pressed his lips against the slim wrist that she held out. “Please
- don’t. It would hurt me most awfully.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And it makes me feel guilty to keep it,” she pouted.
- </p>
- <p>
- They sat holding hands, gazing at each other. In the silence, without the
- fever of caresses, he had come nearer to her than at any previous moment.
- They were two children who had experimented with things they did not
- understand, and were a little frightened at what had happened and a little
- glad.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You called me Teddy just now,” he whispered. “It’s the third time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled at him with a flicker of her old wickedness. “I didn’t intend
- to. It slipped out because—because I was so unhappy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you needn’t be unhappy. Neither of us need be unhappy. Everything’s
- in our own hands. I’d work for you, Desire. I’d become famous for you.
- We’d live life splendidly. The way we’ve been living is stupid and
- wasteful; it doesn’t lead anywhere. If you’d marry me and come back with
- me——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To-morrow?” she questioned. “Meester Deek, you didn’t go and book two
- berths? You weren’t as foolish as that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He sought her lips. She turned her face ever so slightly, as though
- apologizing for a necessary unkindness! His look of disappointment brought
- tears to her eyes. She stroked his cheek gently in atonement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You weren’t as foolish as that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He hung his head. “No, I wasn’t: I wish I had been, and I would be if you——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stared beyond him, watching pictures form and dissolve before her
- inward eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We could sail to-morrow,” he urged her; “or wait till after Christmas.
- I’d wait for you for years if you’d only say that some day——
- Can’t we at least be engaged?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t wait,” she whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I shall wait always—always. I shall never love any one but
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They all say that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A key grated in the latch. She didn’t snatch away her hand the way she
- would have done formerly. She sat motionless, courting discovery. They
- heard Vashti’s voice, bidding some man good-night. The door shut. Glancing
- in on them in passing, she pretended to be unaware of what was happening.
- “I’m going straight to bed. You don’t mind if I don’t stay to talk with
- you? I’m tired.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The quiet settled down. Desire crept closer. They had been sitting facing.
- “I guess you’re badly hurt. You thought that all girls wanted to get
- married, and to have little babies and a kind man to take care of them.”
- When he tried to answer her, she placed her hand upon his mouth. He held
- it there with his own, as though it had been a flower.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m glad we got mad,” she whispered; “it’s made us real. It’s nice to be
- real sometimes. But I don’t know what to say to you—what to do to
- you. I haven’t played fair. At first I thought you were like all the rest.
- I know I’m responsible.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She snuggled up to him like a weary child. “I’m at the cross-roads.—Don’t
- kiss me—you put me out when you do that. Just put your arms about me
- so that I feel safe. I—I want to tell you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then tell me, Princess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m two persons. There’s the me that I am now, and the other me that’s
- horrid.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I love them both.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don’t. The me that’s horrid is a spiteful little cat, and I may
- become the horrid me at any moment Meester Dèek, you’d have to marry us
- both. I’m not a restful person at the best. I can never say the kind
- things that I feel. Most of the time I ought to be whipped and shaken. I
- suppose if I fell really in love it might be different.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then fall really in love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She seemed to ponder his advice. “My love’s such a feeble little trickle.
- Yours is so deep and wide; mine would be lost in it And yet I do like you.
- I speak to you the way I speak to no other man. I could go on speaking to
- you forever. If I’d seen as much of any other man, he’d have bored me long
- ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And isn’t that just saying that you do love me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps.” Her head stirred against his shoulder. Then: “No. That’s only
- saying that you’ve not found fault with me and that you’ve let me be
- selfish. You need some one who’ll be to you what your mother has been to
- your father. I’ll hate her when you find her; but, oh, Meester Deek, there
- are heaps of better girls in the world. I can’t cook, can’t sew, can’t
- even be agreeable very often. I want to live, and make mistakes, and then
- experiment afresh.—Perhaps I don’t know what I want. I feel more
- than friendship for you, but much less than love, because if it were love,
- it would stop at nothing. Oh, I know, though you don’t think it. Perhaps
- one day, when I’m older and wiser, I’ll look back and regret to-night. But
- I’m not going to let you spoil your life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’d make it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Spoil it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She released herself from him. He helped her to rise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve at least been an education for your soul. Do say it. I haven’t done
- you nothing but harm, have I?”
- </p>
- <p>
- His emotion choked him.
- </p>
- <p>
- She came and leant her forehead against his shoulder. “Do say it. Have I?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You darling kiddy, you’ve been the best thing that ever happened to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have my own little religion,” she whispered. “I shall say a prayer for
- you to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you pray that one day you may be my wife?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was silent. They moved together as in a trance towards the door. He
- was remembering what she had said it would mean if she kissed him without
- his asking. He was hoping. She accompanied him to the head of the stairs.
- Suddenly his will-power gave way. “I’m not going. You don’t think I’m
- going after to-night? You’ve shown me so much that—— Desire, I
- can’t live without you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She took his face between her hands. “You must go. If you don’t, it’ll be
- all the same. You’ve told me things, too. I’m hindering your work. After
- what you’ve told me, I would refuse to see you if you stayed. Perhaps it’s
- only for a little while. I may marry you some day. Who knows? And I
- wouldn’t want your mother to hate me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They clung together in silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’ll write often?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, often.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And to-morrow?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Phone me in the morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought she had repeated the phrase from habit. “My last day,” he
- pleaded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Phone me in the morning,” she reiterated.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had said good-by; she was waving to him across the rail. He was nearly
- out of sight. He turned and came bounding back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is it? I can’t keep brave if you make me go through it twice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He caught her to him. “Give me your lips,” he panted.
- </p>
- <p>
- She averted her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- His arms fell from her. “I thought not,” he whispered brokenly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had begun to descend. At the last moment she stooped. Her lips
- fluttered against his own; they neither kissed nor returned his pressure.
- She fled from him trembling across the threshold. The door shut with a
- bang. He waited to see her come stealing out. He was left alone with her
- memory.
- </p>
- <p>
- On returning to the Brevoort he inquired for her telegram. At first he was
- told that none had arrived. He insisted. After a search it was discovered
- tucked away in the wrong pigeon-hole. Paying no heed to the clerk’s
- apologies, he slit the envelope and read:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent25">
- “Forgive me. I’m sorry. Desire”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- If only he had received it earlier! If only it had been brought to his
- bedside in the morning, what a difference it would have made! She would
- never have known that he had thought of going. She would have heard
- nothing about her hindering his work. She would have been ignorant of his
- money embarrassments. He couldn’t unsay anything now. It was as though a
- force, stronger than himself, had conspired to drive him to this crisis.
- He saw her in his mind’s eye, slipping out at midnight to send him that
- message. His tenderness magnified her kindness and clothed her with
- pathos. The unkindness of the thoughts he had had of her that day rose up
- like conscience to reproach him. From the first he had misjudged her. He
- had always misjudged her. He forgot all her omissions, remembering only
- her periods of graciousness.
- </p>
- <p>
- He didn’t send the cable to his mother. He went upstairs and commenced
- packing. It was only a precaution, he told himself; he wasn’t really
- going. To-morrow they would cease to be serious and would laugh about
- to-night.
- </p>
- <p>
- When to-morrow came, he phoned her. Vashti answered. “She didn’t sleep
- here, Teddy. She left half-an-hour after you left; she made me promise not
- to tell you where she was going.—She was crying. She said she was
- sure you hated her or that you would hate her one day.—What’s that?
- No. I think you’re doing right I should advise you to sail. It’ll do her
- good to miss you.—Yes, if she comes in, I’ll tell her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When he had seen his boxes put on the express-wagon, it began to dawn on
- him that he was doing things for the last time. He still told himself that
- he wasn’t going. He still procrastinated over sending the cable. Yet he
- proceeded mechanically with preparations for departure. He saw his
- publisher. He interviewed magazine-editors. He promised to execute work in
- the near future. He lunched at the Astor by himself, at a table across
- which he had often faced her. The waiter showed concern at seeing him
- alone and made discreet inquiries after “Madame.” Wherever he turned he
- saw girls with young men. The orchestra played rag-time tunes that they
- had hummed together. Every sight and sound was a reminder. The gayety
- burlesqued his unhappiness.
- </p>
- <p>
- After lunch he had an inspiration: of course she was at Fluffy’s. He felt
- certain that he had only to talk with her to put matters right.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fluffy was out. It was her maid’s voice that answered; she professed to
- know nothing of the movements of Miss Jodrell.
- </p>
- <p>
- Night gathered—the night before Christmas with its intangible
- atmosphere of legendary excitements. All the world over stockings were
- being hung at the ends of beds and children were listening for Santa
- Claus’s reindeers. Cafés and restaurants were thronged with men and women
- in evening-dress. Taxis purred up before flashing doorways and girls
- stepped out daintily. Orchestras were crashing out syncopated music. In
- cleared spaces, between tables, dancers glided. If he hadn’t been so wise,
- he might have been one of them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Slowly, like pirouetting faeries, snowflakes drifted gleaming down the
- dusk. It was the first snow since that memorable flight to the country.
- </p>
- <p>
- The pain of his loneliness was more than he could bear. There was no use
- in telephoning. Perhaps she had been at home all the time and had given
- orders that people should say she was out. Quite likely! But why? Why
- should she avoid him? She seemed to have been so near to loving him last
- night. What had she meant by telling her mother that he hated her or would
- hate her one day? He had said and done nothing that would hint at that The
- idea that he should ever hate her was absurd. Perhaps the “horrid me” had
- got the upper-hand—that would account for it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Eight o’clock! Four more hours! At midnight the ship sailed.
- </p>
- <p>
- He hurried to the apartment in Riverside Drive. The elevator-boys told him
- that the ladies were out. He refused to believe them and insisted on being
- taken up. He knocked at the door and pressed the button. Dead silence.
- Even Twinkles didn’t answer.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was seized with panic. They might have gone to the Brevoort, expecting
- to say good-by to him there. He rushed back.. No one had inquired for him.
- The laughter of merry-makers in the white-mirrored dining-room was a
- mockery. He hid himself in his room upstairs—his room which would be
- a stranger’s to-morrow.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nine! Ten! He sat with his head between his hands. He kept counting from
- one to a hundred, encouraging himself that the telephone would tinkle
- before he had completed the century. It did once—a wrong number. He
- attempted to get on to both the apartment and Fluffy’s a score of times.
- “They’re out—out—out.” The answer came back with maddening
- regularity. The telephone operators recognized his anxious voice; they cut
- him off, as though he were a troublesome child, before he had completed
- his question.
- </p>
- <p>
- He grew ashamed. At last he grew angry. It wasn’t decent of Desire. He had
- given her no excuse for the way she was acting.
- </p>
- <p>
- He pulled out his watch. Nearly eleven! Slipping into his coat and picking
- up his bag, he glanced round the room for the last time. What interminable
- hours he had wasted there—waiting for her, finding explanations for
- her, cutting cards to discover by necromancy whether she would marry him!
- With a sigh that was almost of relief, he opened the door and switched off
- the light.
- </p>
- <p>
- While his bill was being receipted at the desk, he wrote out a cable to
- his mother:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “<i>Sailing Christmas Eve. </i>’<i>Mauretania</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- It would reach them as they were sitting down to breakfast to-morrow—a
- kind of Christmas present.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last he had made the step final. He wondered how far he had paralleled
- Hal. The comparison should end at this point; he had better things to do
- than to mope away his life.
- </p>
- <p>
- On arriving at the dock he inquired for letters. He was informed that he
- would find them on board at the Purser’s office. A long queue of people
- was drawn up. He took his place impatiently at the end. He told himself
- that this episode was ended; that from first to last his share had been
- undignified. Doubtless he would marry her some day; but until she was
- ready, he would not think about her. He thought of nothing else. Each time
- the line moved up his heart gave a thump. There might be one from her. He
- became sure there was one from her. A man named Godfrey, two places ahead,
- was being served. As the G’s were sorted, he watched sharply; he made
- certain he had seen a letter in her hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last it was his turn.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have a letter for me. Theodore Gurney.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A minute’s silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But are you sure? I thought I saw one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll look again if you like.—Nothing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He staggered as he walked away. His face was set and white. An old lady
- touched him gently. “Is the news so bad?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook off her kindness and laughed throatily. “News I No, it’s
- nothing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt ill and unmanned. Tears tingled behind his eyes. He refused to
- shed them. They seemed to scald his brain. He didn’t care whether he lived
- or died. He’d given so much; he’d planned such kindness; he’d dreamed with
- such persistent courage. The thanks he had received was “Nothing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He found his way out on deck and leant across the rail. A gang-plank had
- been lowered to his right. Passengers came swarming up it, laughing with
- their friends—diners from Broadway who were speeding the parting
- guest. Some of them seemed to be dancing; the rhythm of the rag-time was
- in their steps. For the most part they were in evening-dress. The
- opera-cloaks and wraps of women flew back, exposing their throats and
- breasts. He twisted his mouth into a bitter smile. They employed their
- breasts for ornament, not for motherhood. They were all alike.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had lost count of time while standing there. His eyes brooded sullenly
- through the drifting snow on the sullen water and the broken lights.
- Shouted warnings that the ship was about to sail were growing rare. The
- tardiest of the visitors were being hurried down the gang-plank. Sailors
- stood ready to cast away and put up the rail.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a commotion. Hazily he became aware of it A girl had become
- hysterical. She seemed alone; which was odd, for she was in evening-dress.
- She was explaining, almost crying, and wringing her hands. She was doing
- her best to force her way on deck; a steward and a man in uniform were
- turning her back.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly he realized. He was fighting towards her through the crowd. He
- had his hand on the steward’s shoulder. “Damn you. Don’t touch her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The ship’s eyes were on them. His arms went about her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I couldn’t stop away,” she whispered. “I had to come at the last moment.
- I was almost too late. I’ve been a little beast all day. I want to hear
- you say you forgive me, Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was thinking quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ve come by yourself?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I slipped away from a party. Nobody knows.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can’t go back alone. I’ll come with you. I’m not sailing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed breathlessly. “But your luggage!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hang my luggage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She took his face between her hands as though no one was watching.
- “Meester Deek, I shouldn’t have come if I’d thought it would make you a
- coward.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A coward, but———”
- </p>
- <p>
- She rested her cheek against his face. “Your mother’s expecting you. And—and
- we’ll meet so very soon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give me something,” he implored her; “something for remembrance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked down at herself. What could she give him? “Your little curl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it’s false.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it’s dear,” he murmured.
- </p>
- <p>
- An officer touched him. He glanced across his shoulder and nodded. This,
- then, was the end.
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew her closer. “I can’t tell you. I never have told you. In all these
- months I’ve told you nothing.—I love you. I love you.—Your
- lips just once, Princess.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her obedient mouth lay against his own. Her lips were motionless. She
- slipped from him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Waving and waving, he watched her from the deck. Now he lost her; again he
- saw her where raised screens in the sheds made golden port-holes. She
- raced along the dock, as with bands playing the Christmas ship stole out.
- Now that it was too late, she hoarded every moment. Beneath a lamp,
- leaning out through the drift of snowflakes, she fluttered a scarf that
- she had torn from her throat It was the last glimpse he had of her. A
- Goddess of Liberty she seemed to him; a slave of freedom, Horace would
- have said.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIX—AN OLD PASSION
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e was like a man
- from the tropics suddenly transplanted to an Arctic climate. He was
- chilled to the soul; the coldness brought him misery, but no reaction. His
- vigor had been undermined by the uncertainties and ardors which he had
- endured. Building a fire out of his memories, he shivered and crouched
- before it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hour by hour in the silence of his brain he relived the old pulsating
- languors. He had no courage to look ahead to any brightness in the future.
- The taste of the present was as ashes in his mouth. He felt old,
- disillusioned, exhausted. The grayness of the plunging wintry sea was the
- reflection of his soul’s gray loneliness.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had spent so long in listening and waiting that listening and waiting
- had become a habit. He would hear the telephone tinkle soon. His heart
- would fly up like a bird into his throat. Her voice would steal to him
- across the distance: “Meester Deek, hulloa! What are we going to do this
- morning?” He often heard it in imagination. He could not bear to believe
- that at last his leisure was his own—that suspense was at once and
- forever ended.
- </p>
- <p>
- Among the passengers he was a romantic figure. Stories went the rounds
- about him. It was said that the girl who had delayed the sailing was an
- actress—no, an heiress—no, one of the most beautiful of the
- season’s débutantes. Men’s eyes followed him with envy. Women tried to
- coax him into a confession—especially the old lady who had met him
- coming white-faced from the Purser’s office. He was regarded as a
- triumphant lover; he alone knew that he was an impostor.
- </p>
- <p>
- His grip on reality had loosened. There were times when he believed she
- had never existed. He was a child who had slept in a ring of the faeries.
- He had seen the little people steal out from brakes and hedges. All night
- In their spider-web and glow-worm raiment they had danced about him,
- caressing him with their velvet arms. The dawn had come; he sat up rubbing
- his eyes, to find himself forsaken. He would wake up in Eden Row presently
- to discover that all his ecstasies had been imagined.
- </p>
- <p>
- The little false curl was a proof to the contrary. He carried it near his
- heart. It was the Nell Gwynn part of her—a piece of concrete
- personality. It still seemed to mock his seriousness.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had left so many things unsaid; in all those months he had told her
- nothing. He argued his way over the old ground, blaming himself and making
- excuses for her. If only he had acted thus and so, then she would have
- responded accordingly. He was almost persuaded that he had been unkind to
- her. And there was so much—so much more than he had imagined, from
- which he ought to save her. If she played with other men as she had played
- with him, she would be in constant danger. She seemed to regard men as
- puppies who could be sent to heel by a frown. Mr. Dak had taught her
- nothing. She skirted the edge of precipices when strong winds were
- blowing. She would do it once too often; the day was always coming. It
- might come to-morrow.
- </p>
- <p>
- He missed her horribly—all her tricks of affection and petulance. He
- had so much to remember: her casual way of singing in the midst of his
- talking; the way she covered her mouth with her hand, laughing over it,
- that she might provoke him into coaxing apart her fingers that he might
- reach her lips through them; the waving down the stairs at the hour of
- parting—every memory flared into importance now that she had
- vanished. Most of all, he missed the name she had called him. Meester Deek
- I What a fool he had been to be so impatient because she would not employ
- the name by which any one could call him!
- </p>
- <p>
- No, he hadn’t realized her value. Their separation was his doing. He might
- have been with her now, if only——
- </p>
- <p>
- And back there at the end of the lengthening wake, did Broadway still
- flash and glitter, a Vanity Fair over which sky-signs wove ghostly and
- monstrous sorceries?
- </p>
- <p>
- At night he paced the deck, staring into the unrelieved blackness. With
- whom was she now? Was she thinking of him? Was she thinking of him with
- kindness, or had the “horrid me” again taken possession? Perhaps she was
- with Fluffy. “Oh, these men!” Fluffy would say contemptuously. She was
- with some one—he knew that; it was impossible to think of her as
- sitting alone. She wouldn’t allow herself to be sad; she was somewhere
- where there was feverish gayety, lights and the seduction of music. But
- with whom?
- </p>
- <p>
- He saw again her little white bedroom which had been such a secret. On the
- dressing-table, where it could watch her night and morning at her mirror,
- was the silver-framed photograph. (She had never asked him for his
- portrait) In a line on the wall, looking down on her as she lay curled up
- in bed, were four more photographs. His jealousy became maddening. His old
- suspicions crept back to haunt him. Who was this Tom? What claims had he
- on her? Was Tom her permanent lover, and he the man with whom she had
- trifled for relaxation—was that it? Even in the moment of parting,
- after she had shown herself capable of abandon, her lips had been
- motionless beneath his passion. To her he had offered himself soul and
- body; at intervals she had been sorry for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- His one consolation was in writing to her—that made her seem nearer.
- He poured out his heart hour after hour, in unconsidered, fiery phrases.
- The journal which he kept for her on the voyage was less a journal of
- contemporary doings than of rememberings. It was a history of all their
- intercourse, stretching back from the scarf fluttered on the dock to the
- far-off, cloistral days of childhood. He believed that in the writing of
- it he became telepathic; messages seemed to reach him from her. He heard
- her speaking so distinctly that at times he would drop his pen and glance
- across his shoulder: “Meester Deek! Meester Deek!” He noted down the hours
- when the phenomenon occurred, begging her to tell him whether at these
- hours she had been thinking of him. Like a refrain, to which the music was
- forever returning, “I shall wait for you always—always,” he wrote.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And we’ll meet so very soon,” she had said at parting. What had she
- meant? He had had no time to ask her. Had she meant that she would follow
- him—that she had at last reached the point at which she could not do
- without him? That she wasn’t going to California? That her foolish and
- excessive friendship for Fluffy had ceased to be of supreme importance?
- “And we shall meet so soon.” He built his hopes on that promise.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the moments just before sleeping he was almost physically conscious of
- her. When lights along passageways of the ship had been lowered and feet
- no longer clattered on the decks, when only the thud of the engines
- sounded, the swish of waters and the sigh of sleepers, then he believed
- she approached him. He prayed Matthew Arnold’s prayer, and it seemed to
- him that it was answered:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “Come to me in my dreams and then
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- By day I shall be well again!
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- For then the night will more than pay
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- The hopeless longing of the day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- They say love is blind; it would be truer to say love is lenient. He had
- intervals of calmness when he appreciated to the full the wisdom of what
- he was doing. He recognized her faults; he recognized them with tenderness
- as the imperfections which sprang from her environment. If he could take
- her out of her hot-house, her limp attitudes towards life would straighten
- and her sanity would grow fresh. The trouble was that she preferred her
- hothouse and the orchid-people by whom she was surrounded; she had never
- known the blowy gardens of the world, which lie honest beneath the rain
- and stars. She pitied them for their blustering robustness. She pitied him
- for the distinctions he made between right and wrong. They impressed her
- as barbarous. Once, when she had told him that she was cold by
- temperament, he had answered, “You save yourself for the great occasions.”
- He was surer of that than ever; he was only afraid that the great occasion
- might not prove to be himself. There lay the hazard of his experiment in
- leaving her.
- </p>
- <p>
- He dared not count on her final act of remorse. She was theatrical by
- temperament. To arrive at the last moment when a ship was sailing had
- afforded her a fine stage-setting. Her conduct might have meant
- everything; it might have meant no more than a girl’s display of
- emotionalism.
- </p>
- <p>
- He began to understand her. It was like her to become desperate to
- inveigle him back just when he had resigned himself to forget her. In the
- past he had grown afraid to set store by her graciousness or to plan any
- kindness for her. To allow her to feel her power over him seemed to blunt
- her interest. It was always after he had shown her coldness that she had
- shown him most affection. Directly he submitted to her fascination, she
- affected to become indifferent. It was a trick that could be played too
- often. If this see-saw game was too long continued, one of them would
- out-weary the other’s patience. If only he had been sure that she was
- missing him, his mind would have been comparatively at rest.
- </p>
- <p>
- He disembarked at Fishguard an hour after midnight The December air was
- raw and damp. His first action on landing was to dispatch his
- journal-letter to her. As he drowsed in the cold, ill-lighted carriage it
- was of her that he thought Now that the voyage was ended, the ocean that
- lay between them seemed impassable as the gulf that is fixed between hell
- and heaven. She had seen the steamer—she had been a topic of
- conversation on board; but everything that he saw now, and would see from
- now on, was unfamiliar to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- The entrance into London did nothing to cheer him. He had flying glimpses
- of stagnant gardens, windows like empty sockets plugged with fog, forlorn
- streets like gutters down which the scavenger dawn wandered between
- flapping lamps. London looked mean; even in its emptiness, it looked
- overcrowded. He missed the boastful tallness of New York. Before the train
- had halted his nostrils were full of the stale stench of cab-ranks and the
- sulphurous pollutions of engines. Milk-cans made a cemetery of the
- station; porters looked melancholy as mourners. His gorge rose against the
- folly of his return.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had stepped out and was giving instructions about his luggage, when he
- heard his name called tremblingly. As he turned, he was swept into a
- whirlwind of embraces. His father stood by, preserving his dignity, giving
- all the world to understand that a father can disguise his emotions under
- all circumstances.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But how did you get here?” Teddy asked. “It’s so shockingly early.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Been here most of the night,” his mother told him, between tears and
- laughter. “You didn’t think we were going to let you arrive unmet? And we
- didn’t keep Christmas. When we got your cable, we put all our presents
- away and waited for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- How was it that he had so far forgotten what their love had meant? He
- compared this arrival with his unwelcomed arrival in New York. A flush of
- warmth spread from his heart They had stayed awake all night on the wintry
- station that he might not be disappointed.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the drive back in the cab, all through breakfast and as they sat before
- the fire through the lazy morning, they gossiped of the things of
- secondary importance—his work, the Sheerugs, his impressions of
- America. Of the girl in America they did not talk. His mother’s eyes asked
- questions, which his eyes avoided. His father, man-like, showed no
- curiosity. He sat comfortably puffing away at his pipe, feeling in his
- velvet-coat for matches, and combing his fingers through his shaggy hair,
- just as if he had no suspicions that anything divisive had happened. It
- was only when an inquisitive silence had fallen that he showed his
- sympathy, chasing up a new topic to divert their interest. Desire was not
- mentioned that day, nor the next; even when her letters began to arrive,
- Teddy’s reticence was respected. For that he was infinitely thankful. The
- ordeal of explaining and accepting pity would have been more than he could
- have borne. Pity for himself would have meant condemnation of her conduct.
- In the raw state of his heart, neither would have been welcome.
- </p>
- <p>
- During the afternoon of the first day of his home-coming he visited Orchid
- Lodge. He was drawn there by the spectres of Desire’s past. Harriet
- admitted him. What a transformation! All the irksome glory was gone.
- Carriages no longer waited against the pavement. It was no longer
- necessary to strive to appear as if you really had “a nincome.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tiptoeing across the hall, he peeped into the parlor with its long
- French-windows. It was seated on the steps outside in the garden that he
- had listened to Alonzo convincing Mrs. Sheerug of his new-found wealth. It
- was a different Alonzo that he saw now—an Alonzo who carried him
- back to his childhood. Facing Mr. Ooze across the table, he was dealing
- out a pack of cards. He was in his shirtsleeves; Mr. Ooze wore a bowler
- hat at a perilous angle on the back of his bald head. Both were too intent
- on the game to notice that the door had opened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What d’you bet?” Mr. Sheerug was asking.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ten thousand,” Mr. Ooze answered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll see you and raise you ten thousand. What’ve you got?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy closed the door gently and stole away. Was he really grown up? Had
- time actually moved forward? The thin and the fat man sat there, as in the
- days when he had supposed they were murderers, still winning and losing
- fabulous fortunes in the unconquered land of their imaginations.
- </p>
- <p>
- Upstairs, in the spare-room, he found Mrs. Sheerug. With a bag of
- vivid-colored wools beside her, she was busy on a new tapestry. She rose
- like a little old hen from its nest at the sound of his entrance. Her arms
- flew up to greet him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ve come back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve come back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- That was all. Whatever she had guessed, she asked no questions. Had they
- all agreed to a kindly conspiracy of silence?
- </p>
- <p>
- As he sat at her feet, watching her work, she told him philosophically of
- the loss of their money. “The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. I
- wouldn’t be so terribly sorry if it hadn’t given Alonzo sciatica of the
- back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you get sciatica in the back?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- She peered at him over her spectacles. “Most people don’t, but that’s
- where he’s got it. He never does any work.—Oh, dear, if he’d only
- take my lemon cure! I’m sure he’d be better. I don’t think he wants to be
- better. He can sit about the house all day while he’s got it. Poor man, it
- doesn’t hurt him very badly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It soon became evident to Teddy that she wasn’t so cut up as might have
- been expected now that her wealth was gone. Straitened means gave her
- permission to muddle. “Those coachmen and men-servants,” she told him,
- “they worried me, my dear. Their morals were very lax.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When he tried to find out what had really occurred to cause the collapse
- of her affluence, she shook her head. “Shady tricks, my dear—very
- shady. Unkind things were said.”
- </p>
- <p>
- More than that he could not learn; she did not wish to pursue the subject
- further.
- </p>
- <p>
- Little by little the old routine came back, and with it his ancient dread
- that nothing would ever happen. Every morning, the moment breakfast was
- ended, he climbed the many stairs to his room to work. From his window he
- could see his father in the studio, and the pigeons springing up like
- dreams from the garden and growing small above the battlements of
- house-tops. If he watched long enough, he might see Mr. Yaflfon come out
- on his steps, like an old tortoise that had wakened too early, thrusting
- its bewildered head out of its shell.
- </p>
- <p>
- He wanted to work; he wanted to do something splendid. He longed more than
- he had ever longed before to make himself famous—famous that she
- might share his glory. At first his thoughts were slow in coming. Day and
- night, between himself and his imaginings she intruded, passing and
- re-passing. He saw her in all her attitudes and moods, wistful, friendly,
- and brooding. He could not escape her. Even his father and mother filled
- him with envy when he watched them; he and Desire should have been as they
- were, if things had turned out happily. Hal rose up as a warning of the
- man he might become.
- </p>
- <p>
- Since he could think of nothing else, he determined to make her his story.
- Gradually his purpose cleared and concentrated; his book should be a
- statement of what she meant to him—an idealized commentary from his
- point of view on what had happened. He would call it <i>The Book of
- Revelation</i>. It should be a sequel to <i>Life Till Twenty-One.</i> His
- first book had been the account of love’s dreaming; this should be his
- record of its realization. After the idea had fastened on him, he rarely
- stirred out He wrote enfevered. If his lips had failed to tell her, she
- should at last know what she meant to him. As he wrote, he lost all
- consciousness of the public; his book was addressed to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Although he seemed to have lost her, he was perpetually recovering her. He
- re-found her in other men’s writings, in Keats’s love-letters to Fanny
- Brawne and particularly In <i>Maud</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent25">
- “O that ’twere possible
- </p>
- <p class="indent25">
- After long grief and pain
- </p>
- <p class="indent25">
- To find the arms of my true love
- </p>
- <p class="indent25">
- Round me once again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- He had never felt her arms about him, but such lines seemed the haunting
- echo of his own yearning. They gave tongue to the emotions which the dull
- ache of his heart had made voiceless.
- </p>
- <p>
- He recovered her in the dusty portrait of Vashti, which had lain in
- disgrace in the stable for so many years. Vashti’s youthful figure,
- listening in the Garden Enclosed, was very like Desire’s; the lips, which
- his boyish kiss had blurred, prophesied kindness. He brought it out from
- its place of hiding and hung it on the wall above his desk.
- </p>
- <p>
- He recovered her most poignantly in small ways: in the stubs of
- theatre-tickets for performances they had attended. When unpacking one of
- his trunks, he found some white hairs clinging to the sleeve of one of his
- coats. They set him dreaming of the pale, reluctant hands that had
- snuggled in the warmth of the white-fox muff.
- </p>
- <p>
- But he recovered her most effectually a week after his home-coming, when
- her letters began to arrive. Not that they were satisfactory letters; if
- they had been, they would not have been like her. Her sins as a
- correspondent were the same as her sins of conduct: they consisted of
- things omitted. Where she might have said something comforting, she filled
- up the sentence with dots and dashes. He begged her to confess that she
- was missing him. She escaped him. She let all his questions go unanswered.
- There was a come-and-find-me laughter in her way of writing. She would
- tell him just enough to make him anxious—no more. She had been to
- this play; she had danced at that supper; last Sunday she had automobiled
- with a jolly party out into the country. Of whom the jolly party had
- consisted she left him in ignorance.
- </p>
- <p>
- Strange letters these to receive in the old-fashioned quiet of Eden Row,
- where days passed orderly and marshaled by duties! They came fluttering to
- him beneath the gray London skies, like tropic birds which had lost their
- direction. He would sit picturing her in an Eden Row setting, telling
- himself stories of the wild combinations of circumstances that might bring
- her tripping to him!
- </p>
- <p>
- He was homesick for the faeries. He felt dull in remembering her intenser
- modes of living—modes of living which in his heart he distrusted.
- They could not last. There lay his hope. When they failed, she might turn
- to him for security. He excused her carelessness. Why, because he was sad,
- should she not be glad-hearted? For such leniency he received an
- occasional reward, as when she wrote him, “I do wish I could hear your
- nice English voice. I met a lady the other day who asked me, ‘Is there any
- chance of your marrying Theodore Gurney? If you don’t, you’re foolish.’
- You’d have loved her.” And then, in a mischievous postscript, “I forgot to
- tell you, she said you had beautiful eyes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Tantalizing as an echo of laughter from behind a barrier of hills!
- </p>
- <p>
- In her first letters she coquetted with various forms of address: <i>Meester
- Deek; Dear Meester Deek; My Dear</i>. This last seemed to please her as a
- perch midway between the chilliness of friendship and too much fervor. She
- settled down to it. Her endings were equally experimental: <i>Your Friend
- Desire; Your Little Friend; Yours of the White Foxes; Yours
- affectionately, the Princess</i>. Usually her signature was preceded by
- some such sentiment as, “You know you always have my many thoughts”—which
- might mean anything. She never committed herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- His chief anxiety was to discover what she had meant by her promise that
- they would meet very shortly. She refused to tell him. Worse still, as
- time went on, he suspected that she was missing him less and less. While
- to him no happiness was complete without her, she seemed to be embarrassed
- by no such curtailment. Her good times were coming thick and fast; her
- infatuation for Fluffy seemed to have strengthened. At last word reached
- him in February that they were off to California; she was too full of
- anticipation to express regret for the extra three thousand miles that
- would part them. On the day before she started, he cabled the florist at
- the Brevoort to send her flowers. In return he received a line of genuine
- sentiment. “Meester Deek, you are thoughtful! I nearly cried when I got
- them. You’ll never know what they meant. New York hasn’t been New York
- without you. It was almost as though you yourself had brought them. I
- wanted to run out and stop you, waving and waving to you down the stairs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- That was the climax. From that point on her correspondence grew jerky,
- dealing more and more with trivial externals and less and less with the
- poignant things of the past. In proportion as she withdrew from him, he
- tried to call her back with his sincerity. When he complained of her
- indifference, she told him mockingly, “I’m keeping all your letters.
- They’ll give you away entirely when I bring my suit for breach of
- promise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He could detect Fluffy’s influence, “Oh, these men!” He waited longer and
- longer to hear from her. Sometimes three weeks elapsed. Then from Santa
- Barbara she wrote, “I’m having such a gay time. Don’t you envy me? I’m
- riding horseback and some one is teaching me to drive a car.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew what that meant. How could she travel so far and freely without
- attracting love? A man had appeared on the horizon.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a day he was half-minded to go to her. It was no longer a question, of
- whether she wanted him, but of whether he could live without her. He
- answered in a fit of jealousy and self-scorn, “I wish I had your faculty
- for happiness. I hope your good times are lasting.” And then the fatal
- phrase, “I’m afraid you’re one of those lucky persons who feel nothing
- very deeply.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was his first written criticism of her. She kept him waiting six weeks
- for a reply; when it came it was cabled. He broke the seal tremblingly,
- not daring to conjecture what he might expect. Her message was contained
- in one line, “I hate you to be flippant” After keeping him waiting so
- long, she had been in a great hurry to send him those six words. After
- that dead silence. It dawned on him that everything was ended.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had completed his book. It was in the printer’s hands and he knew that
- once more success had come to him. Money was in sight; nothing kept her
- from him except her own wayward heart of thistledown. He still believed
- the best of her. With the courage of despair he told himself that, sooner
- or later, he was bound to marry her. Perhaps she was keeping away from him
- out of a sense of justice, because she could not yet care for him
- sufficiently. When his book had found her, she would relent Glancing
- through his paper one June morning, his eye was arrested by the head-lines
- of a motor-accident. It had happened to a party of newly-landed Americans,
- two women and three men, on the road from Liverpool to London. He caught
- sight of the name of Janice Audrey, and then—— Dashing out
- into Eden Row, he ran to Orchid Lodge. Hal was setting out for business,
- when he intercepted him. Thrusting the paper into his hand, he pointed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XX—SHE PROPOSES
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>e had not been
- allowed to see her. She had been at Orchid Lodge for three days. No one
- was aware of his special reason for wanting to see her. Not even to his
- mother had he let fall a hint that Desire was the girl for whose sake he
- had stayed in America. His thoughtfulness in making inquiries and in
- sending flowers was attributed to his remembrance of their childhood’s
- friendship.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Her bedroom’s a bower already,” Hal told him; “you really mustn’t send
- her any more just yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does she ask about me?” He awaited the answer breathlessly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sometimes. I was telling her only this morning how you’d spent the autumn
- in New York.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did she say anything?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She was interested.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He could imagine the mischief that had crept into her gray eyes as she had
- listened to whatever Hal had told her. Why didn’t she send for him?
- </p>
- <p>
- As far as he could learn, she wasn’t hurt—only shaken. He suspected
- that Mrs. Sheerug was making her an excuse for a bout of nursing. The
- house went on tiptoe. The door of the spare-room opened and closed softly.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had to see her. It was on the golden evening of the fourth day that he
- waylaid Hal on the stairs. “Would you please give her this note? I’ll
- wait. There’ll be an answer. I’m sure of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Hal eyed him curiously. Up till now he had been too excited to notice
- emotion in any one else. For the first time he seemed to become aware of
- the eagerness with which Teddy mentioned her. He took the note without a
- word.
- </p>
- <p>
- For several minutes Teddy waited. They seemed more like hours. From the
- Park across the river came the <i>ping</i> of tennis and the laughter of
- girls. A door opened. Mrs. Sheerug’s trotting footsteps were approaching.
- As she came in sight, she lowered her head and blinked at him above the
- rims of her spectacles.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My grand-daughter says she wants to thank you for the flowers. She
- insists on thanking you herself. I don’t know whether it’s right. She’s in——
- She’s an invalid, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Leaving her to decide this point of etiquette, he hurried along the
- passage and tapped. He heard her voice and thrilled to the sound. “Now
- don’t any of you disturb us till I call for you.—Promise?”
- </p>
- <p>
- As Hal slipped out, he left the door open and nodded. “She’ll see you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Pushing aside the tapestry curtain of Absalom, he entered. A breeze was
- ruffling the curtains. Against the wall outside ivy whispered. The evening
- glow, pouring across tree-tops, gilded the faded gold of the harp and
- filled the room with an amber vagueness.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was sitting up in bed, propped on pillows, with a blue shawl wrapped
- about her shoulders. She looked such a tiny Desire—such a girl. Her
- bronze-black hair was braided in a plait and fell in a long coil across
- the bedclothes. Their eyes met. He halted.
- </p>
- <p>
- Slowly her face broke into a smile. “I wonder which of us has been the
- worse.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He knelt at her side, pressing her hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Which is it, Meester Deek? D’you remember their names? It’s Miss
- Independence. I wouldn’t kiss it if I were you; it’s an unkind, a scratchy
- little hand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He raised his eyes. “Are you very much hurt?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gazed down at him mockingly. “By the accident or by your letter?—By
- the accident, no. By your letter, yes. I do feel things deeply—I was
- feeling them more than ordinarily deeply just then. I didn’t like you when
- you wrote that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I wrote you so often. I told you how sorry I was. You never
- answered.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She crouched her chin against her shoulder. “Shall I tell you the absolute
- truth? It’s silly of me to give away my secrets; a girl ought always to be
- a mystery.” Her finger went up to her mouth and her eyes twinkled. “It was
- because I knew that I was coming to England. I wanted to see how patient
- you—— You understand?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He jumped to his feet. “Then you hadn’t chucked me? All the time you were
- intending to come to me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She winked at him. “Perhaps, and perhaps not. It would have depended on my
- temper and how full I was with other engagements.—No, you’re not to
- kiss me when I’m in bed; it isn’t done in the best families.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew back from her, laughing. “How good it is to be mocked! And how
- d’you like your family?” He seated himself on the edge of the bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not there,” she reproved him; “that isn’t done either. Bring a chair.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When he had obeyed, she lay back with her face towards him and let him
- take her hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Meester Deek, it’s very sweet to have a father.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When he nodded, she shook her head. “You needn’t look so wise. You don’t
- know anything about it; you’ve had a father always. But to find a father
- when you’re grown up—that’s what’s so sweet and wonderful.” She fell
- silent. Then she said, “It’s like having a lover you don’t need to be
- afraid of. We know nothing unhappy about each other; he’s never had to
- whip me or be cross with me, the way he would have done if I’d always been
- his little girl.—You do look funny, Meester Deek; I believe you’re
- envying me and—and almost crying.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was in this room,” he said, “that I first met your mother. I heard her
- singing when I was lying in this very bed. She looked like you, Princess;
- and in fun she asked me to marry her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire laughed softly. “I haven’t—not even in fun.” Then quickly, to
- prevent what he was on the point of saying, “I would have liked to have
- known you, Meester Deek, when you were quite, quite little. You’d never
- guess what I and my father talk about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had to try. At each fresh suggestion she shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “About my beautiful mother. Isn’t it wonderful of him to have remembered
- and remembered? I believe if I wanted, I could help them to marry. Only,”
- she looked away from him, “that would spoil the romance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It wouldn’t spoil it Why do you always speak as if——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She pursed her lips. “It would. Marriage may be very nice, but it doesn’t
- do to let people know you too well. And then, there’s another reason: Mrs.
- Sheerug’s a dear, but she doesn’t like my mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Doesn’t she?” He did his best to make his voice express surprise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You know she doesn’t. And she has her doubts about me, too. I can tell
- that by the way she says, ’My dear, you laugh like your mother,’ as
- if to laugh like my mother was a crime. She thinks it’s wrong to be gay. I
- think in her heart she hates my mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly she sat up. “All from you, and I haven’t thanked you yet!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked round the room; the amber had faded to the silver of twilight.
- In vases and bowls the flowers he had sent her glimmered like memories and
- threw out fragrance.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her fingers nestled closer in his hand. “I’m not good at thanking, but——
- Ever since I met you, all along the way there’s been nothing but kindness.
- What have I given you in return?—Don’t tell me, because it won’t be
- true.—You can kiss my cheek just once, Meester Deek, if you do it
- quietly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She bent towards him. In that room, where so many things had happened,
- with the perfumed English dusk steal ing in at the window, she seemed to
- have become for the first time a part of his real world.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall we tell them, Princess?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell them?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “About New York?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laid her finger on his lips. “No. It’s the same with me now as it was
- with you in New York. You never mentioned me in your letters to your
- mother. Besides, don’t you think it’ll be more exciting if only you and I
- know it?” Her voice sank. “I’m changed somehow. Perhaps it’s having a
- father. I want to be good and little. And—and he wouldn’t be proud
- of me if he knew——”
- </p>
- <p>
- The door opened. Desire withdrew her hand swiftly. Mrs. Sheerug entered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, it’s nearly dark!” She struck a match and lit the gas. “I waited for
- you to call me, and since you didn’t——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy rose. “I’ve stayed rather long.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook Desire’s hand conventionally. At the door, as he lifted the
- tapestry to pass out, he glanced back. Mrs. Sheerug was closing the
- window. Desire kissed the tips of her fingers to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed that at last all his dreams were coming true. During the week
- that followed he spent many hours in the spare-room. She was soon
- convalescent. Her trunks had been sent from Fluffy’s house and all her
- pretty, decorative clothes unpacked. Mrs. Sheerug thought them vain and
- actressy, but the spell of Desire was over her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She thinks I’ll come to a bad end,” Desire said. “Perhaps I shall.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Usually he found her sitting by the window in a filmy peignoir and
- boudoir-cap. Very often her father was beside her. Hal’s relations with
- her were peculiarly tender. He was more like a lover than a father. He had
- changed entirely; there was a brightness in his eyes and an alertness in
- his step. He seemed to be re-finding her mother in her and to be
- re-capturing his own lost youth.
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy rarely heard any of their conversations. When he appeared, they grew
- silent. Even if Desire had not told him, he would have guessed that it was
- of Vashti they had been talking. Presently Hal would make an excuse to
- leave them. When the door had shut, Desire would slip her hand into his.
- Demonstrations of affection rarely went beyond that now. The place where
- they met and the continual possibility of interruption restrained them.
- There was another reason as far as Teddy was concerned: he realized that
- in New York he had cheapened his affection by forcing it on her. She told
- him as much.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You thought that I was holding back; I wasn’t then, and I’m not now. Only—I
- hardly know how to put it—the first time you do things they thrill
- me; after that—— The second kiss is never as good as the
- first. Every time we repeat something it becomes less important. So you
- see, if we married, when we could do things always—I think that’s
- why I never kissed you. I wasn’t holding off; I was saving the best.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A new frankness sprang up between them. They discussed their problem with
- a comic air of aloofness. Now that he gave her no opportunities to repulse
- him, her fits of coldness became more rare. Sometimes she would invite the
- old intimacies. “Meester Deek, I’m not sure that it’s so much fun being
- only friends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was amused by her naïveté. “Perhaps it isn’t But don’t let’s spoil
- things by talking about it. Let’s be sensible.” In these days it was he
- who said, “Let’s be sensible.” She pouted when he said it, and accused him
- of strategy. “Be sweet to me, like you were.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He steeled himself against her coquetry. Until she could tell him that his
- love was returned, he must not let her feel her power. “When you can do
- that,” he told her, “we’ll cease to be only friends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yet I do wish you’d pilfer sometimes.” She clasped her hands against
- her throat. “I want you, and I don’t want you. I don’t want any. one to
- have you; but if I had you always to myself, I shouldn’t know what to do
- with you. You’d be awful strict, I expect” She sighed and sank back in her
- chair. “It’s such a large order—marriage. I’m so young. A girl
- mortgages her whole future.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She always approached these discussions from the angle of doubt. “When it
- was too late, you might see a girl you liked better.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He assured her of the impossibility. She shook her head wisely. “It has
- happened.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He read in her distrust the influence of the people among whom her
- girlhood had been spent, the Vashtis, Fluffys, and Mr. Daks—the
- slaves of freedom who, having disdained the best in life, used pleasure as
- a narcotic. He knew that it was not his inconstancy that she dreaded, but
- the chance that after marriage she herself might be fascinated by some
- man. The knowledge made him cautious. Nothing that he could say would
- carry any weight; he would be a defendant witnessing in his own defense.
- That she was willing to open her mind to him kept him hopeful. It was a
- step forward.
- </p>
- <p>
- He brought his mother to see her. When she had gone Desire said, “I know
- now what you meant when you wanted me to be proud of you. I’d give
- anything to feel that I was really needed by a man I loved.” And then,
- “Meester Deek, you never talk to me about your work. Won’t you let me see
- what you’ve been doing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He brought to her the book he had written for her that it might tell her
- the things which his lips had left unsaid. After she had commenced it, she
- refused to see him until she had reached the end.
- </p>
- <p>
- She heard his footsteps in the passage; her eyes were watching before he
- entered. Her lips moved, but she thought better of it. He drew a chair to
- her side. “Well?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gazed out of the window. “It’s all about us.” Then, with a laughing
- glance at him, “I don’t know whatever you’d do, if you didn’t have me to
- write about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wrote it for you,” he whispered, “so that you might understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She frowned. “And I was in California, having such good times.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He waited.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s very beautiful.” After an interval she repeated her words, “It’s
- very beautiful.” Without looking at him, she took his hand. “But it isn’t
- me. It’s the magic cloak—the girl you’d like me to become. I never
- shall be like that. If that’s what you think I am, you’ll be
- disappointed.” She turned to him appealingly. “Meester Deek, you make me
- frightened. You expect so much; you’re willing to give so much yourself.
- But I’m cold. I couldn’t return a grand passion. Wouldn’t you be content
- with less? Couldn’t we be happy if——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wanted to lie to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You couldn’t,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- He met her honest eyes. “No, I couldn’t. If—if you feel no passion
- after all these months, you’d feel less when we were married.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She nodded sadly. “Yes, it would be the way it was in New York: I’d always
- be only just allowing you—neither of us could bear that.—So,
- if I were to tell you that I admired you—admired you more than any
- man I ever met—and that I was willing to marry you, you wouldn’t?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It wouldn’t be fair—wouldn’t be fair to you, Princess.” His voice
- trembled. “One day you yourself will want more than that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She no longer bargained for terms or set up her stage ambitions as a
- barrier. His restraint proved to her that she was approaching the crisis
- at which she must either accept or lose him. It was to postpone this
- crisis that she took advantage of Mrs. Sheerug’s anxiety to prolong her
- convalescence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Towards the end of the second week of her visit Teddy got his car out. One
- day they ran down to Ware, hoping to find the farm. It was as though the
- country that they had known had vanished with their childhood.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now that she began to get about, the glaring contrast between her
- standards and those of Eden Row became more apparent. Her clothes, the
- things she talked about, even her dancing way of walking pronounced her
- different. She began to get restless under the censures which she read in
- Mrs. Sheerug’s eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what wouldn’t she say,” she asked Teddy, “if she knew that I’d smoked
- a cigarette? I do so want to use a little powder—and I daren’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- One afternoon when he called, he found the house in commotion. She was
- packing. Fluffy had been to see her; after she had gone the pent-up storm
- of criticisms had burst Something had been said about Vashti—what it
- was he couldn’t learn. He insisted on seeing her. She came down with her
- face tear-stained and flushed. They walked out into the garden in silence.
- Where the shrubbery hid them from the house—the shrubbery in which
- he had first met Alonzo and Mr. Ooze—they sat down.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Going?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But do you think you ought to?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not thinking. I’m angry. Mrs. Sheerug’s a dear; I know that as well
- as you. But she wants to reform me. She makes me wild when she says, ‘You
- have your mother’s laugh,’ as though being like my mother damned me. And
- she said something horrid about Fluffy and about the way I’ve been brought
- up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you going to Fluffy’s now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head. “Fluffy’s leaving for the continent.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then where?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly she laughed. “With you, if you like.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stared at her incredulously. “With me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He seized her hands, “You mean that you’ll——”
- </p>
- <p>
- All the hunger to touch and hold her which he had staved off, urged him to
- passion. She turned her lips aside. He drew her to him, kissing her eyes
- and hair. He was full of sympathy for the fierceness in her heart; it was
- right that she should be angry in her mother’s defense.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You queer Meester Deek, not marry you—I didn’t say that.” She tried
- to free herself, but he clasped her to him. “You must let me go or I won’t
- tell you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They sat closely, with locked hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve been thinking very carefully what to do. I’m not sure of myself. We
- need to be more certain of each other.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But how? How can we be more certain now you’re going?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled at his despair. “The honeymoon ought to come first,” she said.
- “Every marriage ought to be preceded by a honeymoon.” She spoke slowly. “A—a
- quite proper affair; it would be almost the same as being married. It’s
- only by being alone that two people have a chance to find each other out
- If we could do that without quarreling or getting tired—— What
- do you say? If you don’t say yes, you may never get another chance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When she saw him hesitating, she added, “You’re thinking of me. No one
- need know. We could meet in Paris.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His last chance! Dared he trust himself?
- </p>
- <p>
- “What day shall I meet you?” he questioned.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXI—THE EXPERIMENTAL HONEYMOON
- </h2>
- <p>
- He caught the boat-train from Charing Cross. It was a sparkling morning in
- the last week of June, the season of hay-making and roses. He had received
- his instructions in a brief note. It bore no address; the postmark showed
- that it had been dispatched from Rouen. When the train was in motion he
- studied it afresh; he could have repeated it line for line from memory:
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>My dear, </i>
- </p>
- <p>
- Come Saturday. I’ll meet you in Paris at the Gare du Nord 445. Bring only
- hand-baggage—evening dress not necessary.
- </p>
- <p>
- Here are my terms. No kissing, no love-making, nothing like that till I
- give permission. We’re just two friends who have met by accident and have
- made up our minds to travel together. Don’t join me, if you can’t live up
- to the contract.
- </p>
- <p>
- Many thoughts,
- </p>
- <p>
- Yours affectionately,
- </p>
- <p>
- The Princess.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had stared at the letter so long that they were panting through the
- hop-fields of Kent by the time he put it back in his pocket. A breeze
- silvered the backs of leaves, making them tremulous. The spires of
- Canterbury floated up.
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew the way she traveled, with mountainous trunks and more gowns than
- she could wear. Why had she been so explicit that he should bring only
- hand-baggage? Was it because their time together was to be short, or
- because she knew that at the last minute she might turn coward? She had
- left herself another loop-hole: she had sent him no address. Even if she
- were there to meet him, he might miss her on the crowded platform. And if
- he did—— His fears lest he might miss her battled with his
- scruples.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dover and the flash of the sea! Scruples dwindled in importance; the goal
- of his anticipations grew nearer.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the boat there was a bridal couple. He watched them, trying to discover
- with how much discretion honeymoon people were supposed to act.
- </p>
- <p>
- On French soil the gayety of his adventure caught him. One day they would
- repeat it; she would travel with him openly from London, and it wouldn’t
- be an experiment From Calais he would have liked to send a telegram—but
- to where? She was still elusive. The train was delayed in starting. He
- fumed and fretted; if it arrived late he might lose her. For the last
- hour, as he was nearing Paris, he sat with his watch in his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- Before they were at a standstill, he had leapt to the platform, glancing
- this way and that. He had begun to despair, when a slight figure in a
- muslin dress emerged from the crowd. He stared hard at the simplicity of
- her appearance, trying to fathom its meaning.
- </p>
- <p>
- Disguising her emotion with mockery, she caught him by both hands. “What
- luck! I’ve been so lonely. Fancy meeting you here!” She laughed at him
- slyly through her lashes. She looked at his suit-case. “That all? Good. I
- wondered if you’d take me at my word.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She moved round to the side on which he carried it, so that they had to
- walk a little apart In the courtyard, from among the gesticulating <i>cochers</i>,
- he selected a <i>fiacre</i>. As he helped her in he asked, “Where are we
- staying?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In the Rue St. Honoré at <i>The Oxford and Cambridge</i>; close by there
- are heaps of other hotels. You can easily find a good one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Again she surprised him; a fashionable hotel in the Place Vendôme was what
- he had expected.
- </p>
- <p>
- They jingled off down sunlit boulevards. On tree-shadowed pavements tables
- were arranged in rows before cafés. Great buses lumbered by, drawn by
- stallions. Every sight and sound was noticeable and exciting. It was a
- world at whose meaning they could only guess; between it and themselves
- rose the barrier of language. Already the foreignness of their
- surroundings was forcing them together. They both felt it—felt it
- gladly; yet they sat restrained and awkward. None of their former
- unconventions gave them the least clews as to how they should act.
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned inquisitive eyes on him. “Quite overcome, aren’t you? You
- didn’t expect to find such a modest little girl.—Tell me, Meester
- Deek, do you like the way I’m dressed?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Better than ever. But why——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She clapped her hands. “For you. I’ll tell you later.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked away as if she feared she had encouraged him too much. Again
- the silence settled down.
- </p>
- <p>
- He watched her: the slope of her throat, the wistful drooping of her face,
- the folded patience of her hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When does a honeymoon like ours commence?” he whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- She shrugged her shoulders and became interested in the traffic.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then if you won’t tell me that, answer me this question. How long
- does it last?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She pursed her mouth and began to do a sum on her fingers. When she had
- counted up to ten, she peeped at him from under her broad-brimmed hat.
- “Until it ends.” Then, patting his hand quickly, “But it’s only just
- started. Don’t let’s think about the end—— Here, this hotel
- will do. Dig the <i>cocher</i> in the back. I’ll sit in the <i>fiacre</i>
- till you return; then there’ll be no explanations.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He took the first <i>room</i> that was offered him, and regained his place
- beside her. All the time he had been gone, he had been haunted by the
- dread that she might drive off without him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What next?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled. “The old New York question. Anywhere—— I don’t
- care.” She slipped her arm into his and then withdrew it. “It is fun to be
- alone with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He told the man to drive them through the Tuileries and over the river to
- the Luxembourg Gardens.
- </p>
- <p>
- He touched her. She frowned. “Not here. It’s too full of Americans. We
- might be recognized.” Huddling herself into her corner, she tried to look
- as if he were not there.
- </p>
- <p>
- As they came out on the quays, the river blazed golden, shining flash upon
- flash beneath its intercepting bridges. The sun was setting, gilding domes
- and spires. The sky was plumed and saffron with the smoke of clouds.
- Bareheaded work-girls were boarding trams; mischievous-eyed artisans in
- blue blouses jostled them. Eyes flung back glances. Chatter and a sense of
- release were in the air. The heart of Paris began to expand with the
- ecstasy of youth and passion. Her hand slipped from her lap and rested on
- the cushion. His covered it; by unspoken consent they closed up the space
- between them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you giving me permission?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not exactly. Can you guess why I planned this? I—I wanted to be
- fair.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The strangest reason!” He laughed softly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I did.” She spoke with pouting emphasis. “I’ve given you an awful lot
- of worry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t know about that. If you have, it’s been worth it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Has it?” She shook her head doubtfully. “It might have been worth it, if——”
- A slow smile crept about her mouth. “Whatever happens, you’ll have had
- your honeymoon. People say it’s the best part of marriage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He didn’t know what she meant by a honeymoon. It wasn’t much like a
- honeymoon at present—it wasn’t so very different from the ride to
- Long Beach. He dared not question. Without warning, in the quick shifting
- of her moods, she might send him packing back to London.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were crossing the Pont Neuf; her attention was held by a line of
- barges. When they had reached the farther bank, he reminded her, “You were
- going to tell me——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He glanced at her dress. “Was it really for me that you did it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She nodded. “For you. I’m so artificial; I’m not ashamed of it. But until
- I saw you in Eden Row, I didn’t realize how different I am. In New York—well,
- I was in the majority. It was you who felt strange there. But in Eden Row
- I saw my father. He’s like you and—and it came over me that perhaps
- I’m not as nice as I fancy—not as much to be envied. There may even
- be something in what Mrs. Sheerug says.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you are nice.” His voice was hot in her defense. “I can’t make out
- why you’re always running yourself down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She thought for a moment, brushing him with her shoulder. “Because I can
- stand it, and to hear you defend me, perhaps.—But it <i>was</i> for
- you that I bought this dress, Mees-ter Deek. I tried to think how you’d
- like me to look if—if we were always going to be together. And so
- I’ve given up my beauty-patch. And I won’t smoke a single cigarette unless
- you ask me. I’m going to live in your kind of a world and,” she bit her
- lip, inviting his pity, “and I’m going to travel without trunks, and I’ll
- try not to be an expense. I think I’m splendid.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They drew up at the Luxembourg Gardens and dismissed the <i>fiacre.</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- A band was playing. The splash of fountains and fluttering of pigeons
- mingled with the music. Seen from a distance, the statues of dryads and
- athletes seemed to stoop from their pedestals and to move with the
- promenading crowd. They watched the eager types by which they were
- surrounded: artists’ models, work-girls, cocottes; tired-eyed,
- long-haired, Daudetesque young men; Zouaves, chasseurs, Svengalis—they
- were people of a fiction world. Some walked in pairs—others
- solitary. Here two lovers embraced unabashed. There they met for the first
- time, and made the moment an eternity. Romance, the brevity of life, the
- warning against foolish caution were in the air. For all these people
- there was only one quest.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had been walking separately, divided by <i>shyness</i>. In passing, a
- grisette swept against him, and glanced into his eyes in friendly fashion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here, I won’t have that.” Desire spoke with a hint of jealousy. She drew
- nearer so that their shoulders were touching. “Nobody’ll know us. Don’t
- let’s be misers. I’ll take your arm,” she whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The second time you’ve done it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “When was the first?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That night at the Knickerbocker after we’d quarreled and I’d given you
- the bracelet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled in amused contentment “How you do keep count!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The band had ceased playing; only the music of the fountains was heard.
- Shadows beneath trees deepened. Constellations of street-lamps lengthened.
- Twilight came tiptoeing softly, like a young-faced woman with silver hair.
- </p>
- <p>
- She hung upon his arm more heavily. “Oh, it’s good to be alone with you!
- You don’t mind if I don’t talk? One can talk with anybody.” And, a little
- later, “Meester Deek, I feel so safe alone with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When they were back in thoroughfares, “Where shall we dine?” he asked her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In your world,” she said. “No, don’t let’s drive. This isn’t New York.
- We’d miss all the adventure. I’d rather walk now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After wandering the Boule Michel, losing their way half-a-dozen times and
- making inquiries in their guide-book French, they found the Café
- d’Harcourt. Its walls were decorated with student-drawings by artists long
- since famous. At a table in the open they seated themselves. Romance was
- all about them. It danced in the eyes of men and girls. Through the
- orange-tinted dusk it lisped along the pavement It winked at them through
- the blinds of pyramided houses.
- </p>
- <p>
- She bent towards him. “You’ve become <i>very</i> respectful—not at
- all the Meester Deek that you were—more like a little boy on his
- best behavior.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He rested his chin in his hand. “Naturally.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your contract. I’m here on approval.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let’s forget it,” she said. “I’m learning. I’ve learnt so much about life
- since we met.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Through the meal she amused him by speaking in broken English and
- misunderstanding whatever he said. When it was ended he offered her a
- cigarette. “No. You’re only trying to be polite, and tempting me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They drove across the river and up the Champs-Elysées to a theatre where
- they had seen Polaire announced. The performance had hardly commenced,
- when she tugged at his arm. “Meester Deek, it’s summer outside. We’ve
- spent so much time in seeing things and people. I want to talk.” From
- under the shadow of trees he hailed a <i>fiacre</i>. “Where?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anywhere.” When he had taken his place at her side, “You may put your arm
- about me,” she murmured drowsily.
- </p>
- <p>
- They lay back gazing up at the star-strewn sky. Their rubber-tires on the
- asphalt made hardly any sound. They seemed disembodied, drifting through a
- pageant of dreams. The summer air blew softly on their faces; sometimes it
- bore with it the breath of flowers. The night world of Paris went flashing
- by, swift in its pursuit of pleasure. They scarcely noticed it; it was
- something unreal that they had left.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s going on in your mind?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She didn’t stir. She hung listless in his embrace. “I was thinking of
- growing old—growing old with nobody to care.—You care now; I
- know that But if I let you go, in five years’ time you’d——” He
- felt the shrug she gave her shoulders. “Mother’s the only friend I have.
- You might be the second if—— But mothers are more patient;
- they’re always waiting for you when you come back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I shall be always waiting. Haven’t I always told you that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ve told me.” Then, in an altered tone, “Did you ever think you knew
- what happened in California?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guessed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She freed herself and sat erect. “There was a man.” She waited, and when
- he remained silent, “You’d taught me to like to be loved. I didn’t notice
- it while you were with me, but I missed it terribly after you’d left. I
- used to cry. And then, out there—after he’d kissed me, I lay awake
- all night and shivered. I wanted to wash away the touch of his mouth. It
- was my fault; I’d given him chances and tried to fascinate him. I’d been
- so stingy with you—that made it worse; and he was a man for whom I
- didn’t care. I felt I couldn’t write. And it was when I was feeling’ so
- unhappy that your letter arrived.—Can’t you understand how a girl
- may like to flirt and yet not be bad?—I’m not saying that I love
- you, Meester Deek—perhaps I haven’t got it in me to love; only—only
- that of all men in the world, I like to be loved by you the best.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew her closer to his side. “You dear kiddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You forgive me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was late when they parted at the door of her hotel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll try to be up early,” she promised. “We might even breakfast
- together. It’s the only meal we haven’t shared.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned back to the streets. Passing shrouded churches, he came to the
- fire-crowned hill of Montmartre. He wandered on, not greatly caring where
- he went. From one of the bridges, when the vagueness of dawn was in the
- sky, he found himself gazing down at the black despair of the
- silent-flowing river. Wherever he had been, love that could be purchased
- had smiled into his eyes. The old fear took possession of him: he was
- different from other men. Why couldn’t he rouse her? Was it his fault—or
- because there was nothing to arouse?
- </p>
- <p>
- She wore a troubled look when he met her next morning.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall we breakfast here or at my hotel?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At yours,” she said sharply.
- </p>
- <p>
- When she spoke like that she created the effect of being more distant than
- an utter stranger. It wasn’t until some minutes later, when they were
- seated at table, that he addressed her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s something that I want to say; I may as well say it now. When a
- man’s in love with a girl and she doesn’t care for him particularly, she
- has him at an ungenerous disadvantage: she can make a fool of him any
- minute she chooses. I don’t think it’s quite sporting of her to do it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her graciousness came back. “But I do care for you particularly. Poor you!
- Did I speak crossly? Here’s why: we’ve got to leave Paris. There’s a man
- at my hotel who knows me. I wouldn’t have him see us together for the
- world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So that was all? I was afraid I’d done something to offend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She made eyes at him above her cup of coffee. “You’re all right, Meester
- Deek. You don’t need to get nervous.—But where’ll we go for our
- honeymoon?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m waiting for it to commence.” He smiled ruefully. “You’re just the
- same as you always were.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But where’ll we go?” she repeated. “We’ve got all the world to choose
- from.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He told the waiter to bring a Cook’s Time Table. Turning to the index, he
- began to read out the names alphabetically. “Aden?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Too hot,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Algiers?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Same reason, and fleas as well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Athens?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Too informing, and we don’t want any scandals—I’d be sure to meet a
- boy who shone my shoes in New York.—Here, give me the old book.—What
- about Avignon? We can start this evening and get there to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Through the gayety of the sabbath morning they made their way to Cook’s.
- While purchasing their tickets they almost came to words. He insisted that
- she would need a berth for the journey; she insisted that she wouldn’t.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you’re not used to sitting up all night. You’ll be good for nothing
- next morning. Do be reasonable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not used to a good many of the things we’re doing. I’m trying to save
- you expense. And I don’t think it’s at all nice of you to lose your
- temper.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn’t,” he protested.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A matter of opinion,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he had bought a guide-book on Provence, they walked out into the
- sunlight in silence. They reached the Pont de la Concorde; neither of them
- had uttered a word. With a gap of about a foot between them, they leant
- against the parapet, watching steamers puff in to the landing to take
- aboard the holiday crowd. She kept her face turned away from him, with her
- chin held at a haughty angle. In an attempt to pave the way to
- conversation, he commenced to read about Avignon in his guide-book.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly she snatched it from him and tossed it into the river. He watched
- it fall; then stared at her quietly. Like a naughty child, appalled by her
- own impishness, she returned his stare.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Two francs fifty banged for nothing!” She closed up the distance between
- them, snuggling against him like a puppy asking his forgiveness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Meester Deek, you can be provoking. I got up this morning intending to be
- so fascinating. Everything goes wrong.—And as for that berth,” she
- made her voice small and repentant, “I was only trying to be sweet to
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I, too, was trying to be decent.” He covered her hand. “How is it? I
- counted so much on this—this experiment, or whatever you call it.
- We’re not getting on very well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’re not.” She lifted her face sadly. In an instant the cloud vanished.
- The gray seas in her eyes splashed over with merriment. “It’ll be all
- right when we get out of Paris. You see if it isn’t! Quite soon now my
- niceness will commence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then let’s get out now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They ran down to the landing and caught a steamer setting out for Sèvres.
- From Sèvres they took a tram to Versailles. It was late in the afternoon
- when they got back to Paris with scarcely sufficient time to dine and
- pack.
- </p>
- <p>
- All day he had been wondering whether, in her opinion, her niceness had
- commenced. They had enjoyed themselves. She had taken his arm. She had
- treated him as though she claimed him. But they had broken no new ground.
- He felt increasingly that the old familiarities had lost their meaning
- while the new familiarities were withheld. She was still passionless. She
- allowed and she incited, but she never responded. When they had arrived at
- the farthest point that they had reached in their New York experience, she
- either halted or turned back. She played at a thing which to him was as
- earnest as life and death. He had once found a dedication which read about
- as follows: “To the woman with the dead soul and the beautiful white
- body.” There were times when the words seemed to have been written for
- her.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the station he searched in vain for an empty carriage. At last he had
- to enter one which was already occupied. Their companion was a French
- naval officer, who had a slight acquaintance with English, of which he was
- exceedingly proud. He informed them that he was going to Marseilles to
- join his ship; since Marseilles was several hours beyond Avignon, all hope
- that they would have any privacy was at an end. They had been in crowds
- and public places ever since they had met; now this stranger insisted on
- joining in their conversation. He addressed himself almost exclusively to
- Desire; under the flattering battery of his attentions she grew animated.
- Finding himself excluded, Teddy looked out of the window at the pollarded
- trees and flying country. He felt like the dull and superseded husband of
- a Guy de Maupassant story.
- </p>
- <p>
- Night fell. When it was time to hood the lamp, the stranger still kept
- them separate by his gallantry in inviting her to change comers with him,
- that she might steady herself while she slept by slipping her arms through
- the loops which he had hung from the baggage-rack.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the darkness Teddy drowsed occasionally; but he never entirely lost
- consciousness. With tantalization his love grew furious. It was tinged
- with hatred now. He glanced across at the quiet girl with the shadows
- lying deep beneath her lashes. Her eyes were always shuttered; every time
- he hoped that he might surprise her watching him. The only person he
- surprised was the naval officer who feigned sleep the moment he knew he
- was observed. Did she really feel far more than she expressed? She gave
- him few proofs of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had removed her hat for comfort. Once a fire-fly blew in at the window
- and settled in her hair. It wandered across her face, lighting up her
- brows, her lips—each memorized perfection. She raised her hand and
- brushed it aside. It flew back into the night, leaving behind it a trail
- of phosphorescence. His need of her was growing cruel.
- </p>
- <p>
- He gave up his attempt at sleeping. Going out into the corridor, he opened
- a window and smoked a cigarette. Dawn was breaking. As the light flared
- and spread, he found that they were traveling a mountainous country. White
- towns, more Italian than French, gleamed on the crests of sun-baked hills.
- Roads were white. Rivers looked white. The sky was blue as a sapphire, and
- smooth as a silken curtain. The fragrance of roses hung in the air. Above
- the roar of the engine he could hear the cicalas chirping.
- </p>
- <p>
- At six-thirty, as the train panted into Avignon, she awoke. “Hulloa! Are
- we there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was so excited that in stepping from the carriage she would have left
- her hat behind if the naval officer hadn’t reminded her.
- </p>
- <p>
- They drove through the town to the tinkling of water flowing down the
- gutters. The streets were narrow, with grated medieval houses rising gray
- and fortress-like on either side. Great two-wheeled wagons were coming in
- from the country; their drivers ran beside them, cracking their whips and
- uttering hoarse cries. All the way she chattered, catching at his lapels
- and sleeves to attract his attention. She was full of high spirits as a
- child. She kept repeating scraps of information which she had gathered
- from the naval officer. “He was quite a gentleman,” she said. And then,
- when she received no answer, “Didn’t you think that he was very kind?”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the centre of the town they alighted in a wide square, the Place de la
- Republique, tree-shadowed, sun-swept, surrounded by public buildings and
- crooked houses. Carrying their bags, they sat themselves down at a table
- beneath an awning, and ordered rolls and chocolate.
- </p>
- <p>
- Frowning over them, a little to their left, was a huge precipice of
- architecture, rising tower upon tower, embattled against the burning sky.
- Desire began to retail to him the information she had picked up in the
- train: how it was the palace of the popes, built by them in the fourteenth
- century while they were in exile. The source of her knowledge made it
- distasteful to him. He had difficulty in concealing his irritation. He
- felt as if he had sand at the back of his eyes. His gaze wandered from her
- to the women going back and forth through the sunlight, balancing loads on
- their heads and fetching long loaves of bread from the bakers. Hauntingly
- at intervals he heard a flute-like music; it was a tune commencing, which
- at the end of five notes fell silent. A wild-looking herdsman entered the
- square, followed by twelve black goats. He stood Pan-like and played;
- advanced a few steps; raised his pipe to his lips and played again. A
- woman approached him; he called to one of the goats, and squatting on his
- heels, drew the milk into the woman’s bowl. Through a tunnel leading out
- of the square, he vanished. Like faery music, his five notes grew fainter,
- to the accompaniment of sabots clapping across the pavement.
- </p>
- <p>
- All the while that Desire had been talking, handing on what the stranger
- had told her about Avignon, he had watched the soul of Avignon wander by,
- dreamy-eyed and sculptured by the sunlight.
- </p>
- <p>
- She fell silent. Pushing back her chair, she frowned at him. “I’m doing my
- best.—I don’t understand you. You’re chilly this morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Am I?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where’s the good of saying ‘Am I?’ You know you are. What’s the matter?
- Jealous?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jealous! Hardly.” He stifled a yawn. “I scarcely got a wink of sleep last
- night. I was keeping an eye on your friend. He was watching you all the
- time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then you were jealous.” She leant forward and spoke slowly. “You were
- rude; you acted like a spoilt child. Why on earth did you go off and glue
- your nose against the window? You left me to do all the talking.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly his anger flamed; he knew that his face had gone set and white.
- “You didn’t need to talk to him. When are you going to stop playing fast
- and loose with me? I’ll tell you what it is, Desire: you haven’t any
- passion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was sorry the moment he had said it. A spark of his resentment caught
- fire in her eyes. He watched it flicker out. She smiled wearily, “So you
- think I haven’t any passion!—Oh, well, we’re going to have fine
- times, now that you’ve begun to criticize.—I’m sleepy. I think I’ll
- go to bed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She rose and strolled away. Leaving his own suit-case at the cafe, he
- picked up hers and followed. They found a quaint hotel with a courtyard
- full of blossoming rhododendrons. Running round it, outside the
- second-story, was a balcony on to which the bedrooms opened. While he was
- arranging terms in the office, she went to inspect the room that was
- offered. In a few minutes she sent for her suitcase. He waited
- half-an-hour; she did not rejoin him.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the far end of the square he had noticed an old-fashioned hostel. He
- claimed his baggage at the café, and took a room at the wine-tavern.
- Having bought a sketching-book, pencils and water-colors, he found the
- bridge which spans the Rhone between Avignon and Villeneuve. All morning
- he amused himself making drawings. About every half-hour a ramshackle bus
- passed him, going and returning. It was no more than boards spread across
- wheels, with an orange-colored canopy stretched over it. It was drawn by
- two lean horses, harnessed in with ropes and driven by a girl. He didn’t
- notice her much at first; the blue river, the white banks, the blue sky,
- the jagged, vineyard covered hills, and the darting of swallows claimed
- his attention. It was the bus that he noticed; it creaked and groaned as
- though it would fall to pieces. Then he saw the girl; she was young and
- bronzed and laughing. He traced a resemblance in her to Desire—to
- Desire when she was lenient and happy. She was bare-armed, bare-headed,
- full-breasted; her hair was black as ebony. She was always singing. About
- the fifth time in passing him, she smiled. He began to tell himself
- stories; in Desire’s absence, he watched for her as Desire’s proxy.
- </p>
- <p>
- At mid-day he went to find Desire; he was told that she was still
- sleeping. He had <i>déjeuner</i> by himself at the café in the square from
- which the bus started. When the meal was ended, as he finished his carafe
- of wine, he made sketches of the girl. When he presented her with one of
- them, she accepted it from him shyly. His Anglicized French was scarcely
- intelligible; but after that when she passed him, she smiled more openly.
- </p>
- <p>
- During the afternoon he called three times at the hotel. Each time he
- received the same reply, that Mademoiselle was sleeping.
- </p>
- <p>
- The sky was like an open furnace. Streets were empty. While sketching he
- had noticed a bathing-house, tethered against the bank below the bridge.
- He went there to get cool He tried the diving-boards; none of them were
- high enough. Presently he climbed on to the scorching roof and went off
- from there. People crossing the bridge stopped to watch him. Once as he
- was preparing to take the plunge, he saw the orange streak of the old bus
- creeping across the blue between the girders. He waited till it was just
- above him. It pulled up. The girl leant out and waved. After that, when he
- saw the orange streak approaching he waited until it had stopped above
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The quiet of evening was falling when he again went in search of Desire.
- This time he was told she had gone out. He left word that he was going to
- the old Papal Garden, on the rock above the palace, to watch the sunset.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he climbed the hundred steps of the Escalier de Sainte Anne, which wind
- round the face of the precipice, the romance of the view that opened out
- before him took away his breath. He felt injured and angry that she was
- not there to share it. He went over the details of the first day in Paris.
- It had been a fiasco; this day had been worse.
- </p>
- <p>
- If ever he were to marry her—— For the first time he realized
- that winning her was not everything.
- </p>
- <p>
- Near the top of the ascent, where a gateway spanned the path, he halted. A
- fig-tree leant across the wall, heavy with fruit that was green and
- purple. Behind him from a rock a spring rushed and gurgled. He stooped
- across the parapet, gazing down into the town. It wasn’t aloof like New
- York, nor sullen like London. It was a woman lifting her arms behind her
- head and laughing lazily through eyes half-shut.
- </p>
- <p>
- Against the sweep of encircling distance, mountains lay blue and smoking.
- A faint pinkness spread across the country like a blush. White walls and
- hillsides were tinted to salmon-color. The sunset drained the red from the
- tiles of house-tops. Plane-trees, peeping above gray masonry, looked clear
- and deep as wells. The Rhone wound about the city walls like a gold and
- silver spell.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now that coolness had come, shutters began to open. The murmur of
- innumerable sounds floated up. A breeze whispered through the valley like
- the voice of yearning. It seemed that behind those windows girls were
- preparing to meet their lovers. And the other women, the women who were
- too old or too cold to love! He thought of them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly his eyes were covered from behind by two hands. He struggled to
- remove them; then he felt that they were slender and young.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who are you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- He repeated his question in French.
- </p>
- <p>
- The hands slipped from his eyes to his shoulders. “Well, you’re a nice
- one! Who should it be? It’s the last time I allow you to play by
- yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He swung round and caught her fiercely, shaking her as he pressed her to
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t, Meester Deek. You hurt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His lips were within an inch of hers; he didn’t try to kiss her. “You
- leave me alone all day,” he panted; “and then you make a joke of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She drew her fingers down his face. “I was very tired, and—and we
- weren’t good-tempered. I’ve been lonely, too.” She laid her cheek against
- his mouth. “Come, kiss me, Meester Deek. You look as though you weren’t
- ever going to.—I’m glad, so glad that——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That what?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She held her hand against her mouth and laughed into his eyes. “That you
- haven’t enjoyed yourself without me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They climbed to the top of the rock. In the sun-baked warmness of the
- garden <i>cicalas</i> were still singing. In the town lights were
- springing up. The after-glow lingered on the mountains. Beneath trees the
- evening lay silver as moonlight. From a fountain in the middle of a pool
- rose the statue of Venus aux Hirondelles.
- </p>
- <p>
- His arm was still about her. Every few paces he stopped to kiss her. She
- patted his face and drew it close to hers. “You’re foolish,” she
- whispered. “You spoil me. You’re always nicest when I’ve been my worst.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then she commenced to ask him questions. “Do you really think that I’ve
- not got any passion?—If I’d been scarred in that motor-car accident,
- would you still love me?—Mrs. Theodore Gurney! It does sound funny.
- I wonder if I’ll ever be called that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was during the descent to the town that she made him say that he was
- glad she had quarreled with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I do make it up to you afterwards, don’t I? If we hadn’t quarreled,
- you wouldn’t be doing what you are now. No, you wouldn’t I shouldn’t allow
- it. And please don’t try to kiss me just here; it’s so joggly. Last time
- you caught the brim of my hat.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They had dinner in the courtyard of her hotel, in the sweet, earthy dusk
- of the rhododendrons. It was like a stage-setting: the canopy of the sky
- with the stars sailing over them; the golden panes of windows; the shadows
- of people passing and re-passing; the murmur of voices; the breathless
- whisper of far-off footsteps. At another table a black-bearded Frenchman
- sat and watched them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish he wouldn’t look at us,” Desire said. “I wonder why he does.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They took a final walk before going to bed. In the courtyard where the
- bushes grew densest, they parted. When he kissed her, she drooped her face
- against his shoulder. “Give me your lips.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- A tone of impatience crept into his voice. “Why not? You’ve done it
- before. Why not now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He tried to turn her lips towards him; she took away his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know. I’m odd. I don’t feel like it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He let her go. Again the flame of anger swept through him. “Will you ever
- feel like it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How can I tell—now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ve never once kissed me. Any other girl——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not any other girl.” And then, “We’re alone. I’ve got to be wise for
- both of us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She ran from him. In the doorway of the hotel she turned and kissed the
- tips of her fingers.
- </p>
- <p>
- He seated himself at a table, watching for the light to spring up in her
- window. It was just possible that she might relent and come back, or that
- she might lean over the balcony and wave to him While he waited, the
- bearded Frenchman slipped out from the shadow. He approached and raised
- his hat formally.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Monsieur, I understand that you are not stopping at this hotel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, but I have a friend——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mademoiselle, who has just gone from you?’
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then let me tell you, Monsieur, that there is a place near here that will
- cure you of the illness from which you suffer.” The man took a card from
- his pocket and commenced to scribble on it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I’m not suffering from any——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, then, it will cure mademoiselle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man laid his card on the table, and again raised his hat
- </p>
- <p>
- By the time Teddy had recovered from his surprise, the stranger had
- vanished. He hurried into the street and gazed up and down. When he
- returned to the courtyard. Desire’s window was in darkness. Picking up the
- card, he struck a match and read the words, “<i>Les Baux</i>.” What was
- Les Baux? Where was it? He fell asleep thinking of the miracle that had
- been promised; when he awoke next morning he was still thinking of it. As
- he dressed he heard the five faint notes of the goatman. Life had become
- fantastic. Perhaps——
- </p>
- <p>
- He set about making inquiries. It was a ruined city in the hills he
- discovered. Oh, yes, there had been several books written about it and
- innumerable poems. It had been a nest of human eagles once—the home
- of troubadours. It was the place where the Queens of Beauty and the Courts
- of Love had started. It was said that if a lover could persuade a
- reluctant girl to go there with him, she would prove no longer reluctant
- It was only a superstition; of course Monsieur understood that Monsieur
- hurried to purchase a guide-book to Les Baux. While he waited among the
- rhododendrons for Desire, he read it Then he looked up time-tables and
- found that the pleasantest way to go was from Arles, and that from there
- one had to drive a half day’s journey.
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire surprised him at his investigations. She was all in white, with a
- pink sash about her waist, her dress turned bade deeply at the neck for
- coolness and her arms bare to die elbow. She looked extremely young and
- pretty.
- </p>
- <p>
- “’Ulloa, old dear!” she cried, bursting into Cockney. She peered
- over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Looking up routes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Routes!” She raised her brows.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. To Les Baux.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re not going to get me out of here, old dear. Don’t you think it
- We’ve not seen Avignon yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But Les Baux——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Quoting from the guide-book, he commenced to explain to her its
- excellences and beauties. She smiled, obstinately repeating, “We’ve not
- seen Avignon yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was after they had breakfasted, when they were crossing the square,
- that the bus-girl nodded to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who’s she?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A girl. Don’t you think she’s like you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire tossed her head haughtily, but slipped her arm into his to show
- that she owned him. “Like me, indeed! You’re flattering!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently she asked, “What did you do all yesterday, while I was horrid?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sat on the bridge and sketched.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sketched! I never saw you sketch. If you’ll buy me a parasol to match my
- sash, I’ll sit beside you to-day and watch you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- On the bridge he set to work upon a water-color of the Rhone as it flowed
- past Villeneuve. She was going over his drawings. Suddenly she stopped.
- She had come across three of the same person. Just then the orange-bus
- lumbered by; again the girl laughed at him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look here, Meester Deek, you’ve got to tell me everything that you did
- when I wasn’t with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was too absorbed in his work to notice what had provoked her curiosity.
- When he came to the account of his bathing, she interrupted him. “I want
- to see you bathe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right, presently.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No. Now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He rather liked her childish way of ordering him. He spoke lazily. “I
- don’t mind, if you’ll take care of—— I say, this is like Long
- Beach, isn’t it? You made me bathe there. But promise you won’t slip off
- while I’m gone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Honest Injun, I promise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had climbed to the roof of the bathing-house and was straightening
- himself for the plunge, when he heard the creaking of the bus approaching.
- He looked up. The bus-girl had alighted and was leaning down from the
- bridge, waving to him. Before diving, he waved back. When he had climbed
- to the roof again, he searched round for Desire. She was nowhere to be
- found.
- </p>
- <p>
- He dressed quickly. At the hotel he was informed that she was packing. He
- called up to her window from the courtyard. She came out on to the
- balcony.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They tell me you’re packing. What——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Going to Les Baux,” she said, “or any other old place. I won’t stay
- another hour in Avignon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But this morning at breakfast——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know.” She frowned. As she reentered her window, she glanced back
- across her shoulder. “I didn’t know as much about Avignon then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Arles was little more than an hour’s journey. It was noon when they left
- Avignon. He had been fortunate in getting an empty compartment Without any
- coaxing, she came and sat herself beside him. When the train had started,
- she took off her hat and leant her head against his shoulder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you do that on purpose to make me mad?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do what on purpose?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She played with his hand. “You know, Meester Deck. Don’t pretend. You did
- it first with the grisette in the Luxembourg, and now here with that
- horrid bus-girl. If you do it a third time, you’ll have me making a little
- fool of myself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He burst out laughing. She was jealous; she cared for him. He had infected
- her with his own uncertainty.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A nasty, masterful laugh,” she pouted.
- </p>
- <p>
- He at once became repentant. “I only noticed her when I was lonely,” he
- excused himself; “I thought she was like you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire screwed up her mouth thoughtfully. “Then I’ll have to keep you from
- being lonely.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She tilted up her face. He pressed her lips gently at first; then
- fiercely. They did not stir. “That’s enough.” She strained back from him.
- “Be careful Remember what you told me—that I haven’t any passion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you said I hadn’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her strength went from her and he drew her to him. “The fourth time,” he
- whispered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When were the others?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That day up the Hudson when I asked you to marry me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the next?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At the apartment, when we said good-by across the stairs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How long ago it all sounds! And the third?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “On Christmas Eve. Princess, I’m going to kiss your lips whenever I like
- now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She slanted her eyes at him. “Are you? See if you can.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her cheeks were flushed. Slipping her finger into her mouth, she pretended
- to thwart him. She lay in his arms, happy and unresisting—a little
- amused.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When are you going to kiss me back?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed into his eyes like a witch woman. “Ah, when? You’re greedy—never
- contented. I’ve given you so much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall never be contented till——”
- </p>
- <p>
- She flattened her palm against his lips to silence him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Didn’t I tell you that my niceness would commence quite suddenly? I can
- be nicer than this.” She nodded. “I can. And I can be a little pig again
- presently—especially if we meet another naval officer. I’m always
- liable to—”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not if you’re in love with any one,” he pleaded.
- </p>
- <p>
- She sighed. “I’m afraid I am, Meester—Meester Teddy.” She barricaded
- her lips with her hand. “No more. Do be good. I’ve got to be wise for both
- of us. I suppose you think I was jealous? I wasn’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As the train drew near Arles, she made him release her. His heart was
- beating fast. Producing a pocket-mirror, she inspected herself. For the
- moment she seemed entirely forgetful of him. Then, “Tell me about this old
- Les Baux place,” she commanded.
- </p>
- <p>
- The engine halted. He helped her out. “It’s a surprise. You’ll see for
- yourself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- On making inquiries, they found that the drive was so long that they would
- have to start at once to arrive by evening. To save time, they took their
- lunch with them—grapes, wine and cakes. When the town was left
- behind, they commenced to picnic in the carriage. They had only one
- bottle, from which they had to drink in turns. She played a game of
- feeding him, slipping grapes into his mouth. They had to keep a sharp eye
- on the <i>cocher</i>, who was very particular that they should miss none
- of the landmarks. When he turned to attract their attention, pointing with
- his whip, they straightened their faces and became very proper. After he
- had twice caught them, Desire said, “He’ll think we’re married now, so we
- may as well deceive him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Teddy was allowed to place an arm about her, while she held the parasol
- over them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If we were really married, d’you think you’d let me smoke a cigarette?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He lit one and, having drawn a few puffs, edged it between her lips.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are good to me,” she murmured; “you save me so much trouble.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The fierce sun of Provence blazed down on them. A haze hung over the
- country, making everything tremble. Cicalas chirped more drowsily. The
- white straight road looked molten. Plane-trees, stretching on in an
- endless line, seemed to crouch beneath their shadows. The air was full of
- the fragrance of wild lavender. Farmhouses which they passed were silent
- and shuttered. No life moved between the osier partitions of their
- gardens. Even birds were in hiding. Only lizards were awake and darted
- like a flash across rocks which would have scorched the hand. Beneath a
- wild fig-tree a mule-driver slumbered, his face buried in his arms and his
- bare feet thrust outward. It was a land enchanted.
- </p>
- <p>
- Desire grew silent. Her head drooped nearer to his shoulder. Beads of
- moisture began to glisten on her throat and forehead. Once or twice she
- opened her eyes, smiling dreamily up at him; then her breath came softly
- and she slept.
- </p>
- <p>
- At Saint Rémy they stopped to water the horse. The first coolness of
- evening was spreading. As the breeze fluttered down the hills, trees
- shuddered, like people rising from their beds. Shutters were being pushed
- back from windows. Faces peered out Loiterers gazed curiously at the
- carriage, with the unconscious girl drooping like a flower in the arms of
- the gravely defiant young man. Saint Rémy had been left behind; the ascent
- into the mountains had commenced before she wakened.
- </p>
- <p>
- She rubbed her eyes and sat up. “What! Still holding me? I do think you’re
- the most patient man—— Do you still love me, Meester Deek?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stooped to kiss her yawning mouth. “More every hour. But why?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because if a man can still love a woman after seeing her asleep——
- When I’m asleep, I don’t look my prettiest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The scenery was becoming momentarily more wild. The horse was laboring in
- its steps. On either side white bowlders hung as if about to tumble. The
- narrow road wound up through the loneliness in sweeping curves. Hawks were
- dipping against the sky. Not a tree was in sight—only wild lavender
- and straggling furze.
- </p>
- <p>
- She clutched his arm. “It’s frightening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let’s walk ahead and not think about it,” he suggested. “We’ll talk and
- forget.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But the scenery proved silencing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do say something,” she whispered. “Can’t we quarrel? We’ll talk if we’re
- angry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought. “What kind of a beast was that man in California?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He wasn’t a beast. He was quite nice. You came near seeing him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did! When?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He was the man who was stopping in Paris at my hotel.—There, now
- you’re really angry! That’s the worst of telling anything. A woman should
- keep all her faults to herself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And he saw us?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stared at him, surprised at his intuition. “How long have you known
- that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- They were entering a tunnel hewn between rocks; they rose up scarred and
- forbidding, nearly meeting overhead.
- </p>
- <p>
- She shuddered. “I wish we hadn’t come. It’s——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Suddenly, like a guilty conscience left behind, the tunnel opened on to a
- platform. Far below lay a valley, trumpet-shaped and widening as it faded
- into the distance. It was snow-white with lime-stone, and flecked here and
- there with blood-red earth. The sides of the hills were monstrous
- cemeteries, honeycombed with troglodyte dwellings. In the plain, like
- naked dancing girls with flying hair, olive-trees fluttered. Rocks, strewn
- through the greenness, seemed hides stretched out to dry. Men, white as
- lepers, were crawling to and fro in the lime-stone quarries. Straight
- ahead, cleaving the valley with its shadow, rose a sheer column—a
- tower of Babel, splintered by the sunset. As they gazed across the gulf to
- its summit, they made out roofs and ivy-spattered ramparts. It looked
- deserted. Then across the distance from the ethereal height the chiming of
- bells sounded.
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew her to him. It was as though with one last question, he was
- putting all their doubts behind. “Was it true about that man?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite true. Fluffy gave him my address. Let’s forget him now, and—and
- everything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he stooped above her, she whispered, “Meester Deek, our quarrels have
- brought us nearer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They heard the rattle of the carriage in the tunnel. Joining hands, they
- set out down the steep decline. In the valley they found themselves among
- laurel-roses, pink with bloom and heavy with fragrance. Then they
- commenced the climb to Les Baux, through cypresses standing stiffly as
- sentinels. Beady-eyed, half-naked children watched them and hid behind
- rocks when they beckoned.
- </p>
- <p>
- Beneath a battered gateway they entered the ancient home of the Courts of
- Love. Near the gateway, built flush with the precipice, stood a little
- house which announced that it was the Hôtel de la Reine Jeanne. An old
- gentleman with eyes like live coals and long white hair, stepped out to
- greet them. He informed them that he was the folk-lore poet of Les Baux
- and its inn-keeper. They engaged rooms; while doing so they noticed that
- many of the walls were covered with frescoes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, yes,” said the poet inn-keeper, “an English artist did them in
- payment for his board when he had spent all his money. He came here like
- you, you understand; intending to stay for one night; but he stayed
- forever. It has happened before in Les Baux, this becoming enchanted. He
- was a very famous artist, but he works in the vineyards now and has
- married one of our Saracen girls.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then he explained that Les Baux was like a pool front which the tides of
- Time had receded. Its inhabitants were descendants of Roman legionaries
- and of the Saracens who had conquered it later. That was why there were no
- blue eyes in Les Baux, though it stood so near to heaven.
- </p>
- <p>
- They wandered out into the charmed silence. There was no wheel-traffic.
- The toy streets could be spanned by the arms outstretched. There were no
- shops—only deserted palaces, with defaced escutcheons and
- wall-flowers nestling in their crannies. Only women and children were in
- sight; they looked like camp-followers of a lost army. Old imperial
- splendors moldered in this sepulchre of the clouds, as out of mind as the
- Queens of Beauty asleep in their leaden coffins.
- </p>
- <p>
- They came to the part that was Roman. <i>Cicalas</i> and darting swallows
- were its sole tenants. From the huge structure of the crag houses had been
- carved and hollowed. The pavement was still grooved by the wheels of
- chariots.
- </p>
- <p>
- In Paris it had been the foreignness of their surroundings that had forced
- them together; now it was the antiquity—the brooding sense of the
- eventlessness of life and the eternal tedium of expectant death.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A doll’s house of the gods,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, a faery land waiting for its princess to waken.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He folded her hands together and held them against his breast. “She will
- never waken till her lips have kissed a man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She peered up at him shyly. Her face quivered. She had a hunted indecision
- in her eyes. The clamor, as of feet pounding through her body,
- communicated itself through her hands. She tore them from him. “Don’t
- touch me.” She ran from him wildly, and did not stop till streets where
- people lived commenced.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he had come up with her, she tried to cover her confusion with
- laughter. “You remember what he said about becoming enchanted? It nearly
- happened to us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And why not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because——” She shrugged her shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- In their absence a table had been spread on the terrace and a lamp placed
- on it as a beacon. By reaching out from where they sat, they could gaze
- sheer down through the twilight. Night, like a blue vapor, was steaming up
- from the valley. In the shadows behind, they were vaguely aware that the
- town had assembled to watch them. Bare feet pattered. A girl laughed. Now
- and then a mandolin tinkled, and a love-song of Provence drifted up like a
- perfume flung into the poignant dusk. At intervals the sentinel in the
- church-tower gave warning how time was forever passing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were afraid of me; that was why you ran.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She lowered her eyes. “I was more afraid of myself.—Meester Deek,
- you’ve never tried to understand what sort of a girl I am. Everything that
- I’ve seen of life, right from the very start, has taught me to be a coward—to
- believe that the world is bad. Don’t you see how I’d drag you down? It’s
- because of that—— When I feel anything big and terrible I run
- from it. It—it seems safer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you can’t run away forever.” He leant across the table and took her
- hand. “One day you’ll want those big and terrible things and—and a
- man to protect you. They won’t come to you then, perhaps.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She lifted her face and gazed at him. “You mean you wouldn’t wait always?
- Of course you wouldn’t. You don’t know it, but if I were to go away
- to-morrow, your waiting would end.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It wouldn’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would. A girl’s instinct tells her. And I ought to go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What makes you say that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not the wife for you. I’ve given you far more misery than happiness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed quietly. “Little sweetheart, if you were to go, I should follow
- you and follow you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head. “Not far.—Meester Deek, some day you may learn
- to hate me, so I want to tell you: until I met you, I believed the worst
- of every man. I was a little stream in a wilderness; I wanted so to find
- the sea, and it seemed that I never should. But now——”
- </p>
- <p>
- His clasp on her hand tightened. “But now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked at him sadly. “I should spoil your whole life. Would you spoil
- your whole life for the kind of girl I am?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gladly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled wistfully. “I wonder how many women have been loved like that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They rose. “Shall we go in?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not yet,” he pleaded.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would be better.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As they were crossing the terrace, the <i>cocher</i> approached them. He
- wanted to know at what hour they proposed to leave next morning. He was
- anxious to start early, before the heat of the day had commenced.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think we’re leaving.” Teddy glanced at Desire. Then, with a rush
- of decision: “We’re planning to stay a day or two longer. It’ll be all the
- same to you; I’ll pay for the return journey.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Saying that he would be gone before they were out of bed, the man bade
- them farewell.
- </p>
- <p>
- When they had entered the darkness of the narrow streets, he put his arm
- about her. She came to him reluctantly; then surrendered and leant against
- him heavily. They sauntered silently as in a dream. All the steps which
- had led up to this moment passed before him: her evasions and retractions.
- She was no longer a slave of freedom. For the first time he felt certain
- of her; with the certainty came an overwhelming sense of gratitude and
- tranquillity. He feared lest by word or action he should disturb it, and
- it should go from him.
- </p>
- <p>
- They passed by the old palaces perfumed with wallflowers; in a window an
- occasional light winked at them. They reached the Roman part of the town
- and hurried their steps. By contrast it seemed evil and ghost-haunted;
- through the caves that had been houses, bats flew in and out A soft wind
- met them. They felt the turf beneath their tread and stepped out on to the
- ruined battlements. Wild thyme mingled with the smell of lavender. The
- memory of forsaken gardens and forgotten ecstasies was in the air. Three
- towers, Roman, Saracen and French, pointed mutilated fingers at eternity.
- They halted, drinking in the silence, and lifted their eyes to the stars
- wheeling overhead. Far away, through mists across the plain, Marseilles
- struck sparks on the horizon and the moon rose red.
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned in his embrace. “I’m not half as sweet as you would make me
- out, I’m not. Oh, won’t you believe me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- His tranquillity gave way; he caught her to him, raining kisses on her
- throat, her eyes, her mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re crushing me!” Her breath came stifled and sobbing.
- </p>
- <p>
- Tenderness stamped out his passion. As his grip relaxed, she slipped from
- him. She was running; he followed. On the edge of the precipice, the red
- moon swinging behind her like a lantern, she halted. Her hands were held
- ready to thrust him back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It would be better for you that I should throw myself down than—than——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He seized her angrily and drew her roughly to him. “You little fool,” he
- panted.
- </p>
- <p>
- With a sudden abandon she urged herself against him. As he bent over her,
- her arms reached up and her lips fell warm against his mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do love you. I <i>do</i>. I <i>do</i>,” she whispered. “Take care of
- me. Be good to me. I daren’t trust myself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The hotel was asleep when they got back. They fumbled their way up the
- crooked stairs. Outside her room, as in the darkness they clung together,
- she took his face between her hands. “And you said I hadn’t any passion!—You’re
- good, Meester Deck. God bless you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her door closed. He waited. He heard the lock turn.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When I kiss you without your asking me, you’ll know then,” she had said.
- His heart sang. All night, in his dreaming and waking, he was making
- plans.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he came down next morning, he found the table spread on the terrace.
- He walked over to it, intending while he waited for her, to sit down and
- smoke a cigarette. One place had been already used. He hadn’t known that
- another guest had been staying at the hotel. Calling the inn-keeper, he
- asked him to have the place reset.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But for whom?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For Mademoiselle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mademoiselle! But Mademoiselle——” The man looked blank. “But
- Mademoiselle, a six hours she left this morning with the carriage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0048" id="link2HCH0048"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXII—SHE RECALLS HIM
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>ow that she had
- gone from him, he realized how mistaken he had been in his chivalry. From
- the first, instead of begging, he ought to have commanded. She was a girl
- with whom it paid to be rough. It was only on the precipice, when he had
- seized her savagely, that her passion had responded. In the light of what
- had happened, her last words seemed a taunt—an echo of her childish
- despising of King Arthurs: “And you said I hadn’t any passion I—You’re
- good, Meester Deek.” Had he been less honorable in her hour of weakness,
- he would still have had her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That ends it!” he told himself. Nevertheless he set out hot-footed for
- Arles. There he hunted up the <i>cocher</i> who had driven them to Les
- Baux, and learnt that she had taken train for Paris. In Paris he inquired
- at <i>The Oxford and Cambridge.</i> He searched the registers of a dozen
- hotels. Tramping the boulevards of the city of lovers, he revisited all
- the places where they had been together; he hoped that a whim of sentiment
- might lead her on the same errand.
- </p>
- <p>
- A new thought struck him: she had written to Eden Row and his mother
- didn’t know his address. All the time that he had been wasting in this
- intolerable aloneness her explanation had been waiting for him. He
- returned posthaste, only to be met with her unconquerable silence. He
- hurried to Orchid Lodge; her father might know her whereabouts. There he
- was told that Hal had sailed for New York—with what motive he could
- guess. This lent the final derisive touch to his tragedy.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the end of July, nearly a year to the day since he had made his
- great discovery at Glastonbury. He had spent a month of torture. Since the
- key had turned in her lock at the Hôtel de la Reine Jeanne, he had had no
- sign of her. He came down to breakfast one sunshiny morning; lying beside
- his plate was a letter in her hand. He slipped it into his pocket with
- feigned carelessness, till he should be alone; then he opened it and read:
- </p>
- <p>
- Dearest Teddy:
- </p>
- <p>
- I need you.
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>Savoy Hotel, </i>
- </p>
- <p>
- The Strand.
- </p>
- <p>
- Come at once.
- </p>
- <p>
- Your foolish Desire.
- </p>
- <p>
- She needed him! It was the first time she had owned as much. From her that
- admission in three words was more eloquent than many pages. Had her
- slavery to freedom become irksome? Had it got her into trouble?
- </p>
- <p>
- He reached the Savoy within the hour. As he passed his card across the
- desk he was a-tremble. It was a relief when the clerk gave him no bad news
- but, having phoned up, turned and said, “The lady will see you in her
- room, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The passage outside her door was piled with trunks; painted on them, like
- an advertisement, in conspicuous white letters, was Janice Audrey. He
- tapped. As he waited he heard laughter. In his high-wrought state of
- nerves the sound was an offense.
- </p>
- <p>
- The handle turned. “Hulloa, Teddy! I’ve heard about you. I’m going to
- leave you two scatter-brains to yourselves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fluffy was in her street-attire—young, eager and caparisoned for
- conquest. She seemed entirely unrelated to the shuddering Diana in the
- Tyrolese huntsman’s costume, whom he had last seen breaking her heart in
- the dressing-room of <i>The Belshazzar</i>. He stepped aside to let her
- pass; then he entered.
- </p>
- <p>
- He found himself in a large sunlit room in a riot of disorder—whether
- with packing or unpacking it was difficult to tell. Evidently some one had
- gone through a storm of shopping. Frocks were strewn in every direction;
- opera-cloaks and evening-gowns lay on the floor, on the bed, on the backs
- of chairs. Hats were half out of milliners’ boxes. Shoes and slippers lay
- jumbled in a pile in a suit-case. It was fitting that he and Desire should
- meet again in a hired privacy, like transients.
- </p>
- <p>
- She stood against a wide window, looking down on the Embankment She was
- wearing a soft green peignoir trimmed with daisies. It was almost
- transparent, so that in the strong sunlight her slight figure showed
- through it It was low-cut and clinging—a match in color to the
- Guinevere costume which she had been wearing when he had discovered her at
- Glastonbury. Had she intended that it should waken memories? As he watched
- he was certain that that had been her intention, for she was adorned with
- another reminder: a false curl had usurped the place of the old one she
- had given him. It danced against her neck, quivering with excitement, and
- seemed to beckon.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her back was towards him. She must have heard Fluffy speaking to him. She
- must know that he was on the threshold. He closed the door quietly and
- halted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Meester Deek, are you glad to see me?” She spoke without turning. \
- </p>
- <p>
- Her question went unanswered. In the silence it seemed to repeat itself
- maddeningly. She drummed with her fingers on the pane, as though insisting
- that until he had answered he should not see her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last her patience gave out She glanced across her shoulder. Something
- in his expression warned her. Running to him, she caught his hands and
- pressed against him, laughing into his eyes. She waited submissively for
- his arms to enfold her. When he remained unmoved, she whispered luringly,
- “I’m as amiable as I ever shall be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She pouted. “Once if I’d told you that——
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that all after a whole month?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A whole month!” His face seemed set in a mask. “To me it has seemed a
- century.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For the first time she dimly realized what he had suffered. She drew her
- fingers across his cheek. Her hands ran over him like white mice. The
- weariness in his way of talking frightened her. “I’m—I’m sorry that
- I’m not always nice. It wasn’t quite nice of me to leave you, was it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- His lips grew crooked at her understatement “From my point of view it
- wasn’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She thought for a moment; she was determined not to acknowledge that he
- was altered. Slipping her arm into his comfortably, she led him across the
- room. “Let’s sit down. I’ve so much to tell you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He helped her to push a couch to the window that they might shut out the
- sight of the room’s disorder. When she had seated herself in a corner, she
- patted the place beside her. He sat himself at the other end and gazed out
- at the gray-gold stretch of river, where steamers churned back and forth
- between Greenwich and Westminster.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fluffy’s going to America; we ran over from Paris to get some clothes.
- It’s all rubbish to get one’s clothes in Paris; London’s just as good and
- not one-half as expensive. She has to return to Paris in a day or two to
- see a play. Simon Freelevy thinks it will suit her. After that she sails
- from Cherbourg.—Meester Deek, are you interested in Fluffy’s
- doings?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was looking at the river. I scarcely heard what you were saying.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, perhaps this will interest you. She says that, if I like,
- she’ll see that I get a place in her company at <i>The Belshassar</i>.—Still
- admiring the view?—I wish you’d answer me sometimes, Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you’re going to become another Fluffy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her tone sank to a honeyed sweetness. “You’re most awfully far away. If
- you don’t come nearer, we might just as well——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “As I came along the passage,” he said, “I heard you laughing. I haven’t
- done much laughing lately.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A frown crept into her eyes. “That was because I was going to see you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wished he could believe her.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a desperate effort to win him to pleasantness, she closed up the space
- that separated them. His coldness piqued her. Through her filmy garment
- her body touched him; it was burning. “And I—I haven’t done much
- laughing lately, either; but one can’t be always tragic.” Her voice was
- tremulous and sultry. She brushed against him and peered into his face
- reproachfully. “You aren’t very sympathetic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not very.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She tried the effect of irritation. “I wish you wouldn’t keep on catching
- at what I say.” Then, with a return to her sweetness: “Do be kind, Meester
- Deck. You don’t know how badly I need you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Something deep and emotional stirred within him. Perhaps it was memory—perhaps
- habit All his life he had been waiting for just that—for her to need
- him; it had begun years ago when Hal had told him of the price that she
- would have to pay. Perhaps it was love struggling in the prison that her
- indifference had created for it It might be merely the sex response to her
- closeness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I came because you wrote that you needed me. But your laughing and the
- way you met me——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was nervous and—and you don’t know why.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He shook his head. “After all that’s happened, after all the loneliness
- and all the silence—— My dear, I don’t know what’s the matter
- with me; I think you’ve killed something. I’m not trying to be unkind.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She crouched her face in her hands. At last she became earnest “And just
- when I need you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me,” he urged gravely; “I’ll do anything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You promise—really anything?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anything.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled mysteriously, making bars of her fingers before her eyes. She
- knew that, however he might deny it, he was again surrendering to her
- power. “Even if I were to ask you to marry me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anything,” he repeated, without fervor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I’ll ask a little thing first.” She hesitated. “It would help if you
- put your arm about me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He carried out her request perfunctorily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ask me questions,” she whispered; “it will be easier to begin like that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where did you go when you left me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To Paris.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know. I followed you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She started. “But you didn’t see me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He kept her in suspense, while he groped after the reason for her
- excitement. “No. I didn’t see you. Whom were you with?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fluffy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Any one else?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes.” She caught at his hands, as though already he had made a sign to
- leave her. “I didn’t know he was to be there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah!” He knew whom she meant: the man with whom she had flirted in
- California and whom a strange chance had led to her hotel in Paris. He
- would have withdrawn his arm if she had not held it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But none of this explains your leaving me and then not writing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A hardness had crept into his tones. His jealousy had sprung into a flame.
- He remembered those photographs of Tom in her bedroom. There had always
- been other men at the back of her life. How did he know whom she met or
- what she did, when he was away from her?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Meester Deek,” she clutched at him, “don’t You—you frighten me.
- I’ve done nothing wrong. I haven’t I’ve spent every moment with Fluffy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That didn’t keep you from writing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No.” She laid her face against his pleadingly. “That didn’t prevent It
- was—— Oh, Meester Deek, won’t you understand—you’ve
- always been so unjudging? At Les Baux that night you wakened something—something
- that I’d never felt. I didn’t dare to trust myself. It wasn’t you that I
- distrusted. I wanted to go somewhere alone—somewhere where I could
- think and come to myself. If I’d written to you, or received letters from
- you——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Desire, let’s speak the truth. We promised always to be honest You say
- you went with Fluffy to be alone; you know you didn’t. Fluffy’s never
- alone—she’s a queen bee with the drones always buzzing round her.
- You went away to get rid of me, and for the fun of seeing whether you
- could recall me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not that. Truly not that” She paused and drew a long breath, like a diver
- getting ready for a deep plunge. “It was because I was afraid that, if I
- stopped longer, we might have to marry. A girl may be cold—she
- mayn’t even love a man, but if she trifles too long with his affections,
- she herself sometimes catches fire. That was how my mother—with my
- father.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then why did you send for me?” His tone was stern and puzzled.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a time she was silent. It seemed to him that she was searching for a
- plausible motive. Then, “I think because I wanted to see a good man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He tried to smile cynically. She had fooled him too many times for him to
- allow himself to be caught so easily as that. The scales had fallen from
- his eyes. She had always made whatever uprightness he possessed a reproach
- to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don’t believe me?” She scanned his face wistfully. “You never did
- understand me or—or any girls.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The new argument which her accusation suggested was tempting; no man,
- however inexperienced, likes to be told that he is ignorant of women. That
- he refused to allow himself to be diverted was proof to her of her loss of
- power.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe you in a sense,” he said. “I don’t doubt that at this moment
- you imagine that you want to see a good man—not that I’m especially
- good; I’m just decent and ordinary. But you’re not really interested in
- good men; you don’t find them exciting. Long ago, as children, you told me
- that. Don’t you remember—I like Sir Launcelot best?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She twisted her hands. Her face had gone white. When she spoke her voice
- was earnest and tired. “You force me to tell you.—I did want to see
- a good man—a good man who loved me. You’ll never guess why. It was
- to get back my self-respect That man—that man whom I led on in
- California, he saw us together in Paris. He misunderstood. He thought vile
- things. After I’d left you and joined Fluffy, I met him again and he asked
- me to be—— I can’t say it; but when a man like that
- misunderstands things about a girl——” Self-scorn consumed her.
- “It wasn’t only because he’d seen us together—it wasn’t only that.”
- Her voice sank to a bitter whisper. “I’m the daughter of a woman who was
- never married—he found that out; so he asked me to become his——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My God! Don’t say it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He tried to draw her to him. Tears blinded his eyes. She scoffed at
- herself rebelliously. “It’s true. I deserved it That’s the way I act—like
- a man’s mistress. I don’t act like other girls. That’s why you never
- mentioned me in your letters from New York to your mother. You made
- excuses for me in your own mind, and you tried not to be ashamed of me
- and, because you were chivalrous, you were sorry for me. I hated you for
- being sorry. But men, like that man in Paris—all they see in me is
- an opportunity——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The swine!” He clenched his hands and sat staring at the carpet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No.” She shook her head sadly. “I’m fair game. I see it all now. I used
- to think I was only modern, and used to laugh at you for being
- old-fashioned. You were always trying to tell me. I’m taking back
- everything unkind that I ever did or said. D’you hear me, Teddy? It’s the
- way I’ve been brought up. I’m what Horace calls ‘a Slave of freedom.’ I
- fascinate and I don’t play fair. I’m rotten and I’m virtuous. I accept and
- accept with my greedy little hands. I lead men on to expect, and I give
- nothing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She waited for him to say something—something healing and generous—perhaps
- that he would marry her. He was filled with pity and with doubt—and
- with another emotion. What she had told him had roused his passion. In
- memory he could feel the warmth of her body. Why had she dressed like this
- to meet him? Why did she touch him so frequently? Passion wasn’t love; it
- would burn itself out He knew that, if he stayed, he would shatter the
- idol she had created of him. He would become like that man whom he had
- been despising.
- </p>
- <p>
- His silence disappointed her. She ceased from caressing him. She had come
- to an end of all her arts and blandishments. In trying to be sincere, she
- had made her very sincerity sound like coquetry. She realized that this
- man, who had been absolutely hers at a time when she had not valued him,
- had grown reserved and cautious at this crisis when she needed him more
- than anything in the world. A desperate longing came into her eyes.
- Struggling with her pride, in one last effort to win him back, she
- stretched out her arms timidly, resting her hands on his shoulders with a
- tugging pressure. “I guess,” her voice came brokenly, “I guess you’re the
- only living man who would ever have dreamt of marrying me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jumping up, he seized his hat
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re going?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He faced her furiously. It seemed to him that he was gazing into a
- furnace. “If I stay, you’ll have me kissing you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She scarcely knew whether she loved or hated him, yet she held out her
- arms to him languorously. For a moment he hesitated. Then he hurried past
- her. As his hand was on the door, he heard a thud. She had fallen to her
- knees beside the couch in the sunlight Her face was buried in her hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- Slowly he came back. Stooping over her, he brushed his lips against her
- hair.
- </p>
- <p>
- She lifted her sad eyes. “I tried to be fair to you; I warned you. You
- should have stuck to your dream of me. You were never in love with the
- reality.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was.” He denied her vehemently.
- </p>
- <p>
- She smiled wearily. “The past tense! Will you ever be kind to me again, I
- wonder? I—I never had a father, Teddy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old excuse—the truest of all her excuses! It struck the chord of
- memory. He picked her up gently, holding her so closely that he could feel
- the shuddering of her breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In spite of everything,” she whispered, “would you still marry me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He faltered. “Yes, I’d still marry you. But, Desire, we’ve forgotten: you
- haven’t told me truly why you sent for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She slipped from his arms and put the couch between them. “I sent for you
- to tell you that—that I’m that, though I’ve tried, I can’t live
- without you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He leant out to touch her. She avoided him. “First tell me that you love
- me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her gray eyes brimmed over. “You don’t. You’re lying. I’ve never lied to
- you—with all my faults I’ve never done that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His arms fell to his side. When confronted by her truth his passion went
- from him. “But I shall. I shall love you, Desire. It’ll all come back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head. “It might never. And without it—— You told
- me that I’d killed something. I believe I have.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you would only let me kiss you,” he pleaded.
- </p>
- <p>
- She darted across the room and flinging wide the door, waited for him in
- the passage.
- </p>
- <p>
- She took his hands in hers. They gazed at each other inarticulately.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t tell you—can’t tell you,” he panted. “All the time I may be
- loving you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And just when I needed you, Meester Deek,” she whispered, “just when I
- want to be good so badly!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She broke from him. Again, as at Les Baux, he heard the key in her lock
- turning.
- </p>
- <p>
- No sooner was he without her than the change commenced. During his month
- of intolerable waiting, when he had thought that he had lost her forever,
- he had tried to heal the affront to his pride with a dozen hostile
- arguments. He had persuaded himself that the break with her was for the
- best. He had told himself that carelessness towards men was in her blood—a
- taint of sexlessness inherited from her mother. He had assured himself
- repeatedly that he could live without her. He had fixed in his mind as a
- goal to be envied his old pursuits, with their unfevered touch of bachelor
- austerity. This had been his mood till he had received her message: “I
- need you. Come at once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Having seen her, his yearning had returned like a lean wolf the more
- famished by reason of its respite. Was it love? If he lied to her, she
- would detect him. Until he could convince her that he loved her, he was
- exiled by her honesty. He knew now that throughout the weeks of waiting
- his suffering had been dulled by its own intensity. His false self-poise
- had been a symptom of the malady.
- </p>
- <p>
- All day he tramped the streets of London in the scorching heat of
- midsummer. He went up the Strand and back by the Embankment, round and
- round, taking no time for food or rest. He felt throughout his body a
- continual vibration, an eager trembling. He dared not go far from her.
- </p>
- <p>
- In spirit she was never absent She rose up crouching her chin against her
- shoulder and barricading her lips with her hand. He relived their many
- partings—the ecstasies, kisses, wavings down the stairs—those
- prolonged poignant moments when her tenderness had atoned for hours of
- coldness. She had become a habit with him—a part of him. His
- physical self cried out for her. It was knit with hers.
- </p>
- <p>
- A year almost to the day since she had said so lightly, “Come to America”!
- And now she was so near, and he could not go to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evening. He sat wearily on the Embankment, gazing up at the back of her
- hotel, trying to guess which window was hers. In the coolness of the
- golden twilight he had arrived at the first stage in his exact
- self-knowledge: that waiting for her had become his mission—without
- her his future would be purposeless. If he made her his wife, he might
- live to regret it Her faults went too deep for even love to cure. Any
- emotion of shame which she had owned to was only for the moment. Whether
- he lost her or won her, he was bound to suffer. Marriage with her might
- spell intellectual ruin; but to shirk the risk because of that would be to
- shatter his idealism forever. To save her from herself and to shelter her
- in so far as she would allow, had become his religion and the inspiration
- of his work. And wasn’t that the highest sort of love?
- </p>
- <p>
- He determined to set himself a test He walked to Charing Cross Station,
- entered a telephone-booth and called up the Savoy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Jodrell, please. No, I don’t know the number of the room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The trepidation with which he waited brought all his New York memories
- back.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her voice. “Hulloa! Yes. This is Miss Jodrell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was at a loss for words. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her across
- the wire. While he hesitated, he heard her receiver hung up.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was certain of himself now. He was shaking like a leaf. If her voice
- could thrill and unnerve him when her body was absent, this must be more
- than passion.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sat down till he had grown quiet, then jumping into a taxi he told the
- man to drive quickly. He could have walked the distance in little over
- five minutes; but after so much delay, every second saved was an
- atonement. As he whirled out of the Strand into the courtyard of the
- Savoy, Big Ben was booming for nine.
- </p>
- <p>
- For the second time that day he passed his card across the desk. “I want
- Miss Jodrell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The clerk handed him back his card. “She’s left.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But she can’t have. I’ve had her on the phone within half an hour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m sorry, sir. I wonder she didn’t tell you. You must have spokes with
- her the last minute before she left. She caught the nine o’clock
- boat-train from Charing Cross to Dover.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He went faint and reached out to steady himself. “From Charing Cross! Why,
- I’ve just come from there. We must have passed. We——”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man saw that something serious was the matter. He dropped his
- perfunctory manner. “She’s sure to have left an address for the forwarding
- of her letters. I’ll look it up if you’ll wait a moment.” He returned.
- “Her letters were to be addressed <i>Poste Restante</i> to the General
- Post-office, Paris. I don’t know whether that will help you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Before leaving the hotel he sat down and wrote her. Then he went out and
- sent her a telegram:
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>“Yours exclusively. Telegraph your address. Will come at once and fetch
- you.”</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- He hurried home to Eden Row and packed his bag. He was up early next
- morning, waiting for her reply. In the evening he sent her a more urgent
- telegram and another letter. No answer. He thought that she must have
- received his messages, for he had marked his letters to be returned within
- a day if not called for. He cursed himself for his ill-timed coldness.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0049" id="link2HCH0049"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIII—HIS WAITING ENDS
- </h2>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span> week of silence,
- and then—— It was eight in the evening. He was at the top of
- the house in his bedroom-study—the room in which he had woven so
- many gold optimisms. Down the blue oblong of sky, framed by his window,
- the red billiard-ball of the sun rolled smoothly, bound for the pocket of
- night.
- </p>
- <p>
- A sharp rat-a-tat. Its meaning was unmistakable. He went leaping down the
- stairs, three at a time. He reached the hall just as Jane was appearing
- from the basement Forestalling her at the front-door, he grabbed the
- pinkish-brown envelope from the telegraph-boy. Ripping it open, he read:
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>“Sorry delay. Been Lucerne. Just returned Paris. Received all yours.
- Meet me to-morrow Cherbourg on board ‘Wilhelm der Grosse.’ Please start
- immediately.”</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- She had forgotten to put her address. He pulled out his watch. Five
- minutes past eight! He had no time to consult railway-guides—no time
- even to pack. All he knew was that the boat-train left Charing-Cross for
- Dover in less than an hour; he could just catch it Returning to his
- bedroom, he gathered together what cash he could find In three minutes he
- was in the hall again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell mother when she comes back that I’m off to Paris. Tell her I’ll
- write.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Jane gaped at him. As he hurried down the steps, she began to ask
- questions. He shook his head, “No time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Throwing dignity to the winds, he set off at a run. As he passed Orchid
- Lodge, Mr. Sheerug was coming out. He cannoned into him and left him
- gasping. At the top of Eden Row he saw a taxi and hailed it. He knew now
- that he was safe to catch his train.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the drive to the station he unfolded her telegram and re-read it
- Irresponsible as ever, yet lovable! What risks she took! He might have
- been out; as it was he could barely make the connections that would get
- him to Cherbourg in time. No address to which he could reply! He couldn’t
- let her know that he was coming. Doubtless she took that for granted. No
- information concerning her plans! She had always told him that wise women
- kept men guessing. No hint as to why she had sent for him! Twenty-four
- hours of conjecturing would keep him humble and increase his ardor. Then
- the motive of all this vagueness dawned on him. She was putting him to the
- test If he came in spite of the irresponsibility of her message, it would
- be proof to her that he loved her. If ever a girl needed a man’s love,
- Desire was that girl.
- </p>
- <p>
- During the tedious night journey fears began to arise. Why was she going
- to Cherbourg? He read her words again, “Meet me to-morrow Cherbourg on
- board <i>Wilhelm der Grosse</i>” What would she be doing on board an
- Atlantic liner if she wasn’t sailing? She shouldn’t sail if he could
- prevent her. If she reached New York, she would go on the stage and commit
- herself irrevocably to Fluffyism.
- </p>
- <p>
- He steamed into the Gare du Nord at a quarter to seven and learnt, on
- making inquiries, that the trains for Cherbourg left from the St Lazare.
- He jumped into an autotaxi—no leisurely <i>fiacre</i> this time—and
- raced through the gleaming early morning. He found at the St Lazare that
- the first express that he could catch, departed in three-quarters of an
- hour. There was another which left later, but it ran to meet the steamer
- and was reserved exclusively for transatlantic voyagers. The second train
- would be the one by which she would travel. He debated whether he should
- try to intercept her on the platform. Too risky.
- </p>
- <p>
- He might miss her. He preferred to take the chance which she herself had
- chosen. There would be less than an hour between his arrival in Cherbourg
- and the time when the steamship sailed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Having snatched some breakfast, he found a florist’s and purchased an
- extravagant sheaf of roses.
- </p>
- <p>
- As soon as Paris was left behind, he was consumed with impotent
- impatience. It seemed to him that the engine pulled up at every poky
- little town in Normandy. He got it on his mind that every railroad
- official was conspiring to make him late. He had one moment of exquisite
- torture. They had been at a standstill in a station for an interminable
- time. He got out and, in his scarcely intelligible French, asked the
- meaning of the delay. The man whom he had questioned pointed; at that
- moment the non-stop boat-express from Paris overtook them and thundered
- by. At it passed, he glanced anxiously at the carriage-windows, hoping
- against hope that he might catch sight of her.
- </p>
- <p>
- The last exasperation came when they broke down at Rayeux and wasted
- nearly an hour. He arrived at his destination at the exact moment at which
- the <i>Wilhelm der Grosse</i> was scheduled to sail.
- </p>
- <p>
- Picking up the flowers he had purchased for her, he dashed out of the
- station and shouldered his way to where some <i>fiacres</i> were standing.
- Thrusting a twenty-franc note into the nearest cocker’s hand, he startled
- the man into energy.
- </p>
- <p>
- What a drive! Of the streets through which they galloped he saw nothing.
- He was only conscious of people escaping to the pavement and of threats
- shouted through the sunshine.
- </p>
- <p>
- When they arrived at the quay, the horse was in a lather. Far off, at the
- mouth of the harbor in a blue-gold haze, the liner lay black, her
- smoke-stacks smudging the sky. Snuggled against her were the two tugs
- which had taken out the passengers. An official-looking person in a peaked
- cap was standing near to where they had halted.
- </p>
- <p>
- Did he understand English? Certainly. To the question that followed he
- answered imperturbably: “Too late, monsieur. It is impossible.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He gazed round wildly. He must get to her. He must at least let Desire
- know that he had made the journey.
- </p>
- <p>
- Above the wall of the quay a head in a yachting-cap appeared. He ran
- towards it. Stone steps led down to the water’s edge. Against the lowest
- step a power-boat lay rocking gently with the engine still running. No
- time to ask permission or to make explanations! He sprang down the steps,
- flung his roses into the boat, turned on the power and was away.
- </p>
- <p>
- Shouting behind him grew fainter. Now he heard only the panting of the
- engine and the swirl of waves. The liner stood up taller. He steered for
- it straight as an arrow. If he could only get there! The tugs were casting
- loose. Now they were returning. He wasn’t a quarter of a mile away. He
- cleared the harbor. The steamer was swinging her nose round. He could see
- her screws churning. His only chance of stopping her was to cut across her
- bows.
- </p>
- <p>
- From crowded decks faces were staring down. Some were laughing; some were
- pale at his foolhardiness. An officer with a thick German accent was
- cursing him. He could only hear the accent; he couldn’t make out what the
- man was saying. What did he care? He had forced them to wait for him. From
- all that blur of faces he was trying to pick out one face.
- </p>
- <p>
- Making a megaphone of his hands, he shouted. His words were lost in the
- pounding of the engines and the lapping of the waves. Then he saw a face
- which he recognized—Fluffy’s. She was saying something to the
- officer; she was explaining the situation. Leaning across the rail,
- laughing, she shook her head. The news of the reason for his extraordinary
- behavior was passing from mouth to mouth along the decks. The laugh was
- taken up. The whole ship seemed to hold its sides and jeer at him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The liner gathered way. The last thing he saw distinctly was Fluffy, still
- laughing and shaking her golden head. She was keeping Desire from him; he
- knew that she had lied.
- </p>
- <p>
- The boat rose and fell in the churned-up wake. Like a man whose soul has
- suddenly died, he sat very silent.
- </p>
- <p>
- Slowly he came to himself. Evening was falling. He felt old. It was all
- true, then—the lesson that her mother had taught him in his
- childhood! There were women in the world whom love could not conquer.
- </p>
- <p>
- He flung the roses he had bought for her into the sea. Turning the head of
- the boat, he reentered the harbor.
- </p>
- <h3>
- FINIS
- </h3>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
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