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diff --git a/old/67376-h/67376-h.htm b/old/67376-h/67376-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index a7e027c..0000000 --- a/old/67376-h/67376-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1952 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<head> - <meta charset="UTF-8" /> - <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of That’s Not Love, by Elisabeth Sanxay Holding</title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" /> - <style> - body { margin-left:8%; margin-right:8%; } - p { text-indent:1.15em; margin-top:0.1em; margin-bottom:0.1em; text-align:justify; } - .tn { background-color:linen; font-size:0.8em; border:1px solid silver; margin-top:1.8em; - margin-left:8%; margin-bottom:1em; width:80%; padding:0.4em 2%; } - p.nsec { margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:0.8em;text-indent:0;text-align:center; } - </style> -</head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of That's Not Love, by Elisabeth Sanxay Holding</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: That's Not Love</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Elisabeth Sanxay Holding</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 11, 2022 [eBook #67376]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Roger Frank and Sue Clark. This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive.</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THAT'S NOT LOVE ***</div> - -<h1 title="I"></h1> -<div style='text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.4em; margin-top:1em;'>That’s Not Love</div> -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:0.8em; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em'> -SERENA PAGE’S COUNTRY PLACE WAS A HOUSE OF MIRTH,<br/> -BUT MERRIMENT AND TRAGEDY ARE OFTEN<br/> -CLOSE TOGETHER -</div> -<div style='text-align:center; margin-bottom:2em'> - By Elisabeth Sanxay Holding -</div> - -<p>A gay world, that summer morning! The sprinkler on the lawn flung a -rainbow mist into the air, and left tiny diamonds shining on the grass -blades. Everything was astir—the leaves rustling on the trees, gay -flowers swaying on their stalks. Curtains fluttered at the open windows, -and through the cool, bright house voices came floating, light as -butterflies. Serena Page had arisen.</p> - -<p>To be sure, she had told her house guests the night before that just -because she had to get up was no reason why any one else should be -disturbed at the outrageous hour of half past eight; but somehow everybody -was disturbed. Somehow her getting up made confusion all through the -house; for that was Serena’s especial talent—to create an exciting sort -of bustle about her, without herself doing anything at all. Serena! Never -was a woman so misnamed!</p> - -<p>She came down the stairs, her filmy black negligee floating out behind -her, so that she seemed, as always, to be coming in a breeze—an -artificial breeze, though, perfumed and enervating, bringing no health or -color. She was without make-up at this early hour. Her handsome, haggard -face was pale, her eyes were heavy.</p> - -<p>She entered the breakfast room, and there was the Moriarty girl, standing -by the window.</p> - -<p>“Good morning, Mrs. Page,” she said, with that enigmatic smile of hers.</p> - -<p>Serena smiled, too, but faintly. Geraldine Moriarty was beginning to get -on her nerves very badly, and she was longing for an excuse to fly into a -rage with the girl. That was the only way Serena could get rid of people. -She could do nothing in cold blood. She had taken on Geraldine in an -outburst of generosity, and she would have to have an outburst of anger -before she could send her away.</p> - -<p>“Had breakfast?” she inquired.</p> - -<p>“No—I was waiting for you, Mrs. Page.”</p> - -<p>Serena took her place at the table, and the Japanese butler came forward -to serve her. She did not know his name. She was not even sure that she -had seen him before. She got her servants from an agency in the city, -which upon demand would send her out a “crew” commanded by a butler. -Sometimes things went wrong, and the whole lot left together; but another -crew always came promptly, and her household suffered very little from the -change. She had the art of making her home as impersonal as a hotel; but -she did notice this butler. She smiled upon him, because his charmingly -deferential air pleased her. He seemed to appreciate the solemnity of the -occasion.</p> - -<p>It was indeed an important occasion. It was the beginning of Serena’s -diet. Before this elegant and luxurious creature the butler set half of a -grapefruit, two slices of Graham bread toast without butter, and a cup of -black coffee.</p> - -<p>She shuddered a little, and closed her eyes. Every morning, henceforth, -she was to get up at half past eight, go through a set of exercises, take -a cold shower, and come downstairs—to this! Every one said she wouldn’t -be able to stand it. Those who pleased her best said she had absolutely no -need of a reducing diet, and would be made ill by it.</p> - -<p>Only the Moriarty girl showed no interest at all. Serena observed that -Geraldine had a slice of grilled Virginia ham on her plate.</p> - -<p>“How Connie could ever have called her a sweet child!” she thought. “She’s -as hard as nails!”</p> - -<p>Some six weeks ago Connie Blanchard had come to Serena with a most piteous -tale about Geraldine Moriarty.</p> - -<p>“Her mother and I went to the same school in Paris,” she had said; “and -now this sweet child’s all alone in the world. Something awful happened to -her father. He went bankrupt, or lost his mind, or something—I can’t -remember now—and Geraldine simply hasn’t a penny. Fine old Irish family, -you know, and she’s awfully well educated. I’d love to help her, but you -know how it is with me, my dear, living as I do in hotels—and I’m not -strong. Do please do something for the poor child, Serena!”</p> - -<p>Who could have done more? Serena had at once engaged Miss Moriarty as -secretary-companion, and here she was, getting a nice little salary, and -with practically no work to do. The secretarial duties were almost -nonexistent, for Serena very seldom wrote or even answered a letter. She -and her friends carried on their social activities by telephone, and they -liked to do their own talking.</p> - -<p>As for the companion part, that was absurd. Serena was always surrounded -by companions, and mighty obliging ones, too—penniless cousins, ambitious -and ambiguous ladies, all sorts of eager and pliant creatures, who made up -a little court where Serena ruled magnificently. No—all the Moriarty girl -had to do was to look on, and of course to admire; and it was at this -simple task that she so utterly failed.</p> - -<p>She didn’t seem to admire anything or anybody, not even herself. She was -ironically indifferent to her own dark beauty. She had no decent clothes, -and when Serena had offered her some very good things that she was tired -of, Geraldine had refused—politely, of course. She was always polite, -always careful not to give Serena any excuse for getting rid of her.</p> - -<p>“But you’ll go, my dear!” thought Serena. “I’ve done quite enough for -you!”</p> - -<p>She glanced across the table at her silent companion.</p> - -<p>“Hopeless!” she reflected. “Simply hopeless! Of course she’s good-looking, -in a way—but she has absolutely <i>no</i> charm, and <i>no</i> figure.”</p> - -<p>Miss Moriarty went on eating with an excellent appetite. She was never -talkative. She was quiet, but with a quiet which Serena did not find -restful or soothing. She was a tall girl, thin and supple, with a careless -grace in every movement. Her face had a gypsy darkness, with high cheek -bones, features delicate and yet bold, and black eyes with a scornful -light in them. She was dressed in a black skirt, a black jersey, and a -plain white blouse—a costume that made her look lanky, thought the dieting -Serena; and she had that air of not caring.</p> - -<p>“For Heaven’s sake, do talk, my dear!” cried Serena, overcome by -exasperation. “I’m all on edge this morning, and it makes me horribly -nervous to see you sitting there like a—like a graven image!”</p> - -<p>“I’ll try,” said Miss Moriarty obligingly. “Have you seen the -delphiniums?”</p> - -<p>“Never heard of the things,” said Serena. “Oh, do answer that for me, my -dear!”</p> - -<p>For the butler had come forward to say that a “generman” wanted to speak -to Mrs. Page on the telephone.</p> - -<p>There was, inevitably, a telephone in the breakfast room. There were -telephones everywhere in that house, so that, in order to speak to a -friend perhaps a hundred miles away, one need not have the fatigue of -walking more than twenty feet. Geraldine took up the receiver.</p> - -<p>“This is Mrs. Page’s secretary,” she said. “Will you give me the message, -please?”</p> - -<p>“Tell Mrs. Page it’s Sambo,” said a curt and very clear masculine voice.</p> - -<p>“It’s Sambo,” repeated Miss Moriarty, turning toward Serena.</p> - -<p>She was surprised by the change that came over that haggard, petulant -face. Forgotten were the nerves and the cruel diet. Serena sprang to her -feet and ran to the telephone, and even her voice was changed.</p> - -<p>“Sambo!” she cried. “What an hour! Yes, I know, but why didn’t you write -me, just once? I’m not reproaching you, silly boy! Only I did think you’d -have time just for a line. No, no! To-day, Sambo? But can’t you give me -some idea what time? Surely some time to-day? Oh, all right! By-by, big -boy!”</p> - -<p>She came back to the table and sank into her chair, laughing.</p> - -<p>“I’ll take a slice of that ham,” she said to the butler, “and cream for my -coffee. Quick! I’m starving!” Then she looked at Geraldine. “Sammy Randall -is coming,” she announced.</p> - -<p>“How nice,” said Geraldine.</p> - -<p>But Serena missed any irony there may have been in the words. Mrs. Anson -had appeared in the doorway, and she called to her:</p> - -<p>“Betty, Sambo’s coming out to-day!”</p> - -<p>“My dear, how simply marvelous!” cried Betty Anson, with fervor.</p> - -<p>Serena expected that fervor. She took it for granted that all her friends -would rejoice with her; and so they did. Serena, the queen, was happy, and -all her court was happy, too, reaping the benefits of her good humor.</p> - -<p>“But that awful Moriarty!” she whispered to Betty Anson. “She’s worse than -usual this morning. I don’t know what’s the matter with her. She’s so -indifferent and ungrateful!”</p> - -<p>“Those people are always envious,” said Mrs. Anson. “Governesses and -companions—they’re not exactly servants, you know, and yet they’re -not—well, they’re simply out of everything.”</p> - -<p>“I wish she’d stay out altogether!” said Serena.</p> - -<p>Geraldine Moriarty wished the same thing. As she stepped out through the -long window of the breakfast room to the lawn, she wished that she need -never set foot in that house again. She hated it, she hated the life -there, and at times she came dangerously close to hating the people in it.</p> - -<p>For, though Serena’s conclusion that the girl was “as hard as nails” was -an exaggeration, there was a grain of truth in it. She had, for her -nineteen years, a character remarkably definite and independent. She had -fortitude, courage, and the pride of Lucifer. She had come here, -penniless, solitary, and so young, direct from the almost cloistered life -she had led with her invalid mother, and not for one instant had she been -dazzled or swayed by the luxury and the feverish gayety about her. She -stayed because she knew no other way to earn her bread, but all her salary -she put into a savings bank, and would not touch a penny of it. When there -was enough, she meant to go away. She would learn typing and shorthand, -find work in an office, and be done with this existence which she hated.</p> - -<p>She lived here in exile, utterly alien and lonely, among these people whom -she neither comprehended nor pitied. Her people had been gentlefolk. She -had been brought up in a tradition of dignity, honor, and reserve, and she -clung to that tradition with all the strength of her loyal heart. What her -people had been, she would be. Their ways were the right ways. Their -manners, their speech, their tastes, formed the standards by which all -others should be judged. And, so judged, Serena and her friends were -damned. Geraldine saw no good in them at all. They were base, heartless, -and vulgar.</p> - -<p>She walked across the lawn to the sea wall at the foot of the garden, and -jumped down to the beach, a few feet below. She wanted to be alone for a -little while in the fresh, sweet summer morning, in the sun and the salt -wind, and to forget the monstrous thing she had seen; but she could not -forget. In anger, in contempt, she was obliged to remember Serena’s face -at the mention of that man’s name.</p> - -<p>Evidently Serena “loved” this man with the mountebank name, and her -friends seemed to think it a charming idyl—the “love” of a woman of -forty, who had divorced one husband and was living in constant bickering -with a second. The fact of her being married was simply a side issue. -Faith and honor had no meaning at all for these people, and love—that was -what they called “love”!</p> - -<h1 title="II"></h1> -<p class='nsec'>II</p> - -<p>The summer day was drawing to a close. The shadows of the trees were long -upon the grass, the sun was sinking through a sky wistful and delicate, -faint rose and yellow.</p> - -<p>There was a blessed quiet all through the house. Serena and her friends -had certainly intended to be back for tea, but they had not come. They -never could do what they meant to do. Obstacles intervened, and they were -not well equipped for dealing with obstacles. It took so little to stop -them, to bar a road, to turn them off toward a new destination. They had -not come back, and Geraldine was having her tea alone in the library, -reading a book as she sipped it.</p> - -<p>That was how Sambo first saw her, sitting, very straight, in a high-backed -chair, with the last light of the sunset on her clear, pale face. He said -later that she had put him in mind of a Madonna, and there were not many -women he knew who could do that. He stood in the doorway, staring at her, -for quite a long time—so long that he never afterward forgot how she -looked then, so still, so lovely, so aloof.</p> - -<p>For a moment he was almost afraid to disturb her.</p> - -<p>But the fear of disturbing other persons had not yet greatly influenced -young Samuel Randall. He was a conqueror, nonchalant and superb. He took -whatever things pleased him in this world. Slender, almost slight, with -his fine features, his mournful dark eyes, he had a poetic and touching -look about him; but it belied him. He was not poetic. He was greedy, and -willful, and reckless.</p> - -<p>He wanted to talk to this lovely image, so in he went.</p> - -<p>“This a gentle hint?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Geraldine put down her book and looked at him.</p> - -<p>“I said I was coming to-day,” he went on, “and they’re all out. That mean -I’m not wanted?”</p> - -<p>And he smiled his charming, arrogant smile, for he knew so well that he -was always wanted.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Page meant to be home by five,” said Geraldine, with no smile at -all. “Something must have delayed her.”</p> - -<p>“Then you’ll give me a cup of tea, won’t you? I’m Randall, you know.”</p> - -<p>She said yes, none too cordially, and rang the bell for fresh tea. He sat -down opposite her, slouching in his chair, his handsome head thrown back, -his dark eyes watching her.</p> - -<p>“I’m Mrs. Page’s secretary,” she explained with cold formality.</p> - -<p>“Lucky, lucky Mrs. Page!” said he.</p> - -<p>A faint color rose in her cheeks. She resented his attitude, his easy and -careless manner, his appraising glance, and he read the resentment in her -face.</p> - -<p>“Prudish!” he thought.</p> - -<p>This did not annoy him. He liked this tall, dark, unsmiling girl just as -she was, a charming novelty; but he would have to change his tactics.</p> - -<p>“You were reading, weren’t you?” he said respectfully. “I hope I didn’t -interrupt you.”</p> - -<p>“No, Mr. Randall,” she answered.</p> - -<p>Then, suddenly, his undisciplined soul was filled with a sort of envy for -this untroubled and superior creature who read books.</p> - -<p>“I try to read,” he said. “I wish to Heaven I could; but it’s too late -now.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see how it could ever be too late to read,” said Geraldine, with -a trace of scorn.</p> - -<p>He had straightened up in his chair. He was no longer staring at her, but -at the unlighted cigarette that he was rolling between his fingers.</p> - -<p>“The thing is,” he said, “I’ve been spoiled. People listen to me—any -damned nonsense I spout—and I’ve got out of the way of listening myself. -Now, you see, when I take up a book that’s worth reading, I feel as if the -writer fellow had got me into a corner, and was trying to lay down the -law; so I want to contradict him, and I chuck the blamed thing across the -room.”</p> - -<p>He spoke earnestly, and he was in earnest. It was his great charm that he -was always sincere. He was not inventing things to say to this girl. He -was simply selecting from his restless, curious mind those things which he -thought would interest her. He was succeeding, too—he saw that.</p> - -<p>Geraldine did not speak, because to her reserved and proud spirit it was -impossible to speak easily to a stranger; but she thought over his words -with an odd sensation of distress. She felt sorry for the conquering -Sambo.</p> - -<p>He had picked up her book, and was turning the pages. It was a copy of -“The Hound of Heaven,” which her father had given her long ago.</p> - -<p>“Poetry!” he said. “Queer sort of stuff!”</p> - -<p>Then he read aloud:</p> - -<div style='margin-top:0.7em; margin-bottom:0.7em;'> - <div style='margin-left:4em;text-indent:-2em;'>“I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;</div> - <div style='margin-left:5em;text-indent:-2em;'>I fled Him, down the arches of the years;</div> - <div style='margin-left:4em;text-indent:-2em;'>I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways</div> - <div style='margin-left:5em;text-indent:-2em;'>Of my own mind—”</div> -</div> - -<p>He stopped, and for a moment he sat silent. The light was fading out of -the sky now, and in the dusk his face looked white and strained. The echo -of his strong young voice seemed still to drift through the shadowy room.</p> - -<p>Looking at him, Geraldine had an extraordinary fancy, almost a vision, of -his terribly defiant soul fleeing, swift and laughing, to its own -destruction. She was filled with an austere compassion and wonder. It was -as if, in an instant, and without a word spoken, he had told her all the -long tale of his wasted years.</p> - -<p>“Sometimes,” he said, “the prey gets away from Him!”</p> - -<p>“No!” said Geraldine steadily. “No—never!”</p> - -<p>He struck a match, and by the flame that sprang out, vivid in the gray -dusk, she had a glimpse of his face, with eyes half closed, proud and -sorrowful; and he was changed in her sight forever. She saw him, not as a -puppet in a shameful drama, but as a fellow creature with a soul.</p> - -<p>“You know,” he said, “I’ve got lost!”</p> - -<p>The match went out, and the room seemed very dark now. Geraldine wanted to -speak, to tell him something, but she could not remember, afterward, what -incredible words had come to her mind. They were never to be spoken, -however, for just at that moment Serena came home.</p> - -<h1 title="III"></h1> -<p style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:0.8em;text-indent:0;text-align:center'>III</p> - -<p>In her first generous enthusiasm Serena had declared that the “sweet -child” must dine with them, no matter who was there, and now neither she -nor Geraldine could find a plausible reason for altering the arrangement -which had grown so irksome. This evening, as usual, Geraldine went -upstairs to put on her one and only dinner dress.</p> - -<p>But she was not so reluctant as usual, nor so disdainful. She felt that -she was no longer utterly alone. This man who had come to the house was -different from the others. She remembered his face as she had seen it in -the flare of the match, and remembered the sound of his voice. If he was -lost, it was because he had been misguided. He was somehow a victim.</p> - -<p>Nobody noticed Miss Moriarty when she came to the table, for they were all -very well used to her and her one evening gown—that is, nobody but Sambo; -and to him she was new and lovely and profoundly interesting. He thought -that her slender hands were beautiful. So was the sweep of her shining -black hair away from her temples, and so was the proud arch of her brows; -and he thought that her poor little black dress, and her youth and her -disdainful air, were beyond measure touching.</p> - -<p>But he prudently kept his interest in Miss Moriarty to himself, and -behaved as he was expected to behave. The diet was postponed, and Serena -had asked the butler to see that there was “an awfully good dinner.” He -had justified her blind faith in him, for the dinner was an excellent one. -From the well stocked cellar he had selected the proper wines; but nobody -cared for these. They all preferred whisky. Throughout the meal they drank -whisky and smoked cigarettes, and their talk was in keeping with this.</p> - -<p>“It’s not my business,” thought Geraldine. “I can’t change the world. I’m -just here to earn a living.”</p> - -<p>But the contempt and indifference which until now had been her armor -failed her to-night. She was troubled and very unhappy. None of these -people were mere puppets any longer. They had come alive, and they were -pitiful, and a little horrible.</p> - -<p>There was the girl they called Jinky—tall, gaunt, with a sort of wasted -beauty in her face. A year ago she had eloped with a very young -millionaire, and, as he was under age, his parents had had the marriage -annulled—annulled, wiped out, so that Jinky had come back from her -wedding trip discredited and shamed before all her world. She didn’t seem -to care. She seemed hilariously amused by the whispered conversation of -Levering, who sat next her; but to-night Geraldine felt sure that Jinky -did care—that the wound had left a cruel scar.</p> - -<p>There was Levering himself, with his supercilious, high-bred face. He had -married for money, and he hadn’t got the money. It was a notorious joke in -that circle that his middle-aged wife begrudged him every penny. He -suffered his ignoble humiliation, and his wife suffered, too, because of -her jealous and bitter infatuation for him.</p> - -<p>There was the <i>chic</i> and lively little Mrs. Anson, with her eternal -scheming for invitations and other benefits. There was her husband, -gray-haired, distinguished in appearance, a slave to her ambition and his -own weakness.</p> - -<p>There was Serena, magnificent in her diamonds, talking only to Sambo, -looking only at Sambo. There was Sambo himself, the man who had said that -he was lost. He listened to Serena carelessly, and smiled, even when her -face was anxious and frowning. He smoked incessantly. The light ashes from -his cigarettes fell upon his plate, into his glass, and he swallowed them, -as if he neither knew nor cared what was barren ash and what life-giving -food.</p> - -<p>“Now what?” cried Serena, jumping up. “Bridge, or dancing, or what?”</p> - -<p>Geraldine had risen, too, and she fancied that she heard Mr. Anson, -standing beside her, mutter:</p> - -<p>“The deluge!”</p> - -<p>He was unsteady on his feet, and his weary face was a curious gray. -Geraldine had seen him like this before. He was trying to play, trying to -be one of them, to forget—and he never could.</p> - -<p>“Oh, dancing, of course!” said Jinky. They all went into the drawing-room, -and one of the servants started the phonograph playing. The music began, -the thud of drums like bare feet stamping, the sweet whine of Hawaiian -guitars, like lazy laughter. Geraldine had followed the others, meaning -only to pass through on her way to the garden, but halfway across the room -Sambo stopped her.</p> - -<p>“Give me this dance!” he said softly.</p> - -<p>“No!” she answered with a quick frown, and moved away.</p> - -<p>But he came after her, and laid his hand on her shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Please!” he said. “Why won’t you?”</p> - -<p>The touch of his hand filled her with a great anger. She turned her head -and looked at him with scornful amazement—and found in his face only -laughter and cajolery.</p> - -<p>“Please!” he said again. “Just one dance!”</p> - -<p>“No!” she said.</p> - -<p>He could not very well misunderstand—or pretend to misunderstand—her -tone. He dropped his hand and stood back.</p> - -<p>“Sorry!” he said.</p> - -<p>She knew that he wasn’t sorry. She went past him, threading her way among -the dancing couples, and went upstairs to her own room. She locked the -door and stood leaning against it, in the dark, breathing a little fast -from her haste and anger.</p> - -<p>She hated him! Vivid before her was the image of his handsome face, -flushed with drinking, and of his conqueror’s smile. Intolerable was the -memory of his hand upon her shoulder. She hated him, and she could almost -hate herself because even for a minute she had thought he was different.</p> - -<h1 title="IV"></h1> -<p style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:0.8em;text-indent:0;text-align:center'>IV</p> - -<p>The next morning, when Geraldine came downstairs, the house was like an -enchanted castle. The sun was streaming in, for it was full day, yet all -the rooms were silent and deserted. The little Japanese men had done their -work like brownies, and were now invisible, and all the people who had -danced the night before were lost in sleep.</p> - -<p>She went into the breakfast room and rang, and the butler came hurrying -in, smiling cheerfully. She told him what she wanted to eat, and crossed -to the window, for a breath of sweet air and a glimpse of the garden in -its morning beauty.</p> - -<p>The first thing she saw was Sam Randall, on the terrace, smoking a -cigarette. Her first impulse was to run away. He was down at the other -end, and he had not seen her yet; but she checked herself with a sort of -severity. Why should she run away from him? What had she to do with him, -or with any of the people in this house? She had judged and condemned -them long ago. It was only through a moment’s weakness that she had been -betrayed into taking an interest in this man. The weakness was mastered -now, and the interest had turned to scorn. He was just like the -others—perhaps a little worse!</p> - -<p>She heard his leisurely footsteps on the flags outside. She heard him come -in through the long window. She knew that he was standing beside her, but -she paid no heed until he spoke.</p> - -<p>“Good morning!” he said.</p> - -<p>Then she looked straight into his face.</p> - -<p>“Good morning,” she answered evenly.</p> - -<p>She was sorry, then, that she had looked at him, for there was no laughter -or arrogance about him now. He seemed subdued and anxious, younger than -she had remembered, and somehow appealing.</p> - -<p>“Look here!” he said. “I didn’t mean to offend you last night. I don’t -quite see why—but anyhow, I’m sorry!”</p> - -<p>Her breakfast was on the table, and she sat down before it. It occurred to -her that her silence was ungracious and unkind, but she knew no way to -break it. For all her self-reliance, she was very young and very -inexperienced. She could not mask her resentment; she could only hold her -tongue.</p> - -<p>Sambo sat down opposite her. She was determined not to raise her eyes, -but, without doing so, she could see his slender brown hands extended -across the table, and the cuffs of his soft blue shirt. She also saw that -he was holding a little field daisy. Surely there was nothing in that to -touch her heart, yet it did, and the pity that she felt for a passing -instant increased her anger. An obstinate and forbidding look came over -her face.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Look here! Do you mind if I sit here with -you?”</p> - -<p>“It’s not for me to dictate to Mrs. Page’s guests.”</p> - -<p>“You can dictate to me all you want,” said he. “Nothing I’d like better!”</p> - -<p>Again she was conscious that she was behaving ill, and again it -strengthened her obstinacy.</p> - -<p>“I’ll go away, if you like,” he went on; “but the way you talked to me -yesterday—I’ve been thinking so much about it! Please tell me what I’ve -done—what has made you change?”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t changed,” she answered coldly.</p> - -<p>He leaned nearer to her.</p> - -<p>“Look here!” he said entreatingly. “Don’t treat me like this! Don’t shut -me out! I came down early, just on the chance of seeing you. The others -will be down presently, so I only have this little minute. Let me talk to -you! You’re so wonderful—no one like you in the world—you and your -poetry and your lovely, quiet face! Don’t send me away, dear girl!”</p> - -<p>She sprang to her feet.</p> - -<p>“You have no right!” she cried.</p> - -<p>He, too, had risen.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry,” he said. “You wouldn’t mind, if you knew how I felt about -you. I’m at your feet.”</p> - -<p>“You—” she began, but her voice was so uncertain that she could not go -on.</p> - -<p>“I’m at your feet,” he repeated quietly. “If you want to treat me like -this, I can’t help it. It won’t make any difference. I’ll always—”</p> - -<p>“Hush!” she said. “The servants will hear you!”</p> - -<p>“Let ’em!” said he. “I’ll bet they’ve heard worse than that!”</p> - -<p>Without another word he walked away, through the window, out to the -terrace again.</p> - -<p>Geraldine tried to go on with her breakfast, but a strange confusion and -pain filled her. She told herself that this was only an episode, of no -significance. Randall would go away soon, and she need never see him or -think of him again. What he had said to her he said, very likely, to every -woman he met. He had come here to see Serena. He belonged to Serena. He -was one of that circle, one of those people without heart, without honor, -without decency.</p> - -<p>“At her feet!”</p> - -<p>Geraldine remembered his hand on her shoulder, his laughter in the face of -her just anger. It was a lie! He had no more respect for her than he had -for these other women. He thought she was like them, and would be -flattered by a smile from him. She hated him!</p> - -<p>She had a fine opportunity to test his alleged humility that very day. By -noon, the rest of the household had come downstairs, languid and -heavy-eyed, and all in need of “bracers” but not Sambo. He was not jaded or -depressed. He laughed at the others. It seemed to Geraldine that wherever -she went she could hear the sound of his debonair laughter. He was easily -the leader among them. No longer was Serena their queen; it was Sambo who -reigned supreme, not only because she had exalted him, but because of his -quick wit, his audacity, his graceless and irresistible charm.</p> - -<p>They sat about half dead, until lunch time. After lunch they were -revivified enough to begin considering what to do with the afternoon. -Serena wanted to visit some friends, Mrs. Anson wanted to play bridge, -Levering wanted to go out on the yacht, but Sambo said they would go to -the Country Club, and he had his way. Every one went upstairs to dress, -except Geraldine. She wasn’t expected to come. Nobody thought about her at -all.</p> - -<p>Sambo had not spoken one word to her, had scarcely glanced at her. When -they were alone, he called her “wonderful”; but when the others were -there, he ignored her as they did.</p> - -<h1 title="V"></h1> -<p style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:0.8em;text-indent:0;text-align:center'>V</p> - -<p>Geraldine was in her room, dressing for dinner, when they returned. The -house was suddenly in confusion. Electric bells rang, and she heard their -voices in an excited babel. They came in like a party of raiders taking -possession of an abandoned stronghold.</p> - -<p>“I can’t stand it much longer,” thought Geraldine. “I’m getting nervous -and irritable. I ought to go, only—”</p> - -<p>Only she had nowhere to go—nowhere in all the world. Strangers were -living in her old house. She wondered how it looked now. There used to be -an air of peace about it at this hour of a summer day, when the tangled -garden had grown dim, and the old house full of shadows. She and her -mother used to sit by the open window, in the dusk, not talking very much, -but so happy! Even old Norah in the kitchen was blessed by that peace, and -would croon contentedly as she moved about. All gone now!</p> - -<p>Geraldine had been a young girl then, like a child in the safe shelter of -her mother’s love—only a little while ago; but she would not think of -that. She would not shed a single tear. Her mother had been so brave, even -when her father was ruined and heartbroken by his failure in business—for -that was the “something dreadful” that had happened to him. Even when he -died, her mother had been so brave, and always so quiet. That was the -right way, and the way that Geraldine would follow. If her forlorn young -heart grew faint in her exile, she would look back, just for a glance, -would remember, just for an instant, and would be comforted and -strengthened.</p> - -<p>She put on her black dress, gave an indifferent glance in the mirror, and -opened the door; and there in the hall was Sambo, waiting for her.</p> - -<p>“Look here!” he said. “I want to know—I’ve simply got to know—what’s the -matter!”</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” she replied.</p> - -<p>She tried to pass, but he barred the way.</p> - -<p>“No!” he said. “I’m going away tomorrow morning, and I’ve got to know. -Have I offended you, or done anything you don’t like? The first time I saw -you, yesterday afternoon—what has made you change?”</p> - -<p>She did not answer, but her averted face was eloquent enough.</p> - -<p>“Look here!” he said. “If I thought it was simply that you disliked me—” -He paused for a moment. “But I don’t think that,” he went on. “You did -like me, at first. I’ve been thinking—Is it on account of Ser—of Mrs. -Page?”</p> - -<p>“What?” she cried, appalled.</p> - -<p>“Because, you know”—she noticed that he glanced up and down the softly -lit hall before he continued—“if it’s that, I give you my word there’s -nothing in it—absolutely nothing! I’ve never even pretended to her—”</p> - -<p>“Do you think I’m going to discuss <i>that</i> with you?” she said, -looking at him with a sort of horror.</p> - -<p>“There’s nothing to discuss,” he answered. “I wanted you to know that; but -then—”</p> - -<p>“Please let me pass!” she said. “I don’t want to—talk to you!”</p> - -<p>He did not move. He stood squarely before her, with a queer, dogged, -miserable look on his face.</p> - -<p>“Not until you tell me why you—hate me,” he said.</p> - -<p>She was silent for a moment, her heart filled with almost intolerable -bitterness. Then suddenly she laughed.</p> - -<p>“Oh, but you’d really better go!” she said. “You wouldn’t like it if some -one should come and find you speaking to <i>me</i>!”</p> - -<p>She regretted the words as soon as they were spoken. A singular change -came over him.</p> - -<p>“You mean—” he began, and paused. “You think I’m ashamed to be seen -talking to you?”</p> - -<p>“Let me go!” she said vehemently. “I won’t listen!”</p> - -<p>But her defiance was little more than bravado. Her knees felt weak. She -was frightened by the inexplicable thing she had done.</p> - -<p>“That was a beastly, unjust thing to think,” he went on. “It was only on -your account. I thought you wouldn’t want any one to know—”</p> - -<p>“Know? Know what?” she interrupted, with an attempt at her former -scornfulness; but in her heart she was dismayed and terribly uneasy.</p> - -<p>“All right!” he said. “You think I’m ashamed. By Heaven, you’ll see! I’m -proud of it! It’s the finest thing I ever did in my life—to love you!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, stop!” she whispered.</p> - -<p>“No! I’d like every one in the world to know it. I’m proud of it! I told -you I was at your feet, and I meant it. I’ll—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, please!” she said.</p> - -<p>He stopped, looking at her as if stricken dumb by some unbearable -revelation. All that was hard and proud had vanished from her face, -leaving a tragic and exquisite loveliness. She stood there, in her -distress, like a lost princess, bewildered and solitary, but unassailable -in her mystic innocence.</p> - -<p>“Look here!” he said. “I—” His voice was so unsteady that he could not go -on for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize how—how young -you are. If you’ll forgive me—”</p> - -<p>She shook her head mutely. He waited in vain for a word, but none came. -Then he turned and walked away, and she went back into her own room and -locked the door.</p> - -<p>She, too, had not realized how young she was, how untried her strength. -This overwhelmed her; she was so miserable, so shaken, that now at last -the tears came in a wild storm. Her pride was mortally wounded. It was a -disgrace to her that Sam Randall should think of her like that. It was -cruel, horrible, unforgettable, that the first words of love she had ever -heard from a man should be his words. His talk of love was a mockery, an -insult.</p> - -<p>Yet the memory of his set face and his unsteady voice caused her a strange -pain that was not anger.</p> - -<p>“I can’t understand!” she cried to herself. “I can’t understand!”</p> - -<p>And it was the first time in her life that Geraldine, with her rigid code, -her intolerant and sharply defined opinions, had ever thought that.</p> - -<h1 title="VI"></h1> -<p style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:0.8em;text-indent:0;text-align:center'>VI</p> - -<p>Jesse Page ordered the car stopped at the entrance to the driveway, and -went the rest of the way on foot. The stars were out in the bland summer -sky, and among the dark trees, stirred by no wind, the house with its -lighted windows had a gay and delicate beauty, an air of festival. Down by -the sea wall the little yacht was moored, swinging gently, throwing into -the black water two little quivering pools of red and green; but there was -not a sound from house or garden.</p> - -<p>“Not even a dog to bark when I come home!” he thought, with a faint, -bitter smile.</p> - -<p>Heaven knows he had made this solitude for himself! He was a man who had -found it easy to win affection—so easy that he distrusted what cost him -so little effort. He could believe in nothing and no one—himself least of -all.</p> - -<p>He walked on the grass, so that his footsteps made no sound. He was a -stalwart man, tall and of soldierly bearing, with a handsome, heavy face -and dark hair a little gray on the temples. He was a domineering, -headstrong, passionate man, and terribly unhappy. He wanted to be angry, -but it was unhappiness that filled him—a queer, pathetic sort of -bewilderment.</p> - -<p>“By God, it’s not fair! It’s not <i>fair</i>!” he said to himself over and -over again.</p> - -<p>That was the way he saw it—it was not fair that he should be hurt like -this. He never once looked for a cause, for any fault in himself, or for -any general rule to apply. It simply was not fair that this should happen -to him.</p> - -<p>He had been away, in Chicago, looking after some business affairs, making -more money—for her to spend, of course; and then this letter came. What -if it was anonymous, what if it was written in savage malice? He had a -pretty fair idea as to who had written it, and why. Serena had enemies. He -had listened to innuendo before; and now he was going to know.</p> - -<p>The front of the house was deserted, and he went round to the side, where -the dining room was. Just as he turned the corner, he saw some one come -out through one of the French windows. He stopped, and drew back into the -shadow of the wall. It was a man, and he fancied he recognized that -slender and vigorous figure. He waited and watched.</p> - -<p>The other man stopped to light a cigarette, but his back was toward the -house. Then he strolled on leisurely toward the garage. Page followed him -a little way, but when the other entered the brightly lit building, he was -satisfied. It was young Randall.</p> - -<p>That was all he needed to know. He went back to the front of the house and -entered there. It was his own house, but the servants—a new crew—did not -know him. The butler tried to stop him, but he pushed the anxious little -man aside, and proceeded to the dining room.</p> - -<p>They were there, the whole crowd of them, sitting about the disordered -table, jaded and hot, and full of a restless languor. The air was thick -with cigarette smoke. A little blue-eyed man with a gray mustache was -performing an elaborate conjuring trick with match sticks and somebody’s -gold watch, and Serena lay back in her chair, looking at him with a -distant smile. Her haggard face was flushed, her eyes heavy. Jesse Page -thought he had never seen her more beautiful, or more hateful.</p> - -<p>“By God, it’s not fair!” he thought again. “I’ve given her everything, -I’ve put up with all her whims, and now I—I could kill her!”</p> - -<p>It was as if his thought had sped through the room like an arrow. Serena -straightened up in her chair, turned her head, and saw him standing in the -doorway.</p> - -<p>“Jesse!” she cried.</p> - -<p>He did not speak or move. He stood there, his straw hat pushed back, -staring at her with narrowed eyes.</p> - -<p>“Jesse!” she said again.</p> - -<p>She half rose from her chair, her own eyes dilated and fixed upon him. -Then some one near her stirred, and the sound recalled her to her -surroundings. Here was the stage upon which she was accustomed to play a -leading part, and every one was looking at her.</p> - -<p>She sank back into the chair again, with a laugh.</p> - -<p>“You beast!” she said. “You startled me so! Why didn’t you tell me you -were coming home, Jesse? Have you had your dinner?”</p> - -<p>He gave his hat to a servant, and sat down in the one chair that was -vacant. Now he had found out; now he knew. Startled her, had he? That was -guilty terror he had seen in her face! Let her sit there smiling, radiant -in her jewels, at the head of her own table! She was frightened, she -couldn’t take her eyes off her husband.</p> - -<p>“Hello, everybody!” he said genially. “Don’t let me spoil the party! Come -on, now! All have another drink, eh?”</p> - -<p>The response he got made him feel physically sick.</p> - -<p>“God, what people!” he thought. “They’re all afraid of me—afraid of a -row!”</p> - -<p>He looked around the table at the eagerly smiling faces, and he smiled -himself—a broad grin.</p> - -<p>“One missing, isn’t there?” he asked. “Who was sitting in this place?”</p> - -<p>There was a moment’s silence.</p> - -<p>“Oh, there?” said Serena. “Miss Moriarty. She’s gone upstairs with a bad -headache.”</p> - -<p>“I see!” said Page, still grinning.</p> - -<p>“I suppose I really ought to go up and see how the poor girl’s getting -on,” continued Serena.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no!” he said suavely. “Don’t go! Wait a bit, and perhaps she’ll come -back.”</p> - -<p>There was another silence.</p> - -<p>“We don’t want to sit here!” cried Betty Anson nervously, pushing back her -chair. “Let’s go!”</p> - -<p>“I like to sit here,” said Page. He poured himself another whisky, and lit -a cigarette. “I think I’ll have a <i>demi-tasse</i> and a sandwich. You -people must keep me company. Don’t go, Betty!”</p> - -<p>She settled back again. She was sorry for Serena, but it would never do to -offend Jesse.</p> - -<p>“If there’s any serious trouble,” she thought, “poor Serena’ll be done -for!”</p> - -<p>The ambitious Mrs. Anson couldn’t afford to take up the cause of people -who were done for. She glanced covertly across the table. Her husband sat -with his eyes fixed on the cloth, his distinguished gray head bent. -Levering was grave, but the shadow of a smile hovered about his lips. -Jinky, sitting next him—what was the matter with Jinky?</p> - -<p>“How queer she looks!” thought Mrs. Anson.</p> - -<p>She was really distressed by the look on Jinky’s wasted young face; for of -all the people there, Jinky could least afford any indiscreet pity. Jesse -Page was a distant cousin of hers; he had been generous to her, and she -needed it. No—she really shouldn’t look at Serena like that!</p> - -<p>Suddenly Jinky jumped up, and, without a word, walked across the room to -the window, and out on the terrace.</p> - -<p>“Jinky!” Page called sharply. “Where are you going?”</p> - -<p>She turned her head and glanced at him, but she did not answer. For a -moment she stood there in the bright light, a curiously dramatic figure in -her emerald green dress, with her gleaming black hair and her white, thin -face. Then she put her jade cigarette holder between her teeth, and went -off over the lawn.</p> - -<p>Page jumped up and followed her.</p> - -<p>“See here, Jinky!” he said furiously. “You’d better—”</p> - -<p>“See here, Jesse!” she interrupted. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”</p> - -<p>“All right! Perhaps I enjoy it.”</p> - -<p>“It’ll take,” said Jinky deliberately, “just about five minutes for you to -make such a mess of things that you’ll regret it all the rest of your -days, Jesse!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no!” he said, with a grin. “It’ll take a good deal less than five -minutes—when I catch sight of that lad!”</p> - -<p>Jinky stopped. From where she stood she could look into the garage, and -she was satisfied.</p> - -<p>“Go ahead!” she said. “I’ll drop out.”</p> - -<p>As she turned back toward the house, he went with her.</p> - -<p>“Somehow,” he said, “I feel that where Jinky goes, there must I go, too.”</p> - -<p>“Keep it up, Jesse!” said she. “You deserve what you’ll get!”</p> - -<p>They found the dining room deserted, with an air of haste and disorder -about it. A cigarette smoldered in a saucer, a cup of coffee had been -overturned, and a dark stain was still spreading slowly over the lace -cloth. Page went into the drawing-room, and Jinky followed. Serena was not -there.</p> - -<p>He went toward the door again, hesitated, and came back. Jinky had -vanished now, through the card room.</p> - -<p>“All right!” he said to himself. “Let them have a little more rope!”</p> - -<h1 title="VII"></h1> -<p style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:0.8em;text-indent:0;text-align:center'>VII</p> - -<p>Jinky met Serena coming down the stairs. There had been no love lost -between these two. They had never been friends, and Serena, with the -memory of more than one petty blow dealt to Jinky, expected no mercy from -her now. She was about to pass with a vague, strained smile, when the girl -stopped her.</p> - -<p>“You’ll have to try another line, Serena,” she said. “No use pretending -that Sambo wasn’t here.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, let me alone!” cried Serena desperately. “Don’t I know that?”</p> - -<p>“Well, look here,” said Jinky thoughtfully. “Where is he, anyhow?”</p> - -<p>“Down on the shore road, waiting for me. We were going to run over to the -Abercrombies’ in his car. If I don’t show up, he’ll come back here, and -they’ll telephone. Oh, Jinky, I’m—”</p> - -<p>“Hold up a minute! Let’s see! No use in <i>my</i> going—Jesse would tag -along; but the Moriarty girl could go.”</p> - -<p>“Moriarty!” cried Serena. “You’re simply insane, Jinky! Why, she’s the -most—”</p> - -<p>“I think she’s a pretty decent sort of kid. Anyhow, I’ll try.”</p> - -<p>“But, Jinky, she’s ill—didn’t come down to dinner. She sent me word that -she had an awful headache. There’s no use wasting time over her.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll have a try at it,” persisted Jinky.</p> - -<p>“Jinky!” said Serena, with fervor. “You’re a simply wonderful pal to me! -I’ll never forget this—never!”</p> - -<p>“I hope you won’t,” replied Jinky.</p> - -<p>She went on up the stairs, and knocked on the Moriarty girl’s door.</p> - -<p>“Who is it?” asked a cold voice.</p> - -<p>“Let me in! I want to speak to you.”</p> - -<p>The door was opened. Jinky went in and closed the door after her.</p> - -<p>“Yes?” said Geraldine.</p> - -<p>But Jinky did not answer for a moment. She was looking at Geraldine, -studying her, with all her hard won wisdom. A child, she thought her—a -lovely child, with her heavy hair in a braid, and her outgrown bath robe; -but a child already half awakened to reality.</p> - -<p>“Look here!” she said briefly. “Do you want a chance to do a decent -thing?”</p> - -<p>“I—what is it?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you,” said Jinky. “If you want to help, you can get dressed and -run down to the Shore Road and meet Sam Randall—”</p> - -<p>“No!” cried Geraldine. “I won’t! I won’t have anything to do with—with -that!”</p> - -<p>“You needn’t think it’s a grand operatic tragedy,” said Jinky. “Serena and -Sam aren’t exactly <i>Tristan</i> and <i>Isolde</i>. There’s nothing very -wicked in their little flirtation; but Jesse Page just came home in a -pretty poisonous temper, and if Sambo comes back to the house now there’ll -be trouble.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t care!”</p> - -<p>“I suppose you don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Jinky. “I hope -you don’t. If you understood that you could stop a nasty scandal, and -perhaps something even worse, and you just wouldn’t do it, and didn’t -care—” She paused. “It’s serious,” she went on. “Jesse means business. -You can help these people if you want to. If you don’t want to, all right! -It’s up to you.”</p> - -<p>This was the first time Geraldine had had a problem presented to her in -such a way. There was no question of right or wrong. Evidently Jinky -thought it didn’t matter whether these people deserved to be helped or -not. She simply offered the other girl a chance to do a decent thing.</p> - -<p>Geraldine looked at Jinky, and found Jinky looking at her; and Savonarola -never preached a more eloquent sermon than Jinky did by her silence. She -stood there, smoking her cigarette, a haggard, reckless, wasted young -creature, just waiting to see if the other girl was willing to help. It -was up to Geraldine.</p> - -<p>“I’ll go,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Moriarty,” cried Jinky, “you’re a little gentleman! Hurry up now! I’ll -help you.”</p> - -<p>Geraldine needed assistance. Her hands were so unsteady that she was glad -to let Jinky pin up her hair and hook her belt.</p> - -<p>“Now, step!” said Jinky. “And see here, Moriarty—better let Sambo run you -down to the Abercrombies’ and tell them not to telephone here. See Olive -Abercrombie yourself; she’s got a down on Sambo. Tell her not to say -anything about anything. She’ll understand.”</p> - -<p>Geraldine put on her hat and took up a scarf—a funny, old-fashioned -knitted scarf that made Jinky smile. She could never afterward think of -that evening without remembering the old scarf.</p> - -<h1 title="VIII"></h1> -<p style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:0.8em;text-indent:0;text-align:center'>VIII</p> - -<p>Sambo sat in his car, smoking, and contemplating the starry sky. He was -very unhappy, very much troubled, and so intent upon his own affairs that -Serena’s lateness had caused him no concern whatever. Indeed, when he -thought of her at all, it was to wish that she would never come. He wished -that he could start up his car and drive off somewhere—into another -world.</p> - -<p>Yet the world he was in was beautiful to-night. His car was drawn up -beside a coppice of pine trees—brave, tall trees standing black against -the sky, which was filled with the mild light of the stars. Behind him lay -the sea. He could hear it breaking quietly on the sand, and the salt savor -of it was in the air, with the aromatic fragrance of the pines. A -beautiful world, and he was young and vigorous, and his pockets were well -filled, and still he was saying to himself:</p> - -<p>“I’m so sick of the whole show—so blamed sick of the whole thing!”</p> - -<p>His quick ear caught the sound of footsteps hurrying along the road. He -sighed, sat up a little straighter, and waited, with a resigned and somber -expression upon his face. Now he realized that Serena was very late, and -he thought he would be justified in being rather disagreeable about it. He -didn’t want to see her, didn’t want to go to the Abercrombies’. He was -mortally weary of all this.</p> - -<p>The hurried steps drew nearer, and now he could dimly see an approaching -figure. Serena never walked like that—never came light and swift, tall -and free-moving as a young Diana! It looked like—but of course it -couldn’t be. It seemed so only because he had been thinking so much of -that other girl, and longing so much to see her.</p> - -<p>He turned up the headlights of his car, sending a clear river of light -along the road; and the hastening figure was plain to him now. It -<i>was</i> Geraldine.</p> - -<p>He sprang out of the car and went to meet her, his dark face all alight.</p> - -<p>“Dear girl!” he cried. “Why, I couldn’t believe—”</p> - -<p>She drew back a little.</p> - -<p>“No!” she cried. “I—I only came—”</p> - -<p>“I don’t care why you came,” he began. “You’re here—that’s enough!”</p> - -<p>Then he noticed how anxious she was, how hurried, and how pale. The light -died out of his face. He became grave, as she was.</p> - -<p>“Anything wrong?” he asked.</p> - -<p>His voice was gentle, and he stood before her with a sort of humility. He -knew now that she had not come on his account, and he was terribly -disappointed. She saw that, yet she felt that, after all, it would not be -hard to explain to him, to ask anything of him. She felt sure that he -would understand, and would do whatever she wanted; and that knowledge -caused her an odd little thrill, half of pain, half of pride.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Randall,” she said, “Mr. Page has come home, and—”</p> - -<p>She stopped, and he saw a change come across her face—that cold and -scornful look again. When she had to put this thing into words, the -shamefulness and the ugliness of it were not to be disguised.</p> - -<p>“So they sent me,” she went on curtly, “to say that you had better not -come back now.”</p> - -<p>“I see!” said Randall. “I’m to run away, when Jesse comes? Well, I won’t!” -She had not expected this.</p> - -<p>“But don’t you see?” she said vehemently. “You’ll have to, on—on Mrs. -Page’s account.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t!” he declared again.</p> - -<p>They were both silent for a moment.</p> - -<p>“Look here!” he said abruptly. “How did you get mixed up in this? Why did -<i>you</i> come?”</p> - -<p>“Because—I wanted—to help,” she answered, as if the words were hard to -speak. Again there was a silence.</p> - -<p>“All right!” he said, at last. “I’ll do whatever you say.”</p> - -<p>She looked away as she answered:</p> - -<p>“Miss—Jinky is the only name I know her by—she thought I’d better go and -speak to Mrs. Abercrombie.”</p> - -<p>“All right! Do you want me to run you down there now?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, please.”</p> - -<p>He opened the door of the car, but made no effort to help her in. Then, -when she was seated, he got in beside her.</p> - -<p>“Miss Moriarty!” he said. “Look here! Will you marry me?”</p> - -<p>She was too much astounded to utter a word. She sat staring at him.</p> - -<p>“You needn’t bother to answer,” he went on, without even turning his head -toward her. “I know you won’t. I just wanted you to know that that was how -I felt about you. Now you understand, anyhow!”</p> - -<p>He started the engine, and the little car shot off smoothly along the -road, under the shadow of trees, out into the open country, past wide and -quiet fields, past little lighted houses. They went at a terrific speed. -Geraldine closed her eyes, dazed by the rush of wind against her face, the -steady hum of the engine, and the dark landscape that seemed to be -streaming past her like a figured scarf.</p> - -<p>Randall did not speak again, yet she could almost believe that this wild -haste was the very voice of his reckless spirit. It was as if she were -listening to him all the time, as if he were telling her again that he was -lost—that he didn’t know where he was going, and didn’t care.</p> - -<p>And a very passion of regret and pity seized upon her. She did not judge -him now, or remember his misdeeds. She could not see him, but she knew so -well how he looked—so young, so gallant, so debonair, and so pitiful. She -was not frightened; she was sorrowfully resigned to go with him, rushing -through the dark, whatever their destination.</p> - -<p>Suddenly the car slowed down. Geraldine opened her eyes, faintly surprised -to find the world so quiet again.</p> - -<p>“Need gas,” he explained.</p> - -<p>He stopped before a little gasoline station, theatrically brilliant -against the dark trees. He jumped out, lifted the hood, looked in at the -engine, was satisfied; and, closing the hood, turned to speak to the man -who had come out of the station.</p> - -<p>The thing that followed was utterly unreal. Geraldine saw him standing -there, bareheaded, in his dinner jacket, in that brilliant light, like an -actor on a stage. He had just lit a cigarette, and was smiling at -something the garage man said, when another car came by and stopped with -grating brakes, a voice shouted something, and a shot rang out. Before the -girl could believe that it had happened, the other car had gone on, and -Randall and the garage man stood there, motionless, white, as if listening -intently to the shot that still echoed in the air.</p> - -<p>“Get his number!” the man bawled suddenly.</p> - -<p>She saw Randall put his hand into his pocket and bring out a roll of -bills. She could not hear what he said, but it was a short enough speech. -The man thrust the money into his own pocket, and ran to connect the hose. -Randall climbed back into the car.</p> - -<p>“That’s enough!” he said.</p> - -<p>In a minute they were off again. They went around the drive before the -station, turned homeward.</p> - -<p>“What happened?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” he said curtly. Then, in a moment: “I suppose you’ve got to -know. It was Page, trying a little melodrama. No harm done, but—but I -wish to God you hadn’t got mixed up in it! I’m going to get you home as -fast as I can. Just keep quiet about the whole thing, won’t you? Don’t—”</p> - -<p>He stopped abruptly, and the car swerved to one side. He muttered -something under his breath, and went on steadily again; but suspicion -began to dawn upon her.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Randall!” she cried. “Are you hurt?”</p> - -<p>“No!” he replied, with a laugh—a strange laugh; “only—”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Randall,” she said, “I’m sure—oh, please stop the car! I <i>know</i> -you’re hurt!”</p> - -<p>“Would you care, if I were?”</p> - -<p>“Yes!” she cried. “Yes, I would care! Oh, please don’t go on! Stop the -car, and let me see!”</p> - -<p>But he went on along the smooth, empty road, not driving fast now, but -very, very carefully.</p> - -<p>“It would be worth a bullet through the head,” he said, “to hear you speak -like that! But I’m <i>not</i> hurt—I’m—not—”</p> - -<p>His labored voice almost broke her heart.</p> - -<p>“Sambo!” she cried. “Please, please let me see! Stop! Stop!”</p> - -<p>He did stop then. He put his arm about her, and drew her close to him.</p> - -<p>“My little darling!” he said. “My little blessed angel! For you to care -like this!”</p> - -<p>She let her head rest against his shoulder. She let him kiss her pale, -cold cheek. Then she began to sob.</p> - -<p>“Tell me!” she pleaded.</p> - -<p>“I’m not hurt,” he said gently. “Nothing for you to cry about, little -sweetheart; only, don’t you see, you’ve got to get home quick, before he -does? If you’ll go quietly to your room, and say nothing, there’ll be no -harm done. Come, now!”</p> - -<p>He took his arm from her shoulder, and started the engine. He went still -faster now. She spoke, but he did not answer. His eyes were intent upon -the road before him. He stopped at the foot of Serena’s garden.</p> - -<p>“Now stroll up to the house as if you’d been taking a walk,” he said.</p> - -<p>“No, I won’t! I can’t! I’m afraid you’re hurt!”</p> - -<p>“Look here!” he said. “There’s just one thing on earth you can do for me, -and that is to clear out. There’s nothing that could be so bad as your -getting mixed up in this. I mean it! Don’t—don’t make it hard. Just go!”</p> - -<p>She could not withstand his broken and anxious voice. She obeyed as a -child obeys, leaden-hearted, in tears, only half comprehending, going -simply because he entreated her to go. She opened the door of the car and -got down into the road; but her scarf had caught in something. She pulled -at it, jerked it upward, and still it held fast.</p> - -<p>“Oh, go on!” he cried, as if in anger.</p> - -<p>“It’s my scarf!” she explained, with a sob.</p> - -<p>He turned to help her, tore the scarf loose, and then, with a strange -little whistling sigh, doubled over, with his head lying against the side -of the car.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Randall!” she cried. “Sambo! Oh, what’s the matter?”</p> - -<p>There was no answer from him. The engine was still running, the headlights -were shining out in the dark. The car was like a living creature, -trembling with impatience to be off, but the owner and master of it lay -still and silent. Geraldine reached out her hand, and her fingers touched -the soft, short hair on his temple.</p> - -<p>“What shall I do?” she said to herself. “Oh, what shall I do?”</p> - -<p>For a moment she was lost, panic-stricken, ready to sink down in the dust -beside the car and hide her eyes; but not for long. Little by little her -native courage flowed back. She grew strong again, and tried to face this -situation with her old austere and straightforward mind.</p> - -<p>“He’s fainted—that’s all,” she thought. “I must help him. I mustn’t call -any one else, because that’s just what he doesn’t want. It would be unfair -and cruel to call any one else, now that he’s—helpless!”</p> - -<p>Helpless, this man who, not an hour ago, had been so vividly alive, so -headstrong, so impetuous! Such pity seized her that she sobbed aloud. Her -hand still rested upon his bent head. She drew nearer, and kissed his -hair.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Sambo, dear!” she said. “I will help you!”</p> - -<p>Then she set off across the lawn that lay before her like a vast -wilderness. She dared not hurry, lest some one might see her and question -her. She had to go at a quiet and ordinary pace, had to restrain her -passionate impulse to run.</p> - -<p>“Brandy!” she thought. “That’s what they give people who faint. I’m sure -there’s some on the sideboard in the dining room. I mustn’t be silly. I -mustn’t let go of myself!”</p> - -<p>She had left him there alone, unconscious and helpless, but she must not -run. Nobody else must know. As she passed the front of the house, she -heard the sound of music and dancing feet from the drawing-room, and she -went by, carefully avoiding the bright rectangles of light from the -windows. On the buffet were three decanters. She was not quite sure which -was the brandy, but there was no time for hesitation. She poured out a -glassful from what she hoped was the right one, and turned toward the -window again.</p> - -<p>A voice spoke behind her.</p> - -<p>“Caught in the act!” It was Serena. She stood in the doorway, gay and -glittering, her face bright with a feverish excitement. “I’d never have -thought it of <i>you</i>!” she said, laughing.</p> - -<p>Geraldine stood like a statue, with the glass in her hand. It was horrible -to her to be caught like this, to be judged guilty as these others were -guilty; but it never occurred to her to invent a plausible lie. Serena -might think what she liked; there would be no explanation. The girl turned -to face her.</p> - -<p>“I needed it,” she said.</p> - -<p>“It’s a pretty stiff—” Serena began, and stopped short, staring at the -girl. “My God!” she cried. “What’s happened? Your scarf—”</p> - -<p>Geraldine looked down. One side of the scarf about her shoulders was -sodden and stained with blood.</p> - -<p>The glass dropped from her hand and crashed upon the floor, and a -sickening blackness swam before her eyes. She stretched out her hands, and -they touched nothing. Her knees gave way, and she staggered back. Then, -with a supreme effort, she recovered herself. She leaned against the wall, -sick and trembling, until the wild chaos in her brain passed by. She heard -Serena speaking. Presently she could see Serena’s frightened face before -her.</p> - -<p>“What is it? What’s the matter?” she was saying.</p> - -<p>“It’s Sambo,” said Geraldine, with an effort. “He’s hurt. Send some one to -bring him in!”</p> - -<p>“In here? Where is he?”</p> - -<p>“Down on the North Road, in his car. Send some one—”</p> - -<p>Serena came nearer.</p> - -<p>“See here, Geraldine!” she whispered. “I can’t! Wait! Let’s see—let’s -think how we can get him away!”</p> - -<p>“I tell you he’s hurt!” insisted Geraldine. “Send some one—”</p> - -<p>“Hush! Not so loud! I can’t have him here! You don’t understand. I’ve had -the most awful time with Jesse! I had to promise I’d never speak to Sambo -again. I simply can’t—”</p> - -<p>“I tell you he’s hurt!” reiterated Geraldine, with a sort of horror. “It -may be serious. He may be—”</p> - -<p>Serena began to cry.</p> - -<p>“I can’t help it! I’m awfully sorry, but I simply can’t have any more -trouble with Jesse. You ought to see that—”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Page,” said Geraldine, “he may be dying. He’s got to be brought in -here at once!”</p> - -<p>“I can’t help it!” cried Serena petulantly. “Sam Randall is nothing to me, -and Jesse is simply everything. Jesse’s the only man I ever really cared -for, and I won’t—”</p> - -<p>“You beast!” said Geraldine.</p> - -<p>Serena stared at her in blank astonishment. It was incredible that the -cold and correct Miss Moriarty should have said that.</p> - -<p>“I’m surprised—” she began, but Geraldine would not listen.</p> - -<p>“A beast!” she said again. “You will have him in here, too!”</p> - -<p>“I won’t!” declared Serena.</p> - -<p>“Yes, you will!” said Geraldine.</p> - -<p>She stood holding the stained scarf against her heart, and it was as if -she held him, as if she were sheltering and defending the man who had done -so gallant a thing for her. Wounded and suffering, his one thought had -been for her—to protect her good name, to bring her safely home. He was -helpless now, and it was her turn.</p> - -<p>Nothing else mattered. All her stern reserve, her stiff-necked dignity, -her pride, were flung to the winds. She was ready to fight for him, to -defy all the world for his sake.</p> - -<p>“Send some one out for him at once!” she said. “He’s been shot—and I know -who shot him. It was your—”</p> - -<p>“Hush! Not so loud, you horrible girl!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t care!” said Geraldine. “I don’t care who hears me! He’s been -shot. He’s going to be brought in here and taken care of, no matter what -it means to you or any one else. If you won’t do it, then I’m going to—”</p> - -<p>“Wait!” whispered Serena. “Oh, what shall I do? Oh, can’t you see?”</p> - -<p>“No!” said Geraldine. “I don’t care about anything but Sambo!”</p> - -<h1 title="IX"></h1> -<p class='nsec'>IX</p> - -<p>When young Randall opened his eyes again, he found himself back in his -room at the Pages’. He lay still for a moment, remembering. The window was -open, and the dark blue silk curtains fluttered, giving a glimpse of -darkness outside. The room was filled with a mild, quiet light, however, -and he felt sure that some one was there. He could not turn; his shoulder -was stiff and painful, and a mortal weariness weighed him down. He tried -to speak, and could not. All that he could manage was to draw one hand -across the cover a little way.</p> - -<p>But it was enough. Geraldine saw it. She came and stood beside him, grave -and lovely as ever, so untroubled, so quiet.</p> - -<p>“Everything’s all right,” she said gently. “The doctor’s seen you. You’re -very weak, but he says you’ll soon—”</p> - -<p>She stopped, because it was so hard to see him there, white and still, -with that mute appeal in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“You’re getting on nicely!” she said, with a sudden brisk cheerfulness.</p> - -<p>Then he managed to speak.</p> - -<p>“No!” he said, in that old defiant way of his.</p> - -<p>That was more than Geraldine could bear. She knelt down beside him and -laid her hand over his. She did not know how to say the words he wanted to -hear. She could only look and look at him, with tears in her eyes and a -little anxious, trembling smile on her lips.</p> - -<p>Again he tried to speak, but only one word came:</p> - -<p>“Love!” he said faintly.</p> - -<p style='text-align:center; margin-left:0; font-size:smaller;'>(The end.)</p> - -<div class="tn"> -<div style='text-align:center'>Transcriber’s Notes</div> -<ol> -<li>This story appeared in the January 1926 issue of <em>Munsey’s Magazine</em>.</li> -<li>The cover image was created by the transcriber and placed in the public domain.</li> -</ol> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THAT'S NOT LOVE ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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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