CHAPTER IX
When Silas Grangerson left the cemetery of St. Michael's he walked forhalf a mile without knowing or caring in what direction he was going.
Phyl had done more than slap his face. She had slapped his pride, hisassurance of himself, and his desire for her all at the same time.
Silas rarely bothered about girls, yet he knew that he had the power tofascinate any woman once he put his mind to the work. He had not tried hispowers of fascination on Phyl. It was the other way about. Phyl absolutelyunconsciously had used her fascination upon him.
Something in her, recognised by him on their first meeting in the stableyard, had put away the barrier of sex. He had talked to her as if she hadbeen a boy. Sitting on the seat beside her whilst the Colonel had beenprosing over politics and tobacco, the prompting came to Silas to pinchher finger just for fun; when he had put his hands over her eyes thatnight it was in obedience to the same prompting, but at the moment ofparting from her, a desire quite new had overmastered him.
He had kissed a good many girls, but never in his life had he kissed agirl as he kissed Phyl.
Something cynical in his feelings for the other sex had always left himsomewhat cold, but Phyl was different from the others, she had in some waystruck straight at his real being.
When he left her that night at Grangersons he was almost as disturbed asshe.
He scarcely slept. He was out at dawn and on his return after she had lefthe sat down and wrote the letter which Phyl received next morning.
Silas was in love for the first time in his life, but love with Silas wasa thing apart from the love of ordinary men.
There was no worship of the object; the something that crystallises out inthe form of love-letters, verses, bouquets, and candy was not there. Hewanted Phyl.
He had no more idea of marriage than the great god Pan. If she hadconsented he would have taken her off on that yawl of his imaginationround the world or down to Florida, without thought of the morrow or the_convenances_, or Society; but please do not imagine this rather primitivegentleman a chartered libertine. He would have married her as soon as not,but he had neither the genius nor the inclination for the courtship thatleads by slow degrees up to the question, "Will you marry me?"
He wanted her at once.
As he walked along now with the devil awake in his heart, he felt no angertowards Phyl; all his rage was against Pinckney; he had never likedPinckney, he more than suspected that Phyl cared for him and he wantedsome one to hate badly.
He had walked himself into a reasonable state of mind when he foundhimself outside the Queen City Club. He went in and one of the first menhe met was Pinckney.
So well did he hold himself in hand that Pinckney suspected nothing of hisfeelings. Silas was far too good a sportsman to shout at the edge of thewood, too much of a gentleman to desire a brawl in public. He was going toknife Pinckney, he was also going to capture Phyl, but the knifing ofPinckney was the main objective and that required time and thought. He didnot desire the blood of the gentleman; he wanted his pride and _amourpropre_. He wanted to hit him on the raw, but he did not know yet where,exactly, the raw was nor how to hit it. Time would tell him.
He was specially civil to his intended victim, and he went off home thatevening plotting all the way, but arriving at nothing. He was trying tomake bricks without straw. Pinckney did not drink, nor did he gamble, andhe was far too good a business man to be had in that way. However, allthings come to him who waits, and next morning's post brought him a ray oflight in the midst of his darkness.
It brought him an invitation to the Rhetts' dance on the followingWednesday; nearly a week to wait, but, still, something to wait for.
"What are you thinking about, Silas?" asked old Seth Grangerson as theysat at breakfast.
"I'm thinking of a new rabbit trap, suh," responded the son.
The rabbit trap seemed to give him a good deal of food for thought duringthe week that followed; food that made him hilarious and gloomy by turns,restless also.
Had he known it, Phyl away at Charleston, was equally restless. She nolonger thought of Silas. She had dismissed him from her mind, she nolonger feared him as a possible source of danger to the man she loved.Love had her entirely in his possession to torture as he pleased. She knewonly one danger, the danger that Richard Pinckney did not care in theleast for her, and as day followed day that danger grew more defined andconcrete. Richard had taken to avoiding her, she became aware of that.
She fancied that she displeased him.
If she had only known!