CHAPTER XIX
Jacqueline had been half an hour late at her office and the routinebusiness was not yet quite finished when Captain Herrendene wasannounced at the telephone.
"I thought you had sailed!" she exclaimed in surprise, as he greeted herover the wire.
He laughed: "I'm ordered to Governor's Island. Jolly, isn't it?"
"Fine!" she said cordially. "We shall see you sometimes, I suppose."
"I'm asked to the Lindley Hammertons for the week-end. Are you to be atSilverwood by any happy chance?"
"Indeed we are. We are going up to-night."
"Good business!" he said. "And--may I wish you happiness, Mrs. Desboro?Your husband is a perfectly bully fellow--lots of quality in that youngman--loads of reserve and driving force! Tell him I congratulate himwith all my heart. You know what I think of _you_!"
"It's very sweet of you to speak this way about us," she said. "You maysurmise what I think of my husband. So thank you for wishing ushappiness. And you will come over with Daisy, won't you? We are going tobe at home until Monday."
"Indeed I _will_ come!" he said heartily.
She hung up the receiver, smiling but a trifle flushed; and in her blueeyes there lingered something resembling tenderness as she turned oncemore to the pile of typewritten letters awaiting her signature. She hadcared a great deal for this man's devotion; and since she had refusedhim she cared for his friendship even more than before. And, beingfeminine, capable, and very tender-hearted, she already was experiencingthe characteristic and ominous solicitude of her sex for the futureconsolation and ultimate happiness of this young and unmarried man.Might it not be accomplished through Daisy Hammerton? What could be moresuitable, more perfect?
Her sensitive lips were edged with a faint smile as she signed her nameto the first business letter. It began to look dark for CaptainHerrendene. No doubt, somewhere aloft, the cherubim were alreadygiggling. When a nice girl refuses a man, his business with her has onlyjust begun.
She continued to sign her letters, the ominous smile always hovering onher upcurled lips. And, pursuing that train of thought, she came,unwittingly, upon another, so impossible, yet so delightful and excitingthat every feminine fibre in her responded to the invitation to meddle.She could scarcely wait to begin, so possessed was she by the alluringlyhopeless proposition evolved from her inner consciousness; and, as soonas the last letter had been signed, and her stenographer had taken awaythe correspondence, she flew to the telephone and called up CynthiaLessler.
"Is it you, dear?" she asked excitedly; and Cynthia, at the other end ofthe wire, caught the happy ring in her voice, for she answered:
"You sound very gay this morning. _Are_ you, dear?"
"Yes, darling. Tell me, what are you doing over Sunday?"
Cynthia hesitated, then she answered calmly:
"Mr. Cairns is coming in the morning to take me to the MetropolitanMuseum."
"What a funny idea!"
"Why is it funny? He suggested that we go and look at the Chineseporcelains so that we could listen more intelligently to you."
"As though I were accustomed to lecture my friends! How absurd, Cynthia.You can't go. I want you at Silverwood."
"Thank you, dear, but I've promised him----"
"Then come up on the noon train!"
"In the afternoon," explained Cynthia, still more calmly, "Mr. Cairnsand I are to read together a new play which has not yet been put inrehearsal."
"But, darling! I do want you for Sunday! Why can't you come up for thisweek-end, and postpone the Museum meanderings? Please ask him to let youoff."
There was a pause, then Cynthia said in a still, small voice:
"Mr. Cairns is here. You may ask him."
Cairns came to the telephone and said that he would consult the wishesand the convenience of Miss Lessler.
There ensued another pause, ostensibly for consultation, during whichJacqueline experienced a wicked and almost overwhelming desire to laugh.
Presently Cynthia called her:
"_We_ think," she said with pretty emphasis, "that it would be veryjolly to visit you. We can go to the museum any other Sunday, Mr. Cairnssays."
But the spirit of mischief still possessed Jacqueline, and she refusedto respond to the hint.
"So you are coming?" she exclaimed with enthusiasm.
"If you want _us_, darling."
"That's delightful! You know Jim and I haven't had a chance yet toentertain our bridesmaid. We want her to be our very first guest. Thankyou so much, darling, for coming. And please say to Mr. Cairns that itis perfectly dear of him to let you off----"
"But _he_ is coming, too, isn't he?" exclaimed Cynthia anxiously. "Youare asking us both, aren't you. _What_ are you laughing at, you littlewretch!"
But Jacqueline's laughter died out and she said hastily:
"Bring him with you, dear," and turned to confront Mrs. Hammerton, whoarrived by appointment and exactly on the minute.
The clerk who, under orders, had brought the old lady directly to theoffice, retired, closing the door behind him. Jacqueline hung up thetelephone receiver, rose from her chair and gazed silently at the womanwhose letter to her had first shattered her dream of happiness. Then,with a little gesture:
"Won't you please be seated?" she said quietly.
Aunt Hannah's face was grim as she sat down on the chair indicated.
"'You have no further interest in me, have you?'"]
"You have no further interest in me, have you?" she demanded.
Jacqueline did not answer.
"I ought to have come here before," said Aunt Hannah. "I ought to havecome here immediately and explained to you that when I wrote that letterI hadn't the vaguest notion that you were already married. Do you thinkI'd have been such a fool if I'd known it, Jacqueline?"
Jacqueline lifted her troubled eyes: "I do not think you should haveinterfered at all."
"Good heavens! I know that! I knew it when I did it. It's the onehopelessly idiotic act of my life. Never, _never_ was anything gained oranything altered by interfering where real love is. I knew it, child.It's an axiom--a perfectly self-evident proposition--an absolutelyhopeless effort. But I chanced it. Your mother, if she were alive, wouldhave chanced it. Don't blame me too much; be a little sorry for me.Because I loved you when I did it. And many, many of the most terriblemistakes in life are made because of love, Jacqueline. The mistakes ofhate are fewer."
Aunt Hannah's folded hands tightened on the gun-metal reticule acrossher knees.
"It's too late to say I'm sorry," she said. "Besides, I'd do it again."
"What!"
"Yes, I would. So would your mother. I _am_ sorry; but I _would_ do itagain! I love you enough to do it again--and--and suffer what I _am_suffering in consequence."
Jacqueline looked at her in angry bewilderment, and the spark in thelittle black eyes died out.
"Child," she said wearily, "we childless women who love are capable ofthe same self-sacrifice that mothers understand. I wrote you to saveyou, practically certain that I was giving you up by doing it--and thatwith every word of warning I was signing my own death warrant in youraffections. But I _couldn't_ sit still and let you go to the altarunwarned. Had I cared less for you, yes! I could have let you take yourchances undisturbed by me. But--you took them anyway--took them beforemy warning could do anything except anger you. Otherwise, it would havehurt and angered you, too. I have no illusions; what I said would haveavailed nothing. Only--it was my duty to say it. I never was crazy aboutdoing my duty. But I did it this time."
She found a fresh handkerchief in her reticule and rolled it nervouslyinto a wad.
"So--that is all, Jacqueline. I've made a bad mess of it. I've made afar worse one than I supposed possible. You are unhappy. James isperfectly wretched. The boy came to me furious, bewildered, almostexasperated, to find out what had been said about him and who had saidit. And--and I told him what I thought of him. I _did_! And when he hadgone, I--cried myself sick--_sick
_, I tell you.
"And that's why I'm here. It has given me courage to come here. I know Iam discredited; that what I say will be condemned in advance; that youare too hurt, too hostile to me to be influenced. But--I must say my saybefore I go out of your life--and his--forever. And what I came to sayto you is this. Forgive that boy! Pardon absolutely everything he hasdone; eliminate it; annihilate the memory of it if you can! Memory _can_be stunned, if not destroyed. I know; I've had to do it often. So I sayto you, begin again with him. Give that boy his chance to grow up toyour stature. In all the world I believe you are the only woman who canennoble him and make of him something fine--if not your peer, at leastits masculine equivalent. I do not mean to be bitter. But I cannot helpmy opinion of things masculine. Forgive him, Jacqueline. Many men arebetter than he; many, many are worse. But the best among them are not sovery much better than your boy Jim. Forgive him and help him to grow up.And--that is all--I think----"
She rose and turned sharply away. Jacqueline rose and crossed the roomto open the door for her. They met there. Aunt Hannah's ugly little faceremained averted while she waited for the open door to free her.
"Mr. Desboro and I are going to be happy," said Jacqueline in a strainedvoice.
"It lies with you," snapped Aunt Hannah.
"Yes--a great deal seems to lie with me. The burden of decision seems tolie with me very often. Somehow I can't escape it. And I am not wise,not experienced enough----"
"You are _good_. That's wisdom enough for decision."
"But--do you know--I am _not_ very good."
"Why not?"
"Because I understand much that is evil. How can real innocence be sounworthily wise?"
"Innocence isn't goodness by a long shot!" said Aunt Hannah bluntly."The good _know_--and refrain."
There was a silence; the elder woman in her black gown stood waiting,her head still obstinately averted. Suddenly she felt the girl's softarms around her neck, quivered, caught her in a fierce embrace.
"I--I want you to care for Jim," faltered the girl. "I want you to knowwhat he really is--the dearest and most generous of men. I want you todiscover the real nobility in him. He _is_ only a boy, as yet, AuntHannah. And he--he must not be--cruelly--punished."
When Aunt Hannah had marched out, still inclined to dab at her eyes, butdeeply and thankfully happy, Jacqueline called up her husband at hisoffice.
"Jim, dear," she said, "I have had a visit from Aunt Hannah. And she'sterribly unhappy because she thinks you and I are; so I told her that weare not unhappy, and I scolded her for saying those outrageous things toyou. And she took it so meekly, and--and she does really care forus--and--and I've made up with her. Was it disloyal to you to forgiveher?"
"No," he said quietly. "What she said to me was the truth."
"I don't know what she said to you, dear. She didn't tell me. But Igathered from her that it was something intensely disagreeable. So don'tever tell me--because I might begin to dislike her again. And--it wasn'ttrue, anyway. She knows that now. So--we will be friendly to her, won'twe?"
"Of course. She adores you anyway----"
"If she doesn't adore you, too, I won't care for her!" said the girlhotly.
He laughed; she could hear him distinctly; and she realised with alittle thrill that it was the same engaging laugh which she had firstassociated with the delightful, graceful, charming young fellow who wasnow her husband.
"What are you doing, Jim?" she asked, smiling in sympathy.
"There's absolutely nothing doing in the office, dear."
"Then--could you come over here?"
"Oh, Jacqueline! Do _you_ tempt me?"
"No," she said hastily. "I suppose you ought to be there in the office,whether there's anything to do or not. Listen, Jim. I've invited Cynthiaand Jack Cairns for the week-end. Was it all right?"
"Of course."
"You don't really mind, do you?"
"Not a bit, dear."
"We can be by ourselves if we wish. They're going to read a playtogether," she explained naively, "and they won't bother us----"
She checked herself, blushing furiously. He, at his end of the wire,could scarcely speak for the quick tumult of his heart, but he managedto say calmly enough:
"We've got the entire estate to roam over if they bore us."
"Will you take me for a walk on Sunday?"
"Yes, if you would care to go."
"Haven't I invited you to take me?"
"Have you really, Jacqueline?"
"Yes. Good-bye. I will be waiting for you at five."
She returned to her desk, the flush slowly cooling in her cheeks; andshe was just resuming her seat when a clerk brought Clydesdale's card.
"I could see Mr. Clydesdale now," she said, glancing over theappointment list on her desk. Her smile had died out with the colour inher cheeks, and her beautiful eyes grew serious and stern. For the namethat this man bore was associated in her mind with terrible andunspeakable things. Never again could she hear that name withequanimity; never recall it unmoved. Yet, now, she made an effort to putfrom her all that menaced her composure at the mere mention of thatname--strove to think only of the client and kindly amateur who hadtreated her always with unvarying courtesy and consideration.
He came in grinning, as usual, and she took his extended andhighly-coloured paw, smiling her greeting.
"Is it a little social visit, Mr. Clydesdale, or have you discoveredsome miracle of ancient Cathay which you covet?"
"It's--my wife."
Her smile fled and her features altered to an expressionless andcolourless mask. For a second there was a gleam of fear in her eyes,then they grew cold and clear and blue as arctic ice.
He remained standing, the grin stamped on his sanguine features.Presently he said, heavily:
"I have come to you to make what reparation I can--in my wife's name--inher behalf. Our deep humiliation, deeper contrition, are the onlyreparation we can offer you. It is hard for me to speak. My wife is athome, ill. And she can not rest until she has told you, through me,that--that what she said to you the last time she saw you--here, in thisoffice--was an untruth."
Jacqueline, dazed, merely stared at him. He bent his head and seemed tobe searching in his mind for words. He found them after a while.
"Yes," he said in a low voice, "what my wife said, and what shepermitted you to infer--concerning herself and--Mr. Desboro--was utterlyuntrue. God alone knows why she said it. But she did. I could pleadextenuation for her--if your patience permits. She is naturally verynervous; she _did_ care a great deal for Mr. Desboro; she did, at thattime, really dislike me," he added with a quiet dignity which made everyword he uttered ring out clear as a shot. And Jacqueline seemed to feeltheir impact on her very heart.
He said: "There are other circumstances--painful ones. She had been formonths--even years--in fear of blackmail--terrorised by it until shebecame morbid. I did not know this. I was not aware that an indiscreetbut wholly innocent escapade of her youth had furnished this blackmailerwith a weapon. I understand now, why, caring as she did for Mr. Desboro,and excited, harassed, terrified, exasperated, she was willing to makean end of it with him rather than face possible disgrace with me forwhom she did not care. It is no excuse. She offers none. I offer nonefor her. Nothing--no mental, no physical state could excuse what she hasdone. Only--I wish--and she wishes you to know that she has been guiltyof permitting you to believe a monstrous untruth which would haveconsigned her to infamy had it been true, and absolutely damned the manyou have married."
She strove to comprehend this thing that he was saying--tried to realisethat he was absolutely clearing her husband of the terrible and namelessshadow which, she knew now, never could have entirely fled away, exceptfor the mercy of God and the words of humiliation now sounding in herears.
She stared at him. And the terrible thing was that he was grinningstill--grinning through all the agony of his shame and dreadfulabasement. And she longed to turn away--to shut out his face from hersight. But
dared not.
"That is all," he said heavily. "Perhaps there is a little more tosay--but it will leave you indifferent, very naturally. Yet, may I saythat this--this heart-breaking crisis in her life, and--inmine--has--brought us together? And--a little more. My wife is to becomea mother. Which is why I venture to hope that you will be merciful to usboth in your thoughts. I do not ask for your pardon, which you couldnever give----"
"Mr. Clydesdale!" She had risen, trembling, both little hands flat onthe desk top to steady her, and was looking straight at him.
"'I--I have never thought mercilessly'"]
"I--my thoughts----" she stammered "are not cruel. Say so to your wife.I--I have never thought mercilessly. Every instinct within me isotherwise. And I know what suffering is. And I do not wish it foranybody. Say so to your wife, and that I wish her--happiness--with herbaby."
She was trembling so that he could scarcely control between his two hugefists the little hand that he saluted in wordless gratitude and grief.
Then, without looking at her again, or speaking, he went his way. Andshe dropped back into her chair, the tears of sheer happiness andexcitement flowing unchecked.
But she was permitted no time to collect her thoughts, no solitude forhappy tears, and, at the clerk's sharp knocking, she dried her eyeshastily and bade him enter.
The card he laid on her desk seemed to amaze her.
"_That_ man!" she said slowly. "Is he _here_, Mr. Mirk?"
"Yes, madam. He asks for one minute only, saying that it is a matter ofmost desperate importance to you----"
"To _me_?"
"Yes, madam."
Again she looked at Mr. Waudle's card.
"Bring him," she said crisply. And the blue lightning flashed in hereyes.
When Mr. Waudle came in and the clerk had gone and closed the door,Jacqueline said quietly:
"I'll give you one minute, Mr. Waudle. Proceed."
"I think," he said, looking at her out of his inflamed eyes, "thatyou'll feel inclined to give me more than that when you understand whatI've got in this packet." And he drew from his overcoat pocket a roll ofgalley proofs.
"What is it?" she asked, looking calmly into his dangerous red eyes.
"It's a story, set up and in type--as you see. And it's about yourhusband and Mrs. Clydesdale--if you want to know."
A shaft of fear struck straight through her. Then, in an instant theblanched cheeks flushed and the blue eyes cleared and sparkled.
"What is it you wish?" she asked in a curiously still voice.
"I'll tell you; don't worry. I want you to stop this man Clydesdale, andstop him short. I don't care how you do it; _do_ it, that's all. He'sbought and paid for certain goods delivered to him by me. Now he'ssquealing. He wants his money back. And--if he gets it back this storygoes in. Want me to read it to you?"
"No. What is it you wish me to do--deceive Mr. Clydesdale? Make himbelieve that the remainder of the jades and rose-quartz carvings aregenuine?"
"It looks good to me," said Mr. Waudle more cheerfully. "It sounds allright. You threw us down; it's up to you to pick us up."
"I see," she said pleasantly. "And unless I do you are intending topublish that--story?"
"Sure as hell!" he nodded.
She remained silent and thoughtful so long that he began to hitch aboutin his chair and cast furtive, sidelong glances at her and at thecurtained walls around the room. Suddenly his face grew ghastly.
"Look here!" he whispered hoarsely. "Is this a plant?"
"What?"
"Is there anybody else in this room?" He lurched to his feet and waddledhastily around the four walls, flinging aside the green velvet curtains.Only the concealed pictures were revealed; and he went back to hischair, removing the cold sweat from his forehead and face with hissleeve.
"By God!" he said. "For a moment I thought you had done me good andplenty. But it wouldn't have helped _you_! They've got this story in theoffice, and the minute I'm pinched, in it goes! Understand?"
"No," she said serenely, "but it doesn't really matter. You may go now,Mr. Waudle."
"Hey?"
"Must I ring for a clerk to put you out?"
"Oh! So that's the game, is it? Well, I tell you that you can't bluffme, little lady! Let's settle it now."
"No," she said. "I must have time to consider."
"How long?"
"An hour or two."
"You'll make up your mind in two hours?"
"Yes."
"All right," he said, almost jovially. "That suits me. Call me up on the'phone and tell me what you decide. My number is on my card."
She looked at the card. It bore his telephone number and his houseaddress.
He seemed inclined to linger, evidently with the idea of tightening hisgrip on her by either persuasion or bullying, as her attitude mightwarrant. But she touched the bell and Mr. Mirk appeared; and the authorof "Black Roses" took himself off perforce, with many a knowing leer,both threatening and blandishing.
As soon as he had gone, she called up her husband. Very quietly, butguardedly, she conversed with him for a few moments.
When she hung up the receiver she was laughing. But it was otherwisewith Desboro.
"Cairns," he said, turning from the telephone to his associate, "there'sa silly fellow bothering my wife. If you don't mind my leaving theoffice for a few minutes I'll step around and speak to him." His usuallyagreeable features had grown colourless and ugly, but his voice soundedcasual enough.
"What are you going to do, Jim? Murder?"
Desboro laughed.
"I'll be gone only a few minutes," he said.
"It _could_ be done in a few minutes," mused Cairns. "Do you want me togo with you?"
"No, thanks." He picked up his hat, nodded curtly, and went out.
Mr. Waudle and Mr. Munger maintained a "den," literary and otherwise, inone of the new studio buildings just east of Lexington Avenue. This wasthe address Mr. Waudle had left for Jacqueline; to this destinationDesboro now addressed himself. Thither an itinerant taxicab bore him onshaky springs. He paid the predatory chauffeur, turned to enter thebuilding, and met Clydesdale face to face, entering the same doorway.
"Hello!" said the latter with a cheerful grin. "Where are you bound?"
"Oh, there's a man hereabouts with whom I have a few moments' business."
"Same here," observed Clydesdale.
They entered the building together, and both walked straight through tothe elevator.
"Mr. Waudle," said Clydesdale briefly to the youth in charge. "You neednot announce me."
Desboro looked at him curiously, and caught Clydesdale's eyes furtivelymeasuring him.
"Odd," he said pleasantly, "but my business is with the same man."
"I was wondering."
They exchanged perfectly inexpressive glances.
"Couldn't your business wait?" inquired Desboro politely.
"Sorry, Desboro, but I was a little ahead of you in the entry, I think."
The car stopped.
"Studio twenty," said the boy; slammed the gates, and shot down intodimly lighted depths again, leaving the two men together.
"I am wondering," mused Clydesdale gently, "whether by any chance yourbusiness with this--ah--Mr. Waudle resembles my business with him."
They looked at each other.
Desboro nodded: "Very probably," he said in a low voice.
"Oh! Then perhaps you might care to be present at the business meeting,"said Clydesdale, "as a spectator, merely, of course."
"Thanks, awfully. But might I not persuade _you_ to remain as aspectator----"
"Very good of you, Desboro, but I need the--ah--exercise. Really, I'vegone quite stale this winter. Don't even keep up my squash."
"Mistake," said Desboro gravely. "'Fraid you'll overdo it, old chap."
"Oh, I'll have a shy at it," said Clydesdale cheerfully. "Very glad tohave you score, if you like."
"If you insist," replied the younger man courteously.
/> There was a bell outside Studio No. 20. Desboro punched it with theferrule of his walking stick; and when the door opened, somewhatcautiously, Clydesdale inserted his huge foot between the door and thesill.
There was a brief and frantic scuffle; then the poet fled, his bunch offrizzled hair on end, and the two men entered the apartment.
To the left a big studio loomed, set with artistic furniture andbric-a-brac and Mr. Waudle--the latter in motion. In fact, he was atthat moment in the process of rushing at Mr. Clydesdale, and under fullhead-way.
Whenever Mr. Waudle finally obtained sufficient momentum to rush, heappeared to be a rather serious proposition; for he was as tall asClydesdale and very much fatter, and his initial velocity, combined withhis impact force per square inch might have rivalled the dynamicproblems of the proving ground.
Clydesdale took one step forward to welcome him, and Waudle went down,like thunder.
Then he got up, went down immediately; got up, went down, stayed downfor an appreciable moment; arose, smote the air, was smitten with asmack so terrific that the poet, who was running round and round thefour walls, squeaked in sympathy.
Waudle sat up on the floor, his features now an unrecognisable mess. Hewas crying.
"I say, Desboro, catch that poet for me--there's a good chap," saidClydesdale, breathing rather hard.
The Cubist, who had been running round and round like a frantic rabbit,screamed and ran the faster.
"Oh, just shy some bric-a-brac at him and come home," said Desboro indisgust.
But Clydesdale caught him, seated himself, jerked the devotee of themoon across his ponderous knees, and, grinning, hoisted on high theheavy hand of justice. And the post-impressionistic literature of thefuture shrieked.
"Very precious, isn't it?" panted Clydesdale. "You dirty little mop ofhair, I think I'll spank _you_ into the future. Want a try at thismoon-pup, Desboro? No? Quite right; you don't need the exercise. Whew!"And he rolled the writhing poet off his knees and onto the floor, sat upbreathing hard and grinning around him.
"Now for the club and a cold plunge--eh, Desboro? I tell you it putslife into a man, doesn't it? Perhaps, while I'm about it, I might aswell beat up the other one a little more----"
"My God!" blubbered Waudle.
"Oh, very well--if you feel that way about it," grinned Clydesdale. "Butyou understand that you won't have any sensation to feel with at all ifyou ever again even think of the name of Mrs. Clydesdale."
He got up, still panting jovially, pleased as a great Dane puppy who hasshaken an old shoe to fragments.
At the door he paused and glanced back.
"Take it from me," he said genially, "if we ever come back, we'll kill."
* * * * *
In the street once more, they lingered on the sidewalk for a moment ortwo before separating. Clydesdale drew off his split and ruined gloves,rolled them together and tossed them into the passing handcart of astreet sweeper.
"Unpleasant job," he commented.
"I don't think you'll have it to do over again," smiled Desboro.
"No, I think not. And thank you for yielding so gracefully to me. It wasmy job. But you didn't miss anything; it was like hitting a feather bed.No sport in it--but had to be done. Well, glad to have seen you again,Desboro."
They exchanged grips; both flushed a trifle, hesitated, noddedpleasantly to each other, and separated.
At the office Cairns inspected him curiously as he entered, but, asDesboro said nothing, he asked no questions. A client or two saunteredin and out. At one o'clock they lunched together.
"I understand you're coming up for the week-end," said Desboro.
"Your wife was good enough to ask me."
"Glad you're coming. Old Herrendene has been ordered to Governor'sIsland. He expects to stop with the Lindley Hammertons over Sunday."
"That Daisy girl's a corker," remarked Cairns, "--only I've always beenrather afraid of her."
"She's a fine girl."
"Rather in Herrendene's class--lots of character," nodded Cairnsthoughtfully. "Having none myself, she always had me backed up againstthe rail."
After a silence, Desboro said: "That was a ghastly break of mine lastnight."
"Rotten," said Cairns bluntly.
The painful colour rose to Desboro's temples.
"It will be the last, Jack. I lived a thousand years last night."
"I lived a few hundred myself," said Cairns reproachfully. "And _what_ athoroughbred your wife is!"
Desboro nodded and drew a deep, unsteady breath.
"Well," he said, after a few moments, "it is a terrible thing for a manto learn what he really is. But if he doesn't learn it he's lost."
Cairns assented with a jerk of his head.
"But who's to hold up the mirror to a man?" he asked. "When his fatherand mother shove it under his nose he won't look; when clergy or laymenoffer him a looking-glass he shuts his eyes and tries to kick them.That's the modern youngster--the product of this modern town with itsmodern modes of thought."
"The old order of things was the best," said Desboro. "Has anybody givenus anything better than what they reasoned us into discarding--the oldgentleness of manners, the quaint, stiff formalisms now out of date, theshyness and reticence of former days, the serenity, the faith which isnow unfashionable, the old-time reverence?"
"I don't know," said Cairns, "what we've gained in the discard. I looknow at the cards they offer us to take up, and there is nothing on them.And the game has forced us to throw away what we had." He caressed hischin thoughtfully. "The only way to do is to return to first principles,cut a fresh pack, never mind new rules and innovations, but play thegame according to the decalogue. And nobody can call you down." Hereddened, and added honestly: "That's not entirely my own, Jim. Thereare some similar lines in a new play which Miss Lessler and I werereading this morning."
"Reading? Where?"
"Oh, we walked through the Park together rather early--took it easy, youknow. She read aloud as we walked."
"She is coming for the week-end," said Desboro.
"I believe so."
Desboro, lighting a cigarette, permitted his very expressionless glanceto rest on his friend for the briefest fraction of a second.
"The papers," he said, "speak of her work with respect."
"Miss Lessler," said Cairns, "is a most unusual girl."
Neither men referred to the early days of their acquaintance withCynthia Lessler. As though by tacit agreement those days seemed to havebeen entirely forgotten.
"A rarely intelligent and lovely comedienne," mused Cairns, poking thecigar ashes on the tray and finally laying aside his cigar. "Well, Jim,I suppose the office yawns for us. But it won't have anything on my yawnwhen I get there!"
They went back across Fifth Avenue in the brilliant afternoon sunshine,to dawdle about the office and fuss away the afternoon in pretense thatthe awakening of the Street from its long lethargy was imminent.
At half past three Cairns took himself off, leaving Desboro studying thesunshine on the ceiling. At five the latter awoke from his day dream,stood up, shook himself, drew a deep breath, and straightened hisshoulders. Before him, now delicately blurred and charmingly indistinct,still floated the vision of his day-dream; and, with a slight effort, hecould still visualise, as he moved out into the city and through itsnoise and glitter, south, into that quieter street where his day-dream'svision lived and moved and had her earthly being.
Mr. Mirk came smiling and bowing from the dim interior. There was noparticular reason for the demonstration, but Desboro shook his handcordially.
"Mrs. Desboro is in her office," said Mr. Mirk. "You know the way,sir--if you please----"
He knew the way. It was not likely that he would ever forget the paththat he had followed that winter day.
At his knock she opened the door herself.
"I don't know how I knew it was your knock," she said, giving ground ashe entered. There was an expression in
his face that made her ownbrighten, as though perhaps she had not been entirely certain in whathumour he might arrive.
"The car will be here in a few minutes," he said. "That's a tremendouslypretty hat of yours."
"Do you like it? I saw it the other day. And somehow I felt extravagantthis afternoon and telephoned for it. Do you really like it, Jim?"
"It's a beauty."
"I'm so glad--so relieved. Sometimes I catch you looking at me, Jim, andI wonder how critical you really are. I _want_ you to like what I wear.You'll always tell me when you don't, won't you?"
"No fear of my not agreeing with your taste," he said cheerfully. "Bythe way--and apropos of nothing--Waudle won't bother you any more."
"Oh!"
"I believe Clydesdale interviewed him--and the other one--the poet." Helaughed. "Afterward there was not enough remaining for me to interview."
Jacqueline's serious eyes, intensely blue, were lifted to his.
"We won't speak of them again, ever," she said in a low voice.
"Right, as always," he rejoined gaily.
She still stood looking at him out of grave and beautiful eyes, whichseemed strangely shy and tender to him. Then, slowly shaking her headshe said, half to herself:
"I have much to answer for--more than you must ever know. But I shallanswer for it; never fear."
"What are you murmuring there all by yourself, Jacqueline?" he saidsmilingly; and ventured to take her gloved hand into his. She, too,smiled, faintly, and stood silent, pretty head bent, absorbed in her ownthoughts.
A moment later a clerk tapped and announced their car. She looked up ather husband, and the confused colour in her face responded to the quickpressure of his hands.
"Are you quite ready to go?" he asked.
"Yes--ready always--to go where--you lead."
Her flushed face reflected the emotion in his as they went out togetherinto the last rays of the setting sun.
"Have we time to motor to Silverwood?" she asked.
"Would you care to?"
"I'd love to."
So he spoke to the chauffeur and entered the car after her.
It was a strange journey for them both, with the memory of their lastjourney together still so fresh, so pitilessly clear, in their minds. Inthis car, over this road, beside this man, she had travelled with abreaking heart and a mind haunted by horror unspeakable.
To him the memory of that journey was no less terrible. They spoke toeach other tranquilly but seriously, and in voices unconsciouslylowered. And there were many lapses into stillness--many long intervalsof silence. But during the longest of these, when the Westchester hillsloomed duskily ahead, she slipped her hand into his and left it thereuntil the lights of Silverwood glimmered low on the hill and the gatelanterns flashed in their eyes as the car swung into the fir-bordereddrive and rolled up to the house.
"Home," she said, partly to herself; and he turned toward her in quickgratitude.
Once more the threatened emotion confused her, but she evaded it,forcing a gaiety not in accord with her mood, as he aided her todescend.
"Certainly it's my home, monsieur, as well as yours," she repeated, "andyou'll feel the steel under the velvet hand of femininity as soon as Iassume the reins of government. For example, you can _not_ entertainyour cats and dogs in the red drawing-room any more. Now do you feel thesteel?"
They went to their sitting-room laughing.
About midnight she rose from the sofa. They had been discussing plansfor the future, repairs, alterations, improvements for SilverwoodHouse--and how to do many, many wonderful things at vast expense; andhow to practice rigid economy and do nothing at all.
"And, as she rose, he was still figuring"]
It had been agreed that he was to give up his rooms in town and use herswhenever they remained in New York over night. And, as she rose, he wasstill figuring out, with pencil and pad, how much they would save bythis arrangement. Now he looked up, saw her standing, and rose too.
She looked at him with sweet, sleepy, humourous eyes.
"Isn't it disgraceful and absurd?" she said. "But if I don't have mysleep I simply become stupid and dreary and useless beyond words."
"Why did you let me keep you up?" he said gently.
"Because I wanted to stay up with you," she said. She had moved to thecentre table where the white carnations, as usual, filled the bowl. Herslender hand touched them caressingly, lingered, and presently detacheda blossom.
She lifted it dreamily, inhaling the fragrance and looking over itsscented chalice at him.
"Good-night, Jim," she said.
"Good-night, dearest." He came over to her, hesitated, reddening; thenbent and kissed her hand and the white flower it held.
At her own door she lingered, turning to look after him as he crossedhis threshold; then slowly entered her room, her lips resting on theblossom which he had kissed.
CHAPTER XX
On Saturday afternoon Cynthia arrived at Silverwood House, with Cairnsin tow; and they were welcomed under the trees by their host andhostess. Which was all very delightful until Cynthia and Jacquelinepaired off with each other and disappeared, calmly abandoning Cairns andDesboro to their own devices, leaving them to gaze at each other in thelibrary with bored and increasing indifference.
"You know, Jim," explained the former, in unfeigned disgust, "I havequite enough of you every day, and I haven't come sixty miles to seemore of you."
"I sympathise with your sentiments," said Desboro, laughing, "but MissLessler has never before seen the place, and, of course, Jacqueline isdying to show it to her. And, Jack--did you _ever_ see two more engagingyoung girls than the two who have just deserted us? Really, partialityaside, does any house in town contain two more dignified, intelligent,charming----"
"No, it doesn't!" said Cairns bluntly. "Nor any two women more uprightand chaste. It's a fine text, isn't it, though?" he added morosely.
"How do you mean?"
"That their goodness is due to their characters, not to environment orto any material advantages. Has it ever occurred to you how doublydisgraceful it is for people, with every chance in the world, not tomake good?"
"Yes."
"It has to me frequently of late. And I wonder what I'd have turnedinto, given Cynthia's worldly chances." He shook his head, muttering tohimself: "It's fine, _fine_--to be what she is after what she has had tostack up against!"
Desboro winced. Presently he said in a low voice:
"The worst she had to encounter were men of our sort. That's a truth wecan't blink. It wasn't loneliness or poverty or hunger that weredangerous; it was men."
"Don't," said Cairns, rising impatiently and striding about the room. "Iknow all about _that_. But it's over, God be praised. And I'm seeingthings differently now--very, very differently. You are, too, I take it.So, for the love of Mike, let's be pleasant about it. I hate gloom.Can't a fellow regenerate himself and remain cheerful?"
Desboro laughed uncertainly, listening to the gay voices on the stairs,where Jacqueline and Cynthia were garrulously exploring the housetogether.
* * * * *
"Darling, it's too lovely!" exclaimed Cynthia, every few minutes, whileJacqueline was conducting her from one room to another, upstairs, downagain, through the hall and corridor, accompanied by an adoringmultitude of low-born dogs and nondescript cats, all running beside herwith tails stuck upright.
And so, very happily together, they visited the kitchen, laundry,storeroom, drying room, engine room, cellars; made the fragrant tour ofthe greenhouses and a less fragrant visit to the garage; inspected thewater supply; gingerly traversed the gravel paths of the kitchengarden, peeped into tool houses, carpenters' quarters; gravely surveyedcompost heaps, manure pits, and cold frames.
Jacqueline pointed out the distant farm, with its barns, stables, dairy,and chicken runs, from the lantern of the windmill, whither they hadclimbed; and Cynthia looked out over the rolling country to the bluehills edging the Hudso
n, and down into gray woodlands where patches offire signalled the swelling maple buds; and edging willows were palelygreen. Over brown earth and new grass robins were running; and bluebirdsfluttered from tree to fencepost.
Cynthia's arm stole around Jacqueline's waist.
"I am so glad for you--so glad, so proud," she whispered. "Do youremember, once, long ago, I prophesied this for you? That you would oneday take your proper place in the world?"
"Do you know," mused Jacqueline, "I don't really believe that the_place_ matters so much--as long as one is all right. That soundshorribly priggish--but isn't it so, Cynthia?"
"Few ever attain that self-sufficient philosophy," said Cynthia,laughing. "You can spoil a gem by cheap setting."
"But it remains a gem. Oh, Cynthia! _Am_ I such a prig as I sound?"
They were both laughing so gaily that the flock of pigeons on the roofwere startled into flight and swung around them in whimpering circles.
As they started to descend the steep stairs, Jacqueline said casually:
"Do you continue to find Mr. Cairns as agreeable and interesting asever?"
"Oh, yes," nodded the girl carelessly.
"Jim likes him immensely."
"He is a very pleasant companion," said Cynthia.
When they were strolling toward the house, she added:
"He thinks you are very wonderful, Jacqueline. But then everybody does."
The girl blushed: "The only thing wonderful about me is my happiness,"she said.
Cynthia looked up into her eyes.
"_Are_ you?"
"Happy? Of course."
"Is that quite true, dear?"
"Yes," said Jacqueline under her breath.
"And--there is no flaw?"
"None--now."
Cynthia impulsively caught up one of her hands and kissed it.
In the library they found beside their deserted swains two visitors,Daisy Hammerton and Captain Herrendene.
"Fine treatment!" protested Cairns, looking at Cynthia, as Jacquelinecame forward with charming friendliness and greeted her guests and madeCynthia known to them. "Fine treatment!" he repeated scornfully,"--leaving Jim and me to yawn at each other until Daisy and the Captainyonder----"
"Jack," interrupted his pretty hostess, "if you push that buttonsomebody will bring tea."
"Twice means that Scotch is to be included," remarked Desboro. "Youdidn't know that, did you, dear?"
"The only thing I know about your house, monsieur, is that your catsand dogs must _not_ pervade the red drawing-room," she said laughing."_Look_ at Captain Herrendene's beautiful cutaway coat! It's all coveredwith fur and puppy hair! And now _he_ can't go into the drawing-room,either!"
Cairns looked ruefully at a black and white cat which had jumped ontohis knees and was purring herself to sleep there.
"If enough of 'em climb on me I'll have a motor coat for next winter,"he said with resignation.
Tea was served; the chatter and laughter became general. DaisyHammerton, always enamoured of literature, and secretly addicted to itscreation, spoke of Orrin Munger's new volume which Herrendene had beenreading to her that morning under the trees.
"Such a queer book," she said, turning to Jacqueline, "--and I'm not yetquite certain whether it's silly or profound. Captain Herrendene makesfun of it--but it seems as though there _must_ be _some_ meaning in it."
"There isn't," said Herrendene. "It consists of a wad of verse, blank,inverted, and symbolic. Carbolic is what it requires."
"Isn't that the moon-youth who writes over the heads of the public andfar ahead of 'em into the next century?" inquired Cairns.
"When an author," said Herrendene, "thinks he is writing ahead of hisreaders, the chances are that he hasn't yet caught up with them."
The only flaw in Daisy Hammerton's good sense was a mistaken respect forprinted pages. She said, reverently:
"When a poet like Orrin Munger refers to himself as a Cubist and aFuturist, it _must_ have some occult significance. Besides, he wentabout a good deal last winter, and I met him."
"What did you think of him?" asked Desboro drily.
"I scarcely knew. He _is_ odd. He kissed everybody's hand and spoke withsuch obscurity about his work--referred to it in such veiled terms that,somehow, it all seemed a wonderful mystery to me."
Desboro smiled: "The man who is preeminent in his profession," he saidquietly, "never makes a mystery of it. He may be too tired to talk aboutit, too saturated with it, after the day's work, to discuss it; butnever fool enough to pretend that there is anything occult in it or inthe success he has made of it. Only incompetency is self-conscious andsecretive; only the ass strikes attitudes."
Jacqueline looked at him with pride unutterable. She thought as he did.
He smiled at her, encouraged, and went on:
"The complacent tickler of phrases, the pseudo-intellectual scramblerafter subtleties that do not exist, the smirking creators of thetortuous, the writhing explorers of the obvious, who pretend to finddepths where there are shallows, the unusual where only the commonplaceand wholesome exist--these will always parody real effort, and ape realtalent in all creative professions, and do more damage than mereignorance or even mere viciousness could ever accomplish. And, to mymind, that is all there is and all there ever will be to men likeMunger."
Daisy laughed and looked at Herrendene.
"Then I've wasted your morning!" she said, pretending contrition.
He looked her straight in the eye.
"I hadn't thought of it that way," he said pleasantly.
Cairns, tired of feigning an interest in matters literary, tinkled theice in his glass and looked appealingly at Cynthia. And his eyes saidvery plainly: "Shall we go for a walk?"
But she only smiled, affecting not to understand; and the discussion ofthings literary continued.
It was very pleasant there in the house; late sunshine slanted acrossthe hall; a springlike breeze fluttered the curtains, and the eveningsong of the robins had begun, ringing cheerily among the Norway sprucesand over the fresh green lawns.
"It's a shame to sit indoors on a day like this," said Desboro lazily.
Everybody agreed, but nobody stirred, except Cairns, who fidgeted andlooked at Cynthia.
Perhaps that maiden's heart softened, for she rose presently, anddrifted off into the music room. Cairns followed. The others listened toher piano playing, conversing, too, at intervals, until Daisy gave thesignal to go, and Herrendene rose.
So the adieux were said, and a wood ramble for the morrow suggested.Then Daisy and her Captain went away across the fields on foot, andCynthia returned to the piano, Cairns following at heel, as usual.
Jacqueline and Desboro, lingering by the open door, saw the distanthills turn to purest cobalt, and the girdling woodlands clothethemselves in purple haze. Dusk came stealing across the meadows, andher frail ghosts floated already over the alder-hidden brook. A nearrobin sang loudly. A star came out between naked branches and looked atthem.
"How still the world has grown," breathed Jacqueline. "Except for itssilence, night with all its beauties would be unendurable."
"I believe we both need quiet," he said.
"Yes, quiet--and each other."
Her voice had fallen so exquisitely low that he bent his head to catchher words. But when he understood what she had said, he turned andlooked at her; and, still gazing on the coming night, she leaned alittle nearer to him, resting her cheek lightly against his shoulder.
"That is what we need," she whispered, "--silence, and each other. Don'tyou think so, Jim?"
"I need _you_--your love and faith and--forgiveness," he said huskily.
"You have them all. Now give me yours, Jim."
"I give you all--except forgiveness. I have nothing to forgive."
"You dear boy--you don't know--you will never know how much you have toforgive me. But if I told you, I know you'd do it. So--let itrest--forgotten forever. How fragrant the night is growing! And I canhear the brook at
intervals when the wind changes--very far away--veryfar--as far as fairyland--as far as the abode of the Maker of Moons."
"Who was he, dear?"
"Yu Lao. It's Chinese--and remote--lost in mystery eternal--where thewhite soul of her abides who went forth 'between tall avenues of spears,to die.' And that is where all things go at last, Jim--even the worldand the moon and stars--all things--even love--returning to the sourceof all."
His arm had fallen around her waist. Presently, in the dusk, he felther cool, fresh hand seeking for his, drawing his arm imperceptiblycloser.
In the unlighted music room Cynthia's piano was silent.
Presently Jacqueline's cheek touched his, rested against it.
"I never knew I could feel so safe," she murmured. "Iam--absolutely--contented."
"Do you love me?"
"Yes."
"You have no fear of me now?"
"No. But don't kiss me--yet," she whispered, tightening his arm aroundher.
He laughed softly: "Your Royal Shyness is so wonderful--so wonderful--soworshipful and adorable! When may I kiss you?"
"When--we are alone."
"Will you respond--when we are alone?"
But she only pressed her flushed cheek against his shoulder, clingingthere in silence, eyes closed.
A few seconds later they started guiltily apart, as Cairns came stridingexcitedly out of the darkness:
"I'm going to get married! I'm going to get married!" he repeatedbreathlessly. "I've asked her, but she is crying! Isn't it wonderful!Isn't it wonderful! Isn't it won----"
"_You!_" exclaimed Jacqueline, "and Cynthia! The _darling_!"
"I _said_ she was one! I called her that, too!" said Cairns, excitedly."And she began to cry. So I came out here--and I _think_ she's going toaccept me in a minute or two! Isn't it wonderful! Isn't it won----"
"You lunatic!" cried Desboro, seizing and shaking him, "--youincoherent idiot! If that girl is in there crying all alone, _what_ areyou doing out here?"
"I don't know," said Cairns vacantly. "I don't know what I'm doing. Allthis is too wonderful for me. I thought she knew me too well to care forme. But she only began to cry. And I am going----"
He bolted back into the dark music room. Desboro and Jacqueline gazed ateach other.
"That man is mad!" snapped her husband. "But--I believe she means totake him. Don't you?"
"Why--I suppose so," she managed to answer, stifling a violentinclination to laugh.
They listened shamelessly. They stood there for a long while, listening.And at last two shadowy figures appeared coming toward them very slowly.One walked quietly into Jacqueline's arms; the other attempted it withDesboro, and was repulsed.
"You're not French, you know," said the master of the house, shakinghands with him viciously. "Never did I see such a blooming idiot as youcan be--but if Cynthia can stand you, I'll have to try."
Jacqueline whispered: "Cynthia and I want to be alone for a littlewhile. Take him away, Jim."
So Desboro lugged off the happy but demoralised suitor and planted himin a library chair vigorously.
"Now," he said, "how about it? Has she accepted you?"
"She hasn't said a word yet. I've done nothing but talk and she's donenothing but listen. It knocked me galley west, too. But it happenedbefore I realised it. She was playing on the piano, and suddenly I knewthat I wanted to marry her. And I said 'You darling!' And she grew whiteand began to cry."
"Did you ask her to marry you?"
"About a thousand times."
"Didn't she say anything?"
"Not a word."
"That's odd," said Desboro, troubled.
A few minutes later the clock struck.
"Come on, anyway," he said, "we've scarcely time to dress."
In his room later, tying his tie, Cairns' uncertainty clouded his ownhappiness a little; and when he emerged to wait in the sitting-room forJacqueline, he was still worrying over it.
When Jacqueline opened her door and saw his perplexed and anxious face,she came forward in her pretty dinner gown, startled, wondering.
"What is it, Jim?" she asked, her heart, still sensitive from the old,healed wounds, sinking again in spite of her.
"I'm worried about that girl----"
"_What_ girl!"
"Cynthia----"
"Oh! _That!_ Jim, you frightened me!" She laid one hand on her heart fora moment, breathed deeply her relief, then looked at him and laughed.
"Silly! Of course she loves him."
"Jack says that she didn't utter a word----"
"She uttered several to me. Rather foolish ones, Jim--about her life'sbusiness--the stage--and love. As though love and the business of lifewere incompatible! Anyway, she'd choose him."
"Is she going to accept him?"
"Of course she is. I--I don't mean it in criticism--and I loveCynthia--but I think she is a trifle temperamental--as well as beingthe dearest, sweetest girl in the world----"
She took his arm with a pretty confidence of ownership that secretlythrilled him, and they went down stairs together, she talking all thewhile.
"Didn't I tell you?" she whispered, as they caught a glimpse of thelibrary in passing, where Cairns stood holding Cynthia's hands betweenhis own and kissing them. "Wait, Jim, darling! You mustn't interruptthem----"
"I'm going to!" he said, exasperated. "I want to know what they're goingto do----"
"Jim!"
"Oh, all right, dear. Only they gave me a good scare when I wanted to bealone with you."
She pressed his arm slightly:
"You haven't noticed my gown."
"It's a dream!" He kissed her shoulder lace, and she flushed and caughthis arm, then laughed, disconcerted by her own shyness.
Farris presented himself with a tray of cocktails.
"Jack! Come on!" called Desboro; and, as that gentleman sauntered intoview with Cynthia on his arm, something in the girl's delicious andabashed beauty convinced her host. He stretched out his hand; she tookit, looking at him out of confused but sincere eyes.
"Is it all right to wish you happiness, Cynthia?"
"It is quite all right--thank you."
"And to drink this H. P. W. to your health and happiness?"
"That," she said laughingly, "is far more serious. But--you may do so,please."
The ceremony ended, Desboro said to Jacqueline, deprecatingly:
"This promises to be a jolly, but a rather noisy, dinner. Do you mind?"
And it was both--an exceedingly jolly and unusually noisy dinner forfour. Jacqueline and Cynthia both consented to taste the champagne inhonour of this occasion only; then set aside their glasses, inflexiblein their prejudice. Which boded well for everybody concerned, especiallyto two young men to whom any countenance of that sort might ultimatelyhave proved no kindness.
And Jacqueline was as wise as she was beautiful; and Cynthia's intuitionmatched her youthful loveliness, making logic superfluous.
Feeling desperately frivolous after coffee, they lugged out an old-timecard table and played an old-time game of cards--piquet--gambling sorecklessly that Desboro lost several cents to Cairns before the eveningwas over, and Jacqueline felt that she had been dreadfully and ratherdelightfully imprudent.
Then midnight sounded from the distant stable clock, and every timepiecein the house echoed the far Westminster chimes.
Good-nights were said; Jacqueline went away with Cynthia to the latter'sroom; Desboro accompanied Cairns, and endured the latter's rhapsodies aslong as he could, ultimately escaping.
In their sitting-room Jacqueline was standing beside the bowl of whitecarnations, looking down at them. When he entered she did not raise herhead until he took her into his arms. Then she looked up into his eyesand lifted her face. And for the first time her warm lips responded tohis kiss.
She trembled a little as he held her, and laid her cheek against hisbreast, both hands resting on his shoulders. After a while he was awarethat her heart was beating as though she were frig
htened.
"Dearest," he whispered.
There was no answer.
"Dearest?"
He could feel her trembling.
After a long while he said, very gently: "Come back and say good-nightto me when you are ready, dear." And quietly released her.
And she went away slowly to her room, not looking at him. And did notreturn.
So at one o'clock he turned off the lights and went into his own room.It was bright with moonlight. On his dresser lay a white carnation and akey. But he did not see them.
Far away in the woods he heard the stream rushing, bank full, throughthe darkness, and he listened as he moved about in the moonlight.Tranquil, he looked out at the night for a moment, then quietly composedhimself to slumber, not doubting, serene, happy, convinced that her lovewas his.
For a long while he thought of her; and, thinking, dreamed of her atlast--so vividly that into his vision stole the perfume of her hair andthe faint fresh scent of her hands, as when he had kissed the slenderfingers. And the warmth of her, too, seemed real, and the sweetness ofher breath.
His eyes unclosed. She lay there, in her frail Chinese robe, curled upbeside him in the moonlight, her splendid hair framing a face as paleas the flower that had fallen from her half-closed hand. And at first hethought she was asleep.
Then, in the moonlight, her eyes opened divinely, met his, lingeredunafraid, and were slowly veiled again. Neither stirred until, at last,her arms stole up around his neck and her lips whispered his name asthough it were a holy name, loved, honoured, and adored.
THE END
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