CHAPTER XXXIII
It was night at the flat. There was just chill enough in the air tojustify a cozy little fire. Through the open windows came the low hum ofLondon, subdued by walls and distance to the pitch of a friendlyaccompaniment to talk. In two great leathern chairs, half facing eachother, Vi and Leighton sat down, the fire between them.
They had been silent for a long time. Vi had been twisting her fingers,staring at them. Her lips were half open and mobile. She was evenflushed. Suddenly she locked her hands and leaned forward.
"Grapes," she said without a drawl, "I have seen myself. It is terrible.Nothing is left."
Leighton rose and stepped into his den. He came back slowly with twopictures in his hands.
"Look at these," he said. "If you were ten years older, you'd only haveto glance at them, and they'd open a door to memory."
Vi gazed at the pictures, small paintings of two famous Spanish dancers.One was beautiful, languorous, carnal; the other was neither languorousnor carnal despite her wonderful body, and she was certainly notbeautiful. Vi laid the second picture down and held the first. Thenalmost unconsciously she reached out her hand for the discarded picture.Gradually the face that was not beautiful drew her until attention grewinto absorption. The portrait of the languorous beauty fell to her lapand then slipped to the floor, face down. Leighton laughed.
Vi glanced up.
"Why?" she asked.
"Oh, nothing," said Leighton, "except that the effect those pictures hadon you is an exact parallel to the way the two originals influenced men.For that----" Leighton waved a hand at the picture on the floor--"mengave all they possessed in the way of worldly goods, and then Wonderedwhy they'd done it. But for her--the one you 're looking at----"
He broke off. "You never heard of De Larade? De Larade spent all of hisshort life looking for animate beauty, and worshiping it when he foundit. But he died leaning too far over a balcony to pick a flower for theWoman you're staring at."
"Why?" asked Vi again. "You knew her, of course. Tell me about her."
"I'm going to," said Leighton. "The first time I saw her on the stageshe seemed to me merely an extra-graceful and extra-sensuous Spanishdancer. Nothing to rave over, nothing to stimulate a jaded palate. Icould have met her; I decided I didn't want to. Later on I did meet her,not in her dressing-room, but at a house where she was the last person Iexpected to see."
Leighton picked up a cigarette, lighted it, and sat down.
"The place ought to have protected her," he continued, "but when you'veseen two thirds of a woman's body, it takes a lot of atmosphere to makeyou forget it. We were in a corner by ourselves. I can't remember justwhat I did. Probably laid my hand on her arm with intent. Well, Vi, shedidn't thrill the way your blood and mine has thrilled an occasion. Shejust shrank. Then she frowned, and the frown made her look really ugly.'Don't forget,' she whispered to me, 'that I'm a married woman. I neverforget it--not for one minute.'"
Leighton blew a cloud of smoke at the fire. It twisted into wreaths andwhirled up the chimney.
"Quite a facer, eh?" he went on. "But it didn't down me. It only woke meup. 'Have you ever had a man sit down with you beside him and hold youso,' I asked her, 'with your back to his knees, your head in his handsand his eyes and his mouth close to yours--a man that wasn't trying toget to a single goal, but was content to linger with you in the land ofdreams?'
"Believe me, Vi, the soul of a pure woman that every man thinks he has aright to make love to is the shyest of all souls. Such a woman shedsinnuendo and actions with the proverbial ease of a duck disposing of ashower. But just words--the right words--will bring tears to her eyes.Well, I'd stumbled on the right words."
"'No,' she said, with a far-away look, 'I've never had a man hold melike that. Why?'"
"'Why?' I said, 'Because I will--some day.'"
"'You!'"
"I can't give you all the derision she put into that 'you!' Then herface and her eyes went as hard as flint. 'Money?' she asked, and Ianswered, 'No; love.'"
Leighton looked at his cigarette end and flipped it into the fire.
"She laughed, of course, and when she laughed she became to me the mostunattainable and consequently the most desirable of women. I was at thatage.
"Well, to cut the story short, I went mad over her, but it wasn't themadness that loses its head. It was just cunning--the cunning with atouch of fanaticism that always reaches its goal. I laid seige to her byday and by night, and at last, one day, she sent for me. She was alone;I could see that she meant us to be alone. She made me sit down. Shestood in front of me. To my eyes she had become beautiful. I wanted her,really wanted her.
"What she said was this: 'I've sent for you because, if you keep on,you're going to win. No, don't get up. Before you keep on, I want totell you something about myself--about what I believe with all my soul.I don't have to tell you that I'm a good woman; you know it. The firsttime you saw me dance you were rather disgusted, weren't you? I nodded.'What do you think of my dancing now?"
"I remember my answer to that. It was: 'You possess people gradually,you hold them forever. It's more than personality with you, it's power.'
"Her eyes were fastened on me. They drew mine. 'That's right,' she said;'look at me. I want you to look at me. You see I'm an ugly woman.' Icried out in protest, and I meant it. Her face went suddenly hard. 'Youfool,' she said, 'say that I'm pretty--say it now!' And I cried out ather, 'Not when you look like that. But you can assume beauty. You knowit.'
"She seemed to pause in her thoughts at that and smiled. 'Can I--foryou?' she asked in a way that made her divine. Then she jerked herselfback. 'I'm an ugly woman. My body is wonderful. Look!' She raised herlong arms, which were bare, gave a half-turn, and glanced at me over hershoulder. An apparently simple movement, but it was consummate in graceand display. 'You see?' she said, with a flashing smile. Then she turnedand stood stolidly. 'I didn't have a body worth speaking of once. WhatI've got I made--every bit of it.'
"She sat down sidewise on a chair, folded her arms on the back of it,and looked at me over them. 'I have that power you were speaking of. Doyou know just in what consists a woman's power over a man? I'll tellyou: in keeping eternally just one thing that he wants.'
"She paused a long time on that, then she went on: 'Some women holdtheir own in the world and their men by beauty, others by wit, others byculture, breeding, and occasionally there's a woman clever enough tohold her place and her man by wealth. I've got none of these things.I've got only one great gift of God by which I hold my power. Whenthat's gone, all is gone. Wise people have told me so. I know it istrue.' She rose slowly, came and stood close beside me. 'It's--it'sthis--that I'm still my own. Do you want to--to rob me?"
Leighton paused, staring into the fire.
"That was the time," he said, "I went off on my longest shooting-trip. Inever saw her again." He looked up. Vi was very pale.
"You have been cruel--cruel to me," she said.
Leighton sprang to his feet and started walking up and down.
"I have not," he said. "The trouble with you women is you're foreverwanting to have your cake and eat it, too. If you thought I was going tocomfort you with sophist assurances that there's a way out of paying theprice for the kind of life you've led, you were just wrong. What I'mtrying to do is to give you a prescription for an individual sick soul,not a well one."
He stopped and pointed at the picture lying on Vi's lap.
"Don't you see where her philosophy helps you? You've got all theelements of power that she lacked--beauty, wit, breeding, wealth,and--yes--and mind. She had that, too, but she didn't know it. With allthat of your cargo left, can't you trade honestly with life? Can't youmake life worth while, not only just to yourself? You'll be trading incompensations, it's true."
Leighton started walking up and down again.
"In one of my many brilliant moments," he went on, "I defined acompensation to Lewis as something that doesn't quite compensate. Thereyou have the root of most
of the sadness in life. But believe me, mydear girl, almost all the live people you and I know are trading incompensations, and this is what I want you to fasten on. Some of them doit nobly."
Leighton stood with folded arms, frowning at the floor. Vi looked up athim but could not catch his eye. She rose, picked up her wraps, and thencame and stood before him. She laid her fingers on his arms.
"Grapes," she said, still without a drawl, "you _have_ helped me--a lot.Good night." She held up her lips.
"No, Vi," said Leighton, gravely. "Just give up paying even for kindnesswith a kiss."
Vi nodded her head.
"You're right; only--that kiss wouldn't have been as old as I." Sheturned from him. "I don't think I'll call you 'Grapes' any more."
"Yes, you will," said Leighton. "We're born into one name; we earnanother. We've got a right to the one we earn. You see, even a man can'thave his cake----"
But, with a wave of her hand, Vi was gone. Leighton heard Nelton runningdown the stairs to call a cab for her.