IV
When Mrs. Hosack rose from the dinner table and sailed Olympically intothe drawing-room, surrounded by graceful light craft in the persons ofPrimrose and her girl friends, the men, as usual, followed immediately.The house was bridge mad, and the tables called every one except Joan,the nice boy, and Gilbert Palgrave.
During the preliminaries of an evening which would inevitably run intothe small hours, Joan went over to the piano and, with what was a quiteunconscious touch of irony, played one of Heller's inimitable"Sleepless Nights," with the soft pedal down. The large imposing room,a chaotic mixture of French and Italian furniture with Flemishtapestries and Persian rugs, which accurately typified the ubiquitousmind of the hostess, was discreetly lighted. The numerous screenedwindows were open and the soft warm air came in tinged with the salt ofthe sea.
Palgrave, refusing to cut in, stood about like a disembodied spirit,with his eyes on Joan, from whom, since his arrival, he had receivedonly a few fleeting glances. He watched the cursed boy, as he hadlabelled him, slip over to her, lean across the piano and talk eagerly.He went nearer and caught, "the car in half an hour," and "not a wordto a soul." After which, with jealousy gnawing at his vitals, he sawHarry Oldershaw moon about for a few minutes and then make a fishlikedart out of the room. He had been prepared to find Joan amorouslysurrounded by the men of the party but not on terms of sentimentalintimacy with a smooth-faced lad. In town she had shown preference forsophistication. He went across to the piano and waited impatiently forJoan to finish the piece which somehow fitted into his mood. "Comeout," he said, then, "I want to speak to you."
But Joan let her fingers wander into a waltz and raised her eyebrows."Do I look so much like Alice that you can order me about?" she asked.
He turned on his heel with the look of a dog at which a stone had beenflung by a friend, and disappeared.
Two minutes later there was a light touch on his arm, and Joan stood athis side on the veranda. "Well, Gilbert," she said, "it's good to seeyou again."
"So good that I might be a man touting for an encyclopedia," heanswered angrily.
She sat upon the rough stone wall and crossed her little feet. Her newfrock was white and soft and very perfectly simple. It demanded theyoung body of a nymph,--and was satisfied. The magic of the moon was onher. She might have been Spring resting after a dancing day.
"If you were," she said, taking a delight in unspoiling this immaculateman, "I'm afraid you'd never get an order from me. Of all things theencyclopedia must be accompanied by a winning smile and irresistiblemanners. I suppose you've done lots of amusing things since I saw youlast."
He went nearer so that her knees almost touched him. "No," he said."Only one, and that was far from amusing. It has marked me like a blow.I've been waiting for you. Where have you been, and why haven't youtaken the trouble to write me a single letter?"
"I've been ill," she said. "Yes, I have. Quite ill. I deliberately setout to hurt myself and succeeded. It was an experiment that I sha'n'trepeat. I don't regret it. It taught me something that I shall neverforget. Never too young to learn, eh? Isn't it lovely here? Just smellthe sea, and look at those lights bobbing up and down out there. Inever feel any interest in ships in the daytime, but at night, whenthey lie at anchor, and I can see nothing but their lonely eyes, Iwould give anything to be able to fly round them like a gull and peepinto their cabins. Do they affect you like that?"
Palgrave wasn't listening to her. It was enough to look at her andrefresh his memory. She had been more than ever in his blood all theseweeks. She was like water in a desert or sunlight to a man who comes upfrom a mine. He had found her again and he thanked whatever god herecognized for that, but he was forced to realize from herimperturbable coolness and unaffected ease that she was farther awayfrom him than ever. To one of his temperament and schooling this washard to bear with any sort of self-control. The fact that he wanted herof all the creatures on earth, that she, alone among women, had touchedthe fuse of his desire, and that, knowing this, she could sit there afew inches from his lips and put a hundred miles between them, maddenedhim, from whom nothing hitherto had been impossible.
"Have I got to begin all over again?" he asked, with a sort ofpetulance.
"Begin what, Gilbert?" There was great satisfaction in playing with onewho thought that he had only to touch a bell to bring the moon and thesun and the stars to his bidding.
"Good God," he cried out. "You're like wet sand on which a man expectsto find yesterday's footmarks. Hasn't anything of me and the thingsI've said to you remained in your memory?"
"Of course," she said. "I shall never forget the night you took me tothe Brevoort, for instance, and supplied the key to all the people withunkempt hair and comic ties."
Some one on the beach below shot out a low whistle.
A little thrill ran through Joan. In ten minutes, perhaps less, shewould be dancing once more to the lunatic medley of a Jazz band,dancing with a boy who gave her all that she needed of him and askedabsolutely nothing of her; dancing among people who were less than thedust in the scheme of things, so far as she was concerned, except togive movement and animation to the room and to be steered through. Thatwas the right attitude towards life and its millions, she told herself.As salt was to an egg so was the element of false romance to this GolfClub dance. In a minute she would get rid of Palgrave, yes, even thefastidious Gilbert Palgrave, who had never been able quite to disguisethe fact that his love for her was something of a condescension; shewould fly in the face of the unwritten law of the pompous house on thedunes and mingle with what Hosack had called the crowd from the hotel.It was all laughable and petty, but it was what she wanted to do. Itwas all in the spirit of "Who Cares?" that she had caught at again. Whyworry as to what Mrs. Hosack might say or Palgrave might feel? Wasn'tshe as free as the air to follow her whims without a soul to make aclaim upon her or to hold out a hand to stop?
Through these racing thoughts she heard Palgrave talking and cricketsrasping and frogs croaking and a sudden burst of laughter and talk inthe drawing-room,--and the whistle come again.
"Yes," she said, because yes was as good as any other word. "Well,Gilbert, dear, if you're not an early bird you will see me againlater,"--and jumped down from the wall.
"Where are you going?"
"Does that matter?"
"Yes, it does. I want you here. I've been waiting all these weeks."
She laughed. "It's a free country," she said, "and you have the rightto indulge in any hobby that amuses you. Au revoir, old thing." And shespread out her arms like wings and flew to the steps and down to thebeach and away with some one who had sent out a signal.
"That boy," said Palgrave. "I'm to be turned down for a cursed boy! ByGod, we'll know about that."
And he followed, seeing red.
He saw them get into a low-lying two-seater built on racing lines,heard a laugh flutter into the air, watched the tail light sweep roundthe drive and become smaller and smaller along the road.
So that was it, was it? He had been relegated to the hangers-on,reduced to the ranks, put into the position of any one of the number ofextraneous men who hung round this girl-child for a smile and a word!That was the way he was to be treated, he, Gilbert Palgrave, theconnoisseur, the decorative and hitherto indifferent man who hadrefused to be subjected to any form of discipline, who had never, untilJoan had come into his life, allowed any one to put him a single inchout of his way, who had been triumphantly one-eyed and selfish,--thatwas the way he was to be treated by the very girl who had fulfilled hisonce wistful hope of making him stand, eager and startled and love-sickamong the chaos of individualism and indolence, who had shaken him intothe Great Emotion! Yes, by God, he'd know about that.
Bare-headed and surging with untranslatable anger he started walking.He was in no mood to go into the drawing-room and cut into a game ofbridge and show his teeth and talk the pleasant inanities of politesociety. All the stucco of civilization fell about him in slabs as hemade his way with
long strides out of the Hosacks' place, across thesandy road and on to the springy turf of the golf links. It didn'tmatter where he went so long as he got elbow room for his indignation,breathing space for his rage and a wide loneliness for his blasphemy....
He had stood humble and patient before this virginal girl. He hadconfessed himself to her with the tremendous honesty of a man madesimple by an overwhelming love. She was married. So was he. But whatdid that matter to either of them whose only laws were self-made? Theman to whom she was not even tied meant as little to her as the girl hehad foolishly married meant or would ever mean to him. He had placedhimself at her beck and call. In order to give her amusement he hadtaken her to places in which he wouldn't have been seen dead, haddanced his good hours of sleep away for the pleasure of seeing herpleased, had revolutionized his methods with women and paid her tributeby the most scrupulous behavior and, finally, instead of setting out toturn her head with pearls and diamonds and carry her by storm while shewas under the hypnotic influence of priceless glittering things forbodily adornment, which render so many women easy to take, he hadrecognized her as intelligent and paid her the compliment of treatingher as such, had stated his case and waited for the time when the blazeof love would set her alight and bring her to his arms.
There was something more than mere egotism in all this,--the naturalegotism of a man of great wealth and good looks, who had walked throughlife on a metaphorical red carpet pelted with flowers by adoring womento whom even virtue was well lost in return for his attention. Joan,like the spirit of spring, had come upon Palgrave at that time of hislife when youth had left him and he had stood at the great crossroads,one leading down through a morass of self-indulgence to a hideoussenility, the other leading up over the stones of sacrifice and serviceto a dignified usefulness. Her fresh young beauty and enthusiasm, hergolden virginity and unself-consciousness, her unaffected joy in beingalive, her superb health and vitality had shattered his conceit andself-obsession, broken down his aloofness and lack of scruple andfilled the empty frame that he had hung in his best thoughts with herface and form.
There was something of the great lover about Palgrave in his new andchanged condition. He had laid everything unconditionally at the feetof this young thing. He had shown a certain touch of bigness, ofnobility, he of all men, when, after his outburst in the littledrawing-room that night, he had stood back to wait until Joan had grownup. He had waited for six weeks, going through tortures ofJoan-sickness that were agonizing. He had asked her to do what shecould for him in the way of a little kindness, but had not received onesingle line. He was prepared to continue to wait because he knew hislove to be so great that it must eventually catch hold of her like thelicking flame of a prairie fire. It staggered him to arrive at theHosacks' place and find her fooling with a smooth-faced lad. Itoutraged him to be left cold, as though he were a mere member of thehouse party and watch her to whom he had thrown open his soul gojoy-riding with a cursed boy. It was, in a sort of way, heresy. Itproved an almost unbelievable inability to realize the great thing thatthis was. Such love as his was not an everyday affair, to be treatedlightly and carelessly. It was, on the contrary, rare and wonderful andas such to be, at any rate, respected. That's how it seemed to him, andby God he would see about it.
He drew up short, at last, on his strange walk across the undulatingcourse. The light from the Country Club streamed across his feet, andthe jangle of the Jazz band broke into his thoughts. From where hestood, surprised to find himself in civilization, he could see thecrowd of dancers through the open windows of what resembled a hugebungalow, at one side of which a hundred motor cars were parked. Hewent nearer, drawn forward against his will. He was in no mood to watcha summer dance of the younger set. He made his way to the wide verandaand stood behind the rocking chairs of parents and friends. But not formore than fifty seconds. There was Joan, with her lovely laughing facealight with the joy of movement, held in the arms of the cursed boy.Between two chairs he went, into and across the room in which he was atrespasser, tapped young Oldershaw sharply on the arm, cut into thedance, and before the boy could recover from his surprise, was out ofreach with Joan against his heart.
"Oh, well done, Gilbert," said Joan, a little breathlessly. "When Martydid that to you at the Crystal Room..."
She stopped, and a shadow fell on her face and a little tremble ranacross her lips.
Smoking a cigarette on the veranda young Oldershaw waited for the danceto end. It was encored several times but being a sportsman and havingachieved a monopoly of Joan during all the previous dances, he let thisman enjoy his turn. He was a great friend of hers, she had said on theway to the club, and was, without doubt, a very perfect person with hiswide-set eyes and well-groomed head, his smooth moustache and the clefton his chin. He didn't like him. He had decided that at a first glance.He was too supercilious and self-assured and had a way of looking cleanthrough men's heads. He conveyed the impression of having bought theearth,--and Joan. A pity he was too old for a year or two of Yale. Thatwould make him a bit more of a man.
When presently the Jazzers paused in order to recuperate,--every one ofthem deserving first aid for the wounded,--and Joan came out for alittle air with Palgrave, Harry strolled up. This was his evening, andin a perfectly nice way he conveyed that impression by his manner. Hewas, moreover, quite determined to give nothing more away. He conveyedthat, also.
"Shall we sit on the other side?" he asked. "The breeze off the seakeeps the mosquitoes away a bit."
Refusing to acknowledge his existence Palgrave guided Joan towards avacant chair. He went on with what he had been saying and swung thechair round.
Joan was smiling again.
Oldershaw squared his jaw. "I advise against this side, Joan," he said."Let me take you round."
He earned a quick amused look and a half shrug of white shoulders fromJoan. Palgrave continued to talk in a low confidential voice. Heregarded Oldershaw's remarks as no more of an interruption than thechorus of the frogs. Oldershaw's blood began to boil, and he had aqueer prickly sensation at the back of his neck. Whoo, but there'd haveto be a pretty good shine in a minute, he said to himself. This manPalgrave must be taught.
He marched up to Joan and held out his arm. "We may as well get back,"he said. "The band's going to begin again."
But Joan sat down, looking from one man to the other. All the woman inher revelled in this rivalry,--all that made her long-dead sisterscrowd to the arenas, wave to armored knights in deadly combat, leanforward in grand stands to watch the Titanic struggles of Army andNavy, Yale and Harvard on the football field. Her eyes danced, her lipswere parted a little, her young bosom rose and fell.
"And so you see," said Palgrave, putting his hand on the back of herchair, "I can stay as long as the Hosacks will have me, and one dayI'll drive you over to my bachelor cottage on the dune. It willinterest you."
"The only thing that has any interest at the moment is dancing," saidOldershaw loudly. "By the way, you don't happen to be a member of theclub, do you, Mr. Palgrave?"
With consummate impudence Palgrave caught his eye and made a sort ofpoliceman gesture. "Run away, my lad," he said, "run away and amuseyourself." He almost asked for death.
With a thick mutter that sounded like "My God," Oldershaw balancedhimself to hit, his face the color of a beet-root,--and instantly Joanwas on her feet between them with a hand on the boy's chest.
"No murder here," she said, "please!"
"Murder!" echoed Palgrave, scoffing.
"Yes, murder. Can't you see that this boy could take you and break youlike a dry twig? Let's go back, all three of us. We don't want tobecome the center of a sight-seeing crowd." And she took an arm of eachshaking man and went across the drive to where the car was parked.
And so the danger moment was evaded,--young Oldershaw warm with pride,Palgrave sullen and angry. They made a trio which had its prototypesall the way back to the beginning of the world.
It did Palgrave no good to crouch ignominiously on
the step of the carwhich Oldershaw drove back hell for leather.
The bridge tables were still occupied. The white lane was still acrossthe sea. Frogs and crickets still continued their noisy rivalry, but itwas a different climate out there on the dunes from that of the villagewith its cloying warmth.
Palgrave went into the house at once with a brief "Thank you." Joanwaited while Harry put the car into a garage. Bed made no appeal.Bridge bored,--it required concentration. She would play the game ofsex with Gilbert if he were to be found. So the boy had to be disposedof.
"Harry," she said, when he joined her, chuckling at having come top dogout of the recent blaze, "you'd better go straight to bed now. We'regoing to be up early in the morning, you know."
"Just what I was thinking," he answered. "By Jove, you've given me acorking good evening. The best of my young life. You ... you certainlyare,--well, I don't know how to do you justice. I'd have to be a poet."He fumbled for her hand and kissed it a little sheepishly.
They went in. "You're a nice boy, Harry," she said. There was somethingin his charming simplicity and muscular strength that reminded herof,--but she refused to let the name enter her mind.
"I could have broken that chap like a dry twig, too, easy. Who does hethink he is?" He would have pawned his life at that moment for thetaste of her lips.
She stood at the bottom of the stairs and held out her hand. "Goodnight, old boy," she said.
And he took it and hurt it. "Good night, Joany," he answered.
That pet name hurt her more than his eager grasp. It was Marty's ownword--Marty, who--who--
She threw up her head and stamped her foot, and slammed the door of herthoughts. "Who cares?" she said to herself, challenging life and fate."Come on. Make things move."
She saw Palgrave standing alone in the library looking at the sea. "Youmight be Canute," she said lightly.
His face was curiously white. "I'm off in the morning," he said. "Wemay as well say good-by now."
"Good-by, then," she answered.
"I can't stay in this cursed place and let you play the fool with me."
"Why should you?"
"There'll be Hosack and the others as well as your new pet."
"That's true."
He caught her suddenly by the arms. "Damn you," he said. "I wish to GodI'd never seen you."
She laughed. "Cave man stuff, eh?"
He let her go. She had the most perfect way of reducing him to ridicule.
"I love you," he said. "I love you. Aren't you going to try, even totry, to love me back?"
"No."
"Not ever?"
"Never." She went up to him and stood straight and slim and bewitching,eye to eye. "If you want me to love you, make me. Work for it, moveHeaven and earth. You can't leave it to me. I don't want to love you.I'm perfectly happy as I am. If you want me, win me, carry me off myfeet and then you shall see what it is to be loved. It's entirely up toyou, understand that. I shall fight against it tooth and nail, but Igive you leave to do your best. Do you accept the challenge?"
"Yes," he said, and his face cleared, and his eyes blazed.