Complete weird tales of.., p.1307
Complete Weird Tales of Robert W Chambers, page 1307
The girl looked at Leeds as though she had never before seen him. For a moment, as he instinctively stepped forward, they faced one another in silence. Then a faint recognition animated her eyes. She looked at Thorne, at the Russian, at her mother, then, as Leeds said a conventional but decisive word or two, she smiled, laid one hand on his shoulder as he encircled her waist with his right arm, nodded at her mother, and glided off into the glitter with a man who danced well enough to leave her indifferent and occupied with her own reflections.
How long she had been dancing with him she did not know, nor care, when his voice roused her from a meditation that had left her red mouth sullen and her eyebrows bent.
“
“What did you say?” she asked. “I beg your pardon—”
“Nothing. I wondered whether you were bored? I dance pretty well, you know.”
“You dance very well. Do I look bored?”
“You certainly do.”
“I am.”
They swung out through the center of the perfumed crush a little recklessly, but with sufficient skill.
“I wish you would look at me — once,” he said. “What has happened since we parted?”
She raised her eyes, amused. “The inevitable. I couldn’t escape.”
“I can’t give you up yet to your own reflections,” he said. “You dance too perfectly. What do you mean by the ‘inevitable’?”
“Oh, it is not you or the dancing that I meant! You must not mind me; I am likely to say anything to-night.”
“Anything?”
“Absolutely anything to anybody.” She raised her eyes again to his face. It was a cleanly modeled countenance, rather lean — not at all like Thorne’s or Prince Minksky’s.
A vague feeling of being at home again after a foreign tour came over her, a comfortable sensation, lasting for a second — time enough to contrast his amiable features with the features of the man she had been with in the conservatory.
Constantly passing dancers nodded to them, exchanged a word or two or a brief smile — Terriss with a pretty girl who called her Naida, the British third secretary, very gay in his greeting, dozens and dozens, all whirling by; and through the brilliant glare, the scented breezy wavering scene, Leeds guided the girl with the ruddy gold hair and the sulky mouth — sulky, for she was preoccupied again, oblivious of all in her perfect grace and poise, swinging where he led, as easily, as unconsciously as a wind-blown bird floating half asleep in the flow of the upper air.
“If you are really too much bored,” he breathed —
She looked up disturbed. “I told you it was not you. You don’t bore me. You don’t know me well enough.”
“Is there no chance that I might know you better?”
“No, no chance.”
“May I try it?”
Her beautiful brows unbent. “Why, yes, try it; but I am not worth the effort.”
“Very well. For this evening you and I will speak the absolute and unvarnished truth; shall we? You may ask me whatever you care to; I will ask you. Dare you?”
She had shaken her head first, but at the word “dare” her indifference changed to a slight amusement.
“Oh, I dare anything to-night,” she said. “What question am I to answer?”
“Is it a bargain that we tell the truth?” he persisted.
“Certainly, if it amuses you. It won’t amuse me.”
“And I may venture to be cheerfully impertinent?”
She nodded, smiling.
“Then tell me why you asked me to come to this dance?”
She hesitated. A little more color crept into her face.
“Am I to answer truthfully?”
“You promised.”
Then her entire personality changed with an impulse as illogical, as sudden as any caprice that ever swept over a heart too young to bear bitterness.
“I asked you,” she said, “to come because — because I was happy with you to-day. But now — now it is too late. I am for sale once more.... Will you buy me?”
“Willingly,” he returned, amazed but smiling.
“Too late,” she said, looking up; “I have sold myself.”
They were on the outer edge of the whirl now. Her hand slid from his shoulder, and she stepped back, flushed, brilliant-eyed, perfectly self-possessed.
“Thank you for offering to purchase,” she laughed, looking him straight in the face. “Shall we finish the dance? I am ready.”
“Let me see your card,” he said coolly. She held out the cluster of ivory and gold filigree for his inspection.
“I thought you had undertaken to amuse me,” she observed. “I didn’t bargain to amuse you.” Her blue eyes were too brilliant, her color almost feverish now.
“I am going to,” he said. “But I warn you, you may not like it.”
“Try. Perhaps I may.”
“I’m going to rub out these names,” he said, watching her.
“That will be deliciously rude and impertinent. Do it. Can you think of anything else?”
“Oh, yes!” he said, filling in the card with his own name.
“Let me see,” she breathed, looking over his shoulder. “Delightful! Why, what you have done is exquisitely indecent, and will certainly involve us both in everything unpleasant. Now, what else are you going to do?”
“That sale,” he reflected—” you remember?”
“Oh, yes!”
“It’s canceled.”
“No, it isn’t,” she said with a laugh ending in a little check. “But you may compromise me if you — if you can manage it. I’ll flirt with you if you can keep the others off.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said, looking at her, scarcely knowing what he was saying. “You danced too well for me to let you go when I bored you; now that I don’t, do you think I shall let you go?”
She was on the verge of something — laughter or tears. He felt it, yet knew that she would not pass the verge.
“Now I have amused you a little,” he said, “will you sit out the rest of this dance with me?”
“How can I help it? Your name has replaced the others.”
He erased his name, and, from memory, filled in the other names in sequence. Then pocketing the tablets, he said airily: “Technically, I recover my self-respect — but, there’s a second conservatory beyond this one where I may lose yours.”
“I hope it is dark,” she said calmly.
“It is. We’ll go to the farthest corner.” Passing through palms and tree ferns, they heard the music behind them cease; and they moved a trifle more quickly.
“It’s locked,” he said.
“I don’t care. Unlock it.”
He turned the key. They entered. A few electric bulbs glimmered here and there, gilding thickets of blossoms. There were no chairs to be found, and he had started to return for them, when she called his attention to a green bench under a mass of flowering vines, and, seating herself, looked up at him expectantly.
“Now,” he said, as he took his place beside her, “you may tell me anything or nothing, as you please. You are terribly excited — I’m rather excited, too. Every normal man is always reckless; every normal woman is, once in a lifetime. It’s a crisis; you’ve reached it. I’m a decent sort of fellow — safer than the next man, maybe. And now I’m keyed up, ready to listen, ready to talk, seriously or frivolously — ready to make love — either way.”
“Make love to me, seriously?” she said gayly. “Ah, but you are safe to say so — knowing that I am sold!” After a moment she looked up: “Why don’t you ask me who bought me?”
“Oh, I know,” he nodded.
“How do you know?”
“I saw your face — after the bargain.”
The smile on her mouth remained, but he looked away, unable to meet her haunted eyes.
“Rub out these names,” she said suddenly, offering to take the card again. And, as he made no movement, she suddenly tore it to pieces in her gloved hands and held the fragments toward him with a miserable little laugh. He took them, retaining her hand in his.
“You are the prettiest girl in the world,” he said lightly. “Shall I tell you more?”
“Do you know that I am engaged to Mr. Thorne again?”
“But I am going to make love to you.”
“But — I am really going to marry him — on Monday.”
He laughed, looking her in the eyes.
“Do you not believe me?” she asked.
“No,” he said, laughing.
“But it is true. I have put it off — I have waited until the last moment — you know what I said to-day—”
Incredulous, smiling, he recovered the hand she had withdrawn. She suffered it to lie in his, looking at him almost frightened.
“It is stupid not to believe me,” she said. “Can’t a man tell when a girl is speaking the truth? I tell you I must marry him on Monday, if I’m to get anything from my grandfather—”
His hand, holding hers, relaxed; he looked at her uneasily.
“All my sisters did the same thing,” she went on— “all hung back until the last moment. Then, like me, deadly tired of the pressure, they gave in in a hurry. I’m the youngest and last — thank Heaven!”
“What is all this?” he demanded.
“Nothing — indolence — an idea that I might fall in love, perhaps — kept me from marrying.
Her voice trailed, vaguely reminiscent; she gazed at him with dimmed, speculative eyes, resting her chin on one curved wrist, elbow denting her silken knee.
“If a girl has a fool for a grandfather, what can she do? And I’m tired of the home pressure.”
She bent her head, idly lifting finger after finger of the white gloved hand that lay passively in his palm.
“So there you are,” she added; and, as he said nothing, she went on: “Tuesday, I’m twenty-one. Isn’t it absurd and dreadful? But there you are; I put it off and put it off, vowing and declaring I wouldn’t marry just to inherit my part. Mother has wept most of this year; but I said ‘No! no! no!’ and I refused to be the victim of any grandfather, and I declined to consider his wishes, or Mr. Thorne’s.”
She shrugged her shoulders: “But — you see? Cupidity at the last moment!”
“Whose cupidity?” he asked coolly.
“Mine,” she said, but he knew she was not truthful.
“That’s all right,” he observed cheerfully—” as long as it was not your family’s.” And, still smiling, he thought of her mother adroitly blocking his way until the daughter and the merchant had concluded the bargain and patched up a broken truce.
“It will be one of those ‘married-while-you-wait’ affairs,” she said, watching him; “traveling clothes and a few of the family. Don’t you want to come? You must come!” she added; “will you?”
“I have an idea,” he said, with a curious stare, “that I may be present at your wedding.”
“Good! Come with Jack Terriss and Prince Minsksky.”
“Oh, do you already number me with the Jack Terrisses?” he drawled.
“Certainly. Am I not pretty? Wouldn’t you kiss me if you — could? He always wants to; others have wanted to. Then I number you with the others; they were no more serious than you are.”
“Is it they or you who are not serious?” he asked. “I think if you gave any of them the chance you have given Thorne—”
“Yes, but I don’t love any of them. And Mr. Thorne is inevitable.”
“I see,” said Leeds carelessly. “So I am to say to-night: ‘Much happiness!’ and other stupidities. Am I not to say all these things?”
“Yes, if you like.”
“But I won’t.”
“That would be rude, wouldn’t it?” She looked up at him smiling, yet with something of concern, for he had both her hands now.
“Do you know what I am going to do?” he asked.
“No.”
“I am going to make love to you at once.”
“You may; I’m engaged.”
He listened a moment; the music rang distantly; somebody was missing a dance with the woman whose gloved hands lay in his.
“If you are going to marry for pure cupidity, why not take me?” he asked. “Any man would do for your amiable grandfather — and it seems to be all the same to you.”
“I did not know you well enough to ask you,” she said audaciously.
“Would I have done as well as anybody?” he demanded.
“Yes, as well — for me. Mother prefers the inevitable one.”
“Would I have done better than anybody — for you?” he persisted.
“Must I answer?”
“Yes; you have only fibbed once to-night.”
“Then — I’d rather — not answer. Don’t — don’t pretend to be serious. Be as frivolous as you will; make love to me if you wish — only don’t pretend.”
“No, I won’t pretend,” he said. She looked at him; his face caught fire though he strove to speak gayly: “I never believed I should fall in love — like this — not even when I first met you. You are faultlessly beautiful, with your thick, ruddy-gold hair — the hair I painted into my picture — and I painted your splendid, innocent eyes, and that scarlet, sulky mouth — not sullen then, Naida. Had I known such things were bought and sold I should have bid—”
“Stop,” she breathed.
“But all I should have offered was an ordinary heart — and you say that counts nothing against — other considerations.”
“Nothing,” she said, setting her lips.
“It counts nothing,” he repeated, watching her.
“Nothing — absolutely nothing. Is this how you amuse me? Is this what you call making love?”
“Partly this,” he said, “partly” — and he deliberately and unskillfully kissed her—” partly this.”
She rose, blushing scarlet, whisking her hands from his. He stood up to confront her, rather white.
“You are too—” she began unsteadily.
“What?”
“Brutal. I have been kissed before — but not stupidly — as you did. It was almost an affront — if such a woman as I can be affronted.” Cheeks and eyes were ablaze.
“I told you,” he said between lips almost colorless, “that I should speak the truth. I do; I love you. Can you give me a ghost of a’ chance?”
“You are clumsy and silly,” she said. “I — I was ready for almost anything — supposing you were clever enough to carry it all off lightly—”
“I can; I’ve kissed plenty of girls, but only one I’ve cared for — that’s why I was So awkward; I was scared to death. Why on earth did I awake at the eleventh hour to find that I loved you!”
“You are imposing on us both,” she said calmly. “Besides, I don’t believe you’ve kissed very many girls. Jack Terriss says you have no use for them except as models.”
“Jack’s crazy. Girls? Why, the girls I’ve kissed,” he explained blandly, “would fill that ballroom—”
“And overflow into this conservatory,” she added, quietly curious, yet perfectly convinced now that his experience had been as limited as her own. For she had never before been kissed.
“If you’ll let me show you—” he suggested.
“Show me what?”
“That I do know how to kiss a girl—”
She looked at him, then sat up straight, stripping off her gloves. Her face was hot; she used her fan.
He picked up one of her hands and she demurred, but he held to it with a fascinated determination that made a struggle unreasonable.
“What is the use,” she said, “of kissing a girl who is engaged? No, I will not! I forbid you! I — please don’t do—”
“Do what?” he asked.
“That! You have done it twice — when I asked you not to.”
“Was I clumsy this time?”
“Yes!”
“Then—”
“No — no — no!” Hands locked, she bent backward, evading him breathlessly, yet looking into his eyes with a curiosity, a fear, and something else that no man had ever seen in her gaze — something that he saw, and which the scarlet mouth, no longer sulky, tremblingly confirmed.
“There is a chance — a ghost of a chance!” he said, steadying his voice.
“No — no! There is no chance — even if you did—”
“What?”
“Love me! No chance, no ghost of a chance. Release me — please — I beg you. Oh, won’t you listen? You — you must not put your arm around me—”
The struggle was brief; she strained away from him desperately; and when he had her closer, she avoided his lips, hiding her face — and, as the hiding place happened to be, by some dreadful mistake, his shoulder, he drew her face upward and kissed her mouth again and again, until her head lay there quietly, eyes closed, wet lashes on her burning cheeks.
Then he used what voice he could command in a very manly and earnest fashion; and whether she heeded or whether even she heard was uncertain, for the tears kept her lashes wet, and her hands covered her face.
This was all very well, particularly when he drew one hand away, and her slim fingers closed convulsively over his. Between them they wrecked her delicate ivory fan, but neither seemed conscious of any loss.
“Now will you give me a ghost of a chance?” he whispered.
“I — I can’t—”
“Look at me, Naida—”
“No.”
“You must. I love you.”
“How can you — a girl bought — sold—”
“I bid higher, dear.”
“I know — my — my first kiss. You will not believe it — of a girl you kissed so easily. But it is — I have never before been kissed. But I can’t take the price; I’m sold — You had better kiss me for all the years to come.”
He bent his head; her eyes unclosed, and, looking up at him, she put both arms around his neck. “You do love me,” he breathed.
She only looked at him.
“You must!”
“I might — if there was time. How can I have time to love you?”
“Marry me; and you shall have years of time.”
