XXII
FORELAND FARMS
Toward three o'clock on the following afternoon the sun opened up likea searchlight through the veil of rain, dissolving it to a golden hazewhich gradually grew thinner and thinner, revealing glimpses ofrolling country against a horizon of low mountains.
About the same time the covered station wagon turned in between thewhite gates of Foreland Farms, proceeded at a smart trot up the drive,and stopped under a dripping porte-cochere, where a smiling servantstood waiting to lift out the luggage.
A trim looking man of forty odd, in soft shirt and fawn colouredknickers, and wearing a monocle in his right eye and a flower in hisbuttonhole, came out on the porch as Barres and his guests descended.
"Well, Garry," he said, "I'm glad you're home at last! But you'rerather late for the fishing." And to Westmore:
"How are you, Jim? Jolly to have you back! But I regret to inform youthat the fishing is very poor just now."
His son, who stood an inch or two taller than his debonaire parent,passed one arm around his shoulders and patted them affectionatelywhile the easy presentations were concluded.
At the same moment two women, beautifully mounted and very wet,galloped up to the porch and welcomed Garry's guests from theirsaddles in the pleasant, informal, incurious manner characteristic ofForeland Farm folk--a manner which seemed too amiably certain ofitself to feel responsibility for anybody or anything else.
Easy, unconcerned, slender and clean-built women these--Mrs. ReginaldBarres, Garry's mother, and her daughter, Lee. And in their smart,rain-wet riding clothes they might easily have been sisters, with afew years' difference between them, so agreeably had Time behavedtoward Mrs. Barres, so closely her fair-haired, fair-skinned daughterresembled her.
They swung carelessly out of their saddles and set spurred foot toturf, and, with Garret and his guests, sauntered into the big livinghall, where a maid waited with wine and biscuits and the housekeeperlingered to conduct Thessalie and Dulcie to their rooms.
Dulcie Soane, in her pretty travelling gown, walked beside Mrs.Reginald Barres into the first great house she had ever entered.Composed, but shyly enchanted, an odd but delightful sensationpossessed her that she was where she belonged--that such environment,such people should always have been familiar to her--were logical andfamiliar to her now.
Mrs. Barres was saying:
"And if you like parties, there is always gaiety at Northbrook. Butyou don't have to go anywhere or do anything you don't wish to."
Dulcie said, diffidently, that she liked everything, and Mrs. Barreslaughed.
"Then you'll be very popular," she said, tossing her riding crop ontothe table and stripping off her wet gloves.
Barres senior was already in serious confab with Westmore concerningpiscatorial conditions, the natural low water of midsummer, thecapricious conduct of the trout in the streams and in the upper andlower lakes.
"They won't look at anything until sunset," he explained, "and thenthey don't mean business. You'll see, Jim. I'm sorry; you should havecome in June."
Lee, Garret's boyishly slim sister, had already begun to exchangeopinions about horses with Thessalie, for both had been familiar withthe saddle since childhood, though the latter's Cossack horsemanshipand mastery of the haute ecole, incident to her recent and irregularprofession, might have astonished Lee Barres.
Mrs. Barres was saying to Dulcie:
"We don't try to entertain one another here, but everybody seems tohave a perfectly good time. The main thing is that we all feel quitefree at Foreland. You'll lose yourself indoors at first. The familyfor a hundred years has been adding these absurd two-story wings, sothat the house wanders at random over the landscape, and you may haveto inquire your way about in the beginning."
She smiled again at Dulcie and took her hand in both of hers:
"I'm sure you will like the Farms," she said, linking her other armthrough her son's. "I'm rather wet, Garry," she added, "but I thinkLee and I had better dry out in the saddle." And to Dulcie again: "Teaat five, if anybody wishes it. Would you like to see your room?"
Thessalie, conversing with Lee, turned smilingly to be included in thesuggestion; and the maid came forward to conduct her and Dulciethrough the intricacies of the big, casual, sprawling house, whererooms and corridors and halls rambled unexpectedly and irrelevantlyin every direction, and one vista seemed to terminate in another.
When they had disappeared, the Barres family turned to inspect its sonand heir with habitual and humorous insouciance, commenting franklyupon his personal appearance and concluding that his health stillremained all that could be desired by the most solicitous of parentsand sisters.
"There are rods already rigged up in the work-room," remarked hisfather, "if you and your guests care to try a dry-fly this evening. Asfor me, you'll find me somewhere around the upper lake, if you care tolook for me----"
He fished out of his pocket a bewildering tangle of fine mist-leaders,and, leisurely disentangling them, strolled toward the porch, stilltalking:
"There's only one fly they deign to notice, now--a dust-coloured midgetied in reverse with no hackle, no tinsel, a May-fly tail, and barredcanary wing----" He nodded wisely over his shoulder at his son andWestmore, as though sharing with them a delightful secret ofworld-wide importance, and continued on toward the porch, serenelyinterested in his tangled leaders.
Garret glanced at his mother and sister; they both laughed. He said:
"Dad is one of those rarest of modern beings, a genuine angler of theold school. After all the myriad trout and salmon he has caught in acareer devoted to fishing, the next fish he catches gives him just asfine a thrill as did the very first one he ever hooked! It's quitewonderful, isn't it, mother?"
"It's probably what keeps him so youthful," remarked Westmore. "Thething to do is to have something to do. That's the elixir of youth.Look at your mother, Garry. She's had a busy handful bringing youup!"
Garret looked at his slender, attractive mother and laughed again:
"Is that what keeps you so young and pretty, mother?--looking afterme?"
"Alas, Garry, I'm over forty, and I look it!"
"Do you?--you sweet little thing!" he interrupted, picking her upsuddenly from the floor and marching proudly around the room with her."Gaze upon my mother, Jim! Isn't she cunning? Isn't she the smartestlittle thing in America? Behave yourself, mother! Your grateful son isshowing you off to the appreciative young gentleman from NewYork----"
"You're ridiculous! Jim! Make him put me down!"
But her tall son swung her to his shoulder and placed her high on themantel shelf over the huge fireplace; where she sat beside the clock,charming, resentful, but helpless, her spurred boots dangling down.
"Come on, Lee!" cried her brother, "I'm going to put you up besideher. That mantel needs ornamental bric-a-brac and objets d'art----"
Lee turned to escape, but her brother cornered and caught her, andswung her high, seating her beside his indignant mother.
"Just as though we were two Angora kittens," remarked Lee, sidlingalong the stone shelf toward her mother. Then she glanced out throughthe open front door. "Lift us down, quick, Garry. You'd better! Thehorses are in the flower beds and there'll be no more bouquets for thetable in another minute!"
So he lifted them off the mantel and they hastily departed, eachadministering correction with her riding crop as she dodged past himand escaped.
"If your guests want horses you know where to find them!" called backhis sister from the porch. And presently she and his mother, securelymounted, went cantering away across country, where grass and fern andleaf and blossom were glistening in the rising breeze, weighted downwith diamond drops of rain.
Westmore walked leisurely toward his quarters, to freshen up and donknickers. Garret followed him into the west wing, whistlingcontentedly under his breath, inspecting each remembered object withgreat content as he passed, nodding smilingly to the servants heencountered, lingering on the landing to ack
nowledge the civilities ofthe ancient family cat, who recognised him with effusion but coylyfled the advances of Westmore, ignoring all former and repeatedintroductions.
Their rooms adjoined and they conversed through the doorway whileengaged in ablutions.
Presently, from behind his sheer sash-curtains, Westmore caught sightof Thessalie on the west terrace below. She wore a shell-pink frockand a most distractingly pretty hat; and he hurried his dressing asmuch as he could without awaking Garret's suspicions.
A few minutes later, radiant in white flannels, he appeared on theterrace, breathing rather fast but wreathed in persuasive smiles.
"I know this place; I'll take you for a walk where you won't get yourshoes wet. Shall I?" he suggested, with all his guile and cunningquite plain to Thessalie, and his purpose perfectly transparent to hersmiling eyes.
But she consented prettily, and went with him without demurring,picking her way over the stepping-stone walk with downcast gaze andthe trace of a smile on her lips--a smile as delicately indefinable asthe fancy which moved her to accept this young man's headlongadvances--which had recognized them and accepted them from the first.But why, she did not even yet understand.
"Agreeable weather, isn't it?" said Westmore, fatuously revealing hispresent paucity of ideas apart from those which concerned the wooingof her. And he was an intelligent young man at that, and a sculptor ofattainment, too. But now, in his infatuated head, there remained roomonly for one thought, the thought of this girl who walked so demurelyand daintily beside him over the flat, grass-set stepping stonestoward the three white pines on the little hill.
For it had been something or other at first sight with Westmore--love,perhaps--anyway that is what he called the mental chaos which nowdisorganised him. And it was certain that something happened to himthe first time he laid eyes on Thessalie Dunois. He knew it, and shecould not avoid seeing it, so entirely naive his behaviour, so utterlyguileless his manoeuvres, so direct, unfeigned and childish hismethods of approach.
At moments she felt nervous and annoyed by his behaviour; at othertimes apprehensive and helpless, as though she were responsible forsomething that did not know how to take care of itself--somethingimmature, irrational, and entirely at her mercy. And it may have beenthe feminine response to this increasing sense of obligation--theconfused instinct to guide, admonish and protect--that began being thematter with her.
Anyway, from the beginning the man had a certain fascination for her,unwillingly divined on her part, yet specifically agreeable even tothe point of exhilaration. Also, somehow or other, the girl realisedhe had a brain.
And yet he was a pitiably hopeless case; for even now he was sayingsuch things as:
"Are you quite sure that your feet are dry? I should never forgivemyself, Thessa, if you took cold.... Are you tired?... How wonderfulit is to be here alone with you, and strive to interpret the mysteryof your mind and heart! Sit here under the pines. I'll spread my coatfor you.... Nature is wonderful, isn't it, Thessa?"
And when she gravely consented to seat herself he dropped recklesslyonto the wet pine needles at her feet, and spoke with imbecile delightagain of nature--of how wonderful were its protean manifestations, andhow its beauties were not meant to be enjoyed alone but in mysticcommunion with another who understood.
It was curious, too, but this stuff seemed to appeal to her, somecommonplace chord within her evidently responding. She sighed andlooked at the mountains. They really were miracles of colour--massesof purest cobalt, now, along the horizon.
But perhaps the trite things they uttered did not really matter;probably it made no difference to them what they said. And even if hehad murmured: "There are milestones along the road to Dover," shemight have responded: "There was an old woman who lived in a shoe";and neither of them would have heard anything at all except the rapid,confused, and voiceless conversation of two youthful human heartsbeating out endless questions and answers that never moved theirsmiling lips. There was the mystery, if any--the constant wirelesscurrent under the haphazard flow of words.
There was no wind in the pines; meadow and pasture, woodland and swalestretched away at their feet to the distant, dark-blue hills. And allaround them hung the rain-washed fragrance of midsummer under a still,cloudless sky.
"It seems impossible that there can be war anywhere in the world," shesaid.
"You know," he began, "it's getting on my nerves the way those swinefrom the Rhine are turning this decent green world into a bloodywallow! Unless we do something about it pretty soon, I think I'll goover."
She looked up:
"Where?"
"To France."
She remained silent for a while, merely lifting her dark eyes to himat intervals; then she grew preoccupied with other thoughts that lefther brows bent slightly inward and her mouth very grave.
He gazed reflectively out over the fields and woods:
"Yes, I can't stand it much longer," he mused aloud.
"What would you do there?" she inquired.
"Anything. I could drive a car. But if they'll take me in someCanadian unit--or one of the Foreign Legions--it would suit me.... Youknow a man can't go on just living in the world while this beastlybusiness continues--can't go on eating and sleeping and shaving anddressing as though half of civilisation were not rolling in agony andblood, stabbed through and through----"
His voice caught--he checked himself and slowly passed his hand overhis smoothly shaven face.
"Those splendid poilus," he said; "where they stand we Americans oughtto be standing, too.... God knows why we hesitate.... I can't tell youwhat we think.... Some of us--don't agree--with the Administration."
His jaws snapped on the word; he stared out through the sunshine atthe swallows, now skimming the uncut hay fields in their gusty eveningflight.
"Are you really going?" she asked, at length.
"Yes. I'll wait a little while longer to see what my country is goingto do. If it doesn't stir during the next month or two, I shall go. Ithink Garry will go, too."
She nodded.
"Of course," he remarked, "we'd prefer our own flag, Garry and I. Butif it is to remain furled----" He shrugged, picked a spear of grass,and sat brooding and breaking it into tiny pieces.
"The only thing that troubles me," he went on presently, keeping hisgaze riveted on his busy fingers, "the only thing that worries me isyou!"
"Me?" she exclaimed softly. And an inexplicable little thrill shotthrough her.
"You," he repeated. "You worry me to death."
She considered him a moment, her lips parted as though she were aboutto say something, but it remained unsaid, and a slight colour cameinto her cheeks.
"What am I to do about you?" he went on, apparently addressing theblade of grass he was staring at. "I can't leave you as mattersstand."
She said:
"Please, you are not responsible for me, are you?" And tried to laugh,but scarcely smiled.
"I want to be," he muttered. "I desire to be entirely----"
"Thank you. You have been more than kind. And very soon I hope I shallbe on happy terms with my own Government again. Then your solicitudeshould cease."
"If your Government listens to reason----"
"Then I also could go to France!" she interrupted. "Merely to think ofit excites me beyond words!"
He looked up quickly:
"You wish to go back?"
"Of course!"
"Why?"
"How can you ask that! If you had been a disgraced exile as I havebeen, as I still am--and falsely accused of shameful things--annoyed,hounded, blackmailed, offered bribes, constantly importuned to becomewhat I am not--a traitor to my own people--would you not be wildlyhappy to be proven innocent? Would you not be madly impatient toreturn and prove your devotion to your own land?"
"I understand," he said in a low voice.
"Of course you understand. Do you imagine that I, a French girl, wouldhave remained here in shameful security if I could have gone back toFrance
and helped? I would have done anything--anything, I tellyou--scrubbed the floors of hospitals, worked my fingers to thebone----"
"I'll wait till you go," he said.... "They'll clear your record verysoon, I expect. I'll wait. And we'll go together. Shall we, Thessa?"
But she had not seemed to hear him; her dark eyes grew remote, hergaze swept the sapphire distance. It was his hand laid lightly overhers that aroused her, and she withdrew her fingers with a frown ofremonstrance.
"Won't you let me speak?" he said. "Won't you let me tell you what myheart tells me?"
She shook her head slowly:
"I don't desire to hear yet--I don't know where my own heart--or evenmy mind is--or what I think about--anything. Please be reasonable."She stole a look at him to see how he was taking it, and there wasconcern enough in her glance to give him a certain amount of hope hadhe noticed it.
"You like me, Thessa, don't you?" he urged.
"Have I not admitted it? Do you know that you are becoming a seriousresponsibility to me? You worry me, too! You are like a boy with allyour emotions reflected on your features and every thought perfectlyunconcealed and every impulse followed by unconsidered behaviour.
"Be reasonable. I have asked it a hundred times of you in vain. Ishall ask it, probably, innumerable times before you comply with myrequest. Don't show so plainly that you imagine yourself in love. Itembarrasses me, it annoys Garry, and I don't know what his family willthink----"
"But if I _am_ in love, why not----"
"Does one advertise all one's most intimate and secret and--and sacredemotions?" she interrupted in sudden and breathless annoyance. "It isnot the way that successful courtship is conducted, I warn you! It isnot delicate, it is not considerate, it is not sensible.... And I _do_want you to--to be always--sensible and considerate. I _want_ to likeyou."
He looked at her in a sort of dazed way:
"I'll try to please you," he said. "But it seems to confuseme--being so suddenly bowled over--a thing like that rather knocksa man out--so unexpected, you know!--and there isn't much usepretending," he went on excitedly. "I can't see anybody else inthe world except you! I can't think of anybody else! I'm madly inlove--blindly, desperately----"
"Oh, please, _please_!" she remonstrated. "I'm not a girl to be takenby storm! I've seen too much--lived too much! I'm not a Tzigane to begalloped alongside of and swung to a man's saddle-bow! Also, I shalltell you one thing more. Happiness and laughter are necessities tome! And they seem to be becoming extinct in you."
"Hang it!" he demanded tragically, "how can I laugh when I'm inlove!"
At that a sudden, irresponsible little peal of laughter parted herlips.
"Oh, dear!" she said, "you _are_ funny! Is it a matter of prayer andfasting, then, this gloomy sentiment which you say you entertain forme? I don't know whether to be flattered or vexed--you are _so_funny!" And her laughter rang out again, clear and uncontrolled.
The girl was quite irresistible in her care-free gaiety; her lovelyface and delicious laughter no man could utterly withstand, andpresently a faint grin became visible on his features.
"Now," she cried gaily, "you are becoming human and not a Grecian maskor a gargoyle! Remain so, mon ami, if you expect me to wish you goodluck in your love--your various affairs----" She blushed as shechecked herself. But he said very quickly:
"Will you wish me luck, Thessa, in my various love affairs?"
"How many have you on hand?"
"Exactly one. Do you wish me a sporting chance? Do you, Thessa?"
"Why--yes----"
"Will you wish me good luck in my courtship of you?"
The quick colour again swept her cheeks at that, but she laugheddefiantly:
"Yes," she said, "I wish you luck in that, also. Only rememberthis--whether you win or lose you must laugh. _That_ is goodsportsmanship. Do you promise? Very well! Then I wish you the best ofluck in your--various--courtships! And may the girl you win at leastknow how to laugh!"
"She certainly does," he said so naively that they both gave way tolaughter again, finding each other delightfully absurd.
"It's the key to my heart, laughter--in case you are looking for thekey," she said daringly. "The world is a grim scaffold, mon ami; mountit gaily and go to the far gods laughing. Tell me, is there a betterway to go?"
"No; it's the right way, Thessa. I shan't be a gloom any more. Comeon; let's walk! What if you do get your bally shoes wet! I'm throughmooning and fussing and worrying over you, young lady! You're assturdy and vigorous as I am. After all, it's a comrade a man wants inthe world--not a white mouse in cotton batting! Come! Are you goingfor a brisk walk across country? Or are you a white mouse?"
She stood up in her dainty shoes and frail gown and cast a glance ofhurt reproach at him.
"Don't be brutal," she said. "I'm not dressed to climb trees andfences with you."
"You won't come?"
Their eyes met in silent conflict for a few moments. Then she said:"Please don't make me.... It's such a darling gown, Jim."
A wave of deep happiness enveloped him and he laughed: "All right," hesaid, "I won't ask you to spoil your frock!" And he spread his coat onthe pine needles for her once more.
She considered the situation for a few moments before she sat down.But she did seat herself.
"Now," he said, "we are going to discuss a situation. This is thesituation: I am deeply in love. And you're quite right, it's nofuneral; it's a joyous thing to be in love. It's a delight, a gaiety,a happy enchantment. Isn't it?"
She cast a rather shy and apprehensive glance at him, but noddedslightly.
"Very well," he said, "I'm in love, and I'm happy and proud to be inlove. What I wish then, naturally, is marriage, a home, children----"
"Please, Jim!"
"But I can't have 'em! Why? Because I'm going to France. And the girlI wish to marry is going also. And while I bang away at the boche shemakes herself useful in canteens, rest-houses, hospitals, orphanages,everywhere, in fact, where she is needed."
"Yes."
"And after it's all over--all over--and ended----"
"Yes?"
"Then--then if she finds out that she loves me----"
"Yes, Jim--if she finds that out.... And thank you for--asking me--sosweetly."... She turned sharply and looked out over a valley suddenlyblurred.
For it had been otherwise with her in years gone by, and men hadspoken then quite as plainly but differently. Only d'Eblis, burnt out,done for, and obsessed, had wearily and unwillingly advanced thatfar.... And Ferez, too; but that was unthinkable of a creature in whomvirtue and vice were of the same virus.
Looking blindly out over the valley she said:
"If my Government deals justly with me, then I shall go to France withyou as your comrade. If I ever find that I love you I will be yourwife.... Until then----" She stretched out her hand, not lookingaround at him; and they exchanged a quick, firm clasp.
And so matters progressed between, these two--rather ominously forBarres, in case he entertained any really serious sentiments in regardto Thessalie. And, recently, he had been vaguely conscious that heentertained something or other concerning the girl which caused him tolook with slight amazement and unsympathetic eyes upon the all tooobvious behaviour of his comrade Westmore.
At present he was standing in the summer house which terminated theblossoming tunnel of the rose arbour, watching water falling into astone basin from the fishy mouth of a wall fountain, and wonderingwhere Thessalie and Westmore had gone.
Dulcie, in a thin white frock and leghorn hat, roaming entranced andat hazard over lawn and through shrubbery and garden, encountered himthere, still squinting abstractedly at the water spout.
It was the first time the girl had seen him since their arrival atForeland Farms. And now, as she paused under the canopy of fragrantrain-drenched roses and looked at this man who had made all thispossible for her, she suddenly felt the change within herself, fittingher for it all--a subtle metamorphosis completing itself withinhe
r--the final accomplishment of a transmutation, deep, radical,permanent.
For her, the stark, starved visage which Life had worn had relaxed; inthe grim, forbidding wall which had closed her horizon, a door opened,showing a corner of a world where she knew, somehow, she belonged.
And in her heart, too, a door seemed to open, and her youthful soulstepped out of it, naked, fearless, quite certain of itself and, forthe first time during their brief and earthly partnership, quitecertain of the body wherein it dwelt.
He was thinking of Thessalie when Dulcie came up and stood besidehim, looking down into the water where a few goldfish swam.
"Well, Sweetness," he said, brightening, "you look very wonderful inwhite, with that big hat on your very enchanting red hair."
"I feel both wonderful and enchanted," she said, lifting her eyes. "Ishall live in the country some day."
"Really?" he said smiling.
"Yes, when I earn enough money. Do you remember the crazy wayStrindberg rolls around? Well, I feel like doing it on that lawn."
"Go ahead and do it," he urged. But she only laughed and chased thegoldfish around the basin with gentle fingers.
"Dulcie," he said, "you're unfolding, you're blossoming, you'redeveloping feminine snap and go and pep and je-ne-sais-quoi."
"You're teasing. But I believe I'm very feminine--and mature--thoughyou don't think so."
"Well, I don't think you're exactly at an age called well-preserved,"he said, laughing. He took her hands and drew her up to confront him."You're not too old to have me as a playmate, Sweetness, are you?"
She seemed to be doubtful.
"What! Nonsense! And you're not too old to be bullied and coaxed andpetted----"
"Yes, I am."
"And you're not too old to pose for me----"
She grew pink and looked down at the submerged goldfish. And, keepingher eyes there:
"I wanted to ask you," she said, "how much longer you think you wouldrequire me--that way."
There was a silence. Then she looked at him out of her frank greyeyes.
"You know I'll do what you wish," she said. "And I know it is quiteall right...." She smiled at him. "I belong to you: you made me....And you know all about me. So you ought to use me as you wish."
"You don't want to pose?" he said.
"Yes, except----"
"Very well."
"Are you annoyed?"
"No, Sweetness. It's all right."
"You are annoyed--disappointed! And I won't have it. I--I couldn'tstand it--to have you displeased----"
He said pleasantly:
"I'm not displeased, Dulcie. And there's no use discussing it. If youhave the slightest feeling that way, when we go back to town I'll dothings like the Arethusa from somebody else----"
"Please don't!" she exclaimed in such naive alarm that he began tolaugh and she blushed vividly.
"Oh, you are feminine, all right!" he said. "If it isn't to be you itisn't to be anybody."
"I didn't mean that.... _Yes_, I did!"
"Oh, Dulcie! Shame! _You_ jealous!--even to the verge of sacrificingyour own feelings----"
"I don't know what it is, but I'd rather you used me for yourArethusa. You know," she added wistfully, "that we began ittogether."
"Right, Sweetness. And we'll finish it together or not at all. Are yousatisfied?"
She smiled, sighed, nodded. He released her lovely, childlike handsand she walked to the doorway of the summer house and looked out overthe wall-bed, where tall thickets of hollyhock and blue larkspurstretched away in perspective toward a grove of trees and a littlepond beyond.
His painter's eye, already busy with the beauty of her face andfigure against the riot of flowers, and almost mechanicallytransposing both into terms of colour and value, went blind suddenlyas she turned and looked at him.
And for the first time--perhaps with truer vision--he became aware ofwhat else this young girl was besides a satisfying combination of tintand contour--this lithe young thing palpitating with life--thisslender, gently breathing girl with her grey eyes meeting his socandidly--this warm young human being who belonged more truly in theliving scheme of things than she did on painted canvas or in marble.
From this unexpected angle, and suddenly, he found himself viewing herfor the first time--not as a plaything, not as a petted model, not asan object appealing to his charity, not as an experiment inaltruism--nor sentimentally either, nor as a wistful child without achildhood.
Perhaps, to him, she had once been all of these. He looked at her withother eyes now, beginning, possibly, to realise something of theterrific responsibility he was so lightly assuming.
He got up from his bench and went over to her; and the girl turned atrifle pale with excitement and delight.
"Why did you come to me?" she asked breathlessly.
"I don't know."
"Did you know I was trying to make you get up and come to me?"
"What?"
"Yes! Isn't it curious? I looked at you and kept thinking, 'I want youto get up and come to me! I want you to _come_! I _want_ you!' Andsuddenly you got up and came!"
He looked at her out of curious, unsmiling eyes:
"It's your turn, after all, Dulcie."
"How is it my turn?"
"I drew you--in the beginning," he said slowly.
There was a silence. Then, abruptly, her heart began to beat veryrapidly, scaring her dumb with its riotous behaviour. When at lengthher consternation subsided and her irregular breathing becamecomposed, she said, quite calmly:
"You and all that you are and believe in and care for very naturallyattracted me--drew me one evening to your open door.... It will alwaysbe the same--you, and what of life and knowledge you represent--willnever fail to draw me."
"But--though I am just beginning to divine it--you also drew _me_,Dulcie."
"How could that be?"
"You did. You do still. I am just waking up to that fact. And thatstarts me wondering what I'd do without you."
"You don't have to do without me," she said, instinctively laying herhand over her heart; it was beating so hard and, she feared, so loud."You can always have me when you wish. You know that."
"For a while, yes. But some day, when----"
"Always!"
He laughed without knowing why.
"You'll marry some day, Sweetness," he insisted.
She shook her head.
"Oh, yes you will----"
"No!"
"Why?"
But she only looked away and shook her head. And the silent motion ofdissent gave him an odd sense of relief.