"Are you afraid?" he asked.
"No, not standing2 here where I can see you. But over the telephone with your strange voice and your half meanings—what did you mean?"
"Nothing you need worry about."
She became suddenly serious.
"I want to tell you now that there is no need of your trying to hide anything at all from me about Ben."
"I am hiding nothing. But," he asked with quick intuition, "are you?"
She hesitated, met his eyes, and dropped her voice.
"I can tell you nothing—not even you—unless you have learned it."
"I, in my turn, don't know what you mean," he answered. "I have learned nothing new about him. And it is too fair a morning," he concluded abruptly3, "to bother over puzzles. Things have happened so rapidly that we are probably both muddled4, and if we could spend the time in explanations we should doubtless find that neither of us means anything."
She was clearly relieved, but it raised a new question in Donaldson's mind. Of course she understood nothing of what had taken place last night unless by mental telepathy. But in these days of psychic5 revelations a man could n't feel secure even in his thoughts. There was apparently6 some inner secret—she had touched upon it before—relating to the Arsdale curse. Doubtless if one pried7 carefully enough many another skeleton could be found in the closets of the house of this family half-poisoned now through three generations.
It was early and it suddenly occurred to her that he had probably not yet breakfasted.
She struggled a moment with a conflicting sense of hospitality and propriety9, but finally said resolutely10, "I should be glad if you would breakfast with me. You ought to try your new cook."
The picture he had of her sitting opposite him at the coffee brought the warm blood to his cheeks.
"I—why—"
"Will you have your chop well done?" she broke in, without giving him time to frame an excuse.
"Yes," he answered.
She left him.
Within a very short time she announced the meal with pretty grace, which concealed11 all trace of nervousness, save for the heightened color of her cheeks, which, he noted12, were as scarlet13 as though she herself had been bending over a hot stove. She led the way into an exquisite14 little dining room, which he at once took to be the expression of her own taste. It was in white and apple green, with a large trellised window opening upon the lawn. A small table had been placed in the sun near the window, and was covered with dazzling white linen15, polished silver, and cut glass, which, catching16 the morning beams, reflected a prismatic riot of colors. The chops, lettuce17, bread and butter, and coffee were already served. As he seated her, he felt as though he were living out a dream—one of the dreams that as a very young man he had sometimes dreamed when, lying flat upon his back in the sun, he had watched the big cotton clouds wafted18, like thistledown, across the blue.
It might have been Italy for the blue of the sky and the caressing19 warmth of the sun. They threw open the big window and in flooded the perfume of lilacs and the twitter of sparrows, which is the nearest to a bird song one can expect in New York. But after all, this was n't New York; nor Spain; nor even the inner woods; it was just Here. And Here is where the eyes of a man and a woman meet with spring in their blood.
Griefs of loss, bitter, poignant20; sorrows of mistakes, bruising21, numbing22; the ache of disappointments, ingratitudes, betrayals,—Nature surging on to her fulfillment sweeps them away, like fences before a flood, allowing no obstructions23 to Youth's kinship with Spring. So the young may not mourn long; so, if they do, they become no longer young.
The man and the woman might have been two care-free children for all they were able to resist the magic of this fair morning or the subtler magic of their own emotions.
To the man it suggested more than to the woman because he gave more thought to it, but the woman absorbed more the spirit of it because she more fully8 surrendered herself.
Donaldson found himself with a good appetite. There was nothing neurotic24 about him. He was fundamentally normal—fundamentally wholesome—with no trace of mawkishness25 in his nature. As he sipped26 the hot golden-brown coffee, he tried to get at just what it was that he felt when he now looked at her. It came to him suddenly and he spoke27 it aloud,
"I seem to have, this minute, a fresher vision of life than I have known since I was twenty."
It was something different from anything he had experienced up to now. It was saner28, clearer.
"It is the morning," she hazarded. "I never saw the grass so green as it is this morning; I never felt the sun so warm."
"It is like the peace of the inner woods,—only brighter," he declared.
"You said such peace never came to any one unless alone."
"Did I?"
She nodded.
"But it is like that," he insisted. "Only more joyous29. I think it is the extra joy in it that makes us not want it alone. Queer, too, it seems to be born altogether of this spot, of this moment. Understand what I mean? It does n't seem to go back of the moment we entered this room and—," he hesitated, "it does n't seem to go forward."
"It is as though coming in here we had stepped into a beautiful picture and were living inside the frame for a little," she suggested.
"Exactly. The frame is the hedge; the picture is the sky, the sun, and you."
She laughed, frankly30 pleased in a childish way, at his conceit31.
"Then for me," she answered, "it must be the sun, the sky, and you."
"We are n't trying to compliment each other, are we?"
"No," she answered seriously. "I hope not."
She went on after a moment's reflection,
"I have been puzzling over the strange chance that brought you into my life at so opportune32 a time."
"I came because you believed in me and because you needed me. You believed in me because—," he paused, his blood seeming suddenly to run faster, "because I needed you."
"You needed me?"
"Yes," he answered, "I needed you. I needed you long ago."
"But how—why?"
"To show me the joy there is in the sunlight wherever it strikes; to take me with you into this picture."
Their eyes met.
"Have I done that?" she asked.
"Yes."
She shook her head.
"I 'm afraid not," she disclaimed33, "because the joy has n't been in my own heart."
"Nor was it in mine—then."
Her eyes turned back to his. The silver in them came to the top like the moon reflection on dark waters through fading clouds. He was leaning a little towards her.
"It seems to be something that we can't get alone," he explained.
"Perhaps it is," she pondered, "perhaps."
She started back a little, as one who, lost in a sunset, leans too far over the balcony. Then she smiled. Donaldson's heart answered the smile.
"Your coffee is cooling," she said. "May I pour you some fresh?"
He passed his cup automatically. But the act was enough to bring him back. A moment gone the room had grown misty34. Something had made his throat ache. He felt taut35 with a great unexpressed yearning36. He became conscious of his breakfast again. He sipped his hot coffee.
"I suppose," he reflected, "you ought to know something about me."
"I am interested," she answered, "but I don't think it matters much."
Again he saw in her marvelous eyes that look of complete confidence that had thrilled him first on that mad ride. Again he realized that there is nothing finer in the world. For a moment the room swam before him at the memory of his doom37. But her calm gaze steadied him at once. He must cling to the Now.
"I have n't much I can tell you," he resumed. "My parents died when I was young. They were New England farm-folk and poor. After I was left alone, I started in to get an education without a cent to my name. It took me fifteen years. I graduated from college and then from the law school. I came here to New York and opened an office. That is all."
He waved his hand deprecatingly as though ashamed that it was so slight and undramatic a tale. But she leaned towards him with sudden access of interest.
"Fifteen years, and you did it all alone! You must have had to fight."
"In a way," he answered.
"Will you tell me more about it?" she asked eagerly.
"It's not very interesting," he laughed. "It was mostly a grind—just a plain, unceasing grind. It was n't very exciting—just getting any old job I could and then studying what time was left."
"And growing stronger every day—feeling your increasing power!"
"And my hunger, too, sometimes."
He tried to make light of it because he didn't wish her to become so serious over it. He did n't like playing the part of hero.
"You did n't have enough to eat?" she asked in astonishment38.
"You should have seen me watch Barstow's cake-box."
He told her the story, making it as humorous as he could. But when he had finished, she wasn't laughing. For a moment his impulse was to lay before her the whole story—the bitter climax39, the ashen40 climax, which lately he had thought so beautiful. She had said that nothing in the past would matter—but this was of the future, too. Even if she ought to know, he had no right to force upon her the burden of what was to come. He found now that he had even cut himself off from the privilege of being utterly41 honest with her. To tell her the whole truth might be to destroy his usefulness to her. She might then scorn his help. He must not allow that. Nothing could justify42 that.
"You are looking very serious," she commented.
Her own face had in the meanwhile grown brighter.
"It is all from within," he answered, "all from within. And—now presto43!—it is gone."
Truly the problem did seem to vanish as he allowed himself to become conscious of the picture she made there in the sunshine. With her hair down her back she could have worn short dresses and passed for sixteen. The smooth white forehead, the exquisite velvet44 skin with the first bloom still upon it, the fragile pink ears were all of unfolding womanhood.
"Since my mother died," he said, "you are the first woman who has ever made me serious."
"Have you been such a recluse45 then?"
"Not from principle. I have been a sort of office hermit46 by necessity."
"You should not have allowed an office to imprison47 you," she scolded. "You should have gone out more."
"I have—lately."
"And has it not done you good?" she challenged, not realizing his narrow application of the statement.
"A world of good."
"It brightens one up."
"Wonderfully."
"If we stay too much by ourselves we get selfish, don't we?"
"Intensely. And narrow-minded, and morbid48, and petty and—," the words came charged with bitterness, "and intensely foolish."
"I 'm glad you crawled out before you became all those things."
"You gave me a hand or I should n't."
"I gave you a hand?"
"Yea," he answered, soberly.
"Perhaps—perhaps this is another of the things that could n't have happened to either of us alone."
"I think you are right," he answered.
He did not dare to look at her.
"Perhaps that is true of all the good things in the world," she hazarded.
"Perhaps."
Once again the golden mist—once again the aching yearning.
The telephone jangled harshly. It was a warning from the world beyond the hedge, the world they had forgotten.
The sound of it was to him like the savage49 clang of barbaric war-gongs.
With her permission he answered it himself. It was a message from his man at the Waldorf.
"He's making an awful fuss, sir. He says as how he wants to go home. I can hold him all right, only I thought I 'd let you know."
"Thanks, I 'll be right down."
"I 'd better go back to your brother," he said to her as he hung up the receiver. "I want to have a talk with him before bringing him home."
Her eyes grew moist.
"How am I ever going to repay you for all you 've done?"
"You 've repaid me already," he answered briefly50 and left at once.
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1
droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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muddled
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| adj.混乱的；糊涂的；头脑昏昏然的v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的过去式)；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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psychic
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| n.对超自然力敏感的人；adj.有超自然力的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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7
pried
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| v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的过去式和过去分词 )；撬开 | |
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8
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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11
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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13
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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14
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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15
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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16
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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lettuce
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| n.莴苣；生菜 | |
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18
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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caressing
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| 爱抚的，表现爱情的，亲切的 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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bruising
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| adj.殊死的；十分激烈的v.擦伤(bruise的现在分词形式) | |
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22
numbing
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| adj.使麻木的，使失去感觉的v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的现在分词 ) | |
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obstructions
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| n.障碍物( obstruction的名词复数 )；阻碍物；阻碍；阻挠 | |
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neurotic
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| adj.神经病的，神经过敏的；n.神经过敏者，神经病患者 | |
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mawkishness
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26
sipped
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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27
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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28
saner
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| adj.心智健全的( sane的比较级 )；神志正常的；明智的；稳健的 | |
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29
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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32
opportune
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| adj.合适的，适当的 | |
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33
disclaimed
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| v.否认( disclaim的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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38
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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39
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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40
ashen
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| adj.灰的 | |
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41
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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42
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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43
presto
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| adv.急速地；n.急板乐段；adj.急板的 | |
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44
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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45
recluse
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| n.隐居者 | |
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46
hermit
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| n.隐士，修道者；隐居 | |
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47
imprison
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| vt.监禁，关押，限制，束缚 | |
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48
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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49
savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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50
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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